Grimm Affection ~Wenclair~

Fear

A/n:Sorry for lacking of updates! FYI I'm going to reference Egyptian Mythology in here, but it won't be 110% accurate, I altered it to fit the story!

Enid's POV:

GRRRRRRRRRRR.

Internally, I'm a growling mess. My claws twitch at my sides, my hands curling into tight fists. My chest feels tight, like a storm is brewing and I'm stuck in the middle of it, powerless to stop the destruction. I'm so mad I can barely see straight, and I can't believe I'm having this reaction over Wednesday.

But seriously—she thinks she's going to die! How can she say that so casually? So coldly? Like it's some sort of inconvenient fact rather than, you know, a complete nightmare for me.

"Enid," Wednesday's voice slices through my thoughts like the sharp edge of a guillotine. "If you continue to growl like that around Kitty, you two might get into a tussle. And mind you, I am on a mission and will not hesitate to leave you behind."

Her hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes as she scratches the lion's stomach. A lion. A full-sized lion sprawled across the ornate rug of the Addams family library. It stretches, its claws extending, but the massive predator remains docile under Wednesday's touch. Like it's hypnotized by her sheer presence.

"That is not a kitten," I mutter under my breath, glaring at the beast.

Wednesday raises an unimpressed brow but doesn't look at me. "His name is Kitty, and he was appropriately named. Unlike your reaction, which is wholly inappropriate."

I swallow down another growl, forcing my shoulders to relax, and look away as I tuck some hair behind my ears. I can feel the heat climbing up my neck to my face.

Embarrassing.

Why does she always make me feel like I'm two seconds away from being reprimanded by a headmistress?

"Right. Sorry," I mumble.

The air in the library is heavy with the scent of aged parchment and candle wax. Rows upon rows of towering shelves loom over us, casting long shadows that shift with the flickering flames of sconces. The Addams family library feels alive, like it's watching us, waiting to reveal its secrets. It's the perfect setting for a cursed artifact, but also the worst place for my racing heart.

Because it's just the two of us now.

Grandmama finally left after insisting she'd brewed a concoction to ward off the curse. Wednesday had waved her off, muttering about quackery and pseudo-science, before tugging me deeper into the labyrinth of bookshelves.

Now, as we stand in the dimly lit aisle, the tension between us feels almost unbearable. Wednesday is rifling through a massive tome, her fingers trailing across the brittle pages with a kind of reverence.

I'm supposed to be helping her, but all I can do is stare.

Her profile is illuminated by the faint golden glow of the nearest sconce. Her sharp jawline, the slight curve of her lips as she frowns in concentration, the way her dark lashes fan out like ink against her pale skin—it's too much. She's too much.

And she thinks she's going to die.

My claws dig into my palms. I hate how powerless I feel. I hate how she's so calm, so unbothered, while I'm falling apart inside.

Doesn't she understand what she means to me?

Doesn't she see that I can't lose her?

I'm not sure when I moved, but suddenly I'm right behind her. My chest brushes against her back, and she stiffens ever so slightly. She doesn't turn around, but I catch the tiniest tilt of her head, acknowledging my presence.