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In any realm, time is among the most transformative forces in existence. It’s an ingenious artist, an insidious toxin, and an insatiable fire all at once. Time can see the building of entire families, the disintegration of bonds once thought to be indestructible, and accomplish so much more.
She feels its inescapable influence with every waking breath, but she especially feels it here. Here being the spacious office belonging to Nevermore Academy’s current principal, Larissa Weems. From the bronze owl statue and the enormous taxidermy bear present inside of the room to the earthy color scheme selected for the room, this office truly captures Larissa’s curious blend of professionalism and eccentricity. The low-lighting and dark woods present within the office further establish the earthy atmosphere that Larissa clearly made quite the effort to put together.
Presently, she sits across from the dutiful headmistress with no one else present except for her beloved daughter and her darling husband. This meeting is, after all, about Wednesday and the beginning of her educational journey at this historic institution. Nevermore’s skeletons exist aplenty and it would be best if her alma mater could remain a relic buried within her past, but this is the school that Wednesday was always destined to attend. The inventive adolescent may not see it now, but this will be a far more suitable fit than any of the schools that she’s been enrolled in previously.
Perhaps it’s because she already feels certain that this will be an auspicious match that she isn’t solely focused on Wednesday or even Gomez. Instead, she’s focused on Larissa. Both time itself and Larissa earn her attention when the blonde asks her daughter a specific question.
“Did your mother tell you we were roommates back in the day?,” the statuesque leader asks with her gaze steadily sliding from Wednesday’s seated form to her own. All the while, her countenance displays a growing smile. One that she acknowledges with a harmless smile of her own, a gesture that anyone would perceive as being natural. An innocuous gesture that no one aside from Larissa would think anything of.
This exchange of disparate smiles is not, in fact, insignificant. Whereas Larissa’s smile is toothy and seemingly easygoing, her own smile is restrained and toothless. Despite the notable contrast, these two smiles are unified in that they acknowledge the exact same thing. These smiles function as a language of their own. One that only she and Larissa can comprehend. Though, given Wednesday’s perceptiveness, it would hardly be surprising if she gleaned some insight from the sight of the exchange.
Roommates.
It’s not an inaccurate statement per se. Yet, it veils what was done in secrecy. It simplifies realities more complicated than that. The oversimplification is a betrayal of truth. A necessary one, but a betrayal nonetheless.
She wholeheartedly adores Gomez, and will do so even when she inevitably meets the welcoming embrace of death. Within him lies a heart of lustrous silver, beating relentlessly with devotion unrivaled. With his intrepid spirit and willingness to make tremendous sacrifices in the name of love, he has always been the ideal partner. Just as she does, he thrives in darkness, the only place where experiencing this mortal plane as their full authentic selves is not only permissible but celebrated.
But, Gomez is not the only love she’s had the pleasure of tasting. He is not the only love she’s had the delight of knowing so intimately.
Larissa Weems has been and will always be the very first.
For a moment of pure selfish indulgence, she recalls the feeling of soft skin beneath her bare palms. She recalls cupping warm cheeks, colored by a rosy hue due to unmitigated euphoria. Initially, Larissa would demonstrate adorable sweetness in receiving her fervid kisses. Eventually, it was she who was meeting Larissa’s fervor, with the blonde’s hands clenching the cotton fabric of her uniform. She would shut her eyes and savor the feeling of her lips depositing slow kisses across the skin of her neck.
She remembers how Larissa would halfheartedly chastise her for leaving those flaxen locks of hers in an unkempt state when they would sneak in kissing sessions during daytime. She did so even while those dexterous hands of hers were neatening her uniform, brought into a disorderly state by the sharing of an intimacy confined to their accommodations. She always looked so absurd while gripping the hem of her skirt and pulling it down as far as possible. As though her skirt’s hemline falling a couple of inches above her knees was so scandalous.
“Perfection requires work,” Larissa would unfailingly offer as an explanation whenever she would try to insist that she didn’t need to be so meticulous in neatening her appearance. She’s always preferred imperfection, because flawlessness is inauthentic. Flawlessness shrouds part of the charm of being mortal, which is that foibles and flaws contribute to the creation of individuality. Through Larissa, she learned that perfection does not completely lack appeal. Perfection is like a puzzle waiting to be taken apart so that the hidden treasures lying beneath can be exhumed. Unlike its preservation, perfection’s dismantling enticed her. It still does.
Not everything was so…passionate, though. Passion is electrifying, but tenderness has its own value.
One of her favorite moments of that nature transpired on a rainy day, away from the privacy of their dorm and elsewhere in the school.
Standing outside, mere steps from guaranteed shelter, Larissa looked far more contemplative than she’d ever been leading up to that point. Despite being physically present, she was psychologically absent. Her mind was exploring some distant land that was unreachable to everyone else. For a time, she silently admired from afar the sight of her roommate caught out in the rain. But, her evasion of Larissa’s awareness was never meant to be everlasting.
“Dreary day,” Larissa noted, holding a pistachio-colored umbrella with one hand and an emerald binder with the other. As though it wasn’t clear enough that the observation had been voiced for her specifically to hear, Larissa’s gaze had sought out her own. Unafraid of getting wet, she’d stepped out into the falling rain and said, “A beautiful day.” Not a single ray of sunlight was peeking through the dense storm clouds crowding the sky that day. Not a single speck of blue could be seen above at the time. Just an endless sea gray and dulled white. Lovely weather.
Her roommate’s soft lips rose into a visible smile of amusement. “Yes, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” As if an explanation would suddenly persuade Larissa to see things her way, she’d softly uttered, “There’s beauty in sorrow.” It felt soothing, letting countless raindrops race down her face and soak her sleek ebony hair. It was a reminder that she was alive, and that that would not always hold true. Inevitably, death would see to it that she could no longer experience such simple pleasures.
Memento mori.
Canting her head ever so slightly, Larissa had asked, “Exactly whose sorrow are we speaking of?” Only for a second had she paused. She’d required no additional time, because the answer came to her so naturally. While outstretching her arm with her palm facing upward so that she could catch raindrops, she spoke plainly. “Nature weeps over the trials that humanity subjects it to.” It is injustice that she spoke of then. Humanity’s cruelty toward nature had never been a secret. It had started dismaying and enraging her since even before then. The beauty of nature’s sorrow was that the raindrops were proof that even nature, a force without one voice and a beating heart, could experience sentiment. Suffering is a key aspect of existing, and no one can deny that nature exists.
Larissa’s gaze had noticeably softened then, with something resembling compassion filling them up. “Perhaps, but the destructive ways of normies have no place here,” she had said, offering both consolation and assurance in her own way. Parting her lips, she had expelled a weightless sigh. Not one betraying exasperation or anything along those lines. Just a sigh, free of any strong emotion. “I would invite you to join me, but something tells me you like being exactly where you are.” Making her appear younger and even more alluring, an ethereal smile had materialized upon Larissa’s face. One of the rarest smiles ever worn by the imposing blonde.
It was in that moment that she realized just how priceless both passion and tenderness can be.
Larissa Weems was her roommate, and her first love.
Though the world will never know that truth in its entirety, she forever will. Come what may, she will forever cherish the memories and realities that exist only within their minds.