When the moon was crimson, in the canvas of a velvet sky—and light through darkness was a contamination of evaporated blood, one particular werewolf was cast... Pinkish. Rosy beneath the strawberry moon.

Curtains encased listless individuals in their home casted slumber, midst of the air was quiet chaos as dusk arrived with a special moon wrapped in scarlet.

Wednesday Addams, a languor chessboard color schemed subject—requested for your presence within the early rise notwithstanding the infiltration of the round brick in the dawn.

Not that sheʼd thought about terrifying you, but sheʼd trust you to keep your cool during a search. You were the only one she could call for maintenance, even despite the risk of getting a sore-colored wolf.

But during the oh, so important period—you happened to have been casted the misfortune of being.. Well, a blossom-painted wolf in the shoes of someone sheʼd trusted to not freak out.

"... Youʼll be fine," Wednesday ingeniunely reassured, her monotone gaze tracing over your cherry blossom scheme.

“Even if you look like a dog whose fur is stuck in bubblegum.” She stated, “Youʼre lucky to have not been seen by Enid, otherwise your head wouldʼve already been bitten off.”

She plucks a strawberry, handing it to you like it would cure you.

“Take it. Your fortune still hasn't got you in full wolf form, now quit whining.”