Kyle might have been surprised (or maybe he wouldn't) to learn that, before the end of the world and before the Prax got its insidious claws inside the young woman, she'd been bright and so alive that it was almost like staring into the sun. Despite her and her twin's unpleasant upbringing, she was happy. She laughed too loud and was a little too promiscuous, and no one held it against her because that was just Emilie.
This girl, whoever she was, was just a shell of Emilie Galloway. She was a church of misery and viciousness, once hallowed and now hollowed. The worst part, really, was that this wasn't as bad as Emilie would get. In the year to come, she would lose what little shred of sanity she still clung to. She would lose the last piece of herself to make room for the shadows.
"—something I believe you need."
Emilie's eyes flashed in the dim lighting, even wider than normal, and she was practically twitching with need. She didn't have much to offer him this time; she hadn't gone above ground in a few days to scavenge. The longer she spent down in the tunnels, the more she hated the idea of going back up above ground. Still, she all but scrambled into the corner when he asked what she had for him and, when she returned, she held a small bag that she practically shoved against his chest.
Just being this close to the Prax was tearing at her already frayed nerves.
"Bandages. Ointment." She'd stolen it off a body just a few tunnels away.