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What an insipid, pathetic, ignorant display of humanity.
Really- humans have braved war, the seven seas, survived plagues and famine and created weapons of mass destruction.
And yet Wednesday Addams, for the life of her, could not stop staring at Enid.
She feels nauseated- watching as Enid sleeps on her side of the room. It was a full moon, but thankfully, the giant puppy had managed to taper down her transformations and control them, so she wasn’t as affected by the woman in the sky. But alas, the moonlight still affected Enid.
Because the way it was reflecting onto her nauseating coloured glass pane was bathing her in this kaleidoscope of colour that made her look ethereal- like something out of a very old painting where the canvas was rough and furling at the edges.
She was… beautfiul.
She screws her eyes shut in a bid to relieve the flush coming over her from ivory cheeks tinted pinks and blonde hair looking bathed in fire, and swallows down the bile threatening to rise.
How desperately sad to be so enamoured by one, idiotic person?
Her spine was ridgid, wooden.
Ophelia hall was her nightmare. But sweet, Enid was her dreams incarnate.
The ones she keeps buried deeper than even she can reach- that have been piled upon by morbid fantasies and mystery fetishization.
Enid wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t a person.
She was smart. She was Wednesdays person.
It was 1:18 am, and Thing had fallen asleep like a cat at the foot of Enid’s bed. He adored her. So why couldn’t she allow herself to? Why did she have to brush Enid’s affections off day in day out, and as soon as she slept, watched and wished for nothing more. For nothing other than to be celebrated and touched the way only Enid knew how to. Like she was a prize- a trophy of some kind.
She worshipped Wednesday like she worshiped the moon.
Maybe she realized it belatedly. Maybe she should have told her how she felt before. That she was proud. That she was there through blood and tears. Would clean the wounds that littered the Lycan’s heart- from her parents, and Wednesday, herself.
She wished to adore her.
She couldn’t tell her so. She hadn’t the courage, or bravery that Enid had tenfold- she hadn’t the latent power to make her something with her bare hands until her bones ached, like a house that Enid could make into the home she never had. Filled with the gratuitous devotion from all that supported and cared for her.
A gift wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t buy all the diamonds or private isles to adequately prove her love.
Love.
It burned in her throat and burrowed into her chest cavity to take up home, sending waves of warmth flooding her veins and frying every nerve with an earth-shattering tingle. Her head felt hot. Her skin was flushed.
Love. That was it.
That was this gnawing feeling she could not comprehend nor control- and there were things she loved in the world. Two were sleeping soundly across her, most sharing her genetic composition and—
Her typewriter. Her writing. Her words. She could not speak them- but she could write them.
Moving deftly to not make a sound, she sits at her typewriter. Stares. Wiggles her fingers in the air like weaving a web. She nods, slowly and surely, placing her fingers on the keys and letting her heart speak for her.
Dear Enid.
When I first met you, I was under the presumption I detested you like the moon hates the sun. How a cat hates a dog. But that isn’t hate, at all, is it? Those animals contrast beautifully. Soft and coarse, black and white, withdrawn and self-assured.
Wednesday blinks. She hated that. Does not scrap it.
The moon does not hate the sun. They move around each other. Hold space until the other is ready to shine. The sun shines spectacularly, nourishes all it touches and warms even the coldest of things. The moon provides relief to those weary. To whom cannot continue on. It sheaths the sky
And they meet. A lunar eclipse. A rare occurrence of two complete parallels meeting in the same space, at the exactly perfect time. And it is blinding to look at. The moon will protect the sun, the sun in its mirth allowing to be covered by something far more uncouth.
You are my sun. You fill me with a warmth I cannot comprehend or feel deserving of. And you make me feel worthy of it. You do not shy away when I pull back, astounded that someone could touch me. Like a solar eclipse.
I promised many moons, suns, eclipses and hurricanes of cat and dogs that I would never love. Until I met you.
When an Addams loves, it is for life. That is terrifying. To know, not that I would be stuck with one person for eternity, but rather they’d be stuck with me. Unsure and regretful as they learn I do not change. But you have always seen me. Accepted me. Challenged me. And it is exhausting, exhilarating and I cannot stand another day where I am unable to sleep in your arms, or allow you in completely.
I long to touch you. To learn every dimple in your skin and every mark and dip that litters you that you despite, and graze my lips upon them until all you feel when you see them is my unwavering devotion. I long to kiss you, and taste your smile that’s a thousand suns and count the freckles lining your eyes like freckles stars in a nebula.
Wednesday swallows thickly, hesitating.
If you do not feel the same, I understand and will respect your decision. But I cannot promise to be okay. Because how would life go on if the sun didn’t rise in the moons stead?
Sincerely, yours only.
Wednesday Addams.
She pulls the furling paper from the typewriter, letting the ink dry as she rummages through her desk for her favourite envelope- one Uncle Fester had sent her with her first proper knife within at the tender age of 6. She had never used it- the Addams family seal carefully wrapped in a piece of paper. She slips the letter in, and heats a candle, pours a tiny bit of wax to the back of the seal and presses it down. She kisses the seal- a symbolic gesture honouring her ancestors, and slips out of her chair, padding across the room to place it by Enid’s head, resting on the pillow.
She stills, taking in the slight puffs of air from parted lips that has a lock of blonde feathering in the air. With cold fingertips and a gentleness that only Enid could receive, she tucks the loose strand behind her ear.
Wednesday backs up. Stares. Blinks. Moves to the door and slips her shoes on, disappearing soundlessly out into the night to sit by the river in the forest to watch as the sun rises.
And in turn, one and the same, Enid.
-
It’s a Sunday morning, and Wednesday finally moves from her spot by the ravine. She’s shivering, the frigid fall breeze biting at her skin, but she enjoys it. It makes her feel human in times she feels anything but.
The sun is high, a cloudless day. Birds are chirping, wildlife rising and chittering sleepily.
The school is quiet aside some early risers, who were milling around the halls or in the dining room for breakfast. It was a quarter past 7, and she knew Enid would be awake. She slept from 11 pm to 6 am everyday, her internal alarm immune to weekends.
That would give Enid an hour to have read it, and decided on wether or not to storm down to the office and ask for a room change.
She softly clicks open the door. Enid is sitting, letter in her hands and Thing nowhere to be seen- the intelligent hand making itself scarce in lieu of privacy.
Enid looks up- her mouth jarring and expression inscrutable. Wednesday swallows, shutting the door behind her and clasping her hands behind her back. She plays with the ring her mother gave her- a long standing family tradition, mother to daughter, that withstood the passage of time seamlessly. Never tarnishing, never cracking or losing the blood gem within.
“Enid…” her voice is soft, blinking. Her chest feels heavy as the blonde just continues to stare at her. For once, she can’t meet her eyes.
The tension in the air is thick enough to be cut with a knife. Where discomfort once provided comfort itself, left something sticky in the walls of Wednesday’s chest.
Moments past.
Wednesday’s back hits the door, her head and hands banging awkwardly at the brute impact. She quickly catches the blonde that had jumped at her, lips a breath from her own.
“Enid…”
Lips, soft as clouds and sweet meet hers- feverish and there’s a frenetic beat against the chest pressed to her own. She doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, wrapping herself in an arm that locks her in place, between the door and a sweater clad front, the other cradling her face like she’s the most delicate thing on earth.
Enid’s scent swathed her every scent. They’re curves and skin morphing perfectly together.
Lips move deliciously against her own, and without sharing the stamina Enid has, she pulls back.
The blonde’s eyes are shut. Wednesday takes heavy breaths, greedily raking her eyes over lidded ones, blue eyes like stars she’d happily sleep under, mouth bruised, cheeks pink, and it’s so perfect.
It’s the most beautiful, poetic, magnetizing display of humanity she’s ever felt.
Wednesday doesn’t think she could go another day without staring at Enid.