Chapter Text
Wednesday stood alone, in the eerie stillness of the office that once belonged to Larissa Weems. The air seemed heavy with memories, and the wooden desk, still filled with papers and lesson plans, stood as a silent testament to the deceased headmistress.
The sound of shuffling papers and the echo of Miss Weems' voice imparting her disdain for Wednesday's actions this year were replaced by a haunting quietness that seemed to linger in every corner.
The empty chair behind the desk appeared as if it were waiting for the familiar presence that would never return.
The hush in the office carried the weight of grief and nostalgia, making the absence of the once almost enchanting headmistress even more palpable. The lingering stillness bore witness to the countless hours spent grading papers, planning lectures, and the shared laughter of colleagues during breaks.
As Wednesday gazed around the room, memories flooded in like a tide.
Ew, Wednesday thought. She wasn’t used to being sentimental. It was a short-lived moment of weakness. If Miss Weems would’ve acted sooner she would still be here. None of this would’ve happened if the image of Nevermore hadn’t been her first priority.
And yet Miss Weems saved her. She was there when Laurel Gates’ mask slipped. She made the biggest sacrifice so that Wednesday could finish what Goody started centuries ago. So she was allowed to grieve Miss Weems... Right?
“Are you okay?” A light voice pulled her out of her thoughts. It was Enid.
“Yeah.” Wednesday muttered. “It’s oddly dark in here isn’t it?”
“Depressing even… maybe it’s the fireplace? I’ve never seen it out before.”
“Or the empty wine bottles.”
Enid gave her a look. Maybe she should be more careful with her choice of words.
“I’m sorry, Enid. I know you liked her.”
“Thank you,” Enid smiled sadly. “Now come on, your parents are waiting.”
And so they went, leaving the seemingly empty office behind. Even though Wednesday could’ve sworn that she heard a little thud from the direction of the closet.
—
Panic set in as Laurel heard footsteps grow louder right outside the office door. She fumbled to close the closet door, praying it wouldn't squeak.
Laurel pressed herself into the small closet, holding her breath as the sound of voices grew louder, recognizable tones of her former students.
As the door creaked shut, Laurel's heart raced. From her concealed vantage point, she could hear the students discussing old memories. Sweat trickled down her temple as she strained to stay silent, her eyes fixated on the thin slit of light outlining the door. Laurel could feel the tension in her muscles, the urge to cough or sneeze threatening to betray her presence.
Minutes felt like hours until finally, the students concluded their conversation. The office door creaked shut, and Laurel seized the opportunity. She carefully pushed the closet door open, wincing at the faint sound it made.
Peering cautiously around the corner, she confirmed the coast was clear and stepped out, her heart still pounding. Laurel took a deep breath, relieved to have avoided detection, and quietly slipped away from her hiding place.
Close call, she thought. Wednesday Addams really had a talent for ruining her plans.
The dim light of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the cluttered office as Laurel cautiously made her way around the room. It echoed with silence, broken only by the muffled sounds of her own breath. She glanced nervously over her shoulder, half-expecting someone to catch her in the act. The air felt heavy with the weight of guilt that clung to her.
Laurel's eyes darted around the room, memories flooding back with each familiar object. It had been days since Larissa's passing, and the office had remained untouched, a shrine to a life abruptly cut short by Laurel. Her heart ached at the sight of Larissa's framed photographs and the lingering scent of clove and cedarwood. The only scent of candles she tolerated. Laurel smiled to herself, finding that there was one candle which was still untouched.
After a moment, Laurel turned her attention to the mahogany bookshelf on the far wall. She knew that Larissa had a habit of stashing sentimental items among her extensive collection of poetry books. As she scanned the titles, her fingers traced the spines, searching for the one she had gifted Larissa on their last Christmas together—a beautiful, leather-bound anthology of love poems.
The sound of creaking floorboards outside the office door sent a shiver down Laurel's spine. Panic surged through her veins as she quickened her search. Finally, her fingers grazed the smooth surface of the special book, hidden behind a row of thicker volumes.
Carefully, she pulled it out and cradled it in her hands. The gold embossed cover gleamed softly in the low light. Laurel's breath caught in her throat as she opened the book, revealing the handwritten note she had penned on the first page.
To my dearest Larissa,
I believe that WE are the greatest love poem ever written.
Merry Christmas, my forever love.
Marilyn
Tears welled up in Laurel's eyes as she traced the inked words. The guilt that had been gnawing at her intensified. It was her reckless actions that had led to Larissa's demise, a sacrifice that shouldn’t have been made and left Laurel haunted by regret.
As Laurel clutched the poetry book to her chest, she sank into Larissa's desk chair. Her mind replayed the events that had taken Larissa away from her. The weight of guilt bore down on her. She whispered an apology into the silence, a desperate plea for forgiveness that hung heavy in the air.
In the quiet of Larissa's office, Laurel found herself caught between the desire to preserve the memory of their love and the guilt that threatened to consume her. With the poetry book cradled in her hands, she closed her eyes, lost in the bittersweet wave of her emotions.