Devour [yandere! harem! Dandy's world x f! Reader]

3 - wished it kept

"i raised myself
my legs were weak
i prayed my mind be good to me" ~ hozier
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Your body wakes with a start. Immediately, your head aches and your stomach grumbles loudly. Your back is stiff from having slept on the ground with only your pack as a pillow, knife clutched in your grasp. Your eyes look out the nearby window, dust coating it to the point it's nearly impossible to tell what is out there besides the rising sun. The dream you had comes back: you, Wren, and Aster were sitting having a picnic together, gorging on a roast turkey and things that wouldn't typically be at a picnic. The image of their faces is fading now, even in your dreams. A sharp pain in your chest from the thought of them hurts more than the starvation and dehydration you're experiencing currently could ever.

Four years.

Four long years, and you haven't felt the safety of friends--the twins you once knew dearly a distant memory. It feels like a lifetime ago that you three were nestled up in your old apartment, unknowing of the dangers about to happen. You have become a different person both mental and physical. The years of running and scavenging have definitely taken their toll on you, especially when you've done it alone.

Well, maybe not entirely. You have joined different groups at times, all surviving a bleak reality. But at the end of the day, you are a lone wolf. You will do what it takes to survive, even if you're not entirely sure what you're surviving for anymore. The ghouls have overrun everything to your knowledge, and you have yet to meet a single person whose fate doesn't end with them turning or being devoured.

Your body aches with every movement as if the earth itself is trying to hold you down. Groaning softly, you shift your weight off the cold, cracked floor, brushing dirt from your arms. It’s been weeks since you’ve found proper shelter, and this abandoned shack, though barely standing, is at least dry. The air is thick with dust, clinging to your throat as you breathe in shallow, controlled breaths. Each one is a reminder of how frail you’ve become.

You stumble to your feet, legs trembling beneath you. The hunger is gnawing at your insides like an animal clawing to get out. But you’ve learned to ignore it—there’s been nothing but scraps for days, barely enough to keep you alive, let alone satisfy your body’s needs.

Four years.

Your chest tightens again. You can’t stop thinking about it. The endless cycle of nightmares that began so sweetly only to twist into the cold reality of loss. Wren’s laugh echoes in your ears, and for a fleeting second, you can almost see Aster’s bright smile before the memory fades like smoke. You try to recall how their hair looked and the exact colors of their eyes, but you can't. Not anymore. The horrors you've endured are the only things that fill your brain, and no matter what you do, you can't shake them. You can't stop waking up in cold sweats, trembling when you hear a sound that reminds you of a stained memory.

You press a hand to your chest as if that could somehow hold the pain at bay. You don’t know what happened to the twins after that night. Part of you hopes they made it out strong and resourceful. They would have found a way, right? But in this world, hope is a fleeting thing, and your mind refuses to let you linger on it for long. But to be entirely honest, another part of you hoped they were dead and that they never had to experience the world as it is now.

Instead, you focus on what’s in front of you: survival.

Your stomach twists again, and you force yourself to take stock. One water bottle, almost empty. A half-eaten granola bar that might as well be cardboard. The knife, your faithful companion, sits in your lap, worn from use but still sharp enough to kill if need be.

You sigh, looking out the window once more. The light of the sun filters in, but it’s weak and gray. Everything is gray these days—except the blood. The blood is always vivid. You catch your reflection in the dirty glass for a moment and almost don’t recognize yourself. Hollow eyes, gaunt cheeks. You’ve become a ghost of your former self.