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On the twenty-seventh of August, 1981, Emmalyn Jayde Tate was born into the world to Zacharias Tate and Alice Tate ńee Moore. She was a beautiful girl who laughed upon entering the world, the doctors had told Alice that her daughter had been destined to be a happy baby. Emmalyn's first ten years of life were filled with happy memories of family movie nights, sunny beach days and little dance battles in the family living room. Many photos littered the walls of these moments mixed with the art pieces that Emmalyn had created growing up, her skills in art had expanded into noticable territory.

By the age of nine, Emmalyn had painted a piece of art that ended up in a museum in Atlanta, Georgia. The young girl had become known by her pen name Cherry Blossom to protect her identity but the locals knew exactly who painted the beautiful silhouette of a woman standing on a red beach shore. And that's how Emmalyn met her first friend, Mila Halcot. The Halcot family had moved in next door to the Tate family in 1989 and the daughters of each family had become the best of friends. Mila and Emmalyn were pretty much inseparable with Mila's big brother, Christian protecting and doting on the both of them.

Everything changed after Emmalyn turned eleven. Zacharias lost his job as the company had shut down, due to this, the Tate family said their farewells to the Halcot's and moved into Alice's parents home in a small redneck town in Georgia. It wasn't so bad at first for the young girl, she went to a new school and made a couple good friends despite none of them being as important to her as the Halcot siblings who she still wrote to. Zacharias got a decent job as the local mechanic, something he had done during his teen years and the family settled into their home. The neighbours weren't the friendliest and the kids on the block were older and harsher but it was a roof over their heads.

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By 1993, the Tate family home had gone from a loving place to a nightmare for Emmalyn Tate. Zacharias Tate had completely given up on life, he had joined the crowd of redneck drunks and over time, his love for his wife and daughter faded into a disdain for them; blaming them for his failures in life. Emmalyn didn't see many fights at first, it started as voices on the opposite side of her door as she drew in her sketchbook. And then, it became screaming matches between two strangers, their love had completely fallen apart and the twelve-year-old Emmalyn Tate was left confused on how two people in love could change in such little time.

The screaming turned into something more physical within a year, Emmalyn had watched first-hand as her former loving and compassionate father slapped his caring and supportive wife across the face; all she did was make meatloaf instead of steak. The hits kept coming after that day, Alice did everything she could to protect her daughter from the new monster that lived within their home. Emmalyn's drawings had gone from happy and bright colours to shades of grey and red matching the storms that lurked within her own home; And no buyer wished for her art anymore as she had apparently lost her happy spark.

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tw: suicide

By 1996, Emmalyn was fourteen years old when she came home from school to an empty house, she had been confused about why her mother hadn't picked her up like she had promised. The teenager knew that her father was out at the local pub so she wouldn't have to deal with him. Emmalyn made her way up the stairs of their home and searched for her mother feeling dread lurking within her body, she didn't like the feeling that was clinging to her like an unwanted pressure in your head. She spotted the attic door open, her heart pounding as she made her way in and up the stairs to the attic; a room she had not been in since moving into the Moore family home.

"Mom?" Emmalyn called out before spotting a photo album, the ginger smiled as she looked down at it. Their were photos of her mother standing with two other guys, both of them had large grins on their faces and she was quick to turn the image around to read her mother's writing; Nick, Alice, Hank; 1862. Emmalyn had heard stories about her mother's best friends when she was younger, those stories were the ones that inspired Emmalyn to make that special friend who always had your back. Emmalyn turned to a more recent photo that had Nick standing with his wife, Emily and their son, Negan.

Her eyes then turned to another photo that featured Hank and his wife, Darlene and their sons, Merle and Daryl. Emmalyn's eyes zoomed in on the picture of the younger boy, she had seen him lurking around the neighbourhood watching people at a distance. Even at school, he stuck to the shadows like he didn't wish to be seen but she did see him and she thought those Georgian blue eyes were gorgeous. The ginger shook that away as she heard the sound of a creak behind her, she furrowed her brows thinking that her mother had approached her; And oh, she wishes she never turned around to the sight behind her, the rope was all she needed to see to know what her mother had done.

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Alice Tate was buried and her funeral had pulled in a large community of people including her childhood best friends, Hank and Nick with their families. However, she was quick to take into account the way Hank sloppily drank the free alcohol alongside her father, the two talking about her mother in a way that completely disgusted her. She had walked away from the two, she couldn't deal with the constant condolences for her loss and so she walked away and didn't stop until her legs grew tired and she collapsed to the ground. Emmalyn felt the tears roll down her cheeks but not a single sound left her lips as she pulled her knees to her chest and stared blankly into the distance.

It was well and truly past midnight when Emmalyn stumbled her way back home to find her father passed out drunk on the couch, she sniffled as she pulled the blanket over him. "My sweet little girl..." Zacharias muttered out sleepily, patting his daughters hand. And despite the sad smile that appeared on Emmalyn's face, that was the very last time she ever heard anything sweet from her father's mouth. 'Cause the next day was the first time that he put his hands on her instead, he had slapped her across the face for not making him breakfast. Emmalyn had been so stunned that she ran up to her room and locked the door in hopes to keep him out.

The hits kept coming for Emmalyn over the years, hiding bruises behind concealer or excuses and slaving around a home that loomed over her like sleep paralysis, holding and trapping her down in the cocoon of blankets that threatened to smother her rather than comfort her. Over time, Emmalyn's smile faded into a blank expression, her laugh echoed in the halls as a taunt while her tears were dry. Emmalyn learned that her voice was the main cause for trouble, so she began speaking less and less which allowed her to free herself from the abuse of her broken father's temper but it was never enough to save her from the newest mark of disdain and hate.

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Two years later, Emmalyn had stumbled out of the cage she lived in and took off into the woods with her father's shouts being consumed by the trees. She ran and ran until she finally tripped over a tree root and hit the ground but she didn't get up, tears silently fell down her face as she rolled over and applied pressure to her side. The feeling of something wet reminded her of the sharp pierce of the blade that her father had struck her with, the crimson of the liquid on her shirt no longer scared her or made her ill. Emmalyn turned her head to the stars in the sky, she smiled softly as she removed pressure from the wound and simply let whatever happens, happen. Had she of known that she wasn't alone, well, she couldn't really tell you what she would've done.

On one hand, Emmalyn was grateful that she hadn't been alone in those woods that night; but that gratitude only became important to her many, many years later. While sometimes and for a few years after that night, she wished that person left her there to become one with nature, to bleed out and succumb to Mayhem himself. But instead, she had passed out only to wake up lying on a Hunter's cot in a small shack. She wore a black tank top and her wound stung, she had looked down to see it had been stitched and patched up in a fairly skilled way. The sixteen year old looked around the shack to see a few weapons used specifically for hunting, she had furrowed her brows and sighed before getting up.

What she hadn't been expecting was to walk out of the door and come face to face with two familiar brothers, Merle and Daryl Dixon. Daryl glanced at her for a moment before focusing back on the crossbow in his hands while Merle grinned with pride and stood up. "Well, look at tha', she's already up and about," Merle spoke, his Southern accent burning throughout his words. "Who stitched me up?" Emmalyn asked. "My baby brother did. Great job, ye?" Merle questioned with a smirk on his face, he turned his head to Daryl and nudged him with his foot; a knowing look in his eyes as Daryl avoided his brother's teasing.

"A great job, thanks," Emmalyn complimented wholeheartedly, her stitching skills were terrible and she had old scars to prove that point to any who were lucky enough to know her scars. "Old man troubles, huh?" Merle asked with a slight glare, the look told her all she needed to know. "He wasn't always like this," Emmalyn told them softly, she turned to look at the dead squirrels caught on a rope. "It starts that way, don't it?" Merle replied to her as he settled by the firepit. "Those would made a great stew," Emmalyn commented as she turned to the brothers. "You know a lot 'bout skinning?" Merle asked expecting a no.

Emmalyn smirked at him before grabbing the right knife, "Perhaps I can show you. You wanna volunteer your arm or a squirrel?" Merle chuckled at her words while Daryl smirked slightly, he huffed and watched as his brother handed her a squirrel. The two boys sat back and watched as the ginger teenager skinned the squirrel and prepped it to make into a stew. "Well, would ye look at tha', miss ginger knows what to do," Merle teased though it was clear he was impressed by it. "How 'bout you finish up the rest and I'll get the pot," Merle suggested, Emmalyn nodded and got to work while Merle headed back into the shack.

Daryl's eyes moved from cleaning his crossbow to the girl he had seen around town and school, the girl was enticing to him. She had the looks of a supermodel and the compassion of a rose yet she had thorns that wrapped around her like a deadly vine. He knew why his brother had been adamant to keep the girl around, Merle saw the way Daryl delicately picked her up from the forest floor and carried her back to their shack away from home. He had stitched her up and made sure there was no infection in the time she had been out of it. But most of all, Merle had never seen his brother look at a girl in such a way; it was obvious he had a crush.

And from that day forward, Merle and Daryl Dixon became Emmalyn's escape from the torments of home. Merle taught her how to track and hunt, how to survive and most of all, how to let the pain wash off of her back like a duck. And the times when Merle was locked up or away, Daryl would take the girl and let her lead in their hunts to test her; he'd sneak away and watch from a distance so she'd learn how to find her way back to the trails, familiar paths or even the few run down shacks in the area and he was impressed with her success every time she did it -- after her first three times of failure, of course. The brothers did their best to keep Emmalyn out of that monstrous home but not everything can go your way.

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Rosemary Speaks

Obviously, for those who have read the original version, you may be going "what the!? This isn't how it started!" I know.

I decided to rewrite some aspects of this story which included a more in depth idea behind Emmalyn as a character along with her family life and connections between characters in The Walking Dead.

There are some important changes to her story and I'll be sticking with them. This is an alternative world to the original script and therefore, there are a few changes which include that my story -- though featuring plots/characters from later seasons -- essentially stops at the Prison uniting with Woodbury season.

So if you're like me and haven't watched past that, you'll be able to read and understand this story.

Due to changes, comments will no longer match up with the paragraphs. So new readers, don't panic about those... too much!

Any thoughts about Emmalyn so far?
Questions, suggestions and such?

Anyway, that pretty much says it, I shall hope to see you in the next chapter!