In which two complete opposite personalities are drawn together. To Wednesdays surprise, she would have never thought about falling for a boy that had almost nothing in common with her. Lucas Thorpe would have never guessed that Wednesday Addams wou...
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"IS THIS FOR REAL?" i asked as my eyes lingered on our villainous harlequin themed boat and costume. Did they really expect me to join there team and commit to this ridiculous outfit? It's no wonder why they haven't won yet, they probably focus too much on their design rather then winning the actual race.
"Damn right, man! Team Amontillado takes this stuff seriously!" Ajax grinned, his face streaked with paint as he slathered more of it onto the boat. Around him, the rest of the team buzzed with an almost manic energy, their laughter echoing across the lot.
"A little too seriously..." i muttered under my breath before wiping off my hands and standing up.
"Where are you going?" Ajax's voice followed me, curious but with an edge of disbelief. His paintbrush paused mid-stroke as he watched me gather my things.
"I'm headed for my dorm, i've done enough helping for the day. It's time to do personal objectives that don't require the help of jokers" i commented beginning to walk away from the team.
"Hey, will I see you tonight?" he called after me, his tone suddenly sharper, more urgent.
I didn't answer. Let him think I hadn't heard him. My feet carried me away from the chaos, toward the relative calm of my dorm.
But my thoughts weren't calm. I hadn't seen my brother all day, and a gnawing unease was settling in my chest. What if he'd gotten himself into trouble? Or worse—what if that thing, the creature that attacked Rowan, had returned and found him?
I clenched my fists, forcing the worry to the back of my mind. First, I needed to reclaim my focus. Then, I'd find him. Tonight, I'd make sure he was safe—no matter what.
☔️
On my side of the dorm, the walls bore silent witness to my past—a collage of paintings, sketches, and photographs of my art scattered near my desk. Each piece told a story, fragments of thoughts and emotions captured in time. But tonight, the page in front of me was a void.
I stared at it, the emptiness almost mocking. "Shit..." I muttered, closing my eyes and trying to reclaim the flicker of inspiration I'd felt earlier.
Then, like a jolt, it hit me. My hand moved instinctively, sketching shapes and lines without a second thought, as though my subconscious had taken the reins. When I finally leaned back and surveyed the page, I froze.
The creature stared back at me.
It was the same monstrous form I'd seen that night—the night it attacked Rowan and Wednesday. My pulse quickened. Why was this in my mind? Why was I drawing it?
