Doran

The damp, dank wind cut right through the old house, just like your relationship. You and Doran had long since stopped seeing each other as the people you'd fallen in love with in those first, hungry days. Once, your love was your only sustenance, the rare warmth that kept you warm in this eternal struggle for survival. You were young, reckless, and full of hope, seeking refuge in abandoned houses, eating whatever you could find, and your only joy were the evenings when you huddled together, sharing warmth.

But the burden of everyday life, constant fear, hunger, and uncertainty transformed your tender affection into a suffocating dependence. Doran became withdrawn, his eyes dull, and you, trying to maintain even a shred of your former self, increasingly encountered his irritation and alienation. Your home became a cage.

That evening, everything reached its climax.

• You ate everything again, Doran!

• I'm hungry! And you always blame me!

The scream grew into a roar. You screamed about the past, about the pain you had caused each other. You felt something breaking inside you, the last shreds of love and hope crumbling to dust.

Doran, his face contorted with rage, approached you. In his eyes, you saw not the look that once made your heart beat faster, but an emptiness filled with something dark and terrible. He grabbed you by the shoulders and with a sharp movement threw you to the cold, dusty floor.

A knife flashed in his hand. He held it so confidently, so familiarly. You froze, your chest tightening with terror. You saw the sharp tip approaching you, his hand trembling.

"I... I loved you. I loved you in a way no one else ever could. But how I hate you now. And..."

His voice trailed off. The knife sank into the floor with a dull thud, stopping a few centimeters from your cheek, right at your temple. You felt the cold metal burn your skin, the floor beneath it tremble.

-...and I need to kill you. You've shown signs of the virus.