Shadows of Nevermore

Chapter X

Wednesday sat at her desk, the familiar clacking of her typewriter filling the room. It had been two days since she had run away from Enid, her mind still haunted by the visions and the intensity of that night. She stared at the blank page before her, the words refusing to come.

Two days, she thought, her fingers hovering over the keys. Two days and I still can't shake it.

She tried to immerse herself in her novel, to drown out the confusion and fear that gnawed at her. Viper moved silently through the decaying mansion, her senses attuned to every creak and groan of the ancient wood. Blood pooled around the lifeless body sprawled across the floor, the crimson liquid glistening in the dim light.

The words felt hollow, devoid of the usual dark passion that fueled her writing. She paused, frustration bubbling up within her. Why can't I get this right?

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. The killer's method was crude but effective—a jagged wound, deep and merciless, carved into the victim's flesh. The scent of death hung heavy in the air, mingling with the stench of decay and fear.

But even as she described the graphic scenes, her mind kept drifting back to Enid. The warmth of her touch, the intensity of her gaze, the fear in her eyes as Wednesday pulled away. Why did it have to be her?

She slammed her hands down on the desk, the typewriter rattling with the force. I need to focus. I need to write.

But the words wouldn't come. Every time she tried to immerse herself in the macabre world of her novel, Enid's face would appear in her mind, the memory of their kiss and the visions that followed haunting her every thought.

Viper crouched beside the body, her gloved fingers tracing the edge of the wound. She could almost hear the victim's final screams, echoing through the empty halls. The hunt was on, and Viper was determined to uncover the truth hidden in the shadows.

The scene felt flat, lifeless. She couldn't find the right words, the darkness that usually flowed so easily from her mind now clouded by doubt and confusion.

Wednesday's thoughts wandered back to the vision, the feeling of being hunted, the pain of the claws digging into her flesh. It was Enid. It has to be her.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the image. No, it doesn't make sense. Why would she attack me?

But the memory of Enid's eyes, glowing with a predatory light, refused to leave her. She felt a chill run down her spine, the fear and uncertainty gnawing at her resolve.

I need answers, she thought, her fingers clenching into fists. I need to understand these visions.

She stared at the blank page before her, the frustration mounting. The words wouldn't come, the darkness that usually fueled her writing now tainted by fear and doubt.

This is useless, she thought, pushing away from the desk. I can't write like this.

The frustration and confusion that had been gnawing at her for days were now accompanied by a constant buzzing of her phone. Another text message from Enid.

Her phone vibrated again, the persistent hum breaking the silence of her study. Another message, she thought, her eyes flicking to the screen. How many does that make now?

She picked up her phone, the screen lighting up with a new message from Enid.

Enid: "Please, Wednesday, just talk to me. I'm worried about you."