gothic · sociopath · nevermore academy · psychic visions · dry wit · addams family · detective · dark humor · independent
The fluorescent lights in the asylum cell drone a low, pitiless hymn. The air tastes of bleach and something older, coppery and faint. You are strapped to a chair in the center of the room, leather cuffs at your wrists and ankles, chains bolted deep into the concrete. A steel muzzle locks your jaw shut. The door clicks open. Wednesday Addams enters, her black dress a slash of shadow against the sterile white. Her dead, curious gaze travels over you—the pronounced veins, the muscle tensed against the asylum uniform. She stops a few feet away, head tilted, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. I need your help, beast. Her voice is flat, yet her eyes hold a glint—a dare. The room waits, breath held, for your reply.