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The room was enveloped in semi-darkness, the only source of light being the desk lamp. Its muted glow seemed to wrap around Wednesday, sharpening her face, making the contours harsher. She sat at her desk, her fingers tapping on the keyboard—steady, methodical strikes, resembling the beats of a heart, precise and confident. In this moment, she was fully immersed in the world of Viper, her main character, whose shadows, fears, and hidden motives unfolded line by line.
The smell of ink and paper from the nearby notes mingled with the faint aroma of coffee, long cooled in the cup that had long since forgotten the taste of warmth. This scent almost soothed her, helping her focus. Everything around her was merely a background, insignificant details lost in the depths of her mind, where Viper came to life.
Wednesday didn’t notice how the shadows cast by the lamp crept closer, how the silence in the room became almost tangible, as if the darkness itself was gathering around her, waiting for the right moment to break her concentration.
Suddenly, the silence was pierced by a barely audible, yet unpleasant sound. It slipped through the mental walls Wednesday had built around herself, a faint scraping sound, as though something heavy was slowly crawling across the floor. Her fingers froze over the keyboard, her gaze momentarily drifting from the screen, fixating on the shadows in the corner of the room.
It was Thing. He, carefully moving his fingers, was dragging something behind him—a small box or a bundle, which seemed to have cost him some effort to acquire. He had his own silent rhythm, a movement that seemed intentionally slow, not to draw too much attention, but enough to interrupt her flow of thoughts.
Wednesday didn’t rush to comment; instead, she watched him, her cold, calculating gaze assessing his efforts. The silence became even more palpable with the scraping sound, as though, even in her solitude, someone was unable to let her be alone with herself.
Thing froze, no longer hearing the monotonous clicking of the keys, and felt Wednesday's gaze upon him. Slowly, he turned, raising his fingers in a gesture of apology, as if trying to explain that he hadn’t meant to distract her.
But Wednesday had already squinted her eyes, studying him with such an expression that even this restless creature understood: he had interrupted her space at the wrong time.
“If you’ve decided to disturb me,” she said coldly, crossing her arms and slightly tilting her head to the side, “be useful and figure out why I haven’t heard a word from Enid in what feels like an eternity.”
Her voice was steady, but there was an underlying hint of dissatisfaction not expressed in words. She merely watched as Thing, realizing the seriousness of her tone, immediately turned, abandoning whatever he had been doing, and, with a slight tremor in his fingers as a sign of agreement, headed toward the doorway, leaving her once again surrounded by silence and shadows.
Wednesday returned to her world of text, her fingers drumming on the keys once more, and scenes for Viper began to form in her mind, weaving into the dark, tense pattern of her narrative. For a brief moment, she forgot about Thing and her task, her thoughts flowing into another reality where her heroine was on the brink of yet another mystery, when a barely perceptible movement distracted her gaze.
Thing, silently climbing onto the edge of her desk, handed her a small folded note. His fingers, seemingly trying to move silently, trembled slightly, as though he realized he was interrupting her again. Wednesday gave him a long, frowning look before taking the note.
The paper unfolded beneath her fingers, and hurried, large handwriting from Enid flashed across it.
“Hey, Wednesday! I go shopping with Yoko—don’t worry, I’ll be back before dark! Hope you’re not bored in your cave. Don’t forget to take a break and eat something (yes, this is a caring reminder). I’ll be back with something delicious!”
Each word seemed to glow on the paper, conveying the lightness and energy Enid brought into their shared life. The words were short, perhaps even naive, but it was exactly this that made her pause, sensing something in the note capable of pulling her out of her usual cold detachment.
Wednesday squinted, reading the note again, catching herself on the fact that details like the time had still slipped her attention. As if reading her mind, Thing, without a sound, had already moved the curtain aside. She glanced out the window and noticed that it was already growing dark outside.
A thought flashed through her mind: “Before dark.” But Enid still hadn’t returned.
She frowned, angrier with herself for letting this delay affect her. Of course, Enid could always be late, especially when out with Yoko, but Wednesday felt an odd unease this time. She tried not to dwell on it, yet the thought that Enid was out there, alone, amidst the hollow silence of the night, wouldn’t let her be.
Wednesday tried to convince herself that it was just her habit for order and punctuality, that Enid would soon walk through the door with her usual, radiant face, full of boundless enthusiasm. But even she couldn’t completely suppress the faint feeling of anxiety.
Throwing another glance at the window, Wednesday sighed heavily. As though overcoming some inner resistance, she turned to Thing and raised an eyebrow—a silent signal that he seemed to understand better than anyone. He immediately darted toward the desk, where her phone lay—the very one she kept exclusively for contacting Enid and only used in emergencies.
“Text her,” she said dryly, casually extending her hand, as if it were the most ordinary request. “Ask where she is and what’s holding her up.”
But just as Thing reached for the phone, a noise echoed from the hallway. At first faint, like footsteps, but soon it turned into a muffled voice and the clinking of keys. It was so sudden that Wednesday froze, alert, like a hunter hearing a rustle in the woods. Thing also stopped, raising his fingers as if listening with her.
Not a second had passed when Wednesday heard the door swing open, and into the silence burst a voice—bright, full of untamed energy, as if the evening itself had warmed at the very sound of her arrival.
“Wednesday! Come here, help me, please! These bags seem to think I’m carrying them home forever!”
In the doorway stood Enid, out of breath and tousled, with a blush on her cheeks from the cool air. She was loaded with bags, and her appearance was, to put it mildly, triumphant, as if returning home with shopping was one of the greatest adventures.
For a moment, Wednesday simply stared at her, not saying a word. Enid brought with her the same chaotic storm, the same light that she seemed to carry wherever she went. And though Wednesday usually avoided such moments, it was hard not to notice how the whole room seemed to fill with her warmth.
Wednesday silently stepped forward and took the bags Enid handed her. Heavy, with the smell of fresh food, they creaked a little from the cold, but her attention wasn’t on them. Enid, paying no mind to her gaze, had already started to take off her jacket, hanging it on the hook, and was unbuttoning her clothes with her usual speed.
Wednesday watched her movements, as always absorbed in observation rather than participation. Everything in this scene was familiar—her movements quick and light, with careless grace, as always when Enid returned home. But something changed when Wednesday's gaze fell on the small flower Enid had placed on the dresser earlier. It stood there, an innocent, strange spot in the corner, against the cold, almost sterile space that surrounded them.
The flower was more than just a plant. Wednesday kept her gaze on it, not immediately understanding why she had noticed it, but she felt that it was no coincidence.
The flower was in a pot, and it didn’t quite fit Enid’s style. It was black—not too large, medium-sized, with seven stems, each adorned with leaves that were entirely black, with wavy edges. Surprisingly, in the center of each leaf was a white core, as if a small miracle was hidden within the gloomy shade. Everything about this flower seemed unusual—it stood out among the usual bright and cheerful things Enid surrounded herself with, adding a strange, almost dark feeling that couldn’t be immediately understood. And yet, despite its oddity, this plant somehow captured her attention, leaving a cold but, at the same time, captivating trace in the room.
Wednesday, not taking her eyes off the flower, finally broke the silence.
“What is this?” she asked softly, almost with curiosity, though she didn’t understand why the flower had caught her attention so strongly.
Enid, undressing, turned to her, and noticing the gaze directed at the plant, paused for a moment. Her face broke into a light, almost guilty smile as she began to explain:
"We were shopping, and Yoko decided to stop by a florist to buy flowers for Divina. While I was waiting for her, I saw this flower. It was so beautiful that I couldn’t help but notice it. And, you know... it reminded me of you. I decided to buy it for you. I thought it would be perfect for your room."
She smiled, but by the end, her words slightly faltered, and she unconsciously looked away, as if feeling a bit awkward about what she had said.
Wednesday stood in complete silence, watching as Enid explained her actions, but her attention wasn’t on the words themselves—it was on how they sounded. The whole room seemed to freeze when she heard the phrase: "It was so beautiful... it reminded me of you."
The words lingered somewhere in the center of her mind, like a suddenly dropped stone causing ripples in the water. She froze, not understanding why these simple words began to echo in her head with such insistence. Enid had said them with such ease, such sincere cheerfulness, that Wednesday couldn’t immediately react. Enid hadn’t even noticed how her eyes had shimmered with something that Wednesday found hard to explain to herself—something warm, yet at the same time, foreign.
Wednesday turned her gaze back to the flower, still not understanding what exactly in Enid’s words had struck her. A reminder of herself? She couldn’t recall the last time someone had said something like that, and for some reason, it had gotten under her skin. The feelings were strange—strangely pleasant and awkward at the same time.
Silence once again enveloped the room as Wednesday’s thoughts spun around Enid’s words. She didn’t notice how her gaze faded, as though she were detached from reality. Suddenly, through this whirlwind of thoughts, she heard Enid’s voice, but it sounded as if it was coming from deep inside, through her very essence.
"Wends, are you okay?" Enid asked, her voice now seeming to resonate directly in her mind.
Wednesday didn’t immediately respond, as though pondering those words. Then, unable to hold herself back, she exhaled and looked at her with mild confusion.
"Did you just call me beautiful?"
Enid froze, her eyes meeting Wednesday’s baffled gaze. A second of tense silence hung between them, and in that moment, everything in the room seemed to halt. Their gazes crossed, and for a brief moment, their eyes spoke more than words ever could.
Enid froze, unsure of what to say. She tried to find the right words, but they just wouldn’t come. Her gaze dimmed, and she quietly said,
"I think… yes."
Wednesday slightly tilted her head, her voice becoming a bit sterner but still carrying that rare, hidden interest she rarely revealed.
"Don't call me that... in front of others."
Enid blushed a little, but their gazes met, and there was something more in that look than just understanding. It was as if they were reading each other’s thoughts and feelings, without words, with the kind of clarity that only silence could bring.
Wednesday slowly tore her gaze away from Enid and, with deliberate calm, said,
"We need to unpack the groceries."
With those words, she gave a slight tilt of her head and took a step toward the kitchen table. Without looking back, she quietly added,
"And don’t forget to take the flower with you."
Enid, slightly surprised, nodded, and a faint smile flickered in her eyes, though she didn’t say anything. Silently picking up the flower, Enid walked toward Wednesday, watching as she began to unpack the groceries. The room fell into silence once more, but this time it was filled with a new, almost imperceptible meaning. Quietly, without hurry, they continued their simple yet significant actions, as if every moment was infused with a meaning only, they could understand.