Beneath The Broken Sky - Chapter One - Somewhere In Georgia 🐞❤️
She was too soft for this world.
He was too broken to feel again.
And yet... somehow, they collided.
Iris Lane survives by clinging to the fragile fragments of her soul—hope, kindness, and a heart that still dares to believe in light.
He doesn’t understand her softness—not here, not in this world. But he can’t look away.
There’s something about the ‘sunflower-girl’ that pulls him in, something more than meets the eye.
Is her innocence real—or is it a mask hiding cracks of her own?
As shadows close in and the sky begins to fall, the question remains:
Can two broken souls hold on to something real, or will the storm tear them apart?
A/N: Hey, loves🐞🥰 so this is it- Chapter One, this story's been living in my head and heart for a while now. Iris Lane, is soft, awkward, sensitive even, she's the pure definition of a woman, and then she meets our Darryl, things are bound to get a little interesting. I hope you'll like it, let me know in the comments, reblog etc to show your support or buy me a coffee or become a member and get some exclusive perks on my Patreon. 💕❣️💚 . It will mean the world to me. 🐞🥰
Warnings: Horror, Violence anything else let me know
Copyright: Even though it's a work of fiction, - it's still mine, so be the cute little bugs that you are and don't steal my work - love you ❣️💕🐞🥰
The sky looked like it had forgotten how to be blue... Ash clung to the air, thick as dust on a forgotten bible. Trees stood like crooked men. Roads pilled with abandoned vehicles, some roads cracked and split , bleeding weeds through the pavement.
Iris Lane, walked down the middle of it, boots too big, soul too soft, a sunflower in a field of corpses. Her backpack bounced gently with every step, half-empty, except for some peanut butter packets - oh she always loves peanut butter, the smooth grainy taste, with the crunchy little bits of peanuts in it, it was pure bliss, it's probably because it reminded her how her mom would make her those sandwiches for school. And of course the one thing she'd always carried with her a cracked photo frame, oh and that damn rusted swiss army knife, she picked up somewhere along the road, she still hasn't figured out how to close it properly. As she walked over the blood stained streets she hummed one of those sad Patsy Cline songs, it was old and sweet - because the silence is what scared her more than the dead ever had.
