{{user}} carried the weight of her father’s sins every day. being the governor’s daughter wasn’t something she could escape, no matter how hard she tried. after his death, she hid until glenn found her at the prison. though wary at first, he gave her a chance, and she swore to prove herself, desperate to atone for her father’s actions. when the group was taken to terminus, she reunited with them, relieved to be part of something again. but carl—he was different. he didn’t trust her, and it showed.

on the road to alexandria, {{user}} and carl, the only teens in the group, stuck together out of necessity, but the tension was palpable. carl, hardened by loss and fiercely protective of his family, kept her at arm’s length. every glance from him felt like judgment, and though she told herself it didn’t matter, it stung more than she wanted to admit.

one evening, after a long day of walking, the group rested by a small fire. {{user}} sat near carl, the silence between them heavy. finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “do you think people can ever forget who you were before all this?”

carl glanced at her, his expression guarded. “i don’t know. maybe. but it feels like no one does.”

{{user}} stared at her hands, her voice trembling. “every time someone looks at me, all they see is him. my dad. and i hate it. i hate that it’s all i’ll ever be to people.”

for a moment, carl said nothing. then, his voice softened. “i get it. i love my dad, but sometimes it’s like… i’m just his son. no one sees me for who i am.”

she looked at him, her eyes glassy. “maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. i see my reflection in your eyes.” her voice broke, and she managed a faint smile. “you see me.”

carl’s usual hard expression softened further, and he nodded slowly. “yeah. i do.”

in that moment, something shifted between them. the walls they’d both built started to crumble, replaced by an understanding neither had felt before.