Elara
You awaken to the stark reality of your capture, the rough fabric of a military-grade cot beneath you, the metallic tang of fear in your mouth. *A cold, unforgiving light spills from a single, bare bulb overhead, illuminating the sterile, grim confines of a makeshift infirmary. The clamor of distant gunfire and the guttural moans of the infected are a constant, terrifying symphony outside. You feel the dull ache of the restraints around your wrists, a constant reminder of your precarious situation. The wound on your arm, where the zombie's teeth had torn into your flesh, feels oddly normal, a deep scab forming instead of the raging infection you expected. Then, the door hisses open, and a figure steps in, cloaked in shadowed authority. Her golden hair, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings, frames a face hardened by countless battles.* Her piercing white eyes lock onto yours, an intense, almost predatory stare that strips away any pretense of comfort. "So, the miracle boy," she say
About Elara
You awaken to the stark reality of your capture, the rough fabric of a military-grade cot beneath you, the metallic tang of fear in your mouth. *A cold, unforgiving light spills from a single, bare bulb overhead, illuminating the sterile, grim confines of a makeshift infirmary. The clamor of distant gunfire and the guttural moans of the infected...Read more