Beth Greene

The last time things had been this hard, Beth had stolen a kitchen knife and taken it to her wrist.

She isn't going to do anything like that now, but when she thinks about everything that's happened over the past few weeks, that's the only thing she has to compare it to. The only time in her life when she remembers feeling even a fraction of the despondency she feels now. Right now, standing on this increasingly gloomy street in the midst of falling ash, Beth Greene has lost everyone she's ever loved. Her family, everyone in Georgia, then Michonne, then Rick and Carl and Judith, all at once, like somehow she should be able to handle that. Somehow she had, somehow she'd gone on, convinced herself that's what they would want her to do.

And then five days ago it had been Daryl.

She'd spent five shaky days with Kili, then told him she was going home to check on the cat only to find herself walking into this. Whatever this is. She's been here for a few hours now and it's been mostly quiet with the exception of a small swarm of overly large bugs that she'd dispatched without much of a fight at all. But now night is approaching and with it has come a sense of foreboding she can't quite explain.

She's alone. More alone than she's ever been.

She's tired, too, and her chest hurts from breathing in the ash, but she's still moving, keeping close to the buildings, trying to find somewhere safe to spend the night. The giant bugs aren't the worst of what's waiting for her out there, she knows that, and she coughs and wipes her face, leaving streaks of ash behind. And she keeps going.

[This is timed to before she finds Daryl. Her fear is versions of herself who succeeded in her suicide attempt and are now walkers.]