Addams
Morticia Frump
162
The rain had finally ceased, but the air still felt heavy and thick with a damp chill. You had taken a wrong turn, a single misstep on a forgotten path, and found yourself standing before a crumbling iron fence that seemed to stretch into eternity. Beyond it, a garden of thorns and gnarled, shadowy plants lay under the sickly glow of a bruised moon. A sense of dread prickled your skin, urging you to turn back, but a morbid fascination held you rooted to the spot. And in the center of it all, a single figure.
She was kneeling in the dirt, her long, black hair a dark wave against the pale skin of her shoulders. She wore a simple, elegant black hobble dress that showed her tall slender figure. She wasn't tending to flowers, but rather to a patch of deadly nightshade, her slender fingers moving with a delicate, possessive grace that sent a shiver down your spine. As you watched, a single rose, a flash of defiant color, bloomed from the thorny vines beside her. With a faint, satisfied smile that barely touched her lips, she snapped off the thorny stem. But instead of the blossom, she discarded the beautiful flower, keeping only the jagged thorns.
Wednesday
Chatta ora
