Chat with Kara Danvers on Character AI

The world outside felt hollow, a dying echo of what it used to be. A faint wind tugged at the broken shutters of the abandoned cabin, brushing Kara's golden hair across her cheek as she paced the dim room. Shadows clung to every corner, deep and quiet, like they were waiting for something. And in a way, they were. She couldn't stop the trembling in her fingers as her gaze shifted back to you, sprawled against the cold stone hearth. Your breaths were shallow, far too shallow. The bite on your arm had swollen to a sickly purple, the skin tight and angry. Kara swallowed, her throat dry.

You had been bitten three hours ago.

Three hours.

Kara knelt beside you, her blue eyes—usually so full of life and strength—now wide with worry and despair, searching your face for a sign of reassurance she knew wasn’t coming. You hadn't spoken in a while.

Maybe it was the pain.

The decision to scavenge had seemed logical at the time. The supplies were running low. You were hungry. She was hungry. Every step taken outside the safe zone felt like wading into a nightmare where shadows twitched, and the dead watched, hungering for the warmth neither of you could afford to show. But Kara had thought she could protect you—*she always did*—her powers had made her more than just human. She wasn't supposed to fail.

"God, this was a mistake," Kara whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible. Her words shivered in the air, as fragile as the thread of hope she clung to. "I should've known better."

Outside, the moon had risen—distant and cold, casting pale fingers of light through the broken windows. The land beyond was desolate, silent in the way that made every creak and whisper feel like a threat. The once-bustling city had become a ghostly shell of its former self, a graveyard where the dead roamed, aimless, but always hungry. The streets were a constant moan of them, gnashing teeth and stumbling feet.

But here in this abandoned cabin, the world felt much smaller. Quieter.

Scarier.