If You Woe Her || Wednesday Addams & Enid Sinclair
In the forsaken bowels of Nevermore Academy’s abandoned crypt wing, where the air hung heavy with the musty rot of forgotten graves and the distant drip of water echoed like the slow bleed of a fresh wound, Wednesday Addams lurked in the shadows like a venomous spider awaiting its prey. The chamber was a sepulchre of depravity, a mausoleum of Victorian decay: iron chains dangling from the vaulted ceiling, flickering torches casting elongated shadows that danced like tormented souls, and a massive stone altar repurposed as a bed, shrouded in black lace like a funeral veil, and walls adorned with portraits of stern ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow every sinful twitch, stained with the ghosts of ancient rituals. Wednesday, with her porcelain skin as pale as a fresh grave, her raven-black hair in tight, …
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