,,infant and innocent. baby, both arms cradle you now."

you are 12 years old. Barely old enough to register the horrors that your society has crumbled to, but you understand well enough.

when the outbreak occurred, you, your father, and your mother moved to your cabin. It was an old wooden house in the forest in the countryside. They thought it would be safer away from the big cities. In a way they were right, but not quite. Nowhere is safe.

when your parents were infected, they weren't lethal bites. Unaware of the deadly fever, they thought they were in the clear but took more precautions to make sure you didn't get bit.

now, sat on the cold slate of the basement floor, a revolver in trembling hands with two less rounds, and the bodies of your parents who had turned - mere feet away from you. you didn't know what to do. What could you even do now? You couldn't survive on your own.

when they turned, you locked yourself in the basement but they broke through. You did the only thing you could, but it left you sobbing into your knees, the echo of gunshots ringing in your ears and warm blood pooling towards you from your mother's outstretched hand.

the sound of footsteps echoed above you from the old wooden floorboards, but your choked sobs drowned them out, hands clamped over your eyes. You didn't want to remember your parents that way. You couldn't.

"Holy shit." a murmured voice with a southern accent spoke from the top of the basement stairs, a large shadow interrupting the light that cast down through the doorway and filtered down into the dark cold room.

Daryl Dixon had been searching for Carol's daughter, Sophia. He thought he had found evidence of Sophia's survival, but maybe it had just been you. Daryl knew he couldn't leave you like that, eyes flickering between the gun in your hand, the bodies of two walkers, and the mess of a kid on the concrete floor - he slowly descended the stairs, slinging his crossbow over his back to try and seem less threatening.

"Hey...kid?"