Berkely Harper

Berkely was born in Bowling Green, Kentucky to Randall "Randy" Harper and Lorraine Harper (née Pritchard), two hardworking, no-frills people who built their lives on practicality.

The gentle rhythms of Kentucky shaped Berkely from her yesteryears. Her family had moved from upstate before she was born, carrying with them qualities that forged Berkely into the woman she became. Modesty, work ethic, and community were pillars of her identity.

Randall, a machinist at the GM Corvette plant built in 1981, was a man of steel... both in trade and temperament. He valued hard work, grit, and getting things done without unnecessary jabbering. His blunt, no-nonsense way of speaking often rubbed people the wrong way, a trait he unintentionally passed down to his daughter.

Lorraine ran the high school cafeteria with the discipline of a drill sergeant, keeping everything in line like a well-oiled machine. Beneath that hardened exterior, though, was a heart of gold, one that always made sure her own were taken care of. It was Lorraine who raised Berkely primarily, teaching her the skills she would need to thrive as she came of age.

The Harper family was by no means wealthy, but they were resourceful. Where they lacked money, they made up for it with an abundance of determination. Berkely absorbed this trait almost effortlessly, and in her quest for free knowledge she spent every available weekend wandering through local tailor shops—chatting with the owners, learning their craft, and collecting techniques and tips as if they were precious stamps or rare quarters. Thanks to Mama, the soothing hum of the sewing machine became music to Berkely's ears. A woman of the thread, from the very beginning, it was immediately clear to both her parents. Berkely's fingers touched fabric before they came in contact with anything else.

Other children, as they dreamed, sought glamour or riches, whilst Berkely dreamed of a small shop with her name above the door. She envisioned shelves lined with her own work and the quiet satisfaction of leaving something everlasting with her hands. A humble dream for a modest woman.

Her Southern background showed in her appearance and demeanor as she grew older—practical clothes without fancy touches—revealing a woman who cared more about function than fashion. While others tip-toed around feelings, Berkely pushed ahead with the bluntness she'd inherited from her father. Her candor was direct, words spilling out before she could think about how they may come across. Yet something about her straightforward manner was charming, making it hard to be upset even when she stepped on toes

People knew Berkely was coming long before they saw her. Her booming voice carried through walls, her laugh echoed down hallways, and her opinions were broadcast without filter or volume control. Though she didn't always speak eloquently, her words carried a strong conviction that couldn't be ignored or escaped. Her passion for sewing came across strongly, often overwhelming those around her as she dominated conversations with talks of her trade. She was rather oblivious to social cues, too absorbed in her enthusiasm to notice other people's blank expressions.

Behind her practical exterior lay a shadow Berkely rarely acknowledged. A fear that transformed minor difficulties into insurmountable obstacles. It revealed itself in a rapid pounding of her heart, a flood of worried thoughts, her booming voice reduced to a whisper, shallow breathing, and a loss of composure when things didn't go as planned. For many years, she brushed these feelings off as simple nervousness, not realizing how unusual her reactions were.

Change was Berkely's worst enemy. Whether it was learning a new sewing technique or adjusting her daily routine, change disturbed her deeply. She faced the unfamiliar with doubt that quickly hardened into stubborn refusal. The familiar felt safe, while anything new threatened the careful order she had built for herself. Even good changes could trigger bouts of anxiety as she ruminated on all the possibilities. There were simply too many variables for which things could go wrong.

She developed habits to manage these feelings: obsessively counting her stitches until her fingers bled, compulsively organizing her workspace for hours instead of working, and pacing back and forth in her room until dawn when thoughts became too much. Sewing wasn't just her craft—it was a sanctuary in the chaos of her own mind.

Throughout the years before the world changed, Berkely was mapping territory more complex than the most elegant regal garb. What had begun as a single connection expanded into relationships with three partners that defied conventional labels. She loved each differently yet completely, creating a chosen family more authentic than any "standard" arrangement she'd ever known. Her parents' tense smiles at Thanksgiving tables revealed volumes about their thoughts on this particular setup, but Berkely remained steadfast in this unconventional love she incorporated into her life.

Quickly into her relationship, her lovers came to understand the signs of her anxiety: the way she'd reorganize her sewing supplies when distressed, how she'd pace aimlessly in her workshop, the shaking in her hands when unsure, the constant rumination in her thoughts, and uncharacteristically quiet demeanor. They acquired the ability to support her when she needed it most. This helped her manage these feelings in more constructive ways. There, in the acceptance of her tears and frustration, Berkely found something she hadn't known she was missing—a place where her struggles weren't judged or dismissed, but simply acknowledged as pieces of who she was. These people would become a crucial component in her life, as none of them would expect what came next.

When the world collapsed, Berkely's neatly made plans crumbled alongside it. The apocalypse arrived unannounced and without mercy, demanding a fight for survival that she couldn't possibly have been prepared for.

Her dreams became luxuries she could no longer afford. And so the game began, will she live or will she die?