Amaryllis Halloway [Lore and Story draft]Drew this sketch of Amy for the sole purpose of sharing the rest of my lore and the start to their written story 
So the reason Amy is the mc and why she's essential to the plot is because the scar she has from her dad carries remnants of the infection, but since it wasn't transfered through a spore, it doesnt fully merge with her DNA. This means that she doesnt mutate. It also gives her a mutant ability: she can "communicate" with the mutants and their 'hive mind' type thing, so she can connect to their thoughts, emotions, and even the world around them. However, this has a cost because whenever she uses this ability, the mutation slowly but surely begins to spread. This gives her a choice; be safe and help develop a cure with the other humans, or risk her own humanity to connect the two worlds and bring unity back. This choice would happen after her character development so she's not afraid to help mutants. Or maybe earlier in her development she thinks about helping with a cure, but as her relationships progress, she changes her tune. Also, she probably wouldn't end up fully mutating or anything, but the glowing viens would spread up her arm from the scar, and maybe her eyes could glow when she's communicating with the mutants/fungus.
The reason Theo couldn't have been the bridge between the worlds or the "ambassador" is because the mutants resent him. They think hes a traitor for rejecting the mutation and staying with the humans instead. Maybe he even fought the mutants to protect the humans in the group. The other mutants probably also resent him for his relative "humanity" since he still acts human, hes just physically a mutant.
So now that you guys have all of the lore and such, here's my rough draft for the beginning of the story :)
_____________________
I stand in front of the shelf in careful consideration. Two cans are already nestled inside my bag, clinking softly against each other. Three more seconds of indecision, and I reach for a can of pineapple, my ink stained fingers brushing the metal. Why not treat myself? Besides, anything beats corn; I've had enough corn for one lifetime, let alone another month. The pineapple joins my cans of beans: one pinto, one black.
The rusty bell jingles gently as I move out of the shop and head towards home. I huddle my jacket closer to myself against the chill, pulling my hood over my head. Cracked glass from the broken entryway crunches under my boots and mingles with the concrete. That should really be cleaned up. Not that anyone would.
No matter. I shift my attention from my grocery trip to the trees lining my current path. Orange leaves frame the stiff, lifeless branches to mark the changing season. Cracks in the trees glow faintly, almost unnoticed. Is it fall already? There's so much I still have to do...
My feet come to a stop before my doorstep, brushing against my welcome mat. The door shuts behind me and I set down my bag to take out my three meager items. I leave them on the table in the center of the foyer, not even bothering to take them to the kitchen, and head straight for my room.
The desk I rest at is full of papers, messy scribbles of plants and animals that I've encountered. Cats, ferns. Mushrooms. Pages and pages of mushrooms. I've tried to capture them, but I really have no eye for that sort of stuff. The lines are imbalanced and hesitant, but I like them because it holds personality. Or at least that's how I justify my lack of skill.
I pick up my pencil and open to a fresh page in my sketchbook. Graphite clings to the pages, none of them entirely clean. My scar itches and I pull down my bandages, readjusting them. I move the pencil to the paper; not for sketches, but for my monthly list. I can cross out groceries for now.
- Repair the windowframe
-Get groceries
-Gather the apples from that one place
- Find lilies
There's only a few days left of the month, so I have to get started. I grab my bag again, still heavy with the cans, and decide to start with the lilies and apples. The window can wait.
A little over a mile into the woods there's a clearing full of lush trees and flowers. Towards the right are a cluster of apple trees, huddled and secluded like a clique from the small white flowers that dot the area. I start with the apples, shaking the trees at first and then when that doesn't prove effective, dare to climb the twisting branches. Scaling the tree, I'm reminded of the squirrel, my most recent subject of sketching. I had been having difficulty capturing the glowing, vieny infection on its side. It's hard bringing myself to draw the familar blooming growths.
As I think about this, a small green spore flutters delicately before my face.
My stomach drops. My heart rate quickens. I already know.
No no no no no no no.
I falter in my reach for the next branch and slip on the one beneath my feet.
Branches and leaves crack and cut at my face. One tugs at my scarf as I fall down through the tree and to the soft grass below. I don't hesitate or try to find the lilies.
I run.
I know these woods, but I’m not moving with memory now, I’m moving with panic. I just have to get to the pond.
I worry I'm getting lost in my hysteria but I can't think of anything but getting to the pond.
The pond the pond the pond come on get to the pond.
Breaking through poison ivy, I kneel and splash the pond water over my arms, my legs, my hair. I gargle it and snort it up my nose, desperate to be clean.
Gasping, I finally stand up and try to calm myself. I need to get myself together but it was so close. So close. Inches from my face.
Breathe breathe breathe please breathe come on don't cry don't-
I trudge through the woods, relying on instinct to guide me to my house. My bandages and jacket are soaked but I don't bother to adjust them this time.
I’ll check tomorrow. Maybe it didn’t touch me. Maybe I’m fine.
Too numb to think properly, I walk for definitely more than a mile and grab my door handle distantly, almost as if my hand belongs to someone else. No one waits for me inside. I take off my layers, letting the cool air soothe my skin. Inside, I fall into my bed and sleep.
I never did eat the pineapple.
☆☆☆
I wake up in a cold sweat, clammy and heavy. There's a tugging feeling of just waking up from a dream, but it fades to the only thing on my mind.
check
NOW Amy.
Pushing myself out of bed, I go stand in front of the mirror and inspect myself in the slightly cracked and foggy material. My arms, my side, my back, shoulders, legs. Five times over I scour my body, standard routine turned manic.
Finally, I deem myself clean.
I shut the door behind me, absentmindedly fiddlng with my bandages. Wrapping them over the jagged, raised scar on my forearm. It still stings when I think about it too hard.
I can still see it, vividly. I experience it vicariously as my father's rigid hand- talon- comes toward me, reaching or clawing or both as I recoil. Not quite fast enough.
My arm burns at the memory, and I force myself out of it. No point replaying my childhood when there's stuff to do. There's always something to keep yourself busy in the apocalypse.
Breakfast is not satisfying but sustaining. Some too-soft berries paired with a spoonful of beans for protein.
Delicious.
I finish quickly and rush to my room. At my desk, the list stares back at me.
-Gather the apples from that one place.
I cross out the item hastily. I don't need to worry about that right now.
Turning to the squirrel page, I scan my sketch. It's missing something. I open a drawer and grab some of my crayons. I use them sparingly, because I don't know when I'll have a chance to get a new box. Half of the crayons are stubs or completely used, and the paper labels are peeling off. Carefully, I use my forest green and lime green to add the glowing to the veins and the eyes.
Done. I hold up the paper to the window, admiring my work. The sun filters through my window and to the page, illuminating the eyes of the squirrel and reminding me oh so much of my father's own eyes.
I shut the book closed.
Fresh air hits my nose and fills my lungs as I step outside to clear my head. Closing the door behind me and pulling on a hat, I go for a short walk.
I'm surrounded by trees on all sides. Wind ruffles my already wild hair, making it swish around my face, and it carries a damp, musty smell that I can taste.
Wishing I had water, I continue down the path, thinking of everything and nothing at all. My scar itches beneath my tightly wound bandages.
It's so peaceful here, I can almost imagine I'm just on vacation at my uncle's cabin. Laughing, playing with my parents and my cousins. The leaves on trees sway gently and I calm. How nice it would be to lose myself in the stillness of the forest. It really is beautiful; the sun filters through the bushes and the clouds drift by lazily.
And then I tense. My arm throbs and I turn to see the trees, the trees, so ancient and waiting and alive. They tense too. I spot the fungus on the trees before they cracks begin to glow. Then the spores come trickling out.
RUN. GO! But my feet are rooted to the ground and I can't move I can't breathe, I can't.
"Move!" I gasp aloud, and that finally gets me going.
I start to run, crashing through the trees but my hair- no, no- my hair gets caught in a branch.
Struggling, I yank at my hair and tug at my scalp as I see the spores coming closer, threatening to turn me.
NO! I can't be infected! Not after everything, please no!
"Please," I sob, yanking again and again until I finally break free.
I flee. I run far and fast until I can't see the spores.
Gasping, I stop. It almost got me. I almost became one of those infected monsters.
Doubled over, I dry heave and my small breakfast makes an appearance. It wasn't that great anyway.
Two encounters in the span of two days. My mind reels with the implications. Is my home no longer safe? No, I have to think rationally. I'm just rattled by the weeks events. But it's still out of the norm for such close encounters. And I still tug at my bandages and keep away from the vegetation as I make my way back home.
For the second day in a row, I throw myself into bed, numb and empty, but I can’t stop replaying the scene. The green spores. My hair tangled in that branch.
Finally, I’ve had enough. I throw off the blankets and grab the scissors from my desk.
Clutching the blades like a lifeline, I chop at my hair. Clumps of dirty blonde fall to the floor.
When I finally stop, I’m breathing hard.
I look in the mirror. It’s choppy and uneven, but at least it won’t get caught in any more branches.
I don’t even register going back to bed as I fall asleep.
☆☆☆
CHAPTER 2 (?)
Three weeks later, the apples and lilies are still untouched and I'm already getting ready for my next grocery run. I'm not planning on going back to the field anytime soon.
I walk past my newly fixed window and out of the house. My mind rushes as I think about the past two days. There have never been two back to back. I think again, is my home still safe? Maybe I'll have to leave soon.
Now at the grocery store again, I decide not to indulge myself this time. Just 3 cans; I'll probably have to settle for corn.
The entry bell rings, rusty and dull.
Okay so I have to get food and- oh I need to grab a cart for...
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My gut twists and my heart leaps up to my throat.
Oh my gosh not again not again.
Soft footsteps shuffle around the corner.
I take a deep breathe. Quietly. It's human It's human. Don't panic. Breathe. Breathe.
But there hasn't been a human here in years.
I take a step back and slip behind a different shelf. My hands find a broom, gripping the handle desperately.
I've had an encounter like this before. I was in a different area, having just found a gas station. I had been checking for any salvagable food when I saw it. A man in the early stages stood a few feet away, hostile and distressed. His entire side covered in the glowing viens, and the growths were oozing pus. His eyes were glassy and dark, almost fully iris. Half of his head was bulbous and pulsing. He was already too far gone; I could tell the mutation was taking over.
I had dropped the nuts I was inspecting, frozen in fear and trembling. Spores trickled out of his growths, threatening to take me too. The spores don't leave in the early stages. Finally coming to my senses, I had run, abandoning my only option for food at the time.
This time I can't risk that. The threat of starvation grounds me here.
My greatest fear is confirmed when I hear a soft shuffling on the floor two shelves over. I grip the broom tighter. Chest heaving, I force my heart to still. Breathe. I will myself to stop hyperventilating, but not before the shuffling stops.
Whatever it is has noticed that I'm here.
I clutch the broom, desperately hoping that its not a mutant, not a monster. Realizing I've been holding my breath, I have to come up for air.
Then whatever's there stops. Minutes go by with no movement from the other side. Curious, I slowly bend down to look through a crack in the items on the shelf.
An eye stares back at me.
Hazel with small green and yellow flecks in the center. Not like any mutant eye I've ever seen.
The eye lurches backwards and I hear a relieved sigh. "Oh, you're human!" A laugh.
Then I cant see them through the crack anymore. I start to back away then stop myself. It's a human. It's fine.
Breathing out to calm myself, I build up the courage to walk out from my shelf and see the other person do the same.
It's a girl, probably around my age, 17 or 18. She has dark brown hair with fading red streaks framing her face. Dark circles line her eyes and she holds herself as though she's carrying something heavy. She still smiles.
Human.
"Hey, what's your name? I'm Calli Vale." She furrows her brow when I don't answer. Looking me up and down, she takes in my wild hair and bandages. "Are you okay?"
I'm so stiff. My mouth is suddenly dry and I lick my cracked lips.
"Amaryllis," I manage to get out. My voice is raspy and I clear my throat. "My name is Amaryllis. Uh, Halloway." I shift nervously. I haven't practiced my social skills in a long time. "How did you get here?"
"I walked," Calli says. "It's not too far from my camp, just a two day journey. I'm on a supply run."
My eyes shift to the cans in her arms. Then it registers. "A camp? There's others?"
Other people! And only two days away. I haven't seen another human being in three years. I'm giddy with the implications.
"Yeah, of course. Do you have other people too?"
My face falls.
"Oh. No."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were alone." She thinks hard for a moment. "You can come with me. Theres plenty of room for more people." She offers out a hand after shifting the cans to her other arm.
Whoa. Should I? Leave? Sure, I was just debating whether or not my home was safe anymore, but this is abrupt. Though, I'd be crazy to refuse, considering this is my chance to reconnect with other people for the first time in... a while.
But I'm good here. I've managed perfectly well on my own. Even so..
I've been alone for so long. I remember what it was like to be protected. My parents were always there to guard me from the changes in the world. And then they got changed too.
I'm quiet for too long. Calli takes back her hand and shrugs. "It's fine if you don't want to. It's hard to leave home."
"No, wait." I pause. I can't manage alone forever. "I'll come. Just.. just let me get my stuff."
"I'm crazy," I mutter to myself as I close the door behind me.
What am I doing? I don't know if Calli's camp is any safer than my house or where it is. And being cautious and secluded has kept me alive.
It'll be fine, I tell myself. Or maybe I'm trying to convince myself.
I stand in the middle of my room. What do I even take? Moving to my desk, I stare for a second before grabbing my sketchbook, pencils, and crayons. I stuff my clothes into a ripped and breaking tote bag, and shove my toiletries inside as well. As I'm heading out to meet Calli at the store, I hesitate in the hallway, torn.
I shouldn't do this, my mind whispers. Too risky. Don't.
"Amaryllis!" I look up to see Calli making her way to the door. "Are you ready?"
I breathe out. I take one last look at the place I've called home for the past three years. No, I have to go. It's a matter of survival. What more do I have here than monthly groceries that dont really sustain me and broken windows to deal with? Really, this place has nothing more for me.
"Yeah, I'm ready."
☆☆☆Dec 7, 2025
So the reason Amy is the mc and why she's essential to the plot is because the scar she has from her dad carries remnants of the infection, but since it wasn't transfered through a spore, it doesnt fully merge with her DNA. This means that she doesnt mutate. It also gives her a mutant ability: she can "communicate" with the mutants and their 'hive mind' type thing, so she can connect to their thoughts, emotions, and even the world around them. However, this has a cost because whenever she uses this ability, the mutation slowly but surely begins to spread. This gives her a choice; be safe and help develop a cure with the other humans, or risk her own humanity to connect the two worlds and bring unity back. This choice would happen after her character development so she's not afraid to help mutants. Or maybe earlier in her development she thinks about helping with a cure, but as her relationships progress, she changes her tune. Also, she probably wouldn't end up fully mutating or anything, but the glowing viens would spread up her arm from the scar, and maybe her eyes could glow when she's communicating with the mutants/fungus.
The reason Theo couldn't have been the bridge between the worlds or the "ambassador" is because the mutants resent him. They think hes a traitor for rejecting the mutation and staying with the humans instead. Maybe he even fought the mutants to protect the humans in the group. The other mutants probably also resent him for his relative "humanity" since he still acts human, hes just physically a mutant.
So now that you guys have all of the lore and such, here's my rough draft for the beginning of the story :)
_____________________
I stand in front of the shelf in careful consideration. Two cans are already nestled inside my bag, clinking softly against each other. Three more seconds of indecision, and I reach for a can of pineapple, my ink stained fingers brushing the metal. Why not treat myself? Besides, anything beats corn; I've had enough corn for one lifetime, let alone another month. The pineapple joins my cans of beans: one pinto, one black.
The rusty bell jingles gently as I move out of the shop and head towards home. I huddle my jacket closer to myself against the chill, pulling my hood over my head. Cracked glass from the broken entryway crunches under my boots and mingles with the concrete. That should really be cleaned up. Not that anyone would.
No matter. I shift my attention from my grocery trip to the trees lining my current path. Orange leaves frame the stiff, lifeless branches to mark the changing season. Cracks in the trees glow faintly, almost unnoticed. Is it fall already? There's so much I still have to do...
My feet come to a stop before my doorstep, brushing against my welcome mat. The door shuts behind me and I set down my bag to take out my three meager items. I leave them on the table in the center of the foyer, not even bothering to take them to the kitchen, and head straight for my room.
The desk I rest at is full of papers, messy scribbles of plants and animals that I've encountered. Cats, ferns. Mushrooms. Pages and pages of mushrooms. I've tried to capture them, but I really have no eye for that sort of stuff. The lines are imbalanced and hesitant, but I like them because it holds personality. Or at least that's how I justify my lack of skill.
I pick up my pencil and open to a fresh page in my sketchbook. Graphite clings to the pages, none of them entirely clean. My scar itches and I pull down my bandages, readjusting them. I move the pencil to the paper; not for sketches, but for my monthly list. I can cross out groceries for now.
- Repair the windowframe
-Get groceries
-Gather the apples from that one place
- Find lilies
There's only a few days left of the month, so I have to get started. I grab my bag again, still heavy with the cans, and decide to start with the lilies and apples. The window can wait.
A little over a mile into the woods there's a clearing full of lush trees and flowers. Towards the right are a cluster of apple trees, huddled and secluded like a clique from the small white flowers that dot the area. I start with the apples, shaking the trees at first and then when that doesn't prove effective, dare to climb the twisting branches. Scaling the tree, I'm reminded of the squirrel, my most recent subject of sketching. I had been having difficulty capturing the glowing, vieny infection on its side. It's hard bringing myself to draw the familar blooming growths.
As I think about this, a small green spore flutters delicately before my face.
My stomach drops. My heart rate quickens. I already know.
No no no no no no no.
I falter in my reach for the next branch and slip on the one beneath my feet.
Branches and leaves crack and cut at my face. One tugs at my scarf as I fall down through the tree and to the soft grass below. I don't hesitate or try to find the lilies.
I run.
I know these woods, but I’m not moving with memory now, I’m moving with panic. I just have to get to the pond.
I worry I'm getting lost in my hysteria but I can't think of anything but getting to the pond.
The pond the pond the pond come on get to the pond.
Breaking through poison ivy, I kneel and splash the pond water over my arms, my legs, my hair. I gargle it and snort it up my nose, desperate to be clean.
Gasping, I finally stand up and try to calm myself. I need to get myself together but it was so close. So close. Inches from my face.
Breathe breathe breathe please breathe come on don't cry don't-
I trudge through the woods, relying on instinct to guide me to my house. My bandages and jacket are soaked but I don't bother to adjust them this time.
I’ll check tomorrow. Maybe it didn’t touch me. Maybe I’m fine.
Too numb to think properly, I walk for definitely more than a mile and grab my door handle distantly, almost as if my hand belongs to someone else. No one waits for me inside. I take off my layers, letting the cool air soothe my skin. Inside, I fall into my bed and sleep.
I never did eat the pineapple.
☆☆☆
I wake up in a cold sweat, clammy and heavy. There's a tugging feeling of just waking up from a dream, but it fades to the only thing on my mind.
check
NOW Amy.
Pushing myself out of bed, I go stand in front of the mirror and inspect myself in the slightly cracked and foggy material. My arms, my side, my back, shoulders, legs. Five times over I scour my body, standard routine turned manic.
Finally, I deem myself clean.
I shut the door behind me, absentmindedly fiddlng with my bandages. Wrapping them over the jagged, raised scar on my forearm. It still stings when I think about it too hard.
I can still see it, vividly. I experience it vicariously as my father's rigid hand- talon- comes toward me, reaching or clawing or both as I recoil. Not quite fast enough.
My arm burns at the memory, and I force myself out of it. No point replaying my childhood when there's stuff to do. There's always something to keep yourself busy in the apocalypse.
Breakfast is not satisfying but sustaining. Some too-soft berries paired with a spoonful of beans for protein.
Delicious.
I finish quickly and rush to my room. At my desk, the list stares back at me.
-Gather the apples from that one place.
I cross out the item hastily. I don't need to worry about that right now.
Turning to the squirrel page, I scan my sketch. It's missing something. I open a drawer and grab some of my crayons. I use them sparingly, because I don't know when I'll have a chance to get a new box. Half of the crayons are stubs or completely used, and the paper labels are peeling off. Carefully, I use my forest green and lime green to add the glowing to the veins and the eyes.
Done. I hold up the paper to the window, admiring my work. The sun filters through my window and to the page, illuminating the eyes of the squirrel and reminding me oh so much of my father's own eyes.
I shut the book closed.
Fresh air hits my nose and fills my lungs as I step outside to clear my head. Closing the door behind me and pulling on a hat, I go for a short walk.
I'm surrounded by trees on all sides. Wind ruffles my already wild hair, making it swish around my face, and it carries a damp, musty smell that I can taste.
Wishing I had water, I continue down the path, thinking of everything and nothing at all. My scar itches beneath my tightly wound bandages.
It's so peaceful here, I can almost imagine I'm just on vacation at my uncle's cabin. Laughing, playing with my parents and my cousins. The leaves on trees sway gently and I calm. How nice it would be to lose myself in the stillness of the forest. It really is beautiful; the sun filters through the bushes and the clouds drift by lazily.
And then I tense. My arm throbs and I turn to see the trees, the trees, so ancient and waiting and alive. They tense too. I spot the fungus on the trees before they cracks begin to glow. Then the spores come trickling out.
RUN. GO! But my feet are rooted to the ground and I can't move I can't breathe, I can't.
"Move!" I gasp aloud, and that finally gets me going.
I start to run, crashing through the trees but my hair- no, no- my hair gets caught in a branch.
Struggling, I yank at my hair and tug at my scalp as I see the spores coming closer, threatening to turn me.
NO! I can't be infected! Not after everything, please no!
"Please," I sob, yanking again and again until I finally break free.
I flee. I run far and fast until I can't see the spores.
Gasping, I stop. It almost got me. I almost became one of those infected monsters.
Doubled over, I dry heave and my small breakfast makes an appearance. It wasn't that great anyway.
Two encounters in the span of two days. My mind reels with the implications. Is my home no longer safe? No, I have to think rationally. I'm just rattled by the weeks events. But it's still out of the norm for such close encounters. And I still tug at my bandages and keep away from the vegetation as I make my way back home.
For the second day in a row, I throw myself into bed, numb and empty, but I can’t stop replaying the scene. The green spores. My hair tangled in that branch.
Finally, I’ve had enough. I throw off the blankets and grab the scissors from my desk.
Clutching the blades like a lifeline, I chop at my hair. Clumps of dirty blonde fall to the floor.
When I finally stop, I’m breathing hard.
I look in the mirror. It’s choppy and uneven, but at least it won’t get caught in any more branches.
I don’t even register going back to bed as I fall asleep.
☆☆☆
CHAPTER 2 (?)
Three weeks later, the apples and lilies are still untouched and I'm already getting ready for my next grocery run. I'm not planning on going back to the field anytime soon.
I walk past my newly fixed window and out of the house. My mind rushes as I think about the past two days. There have never been two back to back. I think again, is my home still safe? Maybe I'll have to leave soon.
Now at the grocery store again, I decide not to indulge myself this time. Just 3 cans; I'll probably have to settle for corn.
The entry bell rings, rusty and dull.
Okay so I have to get food and- oh I need to grab a cart for...
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My gut twists and my heart leaps up to my throat.
Oh my gosh not again not again.
Soft footsteps shuffle around the corner.
I take a deep breathe. Quietly. It's human It's human. Don't panic. Breathe. Breathe.
But there hasn't been a human here in years.
I take a step back and slip behind a different shelf. My hands find a broom, gripping the handle desperately.
I've had an encounter like this before. I was in a different area, having just found a gas station. I had been checking for any salvagable food when I saw it. A man in the early stages stood a few feet away, hostile and distressed. His entire side covered in the glowing viens, and the growths were oozing pus. His eyes were glassy and dark, almost fully iris. Half of his head was bulbous and pulsing. He was already too far gone; I could tell the mutation was taking over.
I had dropped the nuts I was inspecting, frozen in fear and trembling. Spores trickled out of his growths, threatening to take me too. The spores don't leave in the early stages. Finally coming to my senses, I had run, abandoning my only option for food at the time.
This time I can't risk that. The threat of starvation grounds me here.
My greatest fear is confirmed when I hear a soft shuffling on the floor two shelves over. I grip the broom tighter. Chest heaving, I force my heart to still. Breathe. I will myself to stop hyperventilating, but not before the shuffling stops.
Whatever it is has noticed that I'm here.
I clutch the broom, desperately hoping that its not a mutant, not a monster. Realizing I've been holding my breath, I have to come up for air.
Then whatever's there stops. Minutes go by with no movement from the other side. Curious, I slowly bend down to look through a crack in the items on the shelf.
An eye stares back at me.
Hazel with small green and yellow flecks in the center. Not like any mutant eye I've ever seen.
The eye lurches backwards and I hear a relieved sigh. "Oh, you're human!" A laugh.
Then I cant see them through the crack anymore. I start to back away then stop myself. It's a human. It's fine.
Breathing out to calm myself, I build up the courage to walk out from my shelf and see the other person do the same.
It's a girl, probably around my age, 17 or 18. She has dark brown hair with fading red streaks framing her face. Dark circles line her eyes and she holds herself as though she's carrying something heavy. She still smiles.
Human.
"Hey, what's your name? I'm Calli Vale." She furrows her brow when I don't answer. Looking me up and down, she takes in my wild hair and bandages. "Are you okay?"
I'm so stiff. My mouth is suddenly dry and I lick my cracked lips.
"Amaryllis," I manage to get out. My voice is raspy and I clear my throat. "My name is Amaryllis. Uh, Halloway." I shift nervously. I haven't practiced my social skills in a long time. "How did you get here?"
"I walked," Calli says. "It's not too far from my camp, just a two day journey. I'm on a supply run."
My eyes shift to the cans in her arms. Then it registers. "A camp? There's others?"
Other people! And only two days away. I haven't seen another human being in three years. I'm giddy with the implications.
"Yeah, of course. Do you have other people too?"
My face falls.
"Oh. No."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were alone." She thinks hard for a moment. "You can come with me. Theres plenty of room for more people." She offers out a hand after shifting the cans to her other arm.
Whoa. Should I? Leave? Sure, I was just debating whether or not my home was safe anymore, but this is abrupt. Though, I'd be crazy to refuse, considering this is my chance to reconnect with other people for the first time in... a while.
But I'm good here. I've managed perfectly well on my own. Even so..
I've been alone for so long. I remember what it was like to be protected. My parents were always there to guard me from the changes in the world. And then they got changed too.
I'm quiet for too long. Calli takes back her hand and shrugs. "It's fine if you don't want to. It's hard to leave home."
"No, wait." I pause. I can't manage alone forever. "I'll come. Just.. just let me get my stuff."
"I'm crazy," I mutter to myself as I close the door behind me.
What am I doing? I don't know if Calli's camp is any safer than my house or where it is. And being cautious and secluded has kept me alive.
It'll be fine, I tell myself. Or maybe I'm trying to convince myself.
I stand in the middle of my room. What do I even take? Moving to my desk, I stare for a second before grabbing my sketchbook, pencils, and crayons. I stuff my clothes into a ripped and breaking tote bag, and shove my toiletries inside as well. As I'm heading out to meet Calli at the store, I hesitate in the hallway, torn.
I shouldn't do this, my mind whispers. Too risky. Don't.
"Amaryllis!" I look up to see Calli making her way to the door. "Are you ready?"
I breathe out. I take one last look at the place I've called home for the past three years. No, I have to go. It's a matter of survival. What more do I have here than monthly groceries that dont really sustain me and broken windows to deal with? Really, this place has nothing more for me.
"Yeah, I'm ready."
☆☆☆Dec 7, 2025
Comments
I'll have to come back later and read all of this, as I'm getting ready to head to work. But I don't think it had registered to me earlier (or you may not have mentioned it) that Amy is actually a nickname for Amaryllis. That's a beautiful name 
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