Sequel to: As one. (I recommend reading that first.)
[SEASON 4 ONWARDS]
[UNEDITED]
In which the group have been split up after the attack on the prison.
I do not own any of the twd plots, scripts or characters other than my own. I do not own any GIF...
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"HOW?" was all that Ophelia could ask.
Her lip was quivering, as she restlessly rocked back and fourth on the edge of her leather seat. She was rubbing her hands together anxiously, blinking her eyes and tapping her foot against the carpet, as she tried to comprehend everything ; Carl was dead.
"Sweetheart, I don't think—"
"How?" She said a little bit louder, as her blue eyes narrowed into slits at Negan, who was sat opposite her on his own leather seat.
"He died saving a friend." Negan replied, running a gloved hand over his face. "Took down a couple of walkers, but the kid ended up gettin' himself bit. They couldn't save him, sweetheart, I'm sorry."
Ophelia still sat there on her seat, restlessly fidgeting as she slowly processed his words. It all seemed like a terrible nightmare — only she couldn't wake up. She thought back to the last time that she saw the child, and she smiled briefly. His sweet smile and kind face lingering within the back of her mind. O' if only she knew she would not see him again.
"Was his name Siddiq?" She asked, thinking back to their last conversation — he had said he was going out to help a friend. Was that friend the one that got him killed? Could she have stopped it?
"I, uh, I don't know." Negan sighed, heavily.
"No, no. It must have been." She said, running a hand through her curls. "He said he was going out to help a friend. It must have been him, the one he made me promise not to tell anyone about. God, how could I have been so stupid?"
Ophelia got up then, and began to angrily pace Negans room. She gathered clumps of her hair in her hands, making it knotty and tangled, as she tried to comprehend everything. But, O' how could she? She couldn't accept that she'd lost another friend — no, she didn't want too. He was her best friend. How could she accept that his brains were blown and his body was rotting in the ground? He deserved to be alive.
As she paced quickly in the monsters lair, she begun to think back to when she first met Carl. He was a sweet boy. He'd been so full of life and so hopeful. She remembered how many freckles he used to have, and how whenever he smiled it would reach his eyes and his cheeks would blush. He was hope, kindness, and all things bright all in one young boy — all things that Ophelia needed.
She then thought about how he grew into the man his mother would have been proud to call her son. Brave and determined, but still a freckle faced, rosey cheeked boy with baby blue eyes and a large sheriff hat. Still so kind and sweet, longing for a better world. Longing for peace with the saviours in a way that everyone dismissed as fairy tale bullshit.
