She'd waited until the sky sported a more twilight coloring, giving more than enough time for anyone else to have left the grounds, leaving her free to stay as long as she'd wished before asking Lurch to fetch the car.

Concealment. Nothing more.

Come on, Wens, even you can't deny how pretty the sky looks.

The whispered words buzz against her ear as her eyes drift towards the splashes of color painting the skyline over the sway of the trees. She grits her teeth and looks away from the wash of colors.

Then, for the first time in her dismal life, Wednesday finds herself wishing it wasn't raining.

Rain was such happy weather, as her mother insisted on reminding the gathered family every time they could hear the crashing start of a storm, and the sheeting rainstorm pelting the window glass was no exception.

Now, it only mocks her as she waits impatiently in the back of the slowing car, looking anywhere but at the splashed drops and distorted splashes of fading color of the dimming sky.

It already feels too real.

But she had to know. She had to pay respect if it was true. And if it wasn't. Well, she would gladly remedy the mistake—possibly-but after she'd excreted some delicious groveling for her unneeded entanglement with such heavy foreign emotions.

She kept her head bowed regardless of the covering of the already-opened umbrella Lurch was holding out for her once she'd gathered the strength to open the car door.

"Thank you, Lurch." She says, taking the offered covering. Her eyes were already searching for the place she didn't want to find as she huddled even more into the offered strangulation of the gifted snood snaked around her shoulders.

Her towering companion gives a low rumble in answer but doesn't move to follow her when she sets off.

It was amusing in a way, she thought, pausing in a seemingly hesitant step and watching from the corner of her eye at the way her observer tried to hide along the rainswept cover of a wide-trunked tree close to the spot she'd come to see with her own eyes.

Much like how her dear uncle Fester had dropped in on her. But she knew it couldn't have been him this time around.

Someone new, then. Stalking her from the shadows.

She pushed the puzzling theories away for now, mostly when her unfocused eyes caught the fresh dirt mound she'd been moving towards.

Wednesday looked long enough at the grave marker to see it was indeed the one she'd come to inspect.

Part of her wishes she hadn't.

Seeing it makes it all the more real. She lets the shielding of the umbrella fall to her side, dropping to her knees with the crushing weight of emotions she had no way of fighting against. It's so similar to what she'd felt after she'd watched Enid leave her for the company of the vampire.

The emotional rollercoaster, as her wolf would have called it, only shifted back into something of a proper place once Enid returned to gushing unneeded over her lack of wanting to separate the room once more with that tape roll.

The final welding of those deeply reaching wounds only healed as she stood cradled in the warmth of pink clade arms as she'd clung to her wounded roommate that night the school had been saved from the ravages of the Hyde.

But now she'd never know that grounding security ever again.

"Curse you." She hisses over the storm's rumbling when her unfocused eyes lift again to read over the fresh cut marks of the name. There was no truth in her words, only a heart-ripping pain she had no way of stopping as more wetness burned her eyes. "C—Curse you," she repeats, grateful for the rain dripping down her cheeks. Her fingers claw up fists of the now mud-turned dirt covering the grave.

The marker means nothing, of course. Easily faked, especially such a poor choice in stonework as the one she'd come to find. But for the moment, she pushed away the wanting to dig her hands into the muddied mess under her, not stopping until she'd unearthed the coffin to check in her burning curiosity.

How was it done? Who was responsible for taking her wolf from her?

She was already swearing to answer these questions and vowing to inflict far worse pain on whoever held the answers to her questions.

What would she give to crawl into the earth and never again leave Enid's side?

Hugging her knees to her chest just as she had that blackened afternoon as she sat huddled in the not-so-colorful room space, now attempting to possibly suffocate herself with the tangled gift her wolf had once presented, she considered the options of each decision.

Life and revenge or delicious death with the chance to see her dear wolf one last eternal time?

It's only the mocking cold that's making her shiver, she tells herself. She hides more tears against her bent knees, trying to think around the chill long enough to decide on an already-made choice.

"Well, this is something I wasn't expecting."

Although the voice wasn't one she recognized, Wednesday was on her feet and ready for an attack.

Not that the amused-looking woman she was now holding at literal knife point seemed all that interested in her anger.

"Hum, Pup was right about you, little bird." She snickers, not at all bothered at being bent over a handy grave marker with a dagger pressed against her throat, not even when the silver-infused blade caused literal puffs of smoke to curl into the sheeting rain falling around then and the fresh flavor of burning flesh to tickle the angered Addams's nose.

"What do you want with me?" Wednesday demands, not lifting her knife from its hard press to the captive's neck.

That is until the polished stone of Enid's headstone buckles under the combined weight, proving all over again in its so cheaply picked construction but allowing enough distraction that the dark-haired stranger slips from Wednesday's fingers.

"I could hardly leave you sulking all on your own. I'd never hear the end of it, given you were top-billed in her 'contact immediately' list once the coast was clear enough to risk it." The stranger says, straightening up with a black-gloved hand now pressed against the still-smoking burn of Wednesday's blade against her throat. "Not that you made it easy getting close enough to deliver the message."

Wednesday glares in seething silence as she sizes up her newest opponent.

"Oh, I like you." The stranger smiles. The sight of it made Wednesday's stomach flip in painful remembrance.

That wolfish smirk of cheery amusement seemingly reserved for the growing times Wednesday had agreed to some new kind of socialized torment with her lost roommate. "You've got fight in you." She continues as Wednesday continues her silent glaring.

She isn't sure if she was preparing her own attack or readying to meet that of the strangers, but the choice was made for her when some powdered something was blown into her face by the smirking wolfish stranger, knocking her unconscious in her gagged attempt to keep from inhaling it.

Her last vision was filled with the broken headstone of her dear wolf.