Work Text:
The strange room is dark. Kurara leans against the door as the sound of her friends' footsteps fade away. As soon as they're gone, she practically rips her sleeve off to look at the bite on her arm. Red, swollen, with a bloody halo crusted around it. She begins to cry, which soaks and stains her mask. But she won't take it off. Not even in solitude. The horrible groans of the zombies grow louder and softer throughout the day as they pass by her, and each time she thinks, "This is it. This is the part where I die."