Chapter Text
Wednesday
Dark, gloomy clouds hung over the town of Jericho, Vermont. A crowd of both townsfolk and outcasts, all clad in black, were gathering tentatively in the town’s public graveyard to pay respects to the once renowned Larissa Weems, principle of Nevermore Academy and beloved by all. A bouquet of osiria roses, white chrysanthemums, and leafy ferns sat atop her mahogany coffin, waiting for mourners to pick them out and take them home in remembrance. Muffled sobs and woeful glances were exchanged. Principal Larissa Weems had made a profound impact on not only the students of Nevermore, but the entirety of the town of Jericho. Nothing showcased that more than the number of mourners amounting to almost as many at the funeral of the mayor.
In the frontmost row of the individuals standing graveside was Enid Sinclair who had latched onto the quiet but sorrowful Wednesday Addams. Just like when Enid wolfed out for the first time, Wednesday knew Enid needed physical comfort from her. Thing was resting on Enid’s shoulder, softly running his thumb back and forth to try to calm her. As the local pastor read the final words, Enid turned in towards Wednesday and hugged her, not entirely expecting a hug back. Wednesday solemnly wrapped her arms around Enid, unblinking, determined not to cry as embarrassingly as Enid. At least until she was completely and utterly alone. As Enid hugged Wednesday, Principal Weems’ death unfolded once more in her mind.
The revealing of Laurel Gates’ secret identity. The aggression the woman had as she stabbed Principal Weems’ neck with the poisonous syringe. The gut wrenching thud as Weems’ body fell to the floor. Thoughts of racing to her side, hoping she was not dead, despite loving the cruel twist of the mystery of Laurel Gates.
A single tear dripped down Wednesday’s cheek.
“Are… are you crying?” mumbled Enid through her own tears.
“No, you got your tears on my face.” She spoke flatly, “I would never cry.”
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Enid
In the cemetery hummed the voices of mumbled condolences and tears yet to be shed. The town of normies and outcasts alike standing there at that moment to mourn the loss of the woman that had made an impact on their lives, one way or another. In the midst of it all, crowded by a sea of grieving students, was Enid Sinclair, hugging herself tightly as she watched her principal’s coffin get lowered cautiously onto the conveyor— the final movement that made Weems’ passing settle in among the people. It wasn’t a calm death that the town of Jericho could eventually and inevitably forget, no, it was a death that weighed you down, ripping at your insides making you wonder what could have been if they hadn’t left you behind.
Though, maybe, that wasn’t what everyone else in the cemetery thought. Maybe it was just Enid Sinclair, unable to cope with the loss of someone she was not even close with. It certainly wasn’t Wednesday Addams, who stood beside her in silent comfort, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. There was something in her expression that Enid couldn’t quite place; something sensitive, a sliver of human emotion she didn’t show to others. Or at least not to her.
Another tear, fresh and lively, slid down her blotchy cheeks when the thought popped into her mind. She knew she was being unreasonable, overwhelmed with grief that she had never grieved before, but the implication stung like bees unhived. Thing was rubbing soothing lines on her back, up and down, up and down, attempting to ground the troubled girl. It wasn’t working. She felt like dying, crawling her way into the casket to be buried right next to the principal. Or maybe she needed to throw up, vomit all the pain and sorrow of this death away. It was hard to differentiate those feelings from the unfeasible knots looping in her intestines.
“Your crying will not bring Principal Weems back from the dead. If that were the case, she would most likely be halfway to immortality by now.” Wednesday stated emotionless, not looking up at her. Blackened eyes were fixed on the coffin, now being lowered six feet closer to Hell.
“We get it, you’re above emotion, Wednesday. That doesn’t mean Weems dying isn’t still sad.” Enid retorted, lip trembling. To spare her the small amount of pride she still had left, she rubbed furiously at her watery eyes till the tears went away.
“I am not ‘above emotion,’ by your choice of words, I simply realized that sadness or other similar emotions are a waste of time and I could instead be spending it doing something productive or participating in more riveting activities,” as if it were the simplest logic known to man. Enid flushed red at the comment and sniffled aggressively, a sorry effort at trying to breathe through her nose.
She didn’t respond to that, just stared forward into the void that was the hole in the ground. The two girls watched in silence as people said their final goodbyes, all tossing a rose down into her grave in remembrance. When it was their turn, Enid grabbed onto Wednesday’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her from falling in after the principal, and at the moment, that’s what it had felt like. She squeezed the shorter girl tightly as she casted a fern in, unable to hold back the waterworks any longer. Wednesday tried yanking her hand away from the werewolf’s, she only held on tighter, which ultimately caused her the decision to leave her arm as dead weight for Enid to carry. Enid was fine with that.
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