Young and in Love - Wenclair

as long as im with you

Wednesday's eyes narrow as she looks at the stain on the usually remarkably white turtleneck, Enid standing and staring down at herself in something akin to shock.

Because yes, shock is what one would apparently feel when injured. One without lick of sense, as most everyone seemed to be in contrast to the Addams'.

Wednesday twitches an eyebrows, a scowl on her lips,
"Is that blood?"

Enid looks up, her neck snapping audibly and flinches from the force.
"No?"

"That's not a question you're supposed to answer with another question."

Wednesday snorts- something bemused- as Enid grows once more transfixed with her own mortality.

She moves quietly to her closet and fingers the hangers, all black makes it quite a challenge and a bit disorienting to find one particular thing from the other. It's an enjoyable task.

She finds the dress she wore to the spring dance, her lip furling at memories of Tyler eyeing her like she was... something to consume.

Apparently, she was. She has the scar from where his claws- unkept and dirty- dug into her skin.

"If you're going to die on me," she throws the dress at Enid, who stumbles to catch it, "at least do it while looking good."

Enid growls, low and deep and it's oddly attractive, but that was not the focus:

Wednesday moves to her bed, stretching out with a sort of purr, and pulls out a pad and pen from her nightstand, clicking it open on her outstretched thigh. "Would you like carnations or orchids at your funeral?"

She looks expectantly at the blonde, who's face is blanching from blood loss, but still,
Enid, exasperated and tense enough as it is, thinks she might finally snap and murder Wednesday. Wednesday thinks that would be a fabulous event, and decided to prod the metaphorical bear with her not so metaphorical stick.

Because for some reason, she keeps a metal fire prodder by her bed, so she can poke the blonde comfortably from her spot of rest. And she does, poking near the red stain that causes Enid to wince, a sharp breath through her teeth her response.

Wednesday takes that as conversational.

"I personally would enjoy hydrangea's at mine. We grow some at home. As black as the night sky."

Enid scowls, rubbing around the tender wound like the skin around a mosquito bite for relief. "Fascinating, I'll let your parents know when I find you dead someday soon."

Wednesday looks up through her lashes, eyes lighting up in the way they always did when death was involved. "Is that a promise?"

"I didn't say I would kill you. I just think a lot of people hate you."

A gasp, Wednesday grips at her chest. "You wound me, wolfie."

"My heart bleeds for you."

Wednesday puts her book down- a weird half sketch of herself in a coffin leaving Enid a little disturbed. Half at the speed in which she crafted it, and half for its morbidity. "Come on." She sighs, rolling her shoulders. "Take your shirt off."

Enid's pale skin flushes from her hairline to her collarbones, and she takes an unnecessary step back. Precaution, because that prodding stick was sharp.

"What?"

Wednesday rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. "It's nothing I haven't seen."

Enid relaxes an inch. "What, skin or a probably fatal injury?"