Chapter Text
Wednesday woke to a familiar heaviness in her bones. She opens her eyes and nearly sighs in satisfaction as the dim light of a dreary day looms through the window of her dorm. Not even Enid’s colorful collage can shine with an irritatingly cheery glow. A heavy fog has shrouded the world outside, seemingly smothering the sun’s light to the brink of its last breath. Wednesday has always been hypersensitive to the weather and atmosphere. Rain, mist, dark clouds, fog, smoke, and darkness in general…they all settle over her like a weighted blanket. Her body feels it before her eyes see it. It’s soothing, like a lovely ball of dread settling in the pit of her stomach or a nest of thorned vines that cradle her suspended over a bottomless crevice.
What a terrible day. Wednesday hums quietly in appreciation of it.
Not wanting to waste too much time without productivity, Wednesday sits up and begins planning.
It’s the first day of the weekend, meaning she doesn’t have to be subjected to social interaction any more than she chooses to be.
Although, as much as she’d like to deny it, some of the acquaintances she’s made at Nevermore have proven useful. Especially the new feelings of rivalry she’s discovered while dueling with beings worthy of her skills. How thrilling it is to best them.
Yes, she’s decided it has been of benefit, if not for her own personal growth and development, certainly for her perspective on the world. It’s even improved her writing.
Wednesday looks to her typewriter with a growing glint of inspiration in her dark eyes, then looks to her bedside clock seeing that it is just past five in the morning. She usually doesn’t write this early, typically favoring sessions late at night when the thrill of darkness seeps mystery, intrigue, and a hint of doom into her spirit.
However, the weather makes up for the early hour and the budding writer is inspired. She grabs the hair ties on her bedside table and braids her hair into its signature style with the swift precision of a young woman who’s been doing it since she’s had hair long enough.
Wednesday turns so her legs hang off the side of her bed. She plans to throw a robe over her black pajamas so she can get to work on her novel as quickly as possible. She grabs the garb laying on the foot of her bed and pauses before getting up.
The robe is not one she or her family purchased. It was a gift from her roommate.
Enid had been nagging her for months about not having a ‘cozy’ robe to wear during the movie nights she has forced Wednesday to partake in the past.
Wednesday has definitely not grown to look forward to them.
Although, Enid has chosen horror movies the last two times.
The day Enid thrust a box in Wednesday face, happily announcing that she’d found her a robe, the dark young woman was fully prepared to set it on fire. Visions of a fluffy pink and white monstrosity, complete with a gold unicorn horned hood and rainbow tail filled her mind as she glared at her roommate, then at the box.
The robe that Wednesday now holds in her hands was anything but what she had imagined. It’s a muted ash-gray color with black accented trim. The velvety texture material isn’t too thick, making it something that will be comfortable to wear in warmer and cooler temperatures. The part that took Wednesday by complete surprise, and the reason she quite admires the garment, are the depictions of deep, mortal wounds that are artfully sown into the material. She had never considered that someone would think to make such a gruesome looking thing, or certainly not that Enid Sinclair could stomach looking at it.
Across the back of the robe, a gash from shoulder-to-shoulder folds the material downward, exposing a picture of layers of tissue and muscle, while material in dark crimson hues flows down to the waist like dripping blood. Claw marks tear down the left arm from bicep to wrist as the same crimson thread flows out. The picture of a stab wound to the gut area of the robe shows a hint of intestine poking out and the material of the sash has been made to look like spilled entrails.
Wednesday wears the robe as often as she thinks she can without appearing smitten with it. She’ll stand in front of her mirror and look over the vivid details of the injuries and smirk.
They look disgusting and she loves it.
Wednesday looks over her shoulder to where her roommate still slumbers on her own bed. The covers are spilling off the side of the mattress and Enid’s limbs are contorted in a painful looking way that Wednesday can’t help but wonder at. The only times she’s seen bodies bend at those angles are in pictures of intense torture. She’s curious if most werewolves are as animated when they sleep and if they wake up in a similar tangle of body and bedding.
Enid is going to wake up in a woeful mood. She doesn’t like the dreary and dreaded weather that sooths and excites Wednesday. She prefers the sun, warmth, white fluffy clouds, and literal rainbows.
The same things that make Wednesday’s skin prickle with anxiety. She is once again astounded at her odd friendship with Enid. She can’t pass it off as roommates or even acquaintances anymore. Enid has befriended her, and she can’t for the death of her imagine why.
Wednesday did not like the immediate pull she felt toward Enid the first time she met her. She loathed her happiness, her bright smile, her chipper personality, and the appalling rainbow of colors in her clothing and hair.
Yet, she felt…a yearning to be around her? Preposterous. The feeling was unacceptable and, at first, Wednesday made a harsh point of being cruel to Enid.
Or, as cruel as she could stand. Even her natural proclivity for all things dark and dangerous was tainted by a deeper desire to…what? Spare her feelings? Protective her even?
Wednesday had been reduced to throwing lame insults, empty threats, and a cold shoulder to her roommate. It was the best she could do until she dissected the imperfections Enid caused in her otherwise heinous mind and heart.
Unfortunately, Enid saw her threats as cute, and her cold shoulder as a challenge. The werewolf pushed her and gave her space at all the right times. She brought Wednesday gifts. She showered Wednesday with endearing words and tried to show physical affection with touches and hugs.
Wednesday would admire her persistence if she wasn’t so unsettled by it.
The young Addams woman hated it. Yet, she felt anticipation, even eagerness to see what Enid may do next. The sensations were addicting. Her strange feelings were growing more prominent, and she’s had to fight the urge to reciprocate Enid’s affection from time to time.
Is this what it always felt like to have a friend? A desire to be around, to see, to stare at, even to smell? She’s grown accustomed to walking into their room and smelling their combined scents. A mixture of dusty tomes and fruit fresh from the earth.
Wednesday knows what obsession is and the feeling twisting inside of her when she thinks of the blonde relates closely to it.
Perhaps Wednesday is coming into her own as a stalker? Interesting thought, but it doesn’t feel right.
Wednesday realizes she’s been sitting on the edge of her bed for some time, staring at her roommate, and she frowns deeper than usual.
This is what happens. Wednesday’s good moods, trains of thought and inspiration, all soured by emotions she has no understanding of and an aversion to. She needs to get to her typewriter and start putting thoughts to paper. That will focus her energy on a useful task.
Wednesday stands and nearly drops the robe back on her bed out of spite to her turbulent feelings. The thought causes an unenjoyable emptiness to pang in her chest. She allows a short, frustrated sigh to huff past her lips and relents, wrapping herself in her gory robe.
She quietly pads over to her typewriting and prepares a page. When the page is set, and the contraption *tings*, Enid lets out a growl and tosses on her bed.
The dark young woman glowers. She looks at the clock by her bed once more, reading that nearly an hour has passed since she first got up. Being lost in frivolous thought has cost her valuable time.
It’s Saturday, Enid won’t want to be awake for another three hours. The sounds of the Addams’ typewriter will surely awaken her roommate in moments.
Wednesday hates that she cares. She gets lost in a storm of self-deprecation because of her weakness…her inability to treat Enid as she would anyone else. With disdain, loathing, and no show of being considerate or remorseful. She doesn’t understand why she can’t.
She loses her inspiration for writing and heads to her closet to get dressed.
It’s a dreadful morning for a walk in the woods.