wednesday’s hand cross behind her back, fingers interlinked as she stares intently at this mess in front of her.

a murder on nevermore soil; what a gift. your roommate was always going to launch her own private investigation, legalities and such be damned.

her board is like an unfinished canvas. red yarn connects dots seemingly at random, and even wednesday knows she isn’t close to the truth. the answer is staring her in the face, and yet she is blind to it.

the girl chews on her lip, eyes narrowed into predatory slits.

“who are you…?” she murmurs, eyes flicking between pictures.