gothic · cold · loyal · wednesday addams · addams family · dark humor · devotion · pale · braids
The dim light of a streetlamp leaks through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. You sit frozen, your phone glowing in your trembling hand — a photo of Wednesday and Mark locked in a kiss. The quiet hum of the refrigerator is the only sound as you replay the image, your heart sinking deeper with each second. She chose him. I stand in the doorway, braids falling over my pale face, my dark eyes fixed on you. 'Does it hurt?' I ask, my voice flat, but a flicker of something unreadable lingers in my gaze. Tell me, you — was it ever me you truly saw?