Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams was neither a jack of all trades nor a master of none; she had a select few crafts which she honed, like blades, to their sharpest forms. She was a renowned novelist, an award-winning fencer, a musician with a cultic following, and still not over a certain blonde she met at Nevermore. Who would be?
She'd began composing during her last year at Nevermore, releasing her first song the year she graduated. Her music career had skyrocketed, overtaking her writing, and so she spent an hour composing music before her writing hour as of late.
Her work email's inbox had slowly flooded with interview requests, those about her writing eventually being overtaken by those about her compositions.
“The first song she’d publicly released, Letters, was nearly dropped. After composing, she’d had to go through the arduous process of selecting a reliable orchestra, a tech team, and a publisher.
The next obstacle she faced was arguably worse; she had to make social media profiles in order to promote her pieces, which she wouldn’t have done lest her team insisted. The fact that they unfortunately did was the sole reason she ended up with an Instagram, Twitter, and a Spotify account (linked below). Her team assisted her in the uploading and advertising process, and it took a lot of time for her work to gain traction. After a month or so, her music became a trend, as influencer @keekeesofreaky on Instagram used it as the backing track for one of her videos.
Her next release, Indelible, admittedly did not reach the level her first did, but she persisted. She took her time, masterfully composing pieces and conducting her colleagues, and gradually gained traction as an artist. Interview after interview, she gained popularity as a composer, musician, and novelist. Throughout all her songs, she played the cello and piano, the other instruments being covered by her orchestra.
Of course, most of this information was near impossible to come across; she is a very guarded person, so we know nothing about her personal life, and most of the information in this article came from interviews with her orchestra, and tech team.”
An excerpt from the article that Wednesday hated the most.
Wednesday despised the person who turned her music into a ‘trend’, but she was begrudgingly grateful, as it fatefully kickstarted her popularity. Her first album, “I miss you, I miss our walks along the beach, I miss your sweet lips most of all”, was inspired entirely by Enid Sinclair. She’d realized, if she didn’t use lyrics, then the true meaning of her music would not be understood by anyone except her muse, and it would be extremely unlikely for Enid to find her music; she probably forgot about Wednesday years ago, despite being the one who asked Wednesday to never forget her. Wednesday never did, she kept her promises. She wouldn’t have forgotten even without being asked to.
She still remembered the day Enid left Nevermore, she remembered it like it was yesterday.
She remembered what Enid asked of her, she remembered agreeing, and she regretted it. She regretted so much of what she’d had with Enid. She regretted not telling Enid how she felt before it was too late, she’d thought she had all the time in the world.
She’d written a total of nine letters to Enid after her departure. She’d only sent three of them. None of them had ever received a response.
˚˚ ₊ ✧˚ ━━━━⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽✪☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅━━━━ ˚✧ ₊˚˚
Wednesday’s first letter to Enid, sent the day Enid arrived home:
Enid,
Just as promised, I'm writing to you. I don't know why, but the eloquence I prize has suddenly vanished, as it always does when I converse with you.
I never told you this, but at the end of the first semester, Xavier gave me a phone. I initially planned on throwing it out of a moving vehicle, but I kept it, because I felt I could use it to converse with none other than you.
The contact number is xxx-xxx-xxx. I don't use it often, but I'll check it every evening henceforth.
As for the mailing system, there's no need for you to use it, therefore no need to explain it. I still could if you’d like.
Yours cordially,
Wednesday F. Addams
Wednesday's second letter to Enid, sent a week after the first:
Enid,
As my original letter to you was never replied to, I assume that either it was lost in the mailing system, or you decided not to reply.
I don't see why, other than what happened right before you left. I understand if you've decided to cut me off, as well.
If you can, please reply.
Yours cordially,
Wednesday F. Addams
Wednesday's third letter to Enid, sent two weeks after the second:
Enid,
Do you hate me? This is the third letter I've sent. I still hold on to the childish hope that the first two never got delivered, but I checked with the post office, and they confirmed that the letters were delivered to your address. I'm sorry if I did anything wrong. You know you can tell me anything. Tell me if I did.
Yours,
Wednesday F. Addams
Wednesday's first unsent letter, a month and 3 weeks later:
Enid,
As my past three letters were ‘left on read' (a term I ironically gleaned from you), I don't plan on sending any other letters I may write to you, and since you'll never read this one, I can finally say what's been on my mind for so long.
You occupy most of my waking thoughts. I see you everywhere. Everything reminds me of you. You come to me in my sleep.
On the days that remind me of you, so effortlessly bright, I go out to the lake. I miss you more than anything. I think the Addams' curse has begun to affect me, and it's all because of you.
Yours,
Wednesday Addams
Wednesday's second unsent letter, 4 months later:
Enid,
I wish you would reply to the letters I sent.
I long to see your smile, to hear you laugh, to listen to you speak so joyfully, as you always do. Though I’ve always preferred the shadows, I long to be bewitched by your light, blinding as it is, like a moth to a flame.
I think I've truly fallen for you. I won't even bother to deny it. I promised to never forget you, and I don't think I ever could.
Yours,
Wednesday
Wednesday's third unsent letter, a year later:
Enid,
I miss you. I can’t put how much I miss you into words. I wish you would contact me.
Yours,
Wednesday
Wednesday's fourth unsent letter, a year and six months later:
Enid,
If there was anything I could do to have you speak to me once more, I would do it in a heartbeat.
Your absence has stretched a yawning gap into the space where you wormed into my heart. I think it beats only for you.
Yours,
Wednesday
Wednesday's fifth unsent letter, five years and ten months later:
Enid,
I really should stop writing these letters to you. They’d only make the Addams’ Curse worsen, but I fear it has already reached its pinnacle. I’ve come to accept it long ago. It’s true that an Addams can never truly harm a loved one, so I hope I never wounded you in the past. I would promise that this will be the last letter I’ll write to you, but we both have enough unkept promises between us.
In a fit of desperation, I once searched your name on the infernal device I still keep. I never changed the number, in case you decide to contact me. I know it was foolish of me.
Apparently, now, you're a successful influencer, like I always thought you'd be. What did surprise me, though, was the fact that you are also a musician. I made a second Spotify account with an unrecognizable username, a ceasar cipher of my own first name, and listened to some of your music. Who am I kidding, I listened thoroughly through your entire discography. I must say, you are an excellent composer. Notably, three of your albums, and I'm not sure if this is a foolish hope of mine, they felt like they were about me. Hypocritical, I know, since I've written multiple (five? I’ve lost track) albums worth of songs about you. No one will even know, unless you find them. Perhaps you did, but avoided them out of spite.
You released another song earlier today, and I was one of the first people to listen to it. I’m ashamed to admit I cried, for the first time since you left. When you left, I’d sat in front of our then barren window, and cried my black heart out. I didn’t get another roommate after that. Even if I did, they could’ve never lived up to you.
Yours, and I think I always will be,
Wednesday
Wednesday's sixth unsent letter, seven years later, or a month ago:
Enid,
It's been seven years since you left. I graduated from Nevermore a long time ago, and I'm glad to be out. All that place did was remind me of you, but to be fair, most things do. Today, I received an invitation to a music festival, set for next month. I wouldn’t have written this letter if not for that invitation, for within the invitees, your name was right there at the top. I accepted the invitation anyway, for I long to see you once again. Perhaps if we meet, I can finally ask you, why?
Yours, always,
Wednesday