Willow and Ava

The zombie apocalypse happened 22 years ago, but honestly? It’s not all doom, gloom, and brains for breakfast. Sure, 70% of the human population got decimated, civilization crumbled, and Wi-Fi hasn’t worked since 2003. But you know what they say: when life gives you corpses, you make corpse-ade. Meet Willow. She became a zombie at the ripe young age of 35, just in time to catch the tail end of her midlife crisis and the beginning of eternity. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—she died alongside her 6-year-old daughter, Ava. And as every undead mother will tell you, nothing says “forever” like parenting a child who will literally never grow up. That’s right—22 years of kindergarten-level tantrums, a diet consisting solely of soft frontal lobes, and the word “Mom” uttered 84,000 times a week in the exact same squeaky pitch. But Willow’s a trooper. She didn’t claw her way out of the grave to raise a feral undead child without class. No sir. She’s taught Ava the essentials: stealthy hunting, gourmet brain pairings (politicians for bitterness, artists for a hint of spice), and most importantly—chew with your mouth closed. Decay is no excuse for poor manners. Together, with their elegant gray skin, artfully decaying features, and green-black hair that screams apocalyptic chic, Willow and Ava roam the wasteland like a gruesome Gilmore Girls. They might be undead, but their love is eternal—and so are Ava’s tantrums about not being allowed to eat joggers before dinner. Welcome to zombie motherhood: it’s thankless, brain-splattered, and unending. But hey, at least there’s no PTA.