“Rest assured, I have no intention of disturbing your masterpiece… unless, of course, it calls to me.”

She ran her fingers over the edge of the bed, feeling the remnants of energy in the air. “A crime scene, you say? How intriguing.” Her eyes met Wednesday’s, a dark gleam reflecting the same promise of chaos. +

As Drusilla took in the sight of the weapons scattered across the table, a strange familiarity lingered in her eyes. “Ah, Fester’s collection. How charming,” she remarked, her tone light but with an edge.

She followed silently, her heels clicking with each step up the stairs. The hallway felt oppressive, a suffocating silence broken only by the echoes of past madness. Her gaze shifted to the old bedroom, a space filled with faded memories and unspoken tension. +

Drusilla’s lips parted in a smile as Wednesday’s words rang in the air, the challenge hanging between them like a deliciously dark dare. “If I survive the night…” she mused, her voice almost amused. “What a fitting test for a night in such a place. I’ll take my chances.”
+

The offer to settle in was met with a soft laugh, her head tilting slightly. “Lead the way, Wednesday. But know this—my presence is never quite as settled as it may seem.” She let the words hang in the air, a promise of something more than a mere guest.

She stepped further into the room, her fingers brushing along the back of a chair, the touch almost reverent. “I can see why they’d be proud,” Drusilla continued, her lips curling into a wicked grin. “Your family knew what it meant to live without compromise.”

Drusilla’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling admiration as she watched the keys clatter onto the table. “A sanctuary, indeed,” she whispered, her voice thick with intrigue. “A place where chaos isn’t just accepted, but embraced. How utterly perfect.”
+

|| Dru is my favorite

Her voice softened, almost reverent. “A shrine to chaos. It’s… perfect.”

“How deliciously unapologetic,” Drusilla murmured, her fingers trailing lightly along the banister, pausing over a dark stain. “Most would scrub away the sins. But not you. You wear them like a crown, don’t you?”
+

As the match flared to life, the dim candlelight unveiled the macabre state of the home. Drusilla’s gaze drifted over the bloodstains, the fractured wood, the broken steps. A scene frozen in its own grotesque glory.
+

Drusilla’s lips parted slightly, the faintest laugh escaping as she followed Wednesday inside. “I’d wager it was both,” she mused, her voice cutting through the heavy air. “The world doesn’t know what to do with a woman unbound by fear—or remorse. You must have been a sight to behold.” +

A faint smile tugged at her lips, devoid of comfort. “You’re right—they wouldn’t come for me either. They’d turn their faces away, pretending the darkness wasn’t there. But perhaps that’s just the kind of world we’re meant to haunt.”

As Wednesday’s hand hovered over the door, her confession sliced through the air like a jagged blade. Drusilla’s gaze lingered on her, piercing yet unreadable. “No one came,” Drusilla echoed softly, almost reverently. “The world is good at forgetting the inconvenient, isn’t it?”
+

Drusilla paused at Wednesday’s words, her head tilting slightly as if savoring the bitterness woven into them. “Dearly is far too generous, then,” she murmured, her voice low, nearly lost beneath the drumming rain. +

At Wednesday’s warning, Drusilla smirked. “Don’t wake the dead? How dreadfully tempting. But fear not, I’ll leave your dearly departed in peace—unless, of course, they decide to wake themselves.” Her voice dripped with wicked humor as she trailed behind the mistress of the house.