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Enid doesn’t remember her first life.
Or the second. Or the third. (Or the fifth or sixth or seventh or eighth—)
Memories collide, meshing together into a lump, each day ticking by again and again and again, time moving as she was forced to stay in the same point in her life (lives?). She is a mouse, trapped in the cage of time, unable to move forward from her life before it begins all over again.
Things change, each decision a new outcome until her death and then Reset.
But there are some things that stay the same.
The people. The places.
Sometimes she relives the same life over and over again. Sometimes she changes it to create something new. Sometimes she finishes her life off early so she can Reset again—
There is one thing that seems to always catch her in the end, every single time without fail.
Wednesday Addams.
__
Enid doesn’t remember when she fell in love with Wednesday Addams, nor is she completely certain this is love, but she knows there is something there, something vicious and raw and aching in her chest when she catches a glimpse of familiar raven hair.
It sets the dead thing inside her ribcage pounding, her mind fogging over into something almost right, her fingers twitching and trembling, just wanting to reach out—
But she never has to. Wednesday Addams always comes to her, always, always finds her, no matter which life Enid is currently living, no matter the decisions that take her somewhere different in the surrounding area in Nevermore.
Wednesday Addams always finds her way to Enid.
And Enid—
Enid longs.
(And pretends she doesn’t fall apart after every life because she’s the only one who remembers, who will ever remember—)
__
“What are these?” Wednesday’s voice murmurs, low in the night. Black painted fingernails trace the markings down her arm, small wings that of like a bird. “Tattoos?” she asks.
“No,” Enid says, smiling at her. “They’re not.”
Enid glances down at them, at the small ravens dancing on her skin, inked and branded, counting eleven of them.
Oh, she realizes. She’s on her eleventh life.
Each life. A new mark.
Rinse. Repeat.
Reset.
__
Enid doesn’t remember her lives. She doesn’t remember which life held what memory, only that she remembers the remaining aftermath of scenes in her mind, flashing rapidly with every blink of her eyes in the back of her mind.
Sometimes they’re happy.
Sometimes they’re…not.
(Once, it ended with Wednesday’s grave staring right back at her.
That was the first time Enid had forced a Reset.)
__
Enid blinks, tilts her head against the cold of the knife resting against her neck. She peers down at the dark, thunderous eyes glowering coldly back, at the raven hair twisting around a pale face.
“Who are you?” A demand. Simple. To the point.
Enid smiles, rests her head against the wall, unthreatened.
“I said”—oh, the knife is closer now, a small pinch of pain cutting into her skin—“who are you?” Wednesday snarls out, lips peeling over perfect teeth.
Enid shrugs a bit. Grins even though she doesn’t want to.
“Why do I feel like I know you?” It’s hissed through teeth, sharp and deadly.
“I’m Enid,” she answers, shrugging a bit. “We haven’t met before.”
Wednesday’s eyes darken, cold and full of rage.
They both know she’s lying.
__
Enid runs into Tyler on her…on one of her lives (things tend to get mixed up and the marks have reached up to her elbow now, sprouts of ink black raven wings). She remembers…fighting him once or twice or…
She can’t remember, really.
Not that it matters to her anymore, of course.
Their eyes meet and he freezes in his tracks, face pale.
Enid blinks slowly at the sight of him before continuing on.
(She remembers a few lives when the grief and rage of losing Wednesday was too much, sent too much sorrow and blind vengeance thrumming under her skin.
She remembers killing him again and again and again—)
Rinse. Repeat.
Reset.
__
“And who is she?”
“That’s Enid Sinclair, the most popular girl in Nevermore.” It’s said bitterly, something jealous and almost respectful.
Enid glances up and meets dark eyes across the school courtyard. Wednesday stares back at her, brows twitching together and something frustrated and intrigued in her eyes.
“Enid Sinclair,” Wednesday says, each syllable slowly.
Enid takes a deep breath. Beams a smile. Stands and walks over.
“Howdy, nice to meet you—”
(The words feel wrong and scripted in her mouth, tasting like sour ash.)
__
“Are these tattoos?” Wednesday asks, a black chipped fingernail tracing over the raven markings covering her whole left arm.
“No,” Enid says, smiling at her. “They’re not.”
__
“I hate you,” Tyler seethes, eyes wild, fingers twitching around her neck. “I don’t know why or who you are, but I hate you.”
Enid grins, baring her sharp teeth and sinks her claws into his wrists.
“I need to kill you,” Tyler heaves out, staring at her. “I need to kill you or I’ll die.”
But Enid has already danced this song, has already played this game, and already knows he loses.
But she lets him try.
(And try he did, but it wasn’t enough. It never is anymore.)
__
“I should kill you here. Right at this moment,” Wednesday speaks, voice cold, the familiar cold of a blade against Enid’s neck. Her grip tightens, dark braided hair slipping over her shoulder. “I could,” she says, ever so softly. “I could end your life right here. Right now.”
Enid laughs until she almost cries even as blood dribbles a small streak down the skin of her neck from the knife.
“No, you can’t,” she laughs and laughs and laughs. “Nobody can.”
Their eyes meet.
“You won’t,” Enid says, after her laughter dies out.
They both know she tells the truth.
__
It’s times when they share small moments between them, small words or no words at all that comforts Enid the most when she thinks maybe this one will be when her sanity leaves her, that this life will finally, finally be the end of it for her.
But it’s the whisper of lips against skin, of fingers intertwining, palms pressed snugly together, small quirked smiles that show a brief glimpse of dimples, of dark eyes that flash with amusement, a small, low chuckle she manages to drag out of Wednesday.
It’s the small things that she thinks of when she eventually Resets, when her life loops once more for a different ride, for a different experience.
It’s the promise to see Wednesday Addams again that keeps her sane.
__
“Wonderfully inked,” Wednesday murmurs, lips brushing against the raven’s wings branded on her ribs. Black chipped nails drag over them softly, tracing the design. “Tattoos?”
“No,” Enid says, smiling at her. “They’re not.”
__
“WEDNESDAY!” her voice screams out into the night.
Enid heaves in a panicked breath, eyes wild as Wednesday’s body falls to the ground, unmoving and splashing the grass with blood. She gasps and shakes and thinks she should be crying but she isn’t (this scene is familiar) and falls to her knees.
She blinks, brushing the raven hair from Wednesday’s unseeing eyes and looks up to find Tyler staring right back.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Enid says and wonders at what point in time she couldn’t recognize her voice anymore.
She stands.
(He never does have a chance, in the end. None of them do.)
Rinse. Repeat.
Reset.
__
“Howdy, roomie, nice to meet—”
__
“I’m Enid. We’ve never meet before—”
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“No. They’re not—”
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Rinse. Repeat.
Reset.
__
Enid blinks her eyes open and smiles, turning towards where Wednesday Addams stares right back at her.
“Hi, there. You must be Wednesday Addams. It’s nice to meet you.”
Wednesday looks at her as if trying to recognize her.
But Enid knows she never will.
__
It never ends; this cycle.
It never ends because Enid is stuck forever in this loop, always the mouse caught in a cage; an unwilling victim of time caught in chaos.
Unending. Eternal.
Rinse. Repeat.
Reset.