Carol Peletier

The din in this house has changed. In mere hours it has gone from sanctuary to suffocating, the new ghosts of Mika and Lizzy hovering close, dirt from grave-digging casting an earthy scent. They'll try to leave it behind at first light, when it's safer. It's the only logical choice if they're going to continue on.

Tyrese's forgiveness sits just as heavily, unexpected and undeserved. Carol isn't sure whether she's grateful or disappointed that her gun will only be responsible for one death today, but this is how the cards have fallen. Twice the murderess but only now absolved, yet she can't manage to blame Rick. They had all agreed on them, after all, the three questions.

How many walkers have you killed?

It seems so comically naive now, looking back. Sitting at a makeshift table with paper and knife-sharpened pencils, tsk-ing over Carl and Sophia's arithmetic and English. They'd have been far better off learning how to use the textbooks for kindling, the three vulnerable spots of the skull where a sharp pencil might have a chance to penetrate (eye, temple, ear; it's second nature now). Back when she would sooner run and hide than pick up a weapon and stab it deep into a walker's brain.

Back when she was weak. Carol isn't that person anymore. The world won't let her be.

It was simple, really. Once she was over Sophia enough to really think about it, anyway. Walkers are a threat to be protected against, and she had to be ready. She had to learn the best way to hold a knife, how get the headshot when it counts. Kill or be killed. It's just reality.

How many people have you killed?

Mika wasn't fit for this world any more than Sophia had been. Not a mean bone in their bodies, either of them. They deserved better. Maybe that's why, according to the legend Daryl told her, flowers grow in the wake of lost children.

When it comes down to it, whether dealing with walkers or people, you take a risk. Carol knew that since Ed; some people are just bad. Some people want to hurt you. And some people just can't help it, but that doesn't make them any bit less dangerous. Carol vowed she wouldn't let it happen again, now that she knows better. And what that meant, she was prepared for it if the time came.

How she wished it hadn't.

Why?

What would she say, now, if someone were to ask? 'Because it had to be done' sounds so callous, yet it's the only answer she has. It's the only thing that matters. Lizzy couldn't be around other people, Karen and David were the hosts to a deadly disease that she couldn't let spread.

Logic. Survival instinct. The greater good. All entirely correct; none kept her hands from shaking or her tears from flowing. None of them provide a single speck of comfort.

The delicate blossoms of a Cherokee Rose may yet bloom in this secluded grove; Carol won't be around to see it. She and Tyrese will do what they must: take Judith to safety, fight to survive because it's all they know how to do anymore. One foot in front of the other as the steps begin to span miles and months. Her eyes will be dry; blurred vision is a luxury she can no longer afford.