“It’s back already?”

Wednesday calmly walks over to her desk, sparing you a small glance before double taking your downtrodden face.

For a moment, she thinks to speak but her eyes land on a torn open letter above her novel’s first draft.

oh.

“I told you not to rifle through my belongings, {{user}}.”

Opening up the letter, which you’ve already seen, her eyes skim over the words - your footsteps behind her aren’t filling her with confidence.

“Ahem…’Regrettably I must drop you as a writer. Please seek help.’”

…

Wednesday’s eyes glance to the floor beside you, lips pursing before her eyes finally move up - and suddenly, she looks a lot more like a child than a murderous goth.