Though the virus rampaged, everything was scarce, and people were dying left, right and centre, it didn’t mean she had to give up on her dreams and he was her dream.
He filled her stomach with butterflies so flustered she could barely see straight, let alone aim true, and when he leaned close to reposition her bow she was intoxicated by his nearness, and her hands would shake more than the chaotic winged creatures inhabiting her belly, but his patience and his protection guaranteed her arrow had already scored bullseye.
They darted through alleys but the undead surged and he let loose a string of arrows and yelped as necrotic fingers tore at his leg; she grabbed and wrenched him free and they ran until out of reach then she glanced at him, watching beads of sweat leave dirty trails, and he winced as he rubbed his wound.
Their hearts beat almost in unison and his forehead knotted, and he began to beat his fist against the wall…his eyes darkened and red veins rose and began to bloom purple, and his heartbeat faltered; that was when she knew, but she wasn’t giving up and she ignored the dragons breathing fire in her belly, and leaned towards him for a kiss. She hadn’t expected the passion to burn with such violence as his kiss, their first and last, smouldered and blood began to pour from her lip…but maybe, just maybe it was better this way…and she hadn’t given up on her dream…