Addams
Morticia Frump
125
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
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