It was odd to see Myla in a position of power.
While she was a rather strong willed individual, her efforts were more often spent on the benefit of the one rather than that of the many. Her foresight was limited and she had a diluted view of the “bigger picture” when it came to decision making. She wasn’t stupid, of course, though her talents definitely lay outside the realm of leadership.
More for the enforcing of rules, not the writing of them.
Mylasande lead me through the factory-like structure, up a dingy set of worn concrete steps to a large, open office space at the head of the tallest building.
The doorway was blocked by a large metal roller-door, much like something you’d think to find at the entrance of an industrial freezer. Mylasande paused mid-monologue to pull it open, sending a loud screeching sound down the empty stairwell behind us.
She’d been in the midst of explaining how she’d managed to find herself here – a very dramatically told tale about her escape from the city during the bombing, and her rather quick stint amongst the dryads of the woodlands nearby. They had welcomed her, and many of the other exiles of the city, though Mylasande had quickly decided that she was not entirely comfortable amongst so many “saintly-summer assholes”.
Translation – they didn’t like it when she ate people.
Which was rich coming from dryads – who routinely kidnapped humans that stumbled into their grasp like it was a sport.
She had only just begun with the tale of how she found the train tracks when she paused to open the door.
Inside lay an open office space, with large, floor-to-ceiling industrial windows along the back wall, and brickwork and concrete making up the entire interior.
To the right, a space was set up in the corner that looked to be a small, makeshift bedroom – a tattered rug, a set of wooden pallets, and an army mattress that had seen better days with a woollen blanket resting atop it.
Beside that sat a small wooden box and a lantern, with a carton of matches lying near the edge.
Straight before me, in front of the towering industrial windows, sat a wooden desk. It appeared rather worn, though it had obviously once been a beloved centre piece – dark mahogany with intricately carved legs to hold up its no-doubt cumbersome weight.
Behind it rested an equally obnoxious chair that would probably look more at the head of a royal dining table than in the middle of a random terminus in the backwoods of Georgia.
On the other side of the desk, a stark contrast to the overly dramatic throne of a chair adjacent to it, was a tattered camper chair complete with bullet holes encased by dried blood on the fabrics backing.
“Isn’t this quaint?” I remarked, stepping into the room with only the slightest of cold shivers.
Mylasande let out a low chuckle. “Yes, well. It is a might better than the forest floor.”
I pursed my lips and gave a slight nod of agreement on that one. Besides, I wasn’t exactly one to talk. I’d been sleeping in a prison cell for the past few months, after all.
“Not as warm as your bed in the city, though,” she added after a brief moment, looking at me and wiggling her brows suggestively.
YOU ARE READING
The Monsters Among Us ➳ Daryl Dixon
Fanfiction𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘋𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘯/𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But...
