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Many things were a mystery to Enid. There were many things she didn’t know. Thousands of topics had never once graced her perception, never once carved an alcove in her mind, and she didn’t mind it.
The gift of unknowing was one to be cherished—that’s what she liked to think, anyway. If one ran out of things to learn about, what would their life be? Dull and drab, their world would trudge on, and the weight of all they knew would offer no respite from its ritualistic endeavors. It wasn’t as though Enid enjoyed being ignorant; she simply enjoyed the potential of learning something new.
Enid fancied indulging in new things. Where some shied away from novelties, she immediately struck a deal with them. She carried that devotion with her in everything she did. The prospect of learning about something new had always excited her.
New things were honey glowing beneath amber sunlight: enticing and beckoning. Who was she to refuse? Like a child pulling honeysuckle from bushes, sticky with summer humidity and dirtied by grass stains, she couldn’t resist.
But that outlook didn’t douse the urge to know some things. Enid had a taste for intrigue, but there were topics that she wanted to know more of. There were questions she had that she wanted answered. Curiosity wasn’t fun when a resolution was inaccessible.
The delicate glow of fairy lights cast a gentle luster atop Enid’s bed as she leaned against her pillows, toying idly with her fingernails. Evening had overtaken the world, shedding its regal glory across the horizon in the form of airbrushed clouds accented by pink. Moments before, she had bent down to open the windowpane in the center of the dorm. While it wasn’t particularly warm within its depths, she found herself craving the traipse of cold night air that lingered outside.
Autumn had shed its vows across Vermont, and, by extension, Nevermore. For the past couple of weeks, the dawn was tinged with chill, and the night was accompanied by frosty breezes. They wove themselves into the world, scattering leaves like water droplets and rendering everything beneath their path cold. Enid had always favored summertime, but she sought the throes of fall these days. She decided it was best not to delve into why that was; she was certain any inspection would end up circling around a certain roommate of hers, and Enid wasn’t quite keen on confronting what that meant. Maybe she never would be.
She swallowed the unbidden lump in her throat and glanced up from her nails as a sound permeated the labyrinth of her musings. It was silly, really, how much she perked up at the shuffling resounded in the distance, somewhere behind the door. When it amounted to nothing, and the door didn’t swing open after two minutes, she sighed through her nose and tore her rapt attention away from it.
A cursory tap to her phone lit up its screen, displaying 8:51 P.M. atop the background. It was nearly curfew. The acknowledgment enticed a reasonable question: where was Wednesday?
Turning onto her side and pulling her legs beneath her, Enid faced her wall, intent on avoiding surveying the vacant room across from her. Its glare was akin to an abrasion on her back, gaping and infectious, but she ignored its whispers. Her gaze flitted to and fro lazily, roaming over the amassed gathering of her belongings—stuffed animals, stray balls of yarn, posters—with mild interest.
Her journey took her to inspect the dress-clad doll resting in the embrace of two large plushies. A small smile quirked the corner of her lips at the sight of it. Donning a pink sash that read Miss Kansas, it was no less absurd than it was unsettling. Even so, the memory of it being gifted to her evoked a flicker of tantalizing warmth within her chest.
Even though the added information about its hair had been less than ideal, Enid had spent far too long after the exchange mulling over the faintest smile that had graced Wednesday’s face. It had been a small, blink-and-you-miss-it sincerity, but it had existed nonetheless. Even more, it had been directed at Enid.
The idea that Wednesday had thought of her, had found something with the intention of gifting it to her, no matter how unconventional the circumstance, was enough to make her a bit dizzy. What had she done to deserve that?
Her traitorous heart had beat a rhythm far too quick that night as she stared at the rafters.
Tugging her eyes away from the doll, lest her thoughts coalesce into something dangerous, Enid rolled onto her back again and traced the sweeping bulbs of the lights dangling above her. As she stared up at them, allowing their hazed breaths to scatter across her clothes, she considered what a gift it was to not know something, as well as what a hindrance it was.
Yes, Enid loved the chase of curiosity, but she enjoyed knowing things, too—such as why Wednesday had been making herself so scarce as of late.
Enid wasn’t sure when it had started, for it had been subtle. Wednesday not being in the dorm in the evenings, Wednesday no longer waiting for her outside the door of their shared classes, Wednesday no longer dropping a spare cookie on her tray at dinner—all of it had gradually dispersed. They dwindled until there was nothing left to scrounge at but barren ivory bones; they dwindled until there was nothing left to dwindle or drain.
Earlier, she had idled beside the entrance to the dining hall, tapping her heel against the wall she pressed her weight into as she awaited Wednesday’s arrival. She didn’t show, of course, despite promising that they would eat together. Enid wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much. She surmised it was partially the dishonesty that irked her, but she knew it was more than that. Enid missed her.
Wednesday was little more than a specter now, a streak of movement she glimpsed once or twice in the day and seldom at night. She was fog curling under her touch, unable to be grasped, but Enid tried regardless.
In truth, the distance hurt. They had been fine up until a few weeks ago. What had shifted? Sometimes, it seemed Wednesday was unable to look at her closely. The first realization of that had felt akin to drowning. Wednesday had glanced at her, fleeting, and looked away. Her line of focus had remained strayed from Enid’s face, even as Enid spoke to her, and Enid had felt the waters of desperation flow into her lungs.
The sensation was equated to running out of that specific lip gloss that had no label, which was to say, not positive. That was an understatement, in fact. Accompanied by the unspoken distance that had curdled the two, it was almost painful.
She wrapped her hands together atop her stomach, twiddling her fingers. There were various moments Enid had stumbled across Wednesday dithering out of sight, her posture unkempt, as though she had just resurfaced from a dream. When she turned to regard Enid, her dulled gaze was often a vacancy Enid hadn’t seen before.
If the light allowed such close inspection, Enid would catch sight of ghostly, smeared lines marring her cheeks. They appeared to be remnants of something unnamed, and though Enid wanted to ask what was wrong, she refrained from doing so.
Enid believed they were past the point in their friendship of dancing around one another. If something was amiss, Wednesday would have told her.
The more times she discovered Wednesday holding her temple and staring into empty space, the less sure of that she became.
Her contemplative dissonance was dispersed as footsteps echoed beyond the door. Enid propped herself on her elbows, blinking as it swung open. Its shadow flung against the wall as it did so, a translucent tapestry, as the entrance beheld Wednesday.
In spite of her uncertainties, Enid was unable to temper the smile the sight kindled.
“Howdy, roomie,” she said, the verse familiar on her tongue. She pushed off her elbows and straightened, crossing her legs in front of her. “Where have you been?”
Wednesday crossed the threshold into their room, reaching for the handle of the door and shutting it behind her. The low light that had momentarily coated the wooden floorboards faded into a crescent beneath the door’s crack as she did so.
“I’ve had matters to attend to this evening,” Wednesday replied, shrugging her long coat off. As she made her way into her closet and slid it onto a hanger, her voice grew muffled. “I apologize if I kept you waiting.”
The vague summation of her evening left a weight settling atop Enid. Brushing aside the suffocating onslaught, Enid rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin in her hands, eyeing the vague outline of Wednesday as she finished hanging her coat up. When she stepped out of the closet, Enid registered her last statement.
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” She angled her chin down, studying her fuzzy socks. The idea of even settling into bed before Wednesday safely returned was appalling to Enid. She wished she utilized her phone more. “It’s not late. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
From the corner of her eye, Enid saw Wednesday still in the wake of her quiet admission. Tentatively assessing the air, Enid looked up, catching Wednesday’s eyes from across the room. That contact seemed to spur her into motion; she tilted her face away and dropped her messenger bag on the floor beside her bed.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she said after a long moment of brooking the silence. She turned back around and clasped her hands in front of her.
“Well, I wanted to,” Enid retorted, dropping her hands. Her words were strung with odes of certainty, leaving little space for argument. She was sure Wednesday could find a breach in their security. If she did, she didn’t act upon it. After a moment, her face softened, just the slightest bit. It was so subtle that Enid decided she had imagined it. She wouldn’t put it past her deceitful mind.
The silence lapsed again, its blanket more forgiving this time.
“Thank you.” Wednesday continued to study her for a moment more. She must have found whatever she was looking for, because she averted her gaze and headed to her desk seconds later. The sound of her shuffling through its contents was a lulling comfort to Enid’s ears.
Stifling a yawn, Enid slid off her bed, her feet sliding against the floor after she stepped off of her rug. She spared a glance outside as she approached their window, eyeing the darkness that stared back. Crouching to shut the windowpane back into place, Enid ducked her head outside, relishing in the chill that bit at her cheeks.
Though the wind was quite rapid, the inked ether was devoid of obstruction. The sunset had tapered into a canvas of black, and with it, the clouds had receded. It was akin to a curtain being drawn back, for in their absence, the stars reigned.
Little but pinpricks of luminescence glinting against the sky, they shone with fervor, unimpeded by worldly forces. Far to her left, she spotted Ursa Major. Mirrored beside it, just a bit fainter, was Ursa Minor. She tracked her attention over the sky, ignoring the breeze blowing her hair awry and morphing her fingers into a likeness of ice. To the south of the two, Leo stood, a sentinel some millions of miles away. In some ways, it was comforting to be so insignificant.
Enid felt the weight of Wednesday’s stare on her back as she withdrew back into the room, pulling the window shut. Amid the wind, she hadn’t heard the methodical shuffling of parchment cease.
Flexing her numb fingers, Enid rose to her feet. Sure enough, Wednesday was watching her. The light of her oil lamp cast her figure in brass highlights. How was it, honestly, that she could both ignore Enid and focus on her at the same time?
“What’s wrong?” Wednesday glanced away only to push the drawer to her desk closed. Her attention was piercing when she fixed it back upon Enid.
Enid glanced at the doll nestled by her wall. I miss you, she wanted to say. She gestured at the window instead, pulling her gaze back to Wednesday.
“It’s super clear tonight.” She rocked back onto her heels, allowing a twinge of invitation to bleed into her voice. “I’d totally say we should go outside and stargaze, but it’s cold. Not that you care, but I do.”
A hum of concession was all Enid received, and she basked in the success. “You’re not denying it.”
“Of course not.” Wednesday crossed her arms and approached Enid. It was the most acknowledgment she had received in days. The truth was both an infection and antiseptic on a wound. “The cold is one of the best places to think.”
“Yeah, and one of the best places to get frostbite,” Enid bit back. The banter was satiating a longing Enid hadn’t known she harbored. Wednesday seemed to get her wits about her again, because she halted her approach.
Wednesday’s regained aversion to proximity was unfolding before her eyes again, and she was powerless to stop it. It made her want to tear something to shreds—not Wednesday, though. Never her. But Enid was nothing if not determined.
A grin on her face, Enid held her hands out in front of her, glancing up and down her roommate. Wednesday’s arms slackened marginally.
“Come look,” she beckoned. “I promise it’s worth it.” Whether or not 'it' referred to the stars or something else, Enid didn’t dwell on it. Potential was as much of an opportunity as it was a fallacy inscribed in a book.
Wednesday relented with a sigh, finally stepping into her space. Enid forced away the giddy feeling coursing like electricity through her veins, for she knew its lies would only lead to travesty. Rising to the tips of her toes, Enid reached up to push one of the higher windowpanes out, sanctioning them a better view without having to step outside.
When she turned back, Wednesday placed one of her hands in Enid’s, allowing her to draw her forward and to the window. The muted splendor of the lights at Enid’s back cast her in an array of sparks. Each one was unique, reverently dusted unto her, and Enid could not look away.
A strand of her stuck out from her braids, accented by the honeyed radiance cascading amongst the dorm. Enid had always thought she was pretty. Right now, though, in this moment belonging only to them, there was nothing that could compare to her beauty. The realization was enough to momentarily halt Enid’s breath.
Swallowing, Enid held her other hand back out.
Wednesday took it, and her head snapped backward.
“Wednesday?” The startled words left her lips before she could think about them.
Wednesday fell limp and careened backward, her grip loosening on Enid’s hands, immediately settling into a weight so dead it couldn’t possibly have been conscious. Just as she began to fall, Enid tugged her forward, reflexively wrapping her arms around her shoulders and pulling her against her chest.
Seconds later, Wednesday’s legs slipped beneath her. Holding her tighter, Enid stepped back against the window and sank down its surface, gently easing Wednesday down alongside her. Enid wasn’t entirely a stranger to her visions, but she had never witnessed one this close.
Hands trembling, Enid adjusted Wednesday until her legs were sprawled out in front of her and her head was lying atop Enid’s lap. Wednesday’s eyes had shut sometime during their descent, but they moved rapidly behind her eyelids. At once, her body jerked, the movement abrupt and violent. Though her face remained stoic, Enid felt her muscles tense above her.
Clenching her jaw, Enid hovered her hands in the air before resolving to prop one on the floor and lay one on the crown of Wednesday’s head. Another jerk wracked her body. It gave way to stillness after, preluding knowledge Enid would never know or witness.
Across the room, Wednesday’s oil lantern flickered, its flame growing meek beneath the canopy of night. Minutes ticked by, their touches agonizing. Each one felt like a nick in the fabric of time, destructive in a way only ancient stories foretold. Where was Thing? How long were visions supposed to last? Enid had never seen one this long.
Slowly, ever so steadily, Enid began to comb her fingers through Wednesday’s hair, loosening her taut braids as she did so. It was a foreign sensation, to be this close, to perform an act so intimate. She leaned against the window, continuing a languid path through Wednesday’s hair. Enid continued her gentle ministrations when another twitch afflicted her body—less violent, but no less potent. Enid brushed her bangs away from her face as perspiration began to shine on her forehead, feeling her heart pinch.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Enid twitched her fingers against Wednesday’s hair with bated breath.
A beat passed, suspended in ravaged desperation, and tears streaked her skin. Not just any tears, though; black as obsidian, they pooled from Wednesday’s tear ducts and slipped down her face. A lump formed in Enid’s throat at the sight. She had never seen this happen before.
The unnatural tears continued to flow, relentlessly trailing from her eyes and dripping onto Enid’s lap, staining her pajama pants. Wednesday’s body grew rigid against her. She was no longer taut, but instead stiff as a headstone.
“Wednesday,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She pulled her hand from the floor, bringing it up to cup her face. Still unresponsive, Wednesday did nothing to react, her body as limp and still as the newly deceased.
Leaning over her, Enid swept her hand along her temple and then back down, gently sweeping away the consistent assault of tears with her thumb as she held her face. They smudged against Wednesday’s skin as she did so, leaving a pigmented smear of grey on her cheeks. No, not grey—it was tinged with the most subtle of reds. Dread tarnished the remaining certitude she held, charring it like the burnt pages of a heralded novel. Was it blood?
Another minute passed. Enid could do nothing. Trapped in an unconscious state only she could reach, Wednesday was unmoving. Concern filtered through Enid, its current pumping ice into her extremities as she watched the tears continue to fall.
The grievance of her uncertainties faded from her mind with the clarity of a spring lake. Its velvety ripples washed away the grime, leaving her a witness to only the way her fingers combed through Wednesday’s hair. Forcing herself not to do something rash, Enid moved to cradle Wednesday’s face in both of her hands, wiping away each stream of tears that spilled over.
Another moment passed.
With a final jerk, Wednesday’s eyes shot open. Immediately, they found Enid, but their stare was unseeing. The stream of tears abated. Enid froze her thumb movements. Relief rendered her immobile; it must have, because she couldn’t draw her hands away, not until a semblance of awareness returned to Wednesday’s face.
The quiet was disturbed only by Wednesday’s shallow, ragged breaths as she stared up at her. Enid stared down in return, unable to formulate an explanation for what she had been doing.
“Wednesday,” she whispered again, lowering her shoulders. Her throat clicked as she floundered for something to say. Why didn’t you tell me? she thought, warring with the pressure behind her eyes, of which manifested solely from raw, unadulterated worry. The force of it was enough to send her reeling.
Her words were the final splinter in the suspension of stillness. Wednesday sat up, ripping away from Enid’s hands to prop herself up on her arms. In the dim light, black liquid glinted against Enid’s fingertips. In the dim light, it splintered cracks across Wednesday’s face. In the dim light, it shone red.
Hair partially undone and cheeks smudged by tears of bile, Wednesday stared at her, donning that unfocused stare Enid had come to recognize. She looked dazed. She almost looked scared.
Enid drew back to offer her space, pressing herself back against the window. She didn’t ask what she saw. Only a few heartbeats later, Wednesday assumed her neutrality, however friable it seemed. She stared at Enid for a second more, her throat bobbing, before she brought her hands up to swipe at the tears beneath her eyes.
“You—” Enid began, her hands burning with the urge to touch her. She dug her nails into her palms to dispel it, leaving crescents in her skin.
“It happens,” Wednesday said, her voice dismissive. Enid didn’t miss the way it quivered. Visibly clenching her jaw, Wednesday made to stand. She faltered only slightly, swaying on her legs, but it was enough to have Enid reaching out. Wednesday pulled back quickly, as though her touch was the hottest of coals. Something within Enid’s heart capsized. It splintered, it burned, and it broke. She couldn’t breathe. Why did it hurt so badly?
Turning her back to Enid, Wednesday swiped at her eyes again, her figure swathed by the night’s shadows.
“You should go to bed,” she said. Then, quieter: “Please.”
Enid could do nothing but nod wordlessly, sitting up and watching Wednesday retreat to the furthest corner of her room, where her bed rested and her lamp’s light didn’t touch. Head spinning and chest caving in on itself, Enid stood to her feet, wiping away the wetness from her fingers.
As she slid into bed, dread seeped through her like a frigid, unavoidable wave. What’s wrong? she wanted to ask. Talk to me, she wanted to plead. She did none of those things, even as her jaw quivered and tears began to blur her vision, even as she stared at Wednesday, her stare unabashed beneath the throne of darkness. She was unable to force back the knot that formed in her throat, unable to stop the trembling of her hands as she gripped the top of her blankets.
Wednesday’s voice came from across the room.
“Goodnight, Enid.”
Shifting back and watching the ceiling, Enid swallowed.
“Goodnight, Wednesday.”
Enid dreamed of black tears, pools of red, and a body cold to the touch.