Burn | Xavier Thorpe

Troubles of Secrets

I left Wednesday to her own devices after our family drove away. My new obsidian necklace rested cool against my skin. The lettering an acknowledgment of both my selves. N when looked at directly and S and A when flipped. It was too risky to put the S alone, but with the A beside it, it merely looked like stylistic decoration instead of a true letter.

Nightingale

Seraphina

Addams

At least one of the three names always held true. No matter the situation.

Hopefully Wednesday would allow me a few weeks before beginning whatever chaos she had planned.

Unlikely, but I could dream.

The Quad was near empty by the time I'd found my way back, meticulously mapping my classes to prevent any unwanted surprises. I did not want any well wishers deciding to try and help me navigate on my first day of classes tomorrow.

Without an audience, I freely observed the five sided prison. Worn picnic tables scattered the courtyard. Not one was untouched by time and teenage impulsiveness. Names carved in hearts, obscenities scratched through and I scanned each one closely.

Wednesday wished to escape her mother's ghost. I wished to find mine.

It was so easy to believe Morticia and Gomez were my parents. In almost every way they were and they had been thoroughly adequate as such. They weren't my only parents though. Nevermore was a chance to find what I lost when they died.

Histories and legends of my mother's family were missing. If they had written anything down, it had gone up in flames with my parents and the family home. Such a secretive bunch were the Brites, even the vast knowledge of the extended Addams Family did not have the answers.

Even legendary creatures could successfully keep a few secrets for themselves.

How fortunate that I am left floundering in a world where I should be able to fly. A burned, unburned phoenix frozen in place.

The poetic irony that is my life.

One of the tables near the fountain center had a collection of burns. My hands flexed as I stepped closer. I could have stabbed the soul that interrupted my search, but I did not wish to be expelled so soon.

"Seraphina?"

On second thought, expulsion and it's impending disappointment sounds utterly enjoyable.

I turned and narrowed my eyes at the mentally tortured artist who might soon understand physical torture.

"Nightingale. Seraphina was my cousin who met her untimely demise." I corrected. He stood near his painting, brush in hand, but his eyes were focused on me.

Xavier winced. "Sorry, I knew that, I don't actually know what I was thinking."

"A common mistake. Addams have a similar presence that disrupts society's basic functions", I said. Up close his eyes were a woodsy green that I knew from somewhere.

"I can't believe I was stupid enough to make this mistake twice."

"Twice?", I struggled to recall exactly where he could have-

Oh,

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Xavier Thorpe, Xavier fucking Thorpe.

I could not believe that within the few hours of being stuck inside this new hellscape, my mind had successfully discarded truly important information. Such as the name of Seraphina Addams' best childhood friend. Who's mother died in the same fire she did.