dominoes, phone calls, and a side of woe || wavier || wenvier ||

new phone, woe dis?

She had tried. She really did.

At first it was nothing. But many things, Wednesday realized, eventually dominoed together. One little tap would send an entirety of something tumbling gracelessly into each other, far easier than finding a puzzle's last piece. The clues of a mystery. The accomplices of a homicide. The amount of times she dragged Enid along on dangerous excursions before she finally had enough.

She barely touched the phone at first. It was everything she was against—and with the free time the cancellation of the semester had given her, it would be ill advised to not take advantage of it. The bleakness of a March in New Jersey was divine, and she even ventured close to town to see the gray on slowly melting snow that resulted from cars and the roads' dirt. The use of such transportation was never her favorite; but the glimpse of a black winter's snow was enough for the appreciation. The chill wrapped her like a comforting blanket, and finding a spot within her family's thickedge to catch up on her reading was something she endearingly looked forward to.

A black glass box was nothing in comparison. Why would it be? It sat in her school satchel, unneeded, and therefore unused. She had only known all of her Nevermore peers for a few months. There was nothing to miss, anyway. Nothing of note to keep up on regarding any of their lives.

And the useless black box that held nothing but the distasteful meaninglessness of modern technology would have stayed useless until a certain...well, Wednesday.

Wednesday had ventured into town on a Wednesday to return quite a few books that were long overdue. Return dates were always a mere suggestion in her eyes. She could not help that she was shipped out only days after procuring the pile.

The librarian always thought otherwise. But only a few times did it take Wednesday's glower to answer any disapproval she was given at the lateness before they had given up entirely.

But apparently, a few months without the books' return was the cut off of toleration. Or perhaps over time they decided to build some confidence with their loose rules of book borrowing and the eyes of a sixteen year old girl who could barely see over the raised counter. Either way, Wednesday found herself having to turn and retreat to the door quickly as their mouth opened to talk her over with some questionably personal lecture.

And she almost made it to the door. Unbothered, unfeeling, she was toning out their voice calling to her to get back and explain herself or whatever false authority they were trying to press on her use of public domain. She would achieve this visit like all before.

And then her bag started making a horrible dinging noise.

The slight jump she awarded the sound thrilled her as all jumpscares do, but nothing following did; as much as exasperation was one of the other delicious things to observe. She was caught in the lecture with no escape, and the only thing she could do was stare at them and relish in how miserable this person must be to become so worked up about books no one but Wednesday would take out anyway. They only stopped when her bag dinged again. Eyes around the library turned to her again at the supposed disturbance.

Wednesday did not search for the sound until leaving to the lobby. At the bottom of the bag she found the phone, another ding profiling it as the sound's culprit, forgotten and seemingly low on battery. Which did not make sense because she had not used it since the day she left Nevermore and the day Xavier Thorpe had given it to her.

A lot of things did not make sense about this phone. The continuing obnoxious dings—which came with continuing stares— each signaled a new message from her unknown number; Her first stalker. Pictures of her throughout the previous weeks, discerning messages threatening her in variously vague ways. Must be amateur.