Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution.”

- Machiavelli

It all starts with the unexpected early end to the semester.

Everyone else is elated to get an early start to their winter breaks (even if that excitement’s tempered by the grim reminder of all the death and tragedy preceding it, especially the loss of Principal Weems).

All Enid can feel is dread. 

She just knows that Esther is going to be over the moon once she finds out that Enid’s finally transformed. 

She’s certainly going to have a thing or two to say about Enid’s scars, but even those will be overshadowed by Esther’s joy that the runt of her litter has finally transformed.

Enid will no longer be the family disappointment. 

She’ll finally be a “normal” werewolf.

Before this semester, she would’ve given anything for that.

But things have changed now. 

She’s always known that when (if) she finally transformed, Esther would immediately start pushing her to find a good, strong mate, specifically a male one. 

She knows she’s not ready to face that, and not just because of everything that’s happened. 

All the excitement and tragedy of the past semester, with the spine-tingling thrill of her first transformation and the nearly overwhelming fear of fighting a Hyde all on her own, protecting someone she never expected to become one of the most important people in her life- all of that would be a lot for anyone to process. (Other than an Addams maybe).

But it isn’t just that anymore.

Just days after the night of the blood moon, she and Ajax both agreed to break off their fledgling relationship for two very specific reasons.

Ajax realized he isn’t into girls, and that he even maybe has a crush on a certain resident tortured artist.

It doesn’t bother Enid at all, of course. 

She’s even started plotting some match-making schemes in case the two aren’t together by the time they all return to Nevermore, but, well… she realized she might not be all that into the opposite sex either.

The realization was a startling one, but in hindsight, it really shouldn’t have been.

The way her claws involuntarily came out every time she and Ajax kissed or hugged each other, which they only ever happens when she’s freaked out or scared- the lack of any kind of spark when their lips met or they cuddled on her bed- her uncharacteristic reluctance to reply to his messages even though she’d been more than happy to do so when they were just friends…

Honestly, she feels stupid for not recognizing the signs sooner.

But it was the hug that was the ultimate slap in the face she needed.

The hug.

Wednesday has always made it clear that she never hugs, or really does physical touch in general, (though she does allow the occasional quick side hug or shoulder touch on very special occasions), and Enid has always done her best to respect Wednesday’s boundaries.

(It definitely helped bolster her confidence in their growing friendship that if anyone else so much as brushed against Wednesday accidentally, a knife would appear in her hands from seemingly nowhere and the offender would quickly scurry off).

That night though, she couldn’t help herself.

Covered with blood, both her own and Tyler’s, terrified she was too late and that Wednesday was gone when she couldn’t see her in the milling crowd of students outside the school gates, only to see Wednesday limp out of the fog like a miracle- all of it was too much.

Enid leapt forward, pulling Wednesday into a crushing hug. She needed to reassure herself that Wednesday was alive and safe and here . 

Wednesday pulled back seconds later, and Enid let her have her space, grateful she didn’t get a knife to the stomach for the impulsive action, grateful she was allowed at least that.

But then Wednesday looked at her, something unfathomable in her eyes, before pulling Enid back in. Not only that, but Wednesday hugged back, just as tightly as Enid was holding her, as if she too needed the reassurance that Enid was okay, needed the warmth and the scent of her just as much as she needed Wednesday’s.

That moment was perfect, a moment suspended in time, a moment she’d never forget.

The warmth of it filled her up like a cup of hot cocoa, sheathing her like a blanket, releasing cocoons she hadn’t been aware of in her stomach until she was filled with butterflies. 

They pulled back and Enid grinned, and Wednesday even gave a ghost of a smile back to her, and she felt like she could absolutely fly from how light and happy she felt.

But buried somewhere deep beneath the tsunami of relief and affection and exhaustion crashing over her, some distant part of herself couldn’t help but whisper, oh no.

The next day, that voice only got louder and louder, until she finally couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The pieces were pretty easy to put together after that.

She can accept being gay; it makes sense, and she’s never cared what people identify as.

However, she absolutely refuses to accept that she might have a crush on Wednesday Addams.

Heading down that road would mean willingly running towards disaster, and she’s not an insane trouble-chasing Addams like certain people she could name.

So she shoves down any butterflies or overly warm feelings she gets each time Wednesday glances at her and resigns herself to an extra-long winter break of either fielding off Esther’s attempts to set her up with an extremely masculine mate or facing the horrible ordeal of coming out to her family.

The latter option is enough to make her shudder.

She knows Murray will be supportive, because he always is, and that he'll keep loving her the way he always has.

She has no idea how her brothers will react, or if they’ll even care.

Esther on the other hand… Enid knows exactly how she’ll react. And it’ll involve different kinds of conversion camps than the lycanthropy ones she tried to force Enid into the last time they saw each other.

No, she’s not ready to come out to her family, besides maybe Murray. Not now, and maybe not ever.

So that means a winter break of unbearably overwhelming males trying to lure her in with pheromones that make her want to gag. A few of the male werewolves at Nevermore have already tried that, but thanks to Wednesday that activity petered off very quickly, and Enid couldn’t be more grateful.

But there won’t be a Wednesday back in San Francisco.

So Enid packs her bags as slowly as she can manage, refolding every colorful sweater and flowery skirt at least three times before finally putting them in either her suitcase or her duffel bag. She rolls up her favorite posters and curtains, her stuffed animals and colorful decorations, and hides them beneath layers of clothes, but she’s not able to fit everything. In fact, she can't even fit half of it underneath the clothes she knows Esther will at the very least tolerate.

Mournfully, she starts throwing away the things she can’t squeeze into her bag and suitcase in one of the large trash bags she has on hand for this very reason.

“What are you doing?”

Enid jumps at the sudden question. 

She’d been so wrapped up in her own anxiety and fretting over seeing Esther again that she almost forgot she isn’t actually alone in the room.

Looking sheepishly over her shoulder, Enid finds Wednesday regarding her with a vague curiosity, as if she’s a particularly interesting beetle pinned to a corkboard. Considering the homicidal glares from their first few weeks as roommates, it’s leagues beyond where they first started, and something in Enid bubbles up at the thought before she squashes it back down ruthlessly.

“What?” She asks stupidly, still untangling herself from the web of worry and dread clouding her mind.

Wednesday lifts her left eyebrow ever so slightly and Enid groans internally. She knows what Wednesday looks like when she’s about to go into interrogation mode, and Enid knows she’s not in the mindset to squirm her way out of it.

“I would normally be more than happy to assist you in destroying anything colorful within my range of sight, but throwing away any of your rainbow monstrosities is very out of character for you.”

Enid sighs and resigns herself to just telling the truth rather than trying to avoid it. 

Wednesday is scarily good at prying information out of people whether they want to give it up or not, even without the use of blades or tasers (though Enid knows the girl relishes when she gets the opportunity to use her favorite tools), and Enid's simply too exhausted at the prospect of facing Esther so soon to put up a fight.

“Well, my mom isn’t that much fonder of all my stuff than you are.” She waves a vague hand towards the colorful scarves still hanging from the rafters and the random tchotchkes she’s picked up from stores in Jericho over the semester. "She doesn’t think it’s practical for a werewolf to have stuff like this. Even before I had my first change she’d throw out any decorations I put up in my room, so I’ve just stopped putting them up when I go home. When she finds out I've transformed, she’s probably going to be even worse than usual.”

A thought occurs to her, and all the blood drains from her face.

“Oh God, she’s probably going to make me get rid of all my sweaters and skirts too! She’ll make me wear nothing but camo pants and flannel all winter! And she’s definitely going to make me throw out my hair dye since she won’t want my wolf form having highlights-" She collapses back onto her bed with a whine. "Oh, this is going to be the worst!” 

“Hm.” Wednesday looks like she's considering something for a moment before going back to packing her own suitcase with brisk efficiency. “Your mother sounds particularly dreadful, and not in a good way. Why not simply stand up to her, the way you did when she tried to force you to choose a lycanthropy conversion camp to attend for the summer?”

“How do you even know about-?”

Wednesday gives her a look. Enid sighs and waves her hand dismissively.

“Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Wednesday resumes packing with a distinctly smug air. 

“It’s just, it’s going to be different at home. Most of my brothers are a lot like my mom, and the entire pack is going to be pressuring me to find a mate as soon as I get back, and I can’t stay in my room the entire winter to prevent my mom from throwing my stuff away. I’d go insane!”

“I don’t see the problem. Considering your disturbingly large collection of stuffed unicorn toys, I’d say you’re already well on your way to a unique form of lunacy.”

“Ha.” Enid says dryly in response. “You’re no help at all sometimes.”

“I know.”

“Anyways," Enid sighs, sitting back up. "Thing, I have something for you.”

Thing pauses from where he’s helping Wednesday pack her frankly terrifying collection of knives, throwing stars, hand grenades, and other assorted weaponry (where does she even keep it all?) and scuttles over to Enid’s side of the room. 

Once he’s hopped up on the bed beside where she’s sitting, she holds out a small bag to him.

“This has all your favorite nail polish, manicure equipment, and hand lotion from my collection. I want you to have it, since I know you’ll take good care of it and use it well. My one condition is that you send me pics of all the cool nail art you do with it. Deal?”

Thing gives an enthusiastic thumbs up, eagerly taking the bag from Enid when she offers it to him and thanking her as energetically as a severed hand can. Despite the heartache of losing her favorite mani-pedi kit, she can’t help but grin at Thing’s excitement. Even if she can’t use it, at least she knows someone who appreciates the fine art of nail care just as much as she does will.

“How exactly do you expect Thing to do his own nails?” Wednesday asks. Enid can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“You know just as well as I do how dexterous he can be.” She says as they make eye contact. “I’m sure he’ll manage just fine without me.” She can’t help the small voice crack at the end of her sentence, but she clears her throat and plows on with the small and likely in vain hope that Wednesday didn’t notice it. (Wednesday notices everything). “And besides, if he has any trouble, I’m sure someone at your place will be willing to help him out. He’s family after all.”

Thing gives a sign of agreement. 

Wednesday’s eyelids twitch faintly in her own version of an eye roll before she turns back to her nearly packed suitcase. 

“As long as he doesn’t expect me to assist him, I don’t particularly care.”

Evidently offended, Thing stops helping Wednesday with her packing entirely and helps Enid with her own instead, though he seems somewhat distressed at the amount of items she has to toss into the trash bag that’s getting dangerously close to overflowing.

When Thing tries for the third time to prevent her from throwing out one of her many fluffy sweaters, she sighs.

“I know Thing, I want to keep it, but I don’t have any more room to hide it in my duffel or my suitcase, and my mom will just throw it out when I get home anyways. Might as well just get it over with now rather than delay the inevitable, okay?”

“That might be the most sensible thing you’ve ever said.” Wednesday remarks, getting a glare from Enid and a middle finger from Thing in response. She merely huffs something that’s almost a laugh and goes back to ignoring their antics.

Thing stops trying to save her sweaters and decorations, but he’s noticeably sulky and petulant about it for the rest of the time it takes to finish packing.

Enid’s nearly done when her phone chimes. Reading the text, she sighs and stands up.

“Yoko’s having some kind of emergency- she can’t find her favorite pair of sunglasses anywhere and wants me to go help her look for them. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Thing, would you mind throwing out the rest of the stuff and zipping up my duffel bag for me?”

Thing gives a half-hearted thumbs-up and starts sullenly wandering his way over to her duffel bag. 

Wednesday gives a hum of acknowledgment without even looking up from where she’s straightening her finished manuscript in its own little briefcase, the last thing that needs packing on Wednesday’s side of the room besides her beloved typewriter. 

Enid’s eyes catch on the emptied out trash bin and the two nearly bursting trash bags beside it.

She has to turn around and leave the dorm as quickly as she can to keep the burn of tears in her eyes from overflowing.

She tries to remind herself that it’s just stuff. All of it’s just useless stuff that she’ll be able to replace next semester. She’ll probably forget what most of it even was by the time winter’s over anyway.  

She knows that’s a lie; she can still remember every sweater and makeup set and piece of decoration that didn’t fit with "practical werewolf ideals" that Esther made her throw out last year. And the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that. 

She forces herself to stop thinking about it before she starts sobbing in the hallway (because how embarrassing would that be?), and focuses on getting to Yoko’s dorm room with her dignity intact. She can cry later, when she’s alone in her room in San Francisco. 

For now, she has a pair of sunglasses to find.

Wednesday has just finished closing the clasps to her typewriter’s case with a reverence she only reserves for it and her cello when Thing jumps up on her desk with a flurry of angry gestures, too fast for her to understand most of them, but she’s able to grasp the overall message.

“Calm down, Thing. Do you really think I’m going to let some lackluster, pitiful excuse for a mother interfere with Enid’s burgeoning potential?”

Thing pauses, confusion somehow palpable in the curve of his fingers. But then, Wednesday’s grown up with Thing’s blend of ASL and his own special mannerisms as a second language. (Besides Spanish, Italian, German, French, Romanian, as well as an assortment of others, of course, as is only befitting of an Addams).

As Enid has pointed out several times now, Thing is Wednesday’s family. And there’s no one Wednesday understands better than her family.

Thing makes a hesitant questioning motion.

“Of course I have a plan.” She sits down at her desk and opens up the case containing her crystal ball. With a few simple motions, her parents’ faces are lit up within its depths.

“My little viper! How delightfully dreadful it is to see you!” Gomez gushes with his usual overwhelming affection. 

“Though we're surprised you’re calling us when we’ll be seeing you in just a few short hours. Lurch should be there any minute, if he hasn’t arrived already. Is something the matter?” Morticia asks with her typical motherly concern, overlaid with a grotesque fondness.

Normally, Wednesday can just barely tolerate their affection, and finds their outward displays of love (especially towards each other) nauseating in a decidedly not good way, but for once she’s actually grateful for their open warmth and sentiment. 

Morticia’s motherly hospitality and Gomez’s unusual brand of friendliness will be vital for the plan Wednesday’s already concocting in her head.

“Mother, Father, I wish to know if the bedroom across from mine is still unoccupied.”

“Of course it is; that room hasn’t been used since you put black mambas in Cousin Bermilda’s bed when you were seven, remember?”

Wednesday’s mouth twitches at the memory. 

Cousin Bermilda’s screams were almost as comforting as the squeaking of the bats in the rafters of Wednesday’s own room, helping her fall into a deep sleep much more quickly than usual.

Cousin Bermilda hasn’t visited the family manor since. A pathetic excuse of an Addams, really.

At least they aren’t related by blood; Cousin Bermilda married into the family, despite clearly not being suited for it. Wednesday simply wanted to prove that at the first family reunion where they met, in her frilly pink gown reminiscent of a ballerina’s tutu. If she couldn’t even handle a few black mambas in her bed, she wasn’t worthy to be called an Addams.

(With a jolt of displeasure, Wednesday realizes the thought of seeing such an abomination of a dress again doesn’t disturb her the way it used to. She banishes the thought from her mind to examine later and focuses on the matter at hand).

“I ask that you clean it up in preparation for someone who will be staying with us for an extended period of time. If you can, please relocate the spiders and their webs to other places in the home as well, as this person isn’t overly fond of them and may crush them accidentally.”

“Of course dear. But, may I ask, does this mean you’re planning to invite a friend over?”

Wednesday can’t help the small smirk edging at the corner of her mouth.

“No. I won’t be inviting anyone over. I simply wish to reacquaint myself with the art of kidnapping.”

Her parents grin at her, Morticia’s eyes alight with amusement and Gomez’s with excitement.

“Yes, it wouldn’t do to get rusty, my little storm cloud. And who is this unfortunate victim of yours?” Gomez asks. 

Wednesday ignores the question, knowing her parents will be overbearing enough as it is once they find out.

“Please also remove all furniture besides the desk, bed, bookshelves, vanity, and wardrobe, and ensure any spirits lingering inside are encouraged to move to other parts of the house. I wish to be the only one tormenting my hostage.”

“And how long shall we be keeping this mystery hostage?” Morticia asks, looking at Wednesday far too knowingly, in a way that makes spiders crawl over her skin in a way she doesn’t enjoy at all. 

Frustrating, how the sensations she normally enjoys seem to be turning against her recently.

“Likely for the entirety of the break, so long as my plans proceed as predicted.”

“Well, knowing you, my darling raven, your plans will unfold precisely as you intend them to.” Morticia assures her with an unsettling glint in her eye. “The room will be ready by the time you arrive.”

“Thank you, Mother. I expect you both to be as overbearing and unwelcoming with my hostage as you are with me.”

Morticia and Gomez are as fluent in Wednesday as she is in Thing, so they understand what she’s implying immediately and light up in an absolutely repugnant way.

“Of course, my little scorpion! We will shower your hostage with all the attention we give you.”

“And I’m sure Pugsley will be delighted to push them into the bog sometime after your arrival.” Morticia adds with a smile.

“If he can manage it.” Wednesday can’t help but reply, immediately regretting it when her parents light up even more.

“Ah, so it’s someone with supernatural reflexes! We’ll have to keep on our toes to make sure they don’t escape before the winter break’s over.”

“No need.” Wednesday stands up, preparing to shut the crystal ball’s case. The suggestion of a smile ghosting at her lips widens into what could only be a genuine smile, one that would send most people running in terror but that only makes her parents smile even wider at her. 

“She won’t.”

And with that, she closes the case, her expression already slipping into its usual, indifferent blankness.

She turns to Thing.

“I trust you already know what to do?”

Thing makes an affirmative gesture, nearly vibrating in excitement.

“Good. Let’s begin then. We don’t have much time.”

With that, Wednesday picks up both of the trash bags lying abandoned on the floor and heads out the door, Thing hot on her heels.

By the time Enid gets back to the dorm room, Wednesday’s side of the room is completely barren, not a trace of the girl's presence remaining. 

Enid can’t help feeling even more glum when she realizes that Wednesday took care of the garbage as well. 

She’s sure her roommate was as eager to get rid of the bags full of color as Enid was reluctant to part with them.

With a sob lodged in her throat, Enid picks up her duffel bag and her suitcase and leaves the dorm room, heart aching. 

She and Wednesday had made so much progress, Enid thought she’d at least stick around to say goodbye, especially after their little heart-to-heart in Principal Weem’s office.

Maybe if she’s lucky, Wednesday will take her up on her offer to visit San Francisco. 

Even if it's just for a weekend, it would be enough to brighten up her entire break. Just picturing her brothers withering under Wednesday’s piercing stare is enough to make Enid smile genuinely for the first time since the blood moon.

The smile lasts until she steps out of Nevermore and into the blinding sunlight, squinting for a moment at the sudden change in brightness. She starts reluctantly looking around the milling crowd of students, teachers, and families to find her own, but before she can find them, a shadow appears beside her.

“Wednesday?” Enid can’t help but grin. “I thought you already left?”

Wednesday tilts her head to the side.

“I was under the impression that it’s common for friends to say goodbye to one another before parting for a length of time. Was I misinformed?” 

Wednesday’s open admittance of their friendship makes Enid’s grin even wider. She might be imagining it, but she thinks she sees a glint of amusement and mischief in Wednesday’s eyes. 

In her moment of relief that she gets to see Wednesday one last time before the official end of the semester, she forgets that the expression on Wednesday’s face isn’t the one reserved for those few occasions when she’s open with Enid- it’s the one that always precedes when she’s about to play a trick on an unsuspecting victim.

And boy, is Enid unsuspecting.

“Before leaving to find your family, would you accompany me to my family’s car? I would like you to meet my family’s butler, Lurch, before we leave.”

“Of course!” Enid says brightly. 

She’s only met Wednesday’s parents briefly, back when Wednesday first arrived, so she didn’t really get to introduce herself properly. 

With Esther hounding her for the entirety of Parents Weekend, she barely even saw Wednesday, let alone get the chance to meet any of her family.

But she’s become close friends with Thing and heard many interesting stories about Wednesday’s close and extended family, so meeting even just one of them makes her feel more excited (and maybe a touch scared) than she would be meeting anyone else.

She skips merrily with Wednesday towards the car shaped like a hearse (is it a hearse? She wouldn’t be at all surprised if it is), with her suitcase and duffel bag in tow. 

They stop in front of a towering behemoth of a man waiting patiently by the car. He reminds her vaguely of Frankenstein’s monster, but after nearly a full semester of rooming with Wednesday Addams and trading manicure tips with Thing, it hardly phases her.

She sets down her bags and reaches out a polite hand to the butler.

“Hello Lurch!” She says brightly. “My name’s Enid Sinclair. It’s nice to meet you!” 

Lurch grasps her hand in return. 

Before she knows what’s even happening, he pulls her forward with surprising strength, knocking her completely off balance. 

With a push from behind by Wednesday, she’s basically thrown into the car within seconds of the ambush. 

She just barely manages to avoid hitting her head on the opposite door but still ends up with her legs sticking up on the seat and her upper body sprawled on the floor of the surprisingly spacious car. 

“Thank you, Lurch.” She hears Wednesday say as Enid tries to right herself, but by the time she does, Wednesday is already inside the car and closing the door firmly behind her, looking at Enid with a self-satisfied non-expression on her face.

“Wednesday, what the hell?” Enid nearly shrieks. 

Through the window behind Wednesday, she can see Lurch lifting up her bags and putting them on top of the car with Wednesday’s luggage.

“I’ve decided you’re going to be spending the winter with me. Your mother is a pest and I refuse to let her turn you into one. I’ve barely grown to tolerate you now; I won’t have the patience to tolerate a new version of you for a roommate next semester.” 

Enid stutters for a moment, barely able to find a coherent thought, feeling incredibly confused, unbelievably flattered, and unbearably sad, since she knows she can’t actually let Wednesday “kidnap her”, no matter how much she wants to.

“You can’t just kidnap your friends, Wednesday.” She finally manages to sputter out when Lurch sits himself down in the driver seat. Enid tries to open the door on her side, but before she even reaches the handle, an ominous click of the doors locking rings through the air. 

Enid turns her head to gawk at Wednesday.

“Why not?” Wednesday asks in such a genuine way that Enid honestly can’t tell if she’s being teased or not.

“Because, because my mom will get mega mad and go batshit crazy-”

“I can't see how that would be a bad thing.”

“And my dad will be worried sick-”

“Doubtful, since he’s given you permission to stay with us.”

Enid does a double-take, stopping her seconds before she forcefully wrenches the door open.

“What do you mean?”

“While your mother was distracted with a black widow that somehow ended up in her purse, I pulled your father aside and asked if he would allow you to accept my invitation to spend the entirety of our winter break at my home. He gave his permission. He also said to tell you that he would handle your mother in the meantime, but that he expects you to call him at least once a week.”

Enid can only stare at her, mouth agape, so Wednesday continues.

“Rest assured, I would’ve taken you whether he said yes or no. I simply thought it polite to pretend to get his approval first.”

Enid’s shock slowly starts to melt into glee, especially when Thing scuttles into view and perches excitedly on the seat opposite them, nearly bouncing like she does whenever she’s particularly thrilled about something.

“You’re really gonna let me spend the entire winter at your place? Won’t your parents mind?”

“I already informed them I’d be bringing a hostage home with me. Your suitcase and duffle bag are on top of the car with my own luggage, and Lurch has put the bags containing the rest of your belongings in the trunk to prevent them from ripping and losing any of the items inside. He’s fastidious to a fault.”

Enid’s breath catches. Wednesday didn’t throw her stuff away? She saved them? And she’s bringing them with to let Enid decorate the room she’s staying in?

Enid abruptly wonders if she’s dreaming, because there’s no way this is actually happening. Things this wonderful don’t ever happen to her.

But then, that’s typical Wednesday, bringing so much more good into Enid’s life than Wednesday would ever feel comfortable knowing.

In fact, it would probably make her break out into hives or something if Enid told her.

The thought makes Enid choke down a laugh.

“Your prison cell should be large enough to accommodate all the decorations and clothing you’re bringing.” Wednesday continues.

Thing signs “guest room” at her.

Enid grins at the frown Wednesday shoots both of them.

“And may I remind you, I’m not 'letting' you spend the winter with me. You are being kidnapped. Therefore, you have no choice in the matter. I haven’t kidnapped someone in a while, and this seemed the perfect opportunity to brush up on those skills.”

“Right, of course.” Enid says. 

She’s nearly bursting at the seams with the urge to squeeze Wednesday into a hug. 

Wednesday can obviously tell from the look on her face, because she exhales in her closest approximation of a sigh and looks forward. 

“Five seconds. Any longer and you get a knife to the gut.” 

Enid barely waits for Wednesday to finish before she launches herself into Wednesday’s arms, her heart swelling even further when she feels one of Wednesday’s arms wrap around her in return, squeezing back just as tightly.

Exactly five seconds later, Enid feels a knife point pressed against her sternum. 

She hurriedly scuttles backwards, knowing that Wednesday always follows through on her threats.

But rather than shrink in fear at the sight of Wednesday wielding a knife and staring at her with the intensity of a serial killer, she bursts into cackling laughter, so hard that tears stream down her face and her stomach hurts and it’s hard to breathe. 

It’s the best feeling in the whole world. 

Wednesday watches Enid cave-in to howling laughter, hard enough to make Enid double over. 

For once, the sound of someone else’s joy doesn’t grate on Wednesday's ears.

She finally relaxes back into her seat, pleased, and slips her knife back into its sheath.

Thing is basically dancing on the seat opposite them, and even Lurch seems less blank-faced than usual as he begins to drive away from Nevermore.

Wednesday's lips twitch when Enid actually collapses to the floor in laughter.

Yes. All according to plan.

(One week since the Blood Moon - Three weeks until the Second Full Moon)

Chapter Text

"Come to me now and loosen me

from blunt agony. Labor

and fill my heart with fire.

Lady, in all my battles, stand by me

and be my ally.”

-Sappho

Perhaps some of Enid’s best traits could be considered her charm, her friendliness, and her overwhelming self-confidence.

Granted, these traits are less natural aspects of her personality and more a carefully woven blanket designed to hide the insecure mess she actually is (except maybe the friendliness, but even that’s shifted over the years into the terrain of clinginess and the willingness to do just about anything for her friends, no matter the cost to herself). 

Everyone knows she’s overly passionate and dramatic and emotional, but she saves that for things that she knows ultimately don’t really matter, like the Poe Cup.

Sure, it was great to finally win, and the look on Bianca’s face was priceless, but she knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world if her team didn’t win; she’d just act like it was.

It didn’t matter when Wednesday tore down the color from the window on her half of the room, since Enid knew it was completely fair for her to do so, but she still threw a fit about it.

With the things that matter to her though, actually matter, those things she keeps carefully bottled up inside. 

Her fear of never transforming, the constant ridicule from her pack for her failures, always being the disappointment of the family no matter how hard she tries, her mother’s constant remarks that, despite Enid’s best attempts to ignore, still wear her down time and time again, the deep-seated fear that if she doesn’t keep up her cheerful, flamboyant, and sunny personality at all times, that her friends will push her away. 

Because who, in all honesty, would want to deal with the mess of emotions and insecurities she’s always so careful to hide?

All of that was shoved into a box and pushed into the deepest recesses of her mind years ago, and she keeps it crushed down relentlessly.

The only people who really know the truth are her dad, Yoko, and, somehow, Wednesday.

She’s still not entirely sure how that last one happened.

Actually, on second thought, she knows exactly how it happened. 

Wednesday has this unique ability to bring out the aspects of people that they try desperately to keep hidden, for better or for worse. Whether that be Tyler’s monstrous Hyde, Bianca’s surprisingly strong sense of loyalty, or Enid’s own bubbling maelstrom of emotions, it always seems to happen around the enigma of a girl.

In addition to that, sharing a dorm room with someone for a prolonged amount of time, no matter how different they might be on the surface, means that they’re inevitably going to start picking up on the other’s idiosyncrasies. 

Enid likes to think that she’s fairly fluent in Wednesday by this point. 

For the most part, she can tell if Wednesday’s annoyed, angry, homicidal, satisfied, smug, or even sometimes happy by every eyebrow twitch, minute tick of her mouth, and the various levels of cutting her voice is when dishing out insults. 

But since Enid’s become so well-versed in Wednesday’s unique way of interacting with the world and a lot of the things she keeps hidden, Enid can only assume the same applies vice-versa.

The thought is both terrifying and oddly freeing.

With the growth of their friendship, Enid has come to understand that the majority of Wednesday’s insults towards her aren’t meant to hurt; they’re actually meant to help. Some are supposed to cheer her up in Wednesday’s odd brand of comfort, some are meant to show concern the only way Wednesday knows how (or allows herself to anyway), and others are meant to sidetrack Enid when she's getting worked up over something serious and needs to be distracted before she goes into full panic-attack mode.

Enid knows all this, because even during their fight- their first fight, the only one that’s ever actually mattered despite their regular arguments and squabbles- Wednesday never once brought up Enid’s inability to shift.

Even while she was still pissed-off at her roommate, some part of her still took the time to appreciate that Wednesday never used her inability to shift against her even in their flurried back-and-forth of insults, despite it being the lowest-hanging fruit on her tree.

After they made-up (mostly due to Enid’s persistence), their bond only grew stronger.

But she would never forget the quiet way Wednesday said, “Skip the tape.”

Or the way she almost blurted out (because Wednesday never does anything so uncouth as ‘blurt things out’), “Thing said he missed you.”

(Enid thinks about that more than she probably should when she’s falling asleep at night).

Now, Enid is certain that Wednesday Addams is her best friend, and that Wednesday considers her the same in return, despite all the odds stacked against them. The two of them are different, so different it’s almost laughable, but they’re different in all the ways that make them fit together perfectly. 

In a perfectly platonic way, no matter how much Yoko teases her about her crush- her strictly not-a-crush on Wednesday.

She’s grown during her time with Wednesday. She’s not afraid to be herself anymore. She’s caring less and less about what other people think of her. She’s growing more confident in displaying and doing the things she likes with pride. And though she’ll never say so (since there’s a good chance she’d get a surprise ninja star to the back for it if she ever did), she knows Wednesday is the main reason for it.

Seeing someone so confident in herself, someone who never had any f’s to give, someone who doesn’t give a crap about what other people think of her (and even secretly enjoys that the majority of people actively dislike her), made Enid want to change, to have that same kind of pride in herself.

Because of all the positive changes in Enid’s life since she met Wednesday, and since they’re best friends, Enid is fully prepared to put her best trait to use.

Even before her newly-growing confidence, it’s the trait she’s always taken the most pride in. She knows it’s intrinsically a part of herself and not one of her many defense mechanisms against the fear of being a disappointment, of being abandoned.

Her strongest trait has always been her social adaptability. 

To survive and thrive like the social butterfly she is at places like Nevermore, she learned from a young age to not be phased by anything. 

Wednesday Addams is by far the oddest person she’s ever encountered, and her family is certainly going to be equally as odd, if not more so.

Considering Wednesday’s father was in Nevermore for all of a day before being arrested for murder and then released the very next day, all charges cleared, amongst rumors that Wednesday and her mother blackmailed the mayor into it after being arrested for grave-robbing (such a Wednesday thing to do), Enid knows this to be true.

She’s not going to hide herself away or try to tone herself down- not her love of all things color, not her flamboyant personality, and not her overwhelming excitement for pretty much everything, not anymore.

Even if it’s anathema to Wednesday’s family like it is to Wednesday (though Enid likes to think Wednesday’s come to hate it a little less than she used to, and may even have grown to tolerate it), she's not going to apologize for being herself.

But no matter what, she’s going to try her best to make a good impression on Wednesday’s family. She's determined that her winter of “being held hostage” will be the best winter she’s ever had.

The Addams family might be her greatest challenge in adaptability yet.

But honestly?

She can’t wait.

Her unflappability is tested the second she steps out of the car in front of the (quite frankly) huge gothic mansion that Wednesday calls home. 

She’s barely had a moment to think about how fitting it is that this is where Wednesday grew up before she finds herself catching a crossbow bolt seconds before it goes through her torso, her werewolf reflexes saving her from what could’ve been a grisly death. 

She blinks at it in surprise for a few moments before glancing up to find a boy (Pugsley, she’s assuming) gawking at her from a second story window, empty crossbow in hand. 

“Wow! I thought you might just duck, I wasn’t expecting you to actually catch it!” He shouts excitedly, grinning and waving his crossbow at her in what she would’ve considered a friendly way if he hadn’t just tried to use it to kill her.

“Pugsley.” Wednesday says, stepping beside Enid and giving her approximation of a glare to the boy in question. “Either leave and quit making a nuisance of yourself or I’ll be strapping you to the electric chair for the rest of the week.” 

Pugsley only grins harder at this threat, but he does disappear from the window, crossbow in hand.

Enid blinks again and turns to Wednesday. 

“That was my little brother, Pugsley. He was just saying hello.” Wednesday says. 

Enid looks down at the crossbow bolt clutched in her hand, still not sure if all of that actually happened or not.

She looks back up at Wednesday.

“Was it because of my sweater?”

She’d decided to wear one of her favorites in preparation of meeting the Addams, Lurch raising a black screen to give her the privacy to change in the car. The sweater is patterned with rings of different rainbow colors growing smaller in size until ending at the center of her chest.

In hindsight, it does make her somewhat resemble a very colorful target.

Wednesday’s mouth twitches up very slightly at the corners before she takes the crossbow bolt from Enid and examines it.

“Don’t worry; it’s dulled. You would’ve gotten a bruise at most. You likely won’t have real arrows shot at you until you’ve been here for at least a week and have settled in properly.”

“Oh good.” Enid replies faintly. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised.

Wednesday stows the bolt away in some hidden pocket within her coat and then returns her hands to their usual place behind her back.

“Honestly, Pugsley’s somehow managed to get even softer since I’ve been gone. I’ll have to correct that over the break.”

Enid smiles, even as a cold wind blows over her and makes her shiver, wrapping the bright pink coat Wednesday advised her to wear tighter around herself.

“Let me guess; if it were you, you would’ve shot a sharpened bolt at me?”

“One made of silver, of course.” Wednesday says, starting to walk towards the front door. Enid nearly stumbles in her haste to join her, Thing scurrying after them.

“Wait, shouldn’t we help with the luggage?”

“I assure you, Lurch is more than capable of handling the luggage himself.” Looking back, the butler does seem to be doing just fine picking up the heavy luggage on his own. Looking at him, she’d think he was picking up nothing but oversized pillows. 

“In addition to silver, I likely would’ve laced the arrow with wolfsbane as well, just to ensure the job would be completed without complications arising.” Wednesday continues.

“Does your family know I’m a werewolf then?” Enid asks, relaxing despite herself. She has no idea how talking about her own potential murder sets her at ease, but that’s just the effect Wednesday tends to have on her, weird as it might be.

“No. But my family is aware that you have supernatural reflexes and agility, narrowing it down to only a few likely possibilities outside of the extremely rare. I would’ve been prepared for any creature that showed up, but considering your lack of sunglasses or a gorgon's head covering, as well as the sharpened claws you’re displaying, it would’ve been easy to immediately identify you as a werewolf.”

Enid startles and looks down at her hands. Indeed, her claws are out after the adrenaline of the surprise attack. She quickly shrinks them back down to their normal size and tries to fight down an embarrassed blush.

“Don’t worry,” Wednesday says. “My brother’s eyesight isn’t half as good as mine, so he likely didn’t see your claws. My family will have a fun time guessing what you are.”

“Shouldn’t I just, you know, tell them?” Enid asks as they walk up the groaning front porch stairs. For a second, she swears they actually move under her feet in a decidedly unnatural way, bending up as if to help her walk up the stairs rather than bending down under her weight.

"Why make it easy for them?" Wednesday says.

The double doors creak open for them seemingly on their own, a huge foyer with a grand staircase being revealed inside.

Enid feels goosebumps race up her arms, but she’s not sure if it’s from trepidation, the cold, or excitement. Probably a mixture of all three.

They walk inside, Lurch just behind them, carrying all the luggage with him (damn he’s strong), and the doors close gently behind them with another loud creaking sound.

Wednesday pauses for a moment after Lurch passes them by, a small amount of confusion and curiosity lighting up her eyes. She looks at Enid appraisingly.

“Interesting. It seems House already likes you.”

“Wait, the house? What would it have done if it didn’t like me?” Enid can’t help but ask. 

“It wouldn’t have helped you up the stairs, the door on your side wouldn’t have opened, the door likely would’ve tried to close on some limb of yours if you didn’t walk through quickly enough, and they would’ve closed behind us with a loud bang.”

“And you couldn’t have warned me?”

“Where would the fun in that be? Besides, a warning obviously wasn’t necessary.”

When Wednesday isn’t looking, Enid turns around and whispers a thank you to the doors. If the house is alive, she definitely wants to stay on its good side.

In response, one of the doors opens the tiniest bit and gives her a little wave before shutting itself again. 

Enid grins and turns back to Wednesday. To her chagrin, Wednesday seems to have witnessed the entire exchange, judging by the amused quirk of her eyebrow.

“You don’t have to thank House, you know.”

Enid straightens and gives Wednesday a look.

“It’s never wrong to show your gratitude or be polite. Besides, if you have a house that’ll open doors for you and help you up the stairs, it shouldn’t be taken for granted and certainly deserves a ‘thank you’ every once in a while.”

The entire house seems to shudder and groan in agreement. Enid grins at Wednesday’s eyelid twitch, grinning even wider when it twitches again.

Wednesday turns around and crosses over to an intricate standing coat rack that’s almost shaped like a large candelabra, removing her coat neatly and holding it out. The coat rack surges forward and snatches it from her, making Enid jump.

Wednesday looks back at her. 

“I suggest you take off your coat and hat for Hector. He has a tendency to rip them off of people’s bodies if they don’t do it themselves.”

“Okay then.” Enid dutifully takes off her hat and coat and carefully holds them out for Hector, the coat rack snatching them from her as quickly as it- he did Wednesday’s. At the very least, Hector is gentle in hanging them on their proper hooks, even if he’s harsh in grabbing them from people.

“Does Hector normally do that?”

“Yes; he’s very fond of coats, hats, and scarves. Don’t worry, he’ll take good care of them, though it’s sometimes a bit of trouble convincing him to return them.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thank you Hector.” Enid decides to air on the side of politeness, since it seems like at least a few things in Wednesday’s house, including the house itself, has some form of consciousness, and it wouldn’t do to be rude.

“Is everything in your house alive?” She asks Wednesday, following her to the right and down a few steps into a grand living room with very macabre yet interesting decorations.

“That depends on your definition of alive.” Wednesday replies. “Though a good number of things here are possessed by spirits.”

“Wait, so House and Hector are possessed?”

“Yes and no. Hector was my great great uncle and had a strange obsession with outdoor wear when he was alive. No one was particularly surprised when he ended up possessing the coat rack after being crushed by his own wardrobe during an earthquake. House, on the other hand, we’re not entirely sure about. House was like this before my family moved in a few centuries ago, so no one’s sure if it’s haunted or if it just came alive by itself somehow.”

“Right.” Enid says slowly. “Okay, makes total sense. Is there anything else I should know, or are you just going to let me find out for myself?”

Wednesday’s amused look is all the answer Enid needs. She sighs.

“Figuring it out for myself it is, then.”

Wednesday huffs in what Enid's certain is a laugh and continues to lead her slowly through the house. Thing quickly climbs up onto Wednesday's shoulder and faces Enid so that he can tell her about some of more interesting objects they pass by. 

After walking through the elaborate living room, they enter a hallway lined with portraits of Addams family members.

They seem to move out of the corner of Enid’s eye but are always perfectly still when she looks directly at them.

“Where are we going?” She asks, trying to decide if the portrait of someone named Fester has a candle flame that’s actually flickering or not. Wednesday is oddly patient in allowing Enid to pause and examine the more interesting things and paintings they walk past.

“To the family room. My family will be gathered there to welcome me home and to appraise our new hostage.”

Enid rolls her eyes but smiles when Thing signs ‘guest’ at her. 

Wednesday frowns at them both but continues walking down the hallway without comment, making Enid grin.

Thing wiggles in amusement.

At the end of the hallway is a bear skin rug just in front of a door that slides open as they approach it, revealing an even larger room than the living room. Somehow, it has more lavishly gothic decorations than the living room did and oddly comfortable looking black couches and armchairs.

However, a good portion of those couches and chairs are occupied with four people who turn to face them the moment the door opens.

Enid has to resist the urge to freeze in place at the unexpected attention.

The two on the couch immediately across from them are Wednesday’s parents, looking just as mismatched a couple as they did when she first met them, yet clearly in love from the way they unconsciously press against one another and hold hands with their fingers intertwined.

On the couch facing theirs is a woman who looks every inch what Enid would picture if someone asked her to imagine what an old bog witch would look like, wearing a large feathered hat that looks like it's breathing and what Enid is pretty sure is cobwebs interwoven in her frizzy mane of hair. The elderly woman is looking at her and Wednesday over her shoulder with an almost manic grin on her face, but she hasn’t paused in knitting… whatever it is that she’s knitting.

Pugsley is sitting in an armchair to the left of them, still holding his crossbow but grinning at Wednesday with all the friendliness and joy of a younger brother extremely excited to see his sister again.

Enid’s palms start sweating, so she hides them behind her back to subtly wipe them off.

Wednesday steps into the room.

“Mother, Father, it’s dreadful to see you, as always. Pugsley, your crossbow aim needs work; you were nowhere near her heart and would’ve, if you were lucky, perhaps pierced a lung if you were using a properly sharpened bolt.”

“It’s good to see you too, sis.” Pugsley grins at her. Wednesday turns away to glance at the old woman.

“Grandmama, you look even more disgusting than I remember. And Uncle Fester, I see you haven’t been apprehended by the authorities yet. Impressive, considering your dismal ability to remain ‘incognito’.”

Enid is about to ask about Uncle Fester, since there’s no one else in the room, when a pale, bald man with black circles under his eyes (somehow even darker than Wednesday's) and wearing a black trench coat suddenly jumps down in front of Wednesday out of nowhere, a large grin splitting his face.

Enid startles.

Well, he looks exactly like his portrait, sans the maybe-flickering candle.

“Should’ve known you would sniff me out, my razor-sharp protégé!” He says happily.

“As if it was difficult; you’re called Fester for a reason, Uncle. I could smell you from the hallway.” 

Enid takes a subtle sniff. Oh, so that’s where that smell was coming from.

She thought it was just the house’s natural aroma, but now that she’s paying attention, the subtle rotting smell is definitely coming from this Uncle Fester, and the house itself seems to mostly smell like dust, damp wood, and graveyard soil (which Enid presumes is from the literal graveyard Wednesday mentioned makes up a good portion of their backyard).

Enid knows her senses have heightened since her first transformation, but for the most part they've been tuned in on Wednesday's scent and the various sounds she makes, almost blocking everything else out entirely. (Not all that surprising, considering the fact that they spent nearly the entire week after the blood moon together).

“Ah, it’s so wonderful to have our little viper back!” Gomez gushes after Fester plops himself on the couch next to Grandmama.

He and Morticia stand from their seats as Wednesday approaches and stands in front of them. 

Enid’s surprised when Gomez pulls Wednesday in for a hug, and is even more surprised when Wednesday allows it.

The hug is brief, though, and Gomez pulls back after only a few seconds, clearly well-acquainted with his daughter’s aversion to touch. 

Morticia doesn’t attempt to give her daughter a hug, but she does smile down at Wednesday with so much warmth and loving tenderness that it makes Enid’s heart pound with a wave of jealousy before she’s able to beat it back down. 

“We have missed your dark presence filling the halls with clouds of misery, my dreadful child of woe.” Morticia says, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Wednesday’s ear before lacing her hands in front of her. “Was your journey uneventful?”

“We witnessed two car accidents and four birds falling dead from the sky during our drive home.”

Morticia and Gomez’s smiles widen.

“Well, even if the car itself didn’t crash or run off a bridge, at least you had that to keep the drive from being too boring, ma petite rose noire. ”

“Did you pick up any of the dead birds?” Grandmama asks, still knitting away at… Enid squints. Is that a sweater with three arms?

“Unfortunately, I decided it would be better to arrive here as quickly as possible rather than slow our progress to collect roadkill.”

Grandmama frowns and pauses her knitting.

“Why? What could be more important than collecting potential ingredients for dinner? We could've brewed a new batch of Potio Mortis too!” 

Enid’s stomach turns at the insinuation that they might be eating roadkill for dinner, but before she can dwell on it too long, Wednesday continues. 

“So as to decrease the chances of my hostage making a successful escape attempt.”

At this, the entire family’s attention turns to her. 

Enid gulps, steadies herself, and steps forward to greet them with a bright smile, but the moment she sets foot on the bear skin rug, it unexpectedly growls at her. 

Somehow it rears back its head and lunges at her, its teeth coming within inches of tearing into her favorite pair of brown leather boots. 

Instinctively, she growls right back at it, deeper and more menacing than she thought she’d be capable of in her human form, her claws coming out as a warning. 

“Don’t even think about it!” She snarls at the rug. 

Nothing messes with her clothes, first impressions be damned.

It settles back down and stops growling, though it does eye her in a very bloodthirsty kind of way. 

She looks back up to the family sheepishly, covering up her embarrassment from the outburst with her sunniest smile and by retracting her claws behind her back. 

“I’m so sorry about that!”

“Oh don’t be, my dear,” Morticia says with a surprisingly bright smile, moving around Wednesday to gracefully walk up to Enid, offering her a hand and helping her down the stairs without stepping on the rug again.

“Bruno is rather sensitive when people walk on him, is all.”

“Oh, okay. That’s good to know.” She says with a small glare towards Wednesday, who only looks back at her with amusement. 

Gomez sits down with a chuckle, sharing a look with his wife.

“Now, you must be the famous Enid Sinclair we’ve been hearing so much about!” Morticia says with a mysterious glint to her eyes as she guides Enid towards one of the few empty seats left, the couch facing Pugsley’s chair between the two other couches.

“Um, yes, that’s me. I suppose the color and claws gave it away?”

“So it did, mi joven loba . How wonderful it is to meet you properly at last!” Gomez says, his voice so warm and genuine that it makes Enid flush happily. 

“And the way your eyes flashed! I’m used to seeing werewolves with yellow eyes, but yours were absolutely golden!” Morticia continues, pulling her into a completely unexpected and surprisingly tight embrace, one that Enid just barely remembers to reciprocate before Morticia steps back, giving her one last soft smile before rejoining her husband on the couch adjacent to hers.

Flattered to the point she must look like a tomato, Enid sits down and scrambles for some sort of response that won’t make her look like an idiot when Wednesday steps in and unknowingly saves her.

“Mother, Father, must you be so overbearing?” She asks with a faint sigh, seating herself directly beside Enid.

Enid notes that there’s a secluded armchair in the corner facing the rest of the room that she somehow knows would normally be Wednesday’s first choice. 

She somehow gets even redder.

She’s going to pass out if anymore blood vacates to her face, she’s sure of it.

Enid doesn’t notice that the rest of the Addams take note of Wednesday’s unusual choice of seating as well. Said armchair has become exclusively Wednesday’s by this point, and she loathes when anyone attempts to sit next to her on the rare occasion she sits on one of the couches instead. 

Pugsley looks confused, but the adults all share knowing looks, Gomez and Morticia’s being particularly smug.

“Now my dear,” Morticia says with a regretful look on her face, “it’s unfortunately been quite a while since we’ve been given the pleasure of having a werewolf as our guest. Is there anything in particular you’ll be needing during your stay?”

“Hostage.” Wednesday reminds them.

Thing jumps from Wednesday’s shoulder to Enid’s and taps out G-U-E-S-T in Morse code on her shoulder. 

Enid barely manages to keep from giggling, but Wednesday still glares at them both.

“Do I need to lock you in my desk drawer after all, Thing?” 

“Why? Did Thing do something wrong?” Enid asks as innocently as she can, she and Thing tilting their heads (or, at least Thing’s approximation of a head) in unison.

Wednesday’s eyelid twitches once again. She faces forward, away from them. 

“I never should’ve let the two of you meet. You’ve corrupted him.”

“And deprive us of our bond?” Enid exclaims. “But Thing and I are besties!” Thing gives her a fist bump to drive the point home.

“All the more reason to separate you two; it would provide equal amounts of torture for the both of you.” Wednesday tilts her head thoughtfully.

“In fact, that would be a very adequate way to begin torturing you during our break. I have many plans that will take time to set up, so this will be an easy way to begin while I prepare your future torments.”

Rather than scare her, as this statement might’ve when they first met, Enid simply rolls her eyes and nudges Wednesday’s shoulder with her own. 

“Aw, don’t be jealous Wednesday! You’re still my bestie too.”

“Say I’m jealous again and you’ll wake up with your head shaved.”

Enid narrows her eyes and touches her hair protectively.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Wednesday simply cocks an eyebrow at her.

Who’s Enid kidding? Of course Wednesday would.

Their little conversation is interrupted by yet another crossbow bolt, this time aimed at Enid’s head and noticeably extremely sharp, that Enid catches centimeters from her face.

Pugsley grins at her excitedly.

“Wow! And you were even more distracted this time! Werewolves are so cool!”

“Brava, mi querida!" Gomez exclaims, clapping with unwarranted enthusiasm. "A marvelous catch! Wouldn’t you agree, mi amour?”

“Certainly, an excellent display of athleticism. Most impressive, mon loup chéri.” Morticia agrees.

Enid ducks her head bashfully, just barely avoiding poking her eye out with the crossbow bolt in the process.

Wednesday takes the crossbow bolt from Enid and snaps it in two, looking Pugsley dead in the eye.

“May I remind my horrible family that Enid is my hostage, therefore only I’m allowed to torture her? Or will I need to hang a certain interfering rat by his toes from the rafters to drive that fact into everyone’s skulls?”

Enid rolls her eyes at once again being referred to as a hostage, missing the delighted way Gomez and Morticia light up.

“Of course, our little storm cloud, she’s all yours.” Morticia says.

Enid ignores the way a blush starts working its way onto her cheeks again. Maybe if she ignores it, it’ll just go away. Wouldn’t that be splendid?

Pugsley lowers his crossbow in disappointment at not getting to shoot at her more, but the rest of the family still looks thrilled to have her here.

As a guest, regardless of what Wednesday says.

“Oh, it’ll be nice to have a werewolf in the house again.” Grandmama says with a nostalgic smile. “I do so hope you shed.”

“I look forward to hearing your bloodthirsty howls echoing across the bog during the next full moon.” Fester says with a grin.

“Ooh, can I watch you transform? I’ve never seen a werewolf transform before!” Pugsley asks excitedly, disappointment forgotten.

“Now, now, everyone, let’s not overwhelm our ‘hostage’,” Morticia winks at Enid, making Wednesday scowl. “I’m sure she and Wednesday have much to unpack, and perhaps before dinner you could give Enid a tour of the house, Wednesday? We wouldn’t want her to get lost in the walls like Cousin Torrent did the last time he was here.”

“Doubtful that will happen, since Cousin Torrent was an idiot, but very well Mother.” Enid smiles at Wednesday's implied compliment that she thinks Enid's smart and stands when Wednesday does. Thing hops down and hurries over to Fester, the two sharing some sort of odd handshake before Thing starts telling him something in a flurry of movements too fast for her to understand. The two of them are probably catching up, considering all the stories she’s heard about Fester constantly being on the run and rarely being able to visit.

“It was very nice to meet you all.” Enid says with a bright smile. “And I’m really grateful you’re letting me stay here- sorry, ‘keeping me hostage’ here, over the break.” 

Enid winks at Morticia and ignores the glare Wednesday sends them both.

“No need to thank us, it’ll truly be our displeasure to have you here.” Gomez grins at her.

“Yes, we’re positively disappointed to welcome you to our home. Scream if you need anything, ma chérie. We’ll see you at dinner.” Morticia smiles.

Enid nods at them and follows Wednesday out of the room. 

Before they completely exit though, Enid stops for a moment and bends down.

“I’m very sorry for stepping on you Bruno; I didn’t know it makes you uncomfortable, and I’ll make sure not to do it again.” She says as genuinely as she can. 

Then she narrows her eyes, leans down closer, and snarls into Bruno’s cold black eyes.

“But if you ever try to eat my shoes again, I’ll dye you the brightest color of pink I can find, one so bright it’ll hurt even my eyes. Got it?” Bruno huffs out what she’s assuming is an agreement before settling back down reluctantly, eyeing her shoes mournfully but making no attempt to bite at her.

She straightens back up and steps around the rest of him carefully until she’s standing beside Wednesday.

“Alright, roomie; lead the way!”

Wednesday quirks the smallest smile before walking forward, Enid skipping merrily behind her.

Maybe getting along with Wednesday’s family won’t be so hard after all.

Enid can’t let silence reign for long, not with all the energy and happiness bubbling up inside her.

“Your family is amazing!” Enid gushes to Wednesday the second she’s sure they’re out of ear-shot. “I wish I had a family like yours!”

Wednesday only hums in response.

“Seriously! I know you always say you hate your parents and everything, but they obviously love you and each other so much-”

“Nauseating, isn’t it?”

“-And Pugsley just idolizes you-”

“Something he’ll come to regret once he grows a brain, I’m sure.”

“-And you’re so close to your Grandmama and Uncle Fester; it’s obvious they and your parents taught you so much more useful stuff than my family ever did-”

“Not that that’s a difficult thing to accomplish.”

“-And from the way you guys are always mentioning your relatives and have family reunions at least three times a year and somehow never forget any of them even centuries after they pass away-” Enid sighs, thinking of her own pack and how quick they are to boot people out if they don’t behave like “proper” werewolves should, how they’re always forbidden from talking about or talking to those who aren’t part of the pack anymore, how if she’d gone another few years without shifting she probably would’ve been kicked out herself…

“I would give anything to be in a family like yours.” Enid murmurs mournfully.

Wednesday stops walking and studies Enid for a moment with curious eyes, the same way she did back in their dorm room.

Once again, Enid feels like nothing but an insect pinned for examination, or like one of Wednesday’s disturbing Ted Bundy Pinterest corkboards. 

The last time Wednesday looked at her like that, she got kidnapped.

She’s really hoping this time doesn’t mean her entire pack is going to mysteriously disappear.

“If you want a family like mine, then just become an Addams.” Wednesday eventually says, before abruptly turning and walking back down the hall. Enid stumbles to catch up with her, which is extremely annoying since her werewolf reflexes should make her less fucking clumsy.  

But nope, apparently not. 

At least, not around Wednesday.

When she finally catches up, she chuckles and briefly pulls Wednesday into a side hug, which Wednesday allows. (She’s been allowing a lot lately, but that might just be because she’s resigning herself to Enid’s need to touch and hug her friends).

“Sorry Wednesday, I can’t just bully your parents into adopting me, and my mom would never allow it even if they wanted to.” She sighs and tangles her hands together behind her back. “It is a nice thought though.”

Wednesday merely hums again.

“I’ll show you where our rooms are first; Lurch should’ve already unpacked our luggage, though I’m certain he had no idea what to do with yours and simply left the majority of it in neat piles on your bed.”

Enid bursts into laughter at the thought of the gigantic man looking down at Enid’s myriad of posters, curtains, tchotchkes, and rainbow collection of sweaters with blank-faced confusion before gently separating them into piles by type and color. 

Oh, to have a picture of that on her wall.

Wednesday looks back at her with a ghost of a smile.

“Come on, mio amato sole, we’ll have to hurry if I’m to show you the main parts of the house before dinner.”

“Wait.” Enid abruptly pauses, narrowing her eyes at Wednesday in suspicion. “What did you just call me? If you’re going to insult me, at least be brave enough to do it in English.”

Wednesday stops, looks her dead in the eye, and cocks a brow. 

“Ti adoro più dell'oscurità della notte o del profumo dei morti. 

Farei qualunque cosa per te.

Ucciderei per te.

Morirei per te.

Vivrei per te.

Se desideri la luna, la strapperò dal cielo e la schiaccerò in un anello, in modo che solo tu possa cantare con essa.

Ogni giorno ti racconterò delle fiamme brucianti che provochi nel mio freddo cuore nero, di come mi torturi nel modo più squisito con ogni sorriso che mi dai, di quanto desidero avvolgermi tra le tue braccia finché non saremo sepolti insieme e per sempre intrecciato.

Non riesco a immaginare una vita, o una morte, senza di te.

Ridurrei in cenere il mondo solo per passare un giorno con te.

Se me lo permetti, passerei ogni respiro del resto dei miei giorni con te.

Un giorno ti sposerò e ti renderò parte della mia famiglia, una famiglia che ti vedrà per quello che sei veramente; magnifico, mozzafiato, bellissimo.

E se non è quello che desideri, morirò volentieri per il mio desiderio per te.

Pensavo di poter sfuggire alla maledizione della mia famiglia, ma hai dimostrato di essere la mia rovina.

Sei il mio amore, l'unico amore che avrò mai, e morire per mano tua è la morte più piacevole che potessi mai sognare.

Sei la mia vita, il mio sole, la mia anima, e ti darei tutto.”

Enid can only gape at Wednesday’s blank expression, her mind whirling with confusion and half-formed thoughts and not a little bit of heat from the sound of Wednesday speaking in Italian of all things. Wednesday's making things increasingly difficult for Enid’s whole ‘definitely-not-a-crush’ thing. 

“What the hell was that?!” She finally manages to sputter.

“A threat.” Wednesday says mildly, before she turns around and starts walking away. “I suggest you follow closely, to avoid getting lost in the walls.”

“Wednesday!” She protests, hot on Wednesday’s heels. “You can’t just do that, it’s not fair!” 

Enid chases after her roommate and keeps questioning her over and over again, to which Wednesday either gives no response or only replies in Italian.

By the time they reach their rooms, Enid is breathless from both her fruitless interrogation and from laughter at Wednesday’s antics, Wednesday looking equally amused in her own blank-faced way.

“If you’re going to threaten me in Italian,” Enid finally says, “how am I supposed to understand how threatened I should feel?”

Wednesday looks at Enid with a dark look in her eyes and a (beautiful) bone-chilling smile on her face.

Enid’s heart stutters.

“Stop asking questions, mio carissimo amore. You’ll find out.”

...This might be harder than Enid thought it would be.

(One week since the Blood Moon - Three weeks until the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

Ma petite rose noire - “My little black rose” (French)

Potio Mortis - "The drink of death" (Latin)

Mi joven loba - "My young wolf" (Spanish)

Brava, mi querida - "Brava, my dear" (Spanish)

Mi amor - "My love" (Spanish)

Mon loup chéri - “My darling wolf” (French)

Ma chérie - "My darling" (French)

Mio amato sole - “My beloved sun” (Italian)

Mio carissimo amore - “My dearest love” (Italian)

The Big One: (Italian)

“I adore you more than the darkness of the night or the perfume of the dead.

I would do anything for you.

I would kill for you.

I would die for you.

I would live for you.

If you wish for the moon, I will snatch it from the sky and crush it into a ring, so that only you can sing with it.

Every day I will tell you about the searing flames you cause in my cold black heart, how you torture me in the most exquisite way with every smile you give me, how I long to wrap myself in your arms until we are buried together and forever entwined.

I can't imagine a life, or a death, without you.

I would burn the world to ashes just to spend one day with you.

If you let me, I would spend every breath of the rest of my days with you.

One day I will marry you and make you part of my family, a family that will see you for who you truly are;

magnificent, breathtaking, beautiful.

And if that's not what you wish for, I will gladly die for my wish for you.

I thought I could escape my family's curse, but you've proven to be my undoing.

You are my love, the only love I will ever have, and dying by your hand is the most pleasant death I could ever dream of.

You are my life, my sun, my soul, and I would give you everything.”

Chapter Text

“In conclusion, the arms of others either fall from your back, or they weigh you down, or they bind you fast.”

- Machiavelli

It all starts with the hug. 

The hug.

Wednesday doesn’t do hugs.

She doesn’t do any form of casual or intimate touches in fact, save brief interactions with her parents that she just barely manages to tolerate.

Wednesday knows this.

Her family knows this.

Likely every person who’s so much as glanced at her knows this.

The only person who’s never seemed to get the full message is Enid.

Sure, Enid’s always been oddly considerate of Wednesday’s aversion to touch.

From day one, even when they were already driving each other crazy, Enid was always respectful of Wednesday’s boundaries despite being a very touchy-feely sort of person.

As they got closer though (entirely against Wednesday’s will, of course), touches started to become more common.

A brush of the shoulder here.

A brief side hug there.

The increasing influx of touches wasn’t all that surprising coming from Enid; everyone knew how physically expressive the girl was with everyone who allowed it (and even those who didn’t. Exhibit A: Wednesday).

The surprising part is that Wednesday did allow it. 

If anyone outside of her family so much as brushed against her accidentally, they’d get a knife within dangerous proximity of their jugular seconds later.

And if anyone else ever tried to touch her on purpose, they’d best be prepared to lose a hand or two.

But with Enid, Wednesday never felt that sense of sadly uncomfortable discomfort she gets when other people touch her.

Initially, all she felt was indifference, so she let Enid have her brief moments of grasping Wednesday’s shoulders in excitement or pressing an arm against her own in comradery. 

But over time, Enid’s touches started to leave lingering tingles, like spiders trailing goosebumps over Wednesday's skin, and an odd warmth similar to the delectable burn of touching a live wire. 

Disgustingly, Wednesday not only didn’t find Enid’s touches unpleasant, she actually began to look forward to them.

And with each one she got, she only craved more. 

So she lingered closer to Enid than she normally would. 

She let their hands brush together as they walked down the halls between classes, heads bent close to one another as Enid chattered about some inane gossip or Wednesday talked over details about the case.

She didn’t even shrug off Enid’s side hugs when they lasted for longer than her normal tolerance of three seconds. 

Once, she even let it linger for seven seconds.

Inexcusable.

Thing was no help of course, acting oddly coy and teasing whenever she vented to him her frustrations about Enid and the strange effect she was having on Wednesday. 

The entire situation was infuriating to say the least, but between the case, her visions, the novel, her daily cello sessions, and her classes, she simply didn’t have the time to untangle the enigma of Enid and her pleasantly unpleasant company. 

That didn’t save Wednesday from torturous, confusing thoughts about Enid clouding her mind and stealing her sleep every night as she tried to rest, though. 

Eventually, she gave up trying to ignore these thoughts and started examining them in lieu of sleep, looking at them from every angle in the vague hope of finding some unearthed clue, something that would neatly solve this little mystery that was somehow consuming her, despite the much more pressing and exciting ones surrounding her seemingly every direction she turned.

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she went from being indifferent towards her roommate to noticing Enid’s absence in their dorm room or unexpected deviations in Enid’s schedule.

She couldn’t name an exact day when she went from backing away from Enid entering her personal bubble to actively seeking out Enid’s touch. 

She couldn’t remember when she went from hating Enid to… not hating Enid.

Perhaps it was the Poe Cup that started her on the path to her odd evolution.

Maybe it was the surprise birthday party that ended very poorly in a decidedly not exciting way. 

Or it could be the odd dread she felt when Goody warned her that Ravens are meant to fly alone.

The ultimate moment of realization, however, was the fight that finally drove Enid from their room, seemingly for good. 

"You want to be alone Wednesday? Then be alone!” echoed in the space behind her for hours, ringing in Wednesday’s ears, her own personal ouroboros to taunt her, twisting and writhing fruitlessly in her head.

That, more than anything, made her question her obsession with the case, and the lives she’d put at risk in pursuing it. 

It made her question her lifelong desire to be alone.

She’d never questioned it before, and she hated the unfamiliar feeling of doubt muddling her thoughts into obscurity.

Perhaps those were the worst few days of Wednesday’s life.

Even before someone broke in and dared to harm Thing.

Nobody's allowed to hurt her family except for Wednesday. 

Nobody.

Enid returned to their dorm soon after Thing’s near-brush with death, with the firm stance that she, of all people, needed to look after them. (As if Wednesday needs anyone looking after her).

She was as horribly colorful and exhaustingly perky and unbearably affectionate as ever, telling Wednesday that she knew all these things and didn’t care what other people thought about it anymore, that Wednesday would just have to learn to deal with it because she wouldn’t be leaving again, and Wednesday could only feel relief and a satisfied longing slam into her like a torrential rain.

She finally admitted to herself that Enid had, indeed, somehow wormed her way into Wednesday’s cold, dead heart (a place only ever reserved for the small inner-circle of her family and a few choice distant relatives) and made a place for herself there.

She’d tricked her way inside with the subtle machinations of a thief distracting someone with flamboyant tricks in one hand while secretly stealing their wallet with the other.

The deviousness of it would’ve impressed Wednesday, if she didn’t know that Enid did it entirely by accident.

That made the situation simultaneously more infuriating and, even more so, horribly endearing, which in turn made it all the more confusing.

“Skip the tape.” She told Enid. 

Wednesday loves her boundaries, but in that moment she needed to tear some of the ones between her and Enid down, no matter the splinters and blood it might cause her.

Enid’s company somehow soothed an odd aching need building an unknown void in her chest, a void she didn’t understand the purpose or cause of, but still found intolerable.

Enid had, indeed, somehow become Wednesday’s best friend while she wasn’t looking, and now she couldn’t imagine life without her insufferably sufferable presence in it.

“Thing said he missed you.” Wednesday blurted out.

The words weren’t enough, could never be enough, to fully explain how grateful she was that Enid had returned to her- to their dorm- on her own, since Wednesday wasn’t sure she would’ve ever been able to ask Enid to come back herself. 

But Enid has always been good at reading between the lines. Especially, somehow, when it comes to Wednesday.

“I missed him too.” She replied, so softly it bruised something in Wednesday’s chest, her eyes so gently warm it burned something deep in Wednesday’s inner void that only grew deeper by the day.

She probably should’ve realized it then, but she was still consumed with victory over Xavier’s arrest, relief over Enid’s return, and the annoying, niggling thought that something still seemed slightly off, and Wednesday’s never liked leaving loose threads dangling.

She foolishly decided to let Tyler kiss her, believing that letting the boy do so and feeling nothing about it would prove once and for all to her parents that she wasn’t like them, that she would never fall victim to the family curse.

Instead, she realized who the true Hyde was.

Things happened quickly after that.

She got arrested, then expelled, found the true Laurel Gates, and witnessed Principal Weems’ murder.

Then, the blood moon.

After all was said and done- after Goody was gone for good and Crackstone was vanquished and Thornhill was taken care of- only one thought was left circling through Wednesday’s mind.

“Enid.” Her thoughts whispered over and over, the ouroboros in her brain nearly strangling itself inside the endless litany, the need to find Enid eating away at the insides of her like a ravenous animal.

She couldn’t move as fast as she wanted to, not with Bianca limping beside her and Eugene worrying uselessly over Wednesday’s rather large amount of blood loss and the arrow wound still pulsing painfully in her shoulder.

As if she’d ever be phased by something as paltry as that.

They walked towards the gates where the entire student body and faculty was gathered uselessly, where Enid had to be, because she had to have beaten Tyler with the power of the blood moon and the adrenaline of her first transformation on her side. 

Enid had to be alive.

Wednesday wouldn’t allow for anything else, even if that meant preserving Enid’s body and pulling out the tome on resurrecting the dead that even her family has always been wary of touching.

(If she had to pursue such a course of action, she’d hunt Tyler down, chain him in her family’s dungeon, and use far less benevolent tools than tasers on him for a very, very long time. He would beg for death, and she would relish in refusing to give it to him).

Luckily for her (and for Tyler, though he certainly didn’t deserve such a stay of execution via torture), nearly the minute she stepped foot out of Nevermore’s gates, the crowd parted and Enid was there, covered in blood and dirt and clutching an equally stained pink coat around her body.

She was more beautiful than Wednesday could describe in mere words.

Before Wednesday could do or say anything, Enid launched herself at Wednesday, catching her in an excruciatingly (addictively) tight hug. 

Instinctively, Wednesday pushed Enid back. She went willingly, just as she always does when Wednesday needs space. 

For a moment, all Wednesday could do was stare into Enid’s tear-filled eyes, so blue and bright they burned something in Wednesday’s soul, searing a name onto her heart.

“L'oceano, il cielo notturno, e il sole vivono tutti nei tuoi occhi, e io non desidero altro che annegare e bruciare in essi.” Came unbidden to her mind. 

For the first time in her life, she was actually afraid, other than perhaps the moment she had to leave Enid to fight Tyler on her own, the realization only making her slipping control on her emotions all the more tenuous.

She desperately needed space; she needed time to think and shove these cursed emotions down before they engulfed her and ruined her forever.

But then, looking at the dirt and blood smeared in Enid’s hair and over her skin, the bloody scars across her face (perhaps Wednesday would still be hunting Tyler down after all), seeing the pure relief and joy and gratitude in Enid’s eyes that they were both alright, that Wednesday was alright- all of it made Wednesday realize that she didn’t need space.

She didn’t want space.

So she pulled Enid back in, and (for the first time in her life) Wednesday actually hugged someone back. 

Enid didn’t hesitate for a moment before wrapping her arms around Wednesday once again, squeezing with nearly enough force to break bones.

Wednesday has always valued her independence, her freedom, and always despised the idea of becoming attached to someone, especially in the way her parents were attached to one another. 

The idea of being chained to a person because of something as insipid as love had always been abhorrent to her, a claustrophobia she couldn’t enjoy, a strangulation she couldn’t revel in.

At that moment, Wednesday was trapped in Enid’s embrace, and all she wanted was to be caged there forever.

The pieces finally clicked together in her mind.

Seeing Enid in the aftermath of what must’ve been a gloriously terrifying fight, the victor of a viciously bloody battle, bathed in the light of the full moon, all that would be enough to lure in any Addams.

But it was the relief that Enid was alive and safe in her arms that made her realize the truth.

They were friends, yes.

But Wednesday hadn’t been able to escape her family’s curse after all.

The void inside her was set ablaze by Enid’s touch, burning to ashes the coldness inside she was so accustomed to, the place in her heart where Enid had made a nest for herself growing larger and larger with the soaring flames. 

Her mind whirled with the scent of blood and moonlight, forest and earth, sunlight and something purely Enid, and it only made her want to breathe it in more deeply, the scent more addicting than any amount of graveyard soil, deadly nightshade, or rotting corpses could ever hope to be.

She wanted to wrap herself in that moment forever, engulfed beneath it like a burial shroud bound tightly around her, with no room left for escape.

In that endless moment that ended too quickly, Wednesday felt herself on the edge of a precipice.

Either she could continue to fight against the gravity pulling her towards her sun, towards Enid, or she could let herself fall towards it, like a star falling from the sky towards a brutal death below.

For the first time in her life, she conceded defeat.

She let herself fall.

Truly, it was foolish of her to think she could ever escape this, the curse passed down through her bloodline for generations, now that she knew what it was.

How it felt.

How it burned.

She never thought surrender would feel so divine.

When they pulled away, Wednesday had to fight down the urge to pull Enid back in and trap her there with her. But then Enid rewarded her with the brightest grin Wednesday's ever seen, and the burning need in her settled into a comfortable warmth dancing just on the edge of painful.

Wednesday’s mind was filled with Italian, her heart with flames, so she allowed herself to smile back at Enid.

No matter how this fall ended, whether safely into Enid’s arms or crushed against the unforgiving ground below, she would savor every moment of it.

Wednesday always thought love would make her feel chained.

Instead, she’d never felt more free.

In the days following the blood moon, Wednesday studies Enid closely. 

It turns out not to be a huge change in her regular day-to-day doings, and she wonders once again why it took so long for a mind as vigilant as hers to recognize the insidious love growing like a parasite inside her.

Thing tells her it’s because she was in denial.

Wednesday threatens to sever a few fingers and he backs off, though she can tell the teasing will likely pick up again once she’s home.

Oh, her family will be insufferable this winter, even more so than usual. Especially once she tells them of her future plans regarding Enid.

Because now that she's watching Enid more closely, Wednesday sees the looks Enid gives her when she thinks Wednesday's not watching, the way she flushes pink and turns away quickly when Wednesday starts changing despite never having done so before, how she brightens up like a sunrise when Wednesday initiates even the smallest amount of physical contact.

It makes some horrible piece of Wednesday throb with both longing and a burgeoning hope that her newly-discovered feelings may not be unrequited, despite her short-lived fears that they would be.

But knowing someone so well has two sides to its coin; one light, one dark.

Because she’s been watching Enid so closely for longer than she’s realized, she’s intimately familiar with Enid’s many ever-changing moods, as unpredictable and passionate as the sea during a raging tempest. 

So even though she doesn’t actively talk about it, Wednesday can tell Enid’s not looking forward to the upcoming winter break.

Despite having finally transformed, which Wednesday knows is the reason Enid’s family treats her like a disappointment, (a completely ridiculous notion that has Wednesday sharpening her knives with even more vigor than usual), Enid seems oddly reluctant to go.

Wednesday thought that Enid would be shaking with excitement at the chance to tell her family that she’d finally transformed, and under a blood moon no less, (which Wednesday knows must carry some serious implications on Enid’s part. Enid hasn’t mentioned anything about it to Wednesday, so she’s resolved to simply investigate the matter using her family’s library, and if that proves a dead end, she has several werewolf relatives she can contact to ask about the effect of blood moons on werewolf transformations).

Instead, Enid’s procrastinating her packing as much as she reasonably can, refolding sweater after sweater and skirt after skirt before putting them away, lingering over every piece of unnecessary memorabilia pinned to her walls or tucked away on her shelves, silently tucking scarves and jewelry into the corners of her bags.

Wednesday finds Enid’s uncharacteristic despondency oddly grating and annoyingly worrying. That feeling only spikes when Enid, who’s filled her bags to the brim yet still has at least half of her side of the room to pack, starts abruptly throwing her things away.

Alarmed, Wednesday is only barely able to keep her face and voice in check when she asks, “What are you doing?”

Enid startles and looks over her shoulder at Wednesday, clearly surprised Wednesday's broken their mutual silence.

“What?” She asks, clearly disoriented from being dragged out of apparently very consuming thoughts. 

The sight causes something warm to kindle in Wednesday’s chest despite herself.

Fondness. Affection. Adoration. Echoes in her mind, somehow in Thing’s smug voice despite him not having one.

She ruthlessly ignores it.

Enid’s odd behavior is the beginnings of a new mystery to unravel, and there’s nothing Wednesday likes better than untangling the secrets behind an unanswered question.

“I would normally be more than happy to assist you in destroying anything colorful within my range of sight, but throwing away any of your rainbow monstrosities is very out of character for you.”

Enid fidgets nervously, tugging at the ends of her sleeves in the way that means she’s uncomfortable and a touch anxious.

Enid waves a vague hand towards her nauseatingly colorful room that has, nauseatingly, become tolerable to Wednesday by now. 

She dreads the day Enid’s explosion of colors starts to become comforting to her. 

She just knows that day is coming.

She can only hope it will be later rather than sooner, but she somehow knows it won’t be.

“Well, my mom isn’t that much fonder of all my stuff than you are. She doesn’t think it’s practical for a werewolf to have stuff like this. Even before I had my first change she’d throw out any decorations I put up in my room, so I’ve just stopped putting them up when I go home. When she finds out I've transformed, she’s probably going to be even worse than usual.”

Wednesday didn’t think her ire towards the Sinclair matriarch could grow.

Evidently she was wrong. 

She hates being wrong. 

But now, she hates Enid’s mother even more.

She wonders if Enid would mind having a wolf skin rug in their dorm room next semester.

If she dyes it black, Enid might not even know whose pelt it once belonged to.

Then again, Enid’s sense of smell has likely only heightened since her transformation, so she’d probably be able to tell in an instant.

Damn.

Wednesday’s distracted from her neatly organized homicidal thoughts when Enid’s face turns a shade too similar to Wednesday’s to be healthy.

“Oh God, she’s probably going to make me get rid of all my sweaters and skirts too! She’ll make me wear nothing but camo pants and flannel all winter! And she’s definitely going to make me throw out my hair dye since she won’t want my wolf form having highlights-” Enid collapses back onto her bed with a whine, looking close to tears. “Oh, this is going to be the worst!” 

“Hm.” Wednesday wonders for a moment if Grandmama might have some potion or solution that Wednesday could use to scour the werewolf pelt of any scent.

She turns back to her suitcase to prevent Enid from seeing the murderous intent in her eyes.

If Enid asked Wednesday not to kill Esther, Wednesday would have no choice but to acquiesce to her wishes.

How bothersome.

So Enid simply can’t find out about Wednesday’s intentions towards making Esther disappear.

Wednesday’s still not entirely used to the feelings pouring into her now that she’s allowed the dam to break, so she has to put the distressing thought that she would actively not kill someone for Enid on the backburner until she can deal with the mortifying realization in private.

“Your mother sounds particularly dreadful, and not in a good way.” Wednesday goes about this gently, both because that’s the most likely way to calm Enid down and to distract her from noticing any hint of the many and various plans Wednesday’s mind is concocting for dealing with Esther. 

“Why not simply stand up to her, the way you did when she tried to force you to choose a lycanthropy conversion camp to attend for the summer?”

Ah, when Thing told her about that particular tidbit, she’d mourned that the Sinclairs had already left Nevermore. 

She’d brought silver throwing knives with her for a reason after all, and the missed opportunity to put them to good use still grates on her. 

If only her own parents hadn’t been so distracting during Parents Weekend.

Hopefully, Esther will be unlucky enough to give Wednesday a chance to correct that particular oversight.

Preferably before becoming Wednesday’s new favorite rug.

Enid gapes at Wednesday.

“How do you even know about-?”

Wednesday gives her a look. 

Surely Enid knows by now that very few things slip past her, especially in a place as small and gossip-fueled as Nevermore?

Enid sighs, closes her eyes, and waves her hand with a dismissive air.

“Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Wednesday turns back to her packing, pleased at Enid’s easy acceptance of Wednesday’s inquisitive nature. 

(One therapist referred to Wednesday's natural curiosity as ‘unnaturally obsessive tendencies’ that should be studied and worked with in a high-security psychiatric institution. That same therapist ended up quitting her job and moving to France after that very session, eventually taking up work as a librarian. What can Wednesday say? She likes to keep tabs on potential future targets).

“It’s just, it’s going to be different at home.” Enid continues. “Most of my brothers are a lot like my mom, and the entire pack is going to be pressuring me to find a mate as soon as I get back-”

Wednesday nearly snaps the wooden stake she’s sliding into her suitcase.

Mate? 

“-and I can’t stay in my room the entire winter to prevent my mom from throwing my stuff away. I’d go insane!”

“I don’t see the problem. Considering your disturbingly large collection of stuffed unicorn toys, I’d say you’re already well on your way to a unique form of lunacy.” Wednesday says absentmindedly, her mind still stuck on that word. 

Mate.

It makes something similar to bile, but not nearly as pleasant, rise up from her stomach and into her throat.

A snippet of something from one of her textbooks flashes through her mind, something about mating pheromones increasing after a werewolf’s first transformation, only growing in potency as they grow older until they take a mate.

Since Enid transformed very recently and is only a year away from adulthood, that would likely mean her mating pheromones are more potent than a werewolf’s usually would be. 

That would explain the number of male werewolves sniffing around Enid recently.

The explanation for their presumptuous behavior makes Wednesday regret not following through on her threats to remove their genitalia if they didn’t remove themselves from Enid’s personal bubble when it was clear they were making her uncomfortable.

She barely represses snarling at the thought of any of those ridiculous miscreants thinking they’re good enough to be Enid’s mate.

Wednesday is perfectly aware that Enid may never return her affections despite the signs that she, at the very least, is attracted to Wednesday, but this thought has never bothered her.

Of course she would prefer to court her anima gemella, to shower her with all the adoration and attention the sole della mia vita deserves, to marry Enid and spend every moment with her in life and in death, but she knows there’s a strong possibility that Enid might not feel the same.

But if Wednesday can’t burn in the fire of Enid’s sun, she would gladly perish in her own pining for Enid, withering away alone in the cold. 

Dying of the heartbreak of an unrequited love is considered the most cherished way an Addams can die.

She would be proud to uphold that sacred family tradition.

But either way, she won’t let Enid settle for someone who wouldn’t give her the stars, the moon, and the entire blackness of the night. 

Enid deserves only the very best, and if Enid decides that isn’t Wednesday, Wednesday will make it her mission to find Enid’s definition of the very best before Wednesday’s delightfully untimely death.

“Ha.” Enid says, snapping Wednesday out of her spiraling thoughts. “You’re no help at all sometimes.”

“I know.” Wednesday says, and since Enid can’t see it, she allows a small smile to quirk on her face. 

Enid always seems to have that effect on her nowadays, along with causing a nearly endless string of Italian to fill up Wednesday’s thoughts.

Wednesday can’t bring herself to mind.

Wednesday only half-pays attention to the rest of their conversation and Thing and Enid’s antics, preoccupied with the beginnings of a wonderfully dreadful plan forming in her mind.

By the time Enid has to rush off to help Yoko with some overblown 'emergency' and Wednesday’s packing is almost complete, the plan is completely solidified in her mind, down to every minute detail. 

After calming Thing down from his brief tantrum, a short crystal ball discussion with her parents, and making a mental note to find a black widow on her way out of the dorm, she picks up Enid’s trash bags and walks out the door, Thing excitedly prancing behind her.

Wednesday’s mouth twitches with the urge to smile.

Kidnapping Enid is going to be very exciting, and holding her hostage over the extended break is sure to be a very invigorating experience.

Truly, it’s the absolute least she can do for her lupa amata, and she hopes to prove that to Enid by the time their next semester starts. 

Wednesday full-on smiles at this thought, sending the few people lingering in the halls running and ducking into random dorm rooms for safety.

Dragging Enid, with all her loud prattling, obnoxious colors, and outlandish clothing choices, to Wednesday’s home, where she'll keep her until the end of their extended winter break should prove to be a fun challenge.

Honestly?

She can’t wait.

(One week since the Blood Moon - Three weeks until the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

L'oceano, il cielo notturno, e il sole vivono tutti nei tuoi occhi, e io non desidero altro che annegare e bruciare in essi. - “The ocean, the night sky, and the sun all live in your eyes, and I want nothing more than to drown and burn in them.” (Italian)

Anima gemella - “Soulmate” (Italian)

Sole della mia vita - “Sun of her life” (Italian)

Lupa amata - “Beloved wolf” (Italian)

Chapter Text

“You may

blame Aphrodite

soft as she is

she has almost

killed me with

love for that girl."

- Sappho

Wednesday gives Enid a basic tour of the mansion (at least, the inside of it). Wednesday explains that they simply don’t have time to look at everything, but that she’ll show her the essential and more interesting rooms for the time being.

Not only does Wednesday show her each of the 16 bedrooms they have (“unfortunately necessary for the amount of family we tend to have visiting year-round”), the seven bathrooms (two of which have screaming toilets), the grand ballroom that Enid can just picture lit-up and filled with all sorts of interesting people from all over the world dancing to a ghostly orchestra (what a magical sight that would be), a huge library that Enid is fairly certain is double the size of the one at Nevermore, and a billiards room of all things, but Wednesday also shows her the secret rooms.

Wednesday shows her some of the secret staircases, freaking two hidden libraries (as over-the-top as she would expect of the Addamses by this point), a secret archive (though Enid has no idea what makes the archive different from the three libraries she’s already seen), one of what Wednesday tells is five dungeons, the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the house (“though we’ll have to wait until another day to explore those properly, as it would take most of a day to show you all of them; perhaps you might even sniff out where Cousin Torrent ended up”), an attic ladder hidden seamlessly in the ceiling that leads up to the tower Enid saw from the outside (“I would avoid going up there if I were you; it’s Grandmama’s workshop, and although I’m sure she’d be happy to invite you in, I can’t guarantee she won’t collect samples from you for one of her many concoctions”), and a scarily large number of secret passageways scattered throughout the house. 

Enid stops counting after a dozen, because she already knows she’s not going to remember most of them anyway, and is perfectly content to allow herself to be delightfully overwhelmed by the wonderful insanity that is Wednesday’s home.

When they take a break at the top of the grand staircase, having toured all of the upstairs and most of the downstairs, Enid turns to Wednesday and grasps her by the shoulders.

“Wednesday. Your. House. Is. Amazing!” She punctuates each word with a little shake of Wednesday’s shoulders, which she allows without so much as a twitch.

“Most people find it ludicrously over-the-top and macabre.” Wednesday replies without batting an eye.

Enid rolls her own eyes in return.

“Well then, those people are stupid, because House is the most beautiful and unique place I’ve ever been.” She lets go of Wednesday and steps back. 

“If I could live in a house like this, I might never leave, not even during full moons!” Enid pauses and reconsiders. “Actually, I probably would leave during full moons, because I wouldn’t want to damage the house.”

“I doubt House would mind a werewolf prowling its halls once a month.” Wednesday muses.

“But still, I would absolutely love to live in a house like this. I mean, hidden passageways and secret libraries and a freaking labyrinth under the basement? That’s just the coolest thing ever!”

“ Quindi trasferisciti qui definitivamente. Non ti mancherebbe nulla, e House ti adora già quasi quanto me. Se ci sposiamo, ti lascerò uccidere me e diventare l'unico proprietario della casa, se lo desideri. ”

Enid narrows her eyes at Wednesday, who remains as impassive as always.

“Again with the Italian, Addams?”

Wednesday’s mouth lifts very slightly in a smirk.

“ Sì, perché è la lingua più romantica per me, quindi è l'unica che ti lusinga correttamente. ”

Enid fumes for a moment, trying to ignore the heat rising in her belly and slowly blossoming over her cheeks, knowing it’s not because she thinks she’s being insulted or teased. 

Maybe Wednesday would stop with the Italian if Enid told her the actual effect it was having on her. 

That is, it’s very quickly turning her definitely-not-a-crush into a probably-definitely-a-crush and maybe even a very-slight-infatuation.

But if she did tell her, Wednesday would probably maim her, so the cons significantly outweigh the pros. 

For now.

Rolling her eyes when Wednesday simply continues to stare at her impassively, Enid starts to walk down the stairs. 

The moment she’s on the second step, the stairs abruptly slant down into a slide, making her slip and fall onto her back, sliding all the way down to the bottom. Within moments, she’s cackling with glee, especially when the stairs curve up right at the end, sending her flying through the air and landing on a soft rug that cushions her landing, one she’s certain wasn’t there earlier.

She’ll definitely still have a few bruises from the impromptu slide, but it’s totally worth it.

The stairs go back to their usual state as she’s sprawled on the floor laughing, and she vaguely hears Wednesday say; “If you try the same thing with me, I’ll plug every toilet in the house with frogs, and we both know how much you hate it when your plumbing gets backed up.”

By the time Wednesday’s down the stairs, Enid’s struggling to get herself up, still giggling and trying to fix her clothes. Wednesday simply stares at her, offering a hand when Enid nearly falls down again. Her hair is surely in disarray and her cheeks are still heated, but she still grins at Wednesday and says, “Again. Best. House. Ever!”

Wednesday looks at her, as unflappable as ever.

“ Come mi torturi con il tuo sorriso .”

Enid huffs, folds her arms, and glares at Wednesday.

“You know, I’m going to end up secretly learning Italian and discovering all your dirty secrets, Addams.”

Wednesday raises one eyebrow. She laces her hands in front of her and stares at Enid with that unfathomable expression again.

“ Non c'è bisogno, come ti dirò, nei minimi dettagli, di ogni momento in cui mi hai costretto a raccontarti della mia adorazione.Non ti lascerò mai dimenticare o dubitare del mio amore per te. Non per un giorno, non per un minuto, nemmeno per un respiro.  Se me lo permetti, mia cara, ti dirò che ti amo in ogni lingua che conosco, ogni mattina e ogni notte. Se lo desideri, imparerò più lingue per te, quindi avrò ancora più modi per dirti ti amo. Dì la parola, in qualsiasi lingua ti piaccia, e sarò tua. ”

Enid groans and lets her head fall back in frustration.

“I hate you.”

“I know.” The faintest hint of a smile crosses Wednesday’s face before she’s back to her usual impassive blankness. 

Enid can still feel the smugness rolling off of her in waves though, especially when Enid pouts at her.

“At least tell me what one thing you’ve said today means. Please?”

“ Mi torturi means ‘you torture me’.” Wednesday says promptly before turning on her heel and walking away. “Come along, bellissima , our tour isn’t over yet.”

Enid rolls her eyes again, but still can’t help skipping after Wednesday. House really is amazing, and no matter what Wednesday is saying in Italian, Enid can tell her best friend is only teasing her.

Enid’s fine with teasing, especially if it’s from Wednesday. 

Wednesday doesn’t tease anyone else after all, and if that doesn’t make Enid feel all kinds of special, she doesn’t know what would.

The second to last stop on their tour is the greenhouse, which rivals Nevermore’s for size and tops it for variety in plant life. In the center of it all is Morticia, who apparently decided to come here and feed the largest plant in the greenhouse, displayed with pride in the center, after Enid and Wednesday left for their tour.

She smiles at the two of them, beckoning them to come closer with a graceful hand.

“My girls, how wonderful of you to come visit me in the greenhouse before dinner.”

“This is simply one of the last stops on Enid’s tour of the house, Mother. Us being here has nothing to do with you.”

“As cutting as ever, mon cher petit couteau. Enid, dear, would you like to help me feed Cleopatra?”

“Oh, um, sure.” Enid steps up a tad nervously to the huge plant in front of her. It looks big enough to swallow her whole, and she really hopes that nobody’s about to push her into the plant’s hole of a mouth. 

Maybe that’s what Wednesday’s been saying in Italian this whole time.

“ I’m looking forward to watching you thrash and scream as you’re sucked into our garden’s gullet .”

Instead of that, Morticia directs Enid to put on a pair of gloves, put on an apron, and pick up a pair of metal tongs.

“Normally, I feed her by hand, but I’m afraid Cleopatra gets a little skittish around strangers, so we’ll have you use the tongs for now.”

Cleopatra does rear back a bit when Enid offers a clump of raw meatloaf to her with the tongs, but after what Enid swears is the plant sniffing the offered meat, Cleopatra cautiously slurps up the meat and swallows it down.

She feeds the plant a few more bites, getting more confident each time she retreats with her arm intact.

“Very well done, mon loup chéri !” Morticia says. “You’re a fast learner.” Enid glows under the motherly praise, offering her a bright smile. 

“Thank you. I used to help Ms. Thornhill-” She freezes, tongs halfway outstretched towards Cleopatra’s mouth, who whines and tries to stretch forward for the dangling meat.

Wednesday steps forward quietly and puts a hand on Enid’s shoulder. 

It untenses her muscles, allowing her to take a moment to calm down. She closes her eyes and steadies her breathing, unconsciously focusing her hearing onto the sound of Wednesday’s heartbeat until her heart rate is back to normal. 

Ever since her transformation, her senses have gone almost out of control with how powerful they are. She quickly discovered that the only way to keep herself from going insane was to allow all the extra sounds and scents and sharpened vision become part of the background of her life, because trying to focus on any part of it for too long was a certain fast track to a head-splitting migraine.

She privately worried that it was a bit much so soon after her first transformation; none of her family or pack members had ever mentioned being able to hear so well even at the peak of their abilities, but that’s something she’d decided was a future-her problem.

Sometimes she had to put on noise-canceling headphones and blast her favorite music just to have something to focus on, something to drown out the flood of people talking and shoes scuffing against the floors and doors closing.

But when those things weren’t available to her and she was becoming overwhelmed, she embarrassingly always instinctively sought out the sound of Wednesday’s heartbeat, normally lost in the sea of other sounds surrounding them at all times.

Finding it has never been hard, not even when they were on opposite ends of Nevermore, because Wednesday’s heart beats slower than any other human’s Enid’s ever met, at a rate that Enid knew would probably concern most doctors but was completely normal for an Addams. 

Focusing on that somehow calmed her down no matter how stressed she was, and the same was proving true for her now.

The whole thing is mortifying enough that she actively avoids listening to the other girl’s heartbeat as much as possible, but when it’s just the two of them, it’s almost impossible not to, and it almost never changes.

Not when Wednesday kidnapped her.

Not when Wednesday teased her with Italian.

Not even when she stupidly mentioned the woman who almost killed them both barely a week ago.

She breathes deeply one more time, inhaling the comforting scent of Wednesday, an odd blend of forest soil, the sharp scent of rosemary, and a thunderstorm moments before lightning strikes. 

She doesn’t know how Wednesday smells like a thunderstorm at all times, but she loves it either way. More than once she’s had to suppress the urge to steal one of Wednesday’s hoodies and hide it under her pillow. 

(The main reason she hasn’t given in to the instinct is because she knows Wednesday would notice the theft immediately and likely find out exactly who took it within minutes, and then Enid would die of embarrassment before Wednesday’s knives could get to her).

When she opens her eyes, Morticia gently takes the tongs from her and gives her a warm, comforting smile.

“It’s alright, my dear. I think Cleopatra’s had enough for today. How about you wash up while I clean things here?”

Enid nods and Wednesday removes her hand, only to take Enid by the elbow and lead her over to a sink near the door. Enid takes off her apron and gloves, handing them to Wednesday who throws them into a nearby hamper. She washes her hands in the sink, surprised by the rose-smelling hand soap Wednesday offers her. She wouldn’t have expected roses, even with the subtle hint of decay underlying it.

“It’s my mother’s favorite scent.” Wednesday explains quietly. “The smell of dying rose petals.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.” After drying her hands, Enid tries to surreptitiously wipe her eyes with her sweater sleeves, but Wednesday still notices it. 

She notices everything.

“Sorry.” Enid murmurs, feeling embarrassed about getting teary-eyed over just the mention of their homicidal maniac of a teacher, especially since Wednesday already took care of said homicidal maniac of a teacher.

“For what?” Wednesday asks. “Remembering her horrible cardigans makes me want to tear my eyes out too.”

That surprises Enid into a genuine laugh.

She sniffles one more time and then smiles at Wednesday.

“Thank you.” 

Wednesday doesn’t reply, but something around her eyes softens the tiniest bit, and Enid notices the tiniest stutter in her heartbeat.

She knew her best friend was a softie deep down. Deep, deep down. Beneath a hundred layers of homicidal thoughts and razor blades.

A spark starts glowing in Enid’s chest. She tries to stamp it down immediately, but it stubbornly remains.

Damn it, she has to get this under control before the next time she sees Yoko, or else the vampire will never let her live it down.

“Okay!” Enid says brightly, clapping her hands together to avoid thinking about the feeling swelling in her chest. “What’s next?”

“Our last stop is the music room. Then, it will be time for dinner.”

“You have a music room?”

“Of course. Where else would I get my piano wire?” 

Enid smiles.

“Is it where you play your cello too?” 

“On occasion. It does have tolerable acoustics, though I prefer to play on the balcony attached to my room.”

“Naturally.” Enid grins at this, oddly happy that she’ll get to keep listening to Wednesday’s late-night cello sessions. 

She’s not entirely sure she can sleep easily without them anymore.

“Oh, you’re going to the music room?” Morticia appears behind them, a delighted smile on her face. “Would you mind terribly if I joined you? It’s one of my favorite rooms in the house, and I would love to help give you the tour.”

“No need, Mother.” Wednesday says more stiffly than usual. “I’m perfectly capable of showing Enid the music room by myself. You would only be in the way.”

“Oh come now, my little storm cloud, I’m sure Enid won’t mind if I tag along.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Enid says. She might as well start ingratiating herself with Wednesday’s family now, especially when presented with the opportunity.

“Excellent! Let’s go.” Morticia loops her arm through Enid’s and quickly leads her away, Wednesday following closely behind with crossed arms, her annoyance like a dark fog behind them.

‘Little storm cloud’ is definitely a fitting nickname for Wednesday, though Enid will never dare say so out loud.

It won't stop her from thinking it though.

The music room is, of course, grand, beautiful, and crammed full with every kind of instrument she could think of, and at least twice more she didn’t even know existed.

A grand piano sits in the center of the room in place of pride, the keys softly playing themselves in a melody Enid knows but can’t quite place.

Morticia proves an excellent guide, telling her all sorts of interesting stories about seemingly every odd and familiar instrument they come across, Wednesday offering occasional and often morbid commentary.

Enid, closely listening to Morticia’s explanation of the (very macabre) history behind each beautiful instrument, old and new alike, eventually finds her eye drawn to a violin almost hidden in a back corner behind one of the many pianos and a large, very haunted-looking harp.

The violin is propped up in its case, and it’s by far the most gorgeous she’s ever seen. 

The body is a warm brown color, a few shades lighter than a standard violin, its sides painted with a subtle shade of gold that goes all the way up to swirl into the scroll. The chin rest and pegs are wooden as well, but a much deeper shade of brown that compliments the warm golden hue nicely. 

The tailpiece, bridge, and fingerboard are all a creamy shade of white, while the strings themselves are a midnight black, standing in stark contrast to the rest of the violin. 

The matching bow leaning against its side is overall the same creamy white, the frog and ferrule the same dark brown, the screw, winding, and tip painted in the same subtle shade of gold, and the hair somehow the same midnight black as the strings.

The most marvelous thing about it though is, by far, the inky black detailing all along the sides of the violin. If she didn’t know better, she might think it’s a genuine Stradivarius violin, though she’s not sure even the Addams could afford one.

(Actually, they definitely could, she just can’t bear the thought of seeing a genuine Stradivarius violin languishing, forgotten, in a dusty corner).

The black designs are unique, certainly not like any other ornamented violin she’s seen.

They remind her a little of Ole’ Bull, but instead of floral loops and flare, this one is decorated with art of thorny vines, intersecting and curling around and over each other in beautiful, wild patterns. Interspersed throughout the art and framed by the vines are depictions of cats and doves.

Wait, no, they’re not cats and doves. 

The images are blurry, but not in the way they would be if a terrible artist attempted to draw an animal and failed so miserably you can’t quite tell what it’s supposed to be. The animals on the violin are blurry as if they’re changing. 

With each blink the animals come more into focus, until Enid’s positive about what they are.

Running wolves and ravens mid-flight.

Her heart stutters in her chest.

She doesn’t even realize she’s tuned out Morticia’s tour completely and is drifting towards the violin until a cold hand grips her shoulder.

Blinking, she shudders slightly out of her daze and turns to look at Wednesday, curiosity and a hint of concern etched in the angle of her eyebrow.

“Enid, what are you doing? Did you not recall Mother’s warning not to wander in here? I’d be more than happy to see you lose a hand to a hungry piano, but Lurch gets testy when he has to clean blood out from between the keys.” Wednesday says, but there’s no bite to her words and a small warmth glints in her eyes, so Enid relaxes rather than become unnerved like anyone else would.

Wednesday’s hand is still gripping Enid’s shoulder in a firm grip that isn’t quite tight enough to hurt, but Enid doesn’t dare draw attention to it in case it makes the normally touch-adverse girl let go and back away.

Despite the coldness of Wednesday’s hand, the touch brings nothing but warmth rising to Enid’s skin.

“I- well- I was just- um…”

“Are you feeling well, ma chérie ?” Morticia asks, peering closely at Enid with a searching gaze that soothes rather than stifles. “You’re looking a touch paler than normal, and it’s still weeks away from the full moon.”

“I’m fine.”

Neither of them look convinced, not even twitching in their twin stare-down of her.

“Really!” Enid insists, almost throwing her hands up at the rather intimidating duo. 

She pauses and glances back towards the violin.

“Actually, I was just wondering about that violin over there.” 

Enid turns and gestures towards it, with the immediate unfortunate side effect of Wednesday’s hand releasing its grip. 

Before Enid can mourn this loss for long, Wednesday moves and stands beside her to face the violin, their shoulders just barely brushing.

Enid smiles at Wednesday (she’s doing so well getting outside of her comfort zone, and Enid couldn’t be more grateful that Wednesday’s choosing to start doing so with her).

Wednesday doesn’t so much as spare her a glance, her focus solely on the violin itself.

Enid doesn’t mind though.

The instrument is beautiful, and though it’s clearly aged and a tad weathered, Enid thinks that only adds to its charm.

She knows Wednesday appreciates fine instruments, judging by how passionately she plays her own lovely cello and how well she takes care of it.

It might not be the cello Enid would pick out for herself if she ever decided to become a cellist, but it’s absolutely perfect for Wednesday.

This violin though… it’s practically screaming for Enid to play it.

She has to lace her hands together behind her back to avoid the temptation of just snatching it out of the case and playing it when she notices it even has a shoulder rest attached. 

The strings would probably break if she tried to tune it anyway, she consoles herself, considering how old and abandoned it looks.

She sends a large smile that’s only a tad strained in response to Wednesday’s questioning look, but that only makes her eyes narrow.

Enid starts sweating. 

She tells Wednesday about pretty much everything, but she doesn’t think she’s ready to talk about violins just yet.

Before Wednesday can open her mouth and go into full interrogative mode, Morticia thankfully interrupts their momentary stand-off.

“Oh, that’s Great Aunt Griselda’s violin! I nearly forgot it was in here.”

“Great Aunt Griselda?”

“A relative on my mother’s side.” Morticia says with a smile. “She died in Italy in the year 1666. She was torn apart, literally, by an angry mob, before her pieces were tied to stones and thrown into the nearby river. Her violin hasn’t allowed anyone to touch it since, though it does like to get out of its case quite often.” Morticia sighs and looks at the violin with exasperation, hands on hips. “Honestly, what are we going to do with you, you stubborn thing?”

“Perhaps we just should burn the violin and be done with it altogether.” Wednesday suggests indifferently.

“No!” Enid immediately shouts, surprising everyone in the room, including herself.

“I- I mean,” she stutters nervously, “you shouldn’t just destroy something with so much history behind it. It belonged to one of your relatives, and it’s hundreds of years old, and it even looks like a Stradivarius violin. Even if it’s difficult to keep, you shouldn’t just toss it away, Wednesday.”

Wednesday’s eyebrow lifts slightly.

“You know what a Stradivarius violin is?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

Wednesday’s eyes narrow slightly.

“That indicates you are very familiar and well-educated when it comes to music, its history, and musical instruments, particularly of the string family. 

“...Yes?”

Wednesday’s eyelid twitches ever so slightly.

“Yet you called my cello an ‘oversized violin’?”

“Oh that?” Enid grins mischievously at the memory and winks at Wednesday. “I was just messing with you.”

She hadn’t realized it, but apparently at some point during this conversation she’d tuned into Wednesday’s heartbeat for comfort.

Enid realizes that because she hears it skip a beat.

Apparently, she’s going to be paying for that little joke later.

“Wait.” She turns back to Morticia. “What do you mean it gets out of its case? And doesn’t allow anyone to touch it?”

“It doesn’t like being caged.” Wednesday says blandly, heart rate back to normal.

Embarrassed, Enid tries to pull her attention away from Wednesday’s heart rate again, but it’s a little hard to do when it’s one of the few things making noise in this room.

Besides, it’s something she’d much rather focus on than Wednesday’s father’s screeching attempts at an opera upstairs.

“Yes, and it’s always rather difficult to return to its cage, since if anyone tries to touch it… well, it can be rather temperamental.” Morticia says fondly, finally joining them at Enid’s other side.

“Ever since Griselda’s untimely and wonderfully grotesque death, her violin won’t allow anyone else to play it. It simply refuses to take another owner.”

“Why is that?” Enid can’t help but ask.

“Well, the family legend says that Griselda was deeply in love with a witch named Cressida. They were lovers for only a few short years before the village council had Cressida drowned for her witchcraft. Griselda lost her mind, swearing vengeance, and stole Cressida’s body from the unmarked grave it was buried in. Griselda was a musician, so she removed Cressida’s entrails and several locks of her hair before burying her in Griselda’s family’s crypt.

“She took the pieces of her lover to her good friend, Antonio Stradivardi,” Enid gasps and Morticia smiles fondly at her, “yes that Antonio Stradivardi, and asked that he make a very special violin for her. He complied, using Cressida’s entrails to make the strings and her hair the bow. The violin took over two weeks to complete, but once it was finally finished, Griselda returned to the village and used its charmed song to lure the village council into the very same river they used to kill Cressida and made them drown themselves there.”

Morticia’s nostalgic sigh distracts Enid from her turning stomach, the sight of the black strings suddenly a little less enchanting than they were mere moments before. 

She still can’t help but be in awe that she’s within touching distance of a genuine Stradivardius violin, though.

“That was always one of Wednesday’s favorite bedtime stories as a child.”

“Mother-” Wednesday starts, but there’s no way in hell Enid’s letting this go.

“Wait, Wednesday used to get bedtime stories ?”

“Entirely against my will.” Wednesday says, just a touch too hastily to be convincing.

“Nonsense, my darling storm cloud! You used to insist on one every night; you just couldn’t sleep restlessly without them. And I remember how your favorites were always the most romantic stories-”

“Only because they were the most violent and grisly.” Wednesday says with an actual sigh.

By far, this is one of the best moments of Enid’s life.

“No way!” Enid nearly squeals, grabbing Wednesday by the arm and shaking her excitedly.

Wednesday huffs, but doesn’t pull away.

“What was your favorite one? You have to tell me!”

Wednesday gives her a deadpan look.

“Considering your aversion to blood, I doubt you’ll want to hear it.”

Enid pouts, but she has to concede the point. 

She’s gotten loads better at handling the sight of blood since her first transformation, but gore still makes her stomach squirm.

Case in point: the tale of Griselda and Cressida.

She’ll have to get better about that if she’s really going to spend the rest of the winter with the Addamses.

After all, it’s only been the first day and she’s already been shot at twice, nearly got her foot bitten off by a sentient bear rug, and found a violin made with human entrails and hair, and it’s not even dinner time yet!

Which might turn out to be roadkill.

Ew.

“Fine, but I’m not going to forget this. I’ll get it out of you one of these days.”

“You can try.” Wednesday responds dryly. “But for now, I believe we should focus on returning the violin to its case, should we not?”

“Indeed we should.” Morticia says, laughter dancing in her tone at their conversation. She leans closer to Enid and whispers in her ear; “And I’ll tell you the story later, if you like.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Wednesday interjects, glaring at Enid and Morticia ever-so-slightly.

“Of course not, ma petite rose noire .” Morticia winks at Enid, making her giggle. 

Wednesday glares a little harder and crosses her arms, but her shoulder still brushes against Enid’s and the murder in her eyes is biteless, so she knows Wednesday isn’t actually mad.

Enid and Morticia grin at Wednesday, she ignores them, and the three turn their attention back to the violin.

Enid swears it glints even more under the light than it did before. 

Her vision starts to blur at the edges, darkening while the violin only seems to grow brighter in her focus.

The stomach-twisting tale of its origins slips her mind. 

Her ears phase out the sound of Morticia and Wednesday’s voices.

All she can see is the violin.

All she can hear is the faintest echo of a bow that wants to run across strings.

All she can feel is the desperate tingling in her fingertips to pick up the violin and make music again.

She doesn’t hear Morticia cry out her name.

She doesn’t see the uncharacteristically and blatantly panicked expression on Wednesday’s face.

She doesn’t feel the hands, just a little too-late, trying to pull her away.

She picks up the bow, perfectly balanced in her hand, the wispy white of fresh rosin already across its hair.

She picks up the violin, already perfectly tuned, and places it under her chin.

She runs the bow across its strings.

The feeling that thrums through the empty, hollow crevices of the violin and into her is like liquid gold being poured into her veins, like sunlight at her fingertips.

And then she plays .

She tries to start off small with a simple lullaby, since she hasn’t played in over a year, but the music comes so easily to her it’s like she never stopped playing. The song quickly morphs into one of her old favorites, a song she used to play over and over again during full moons when she was left all alone in the house.

The melody is quick and light, a bouncing tune that’s never failed to bring a smile to her face even when she stood alone under the moonlight with nothing but distant howls to keep her company.

When that song finishes, it’s still nowhere near enough, as if the year without playing music was a long stint of a barren winter and having a violin back in her hands is the first warmth she’s felt since. 

The feeling is addicting, and she can’t let it go. 

Never again.

The next piece she plays is the fastest and most complicated one she knows, out of sheer desperation to get the intense feeling driving blades into her chest out, as if terrified that this will be taken from her at any moment and that she has to play every single note she can before it is.

But as soon as the thought occurs to her, she banishes it from her mind. 

This violin is hers now, and no one will be able to take it away. Not the Addamses, not her pack, not even her mother.

If Wednesday asked …

Before that thought can reach its full conclusion, the sounds of a piano playing the beginning of Vivaldi’s Winter just barely registers in her mind, and like a lightning strike she’s playing it with all the intensity of a winter storm, her hands ablaze with the speed of her bow.

As she plays this song though, she can’t help but think about Wednesday. 

How could she not?

The iciness of the song, the raging of the storm, the cold yet passionate tempest of the song could only ever be an ode to winter incarnate, with eyes as deep and dark as the night sky during bitterly cold winter nights, skin so pale it outshines everything around her, leaching all color away until there’s nothing left but her, in all her dark and bright glory, like snow against dead black trees, her braids like raven feathers floating over fields of untouched snow, her voice the cutting edge of winter’s unforgiving sting.

This train of thought leads to an easy transition to Enid’s own rendition of Paint it Black.

She’s never been able to forget the first time she heard Wednesday playing it on her cello. The memory brings an unconscious smile to her face.

Soon though, without her even meaning to, she slips into her slowest song yet, a song of yearning, a song longing for the notes of a deeper melody to slip underneath her own.

As she plays though, she becomes more and more aware of a beat that only seems to grow louder in her ears, pounding faster and faster until she’s playing with it, unable to resist the sweet rhythm accompanying her violin. Soon, the pace is so fast she’s dancing with it, whirling in a crazed dance as the bow slides seamlessly across strings.

For a moment the beat stops-

She stops with it-

Then she plays a light invitation, and the beat starts up again, even faster than before.

The song and her dance end shortly after, and she’s broken out of her daze when she realizes that her fingers are bleeding, a small amount of blood dripping along the strings.

She sighs, (what did she expect after going a year without playing, losing her calluses, only to immediately jump into playing some of her most difficult, intricate, and intense pieces?), and reluctantly lowers it from her chin, setting the bow down.

She cleans the blood off the violin with the edge of her sweater, uncaring of any stains she might get on her clothing. 

This instrument is far more precious than anything and everything she owns, and getting to play it even just once was a privilege unlike any other. One sweater is a very small price to pay for the experience she just had.

She’s just wiping the blood off her own fingertips (the cuts already healed thanks to her werewolf healing abilities) when she turns back towards the other two and startles.

Morticia is staring at her with wide eyes, her mouth fully agape with one hand pressed tight against her sternum, the other splayed over her heart, a few tears making their way down her cheeks.

This sight would be distressing enough, but it’s Wednesday’s reaction that makes Enid’s heart pound with worry.

Wednesday’s eyes are so wide Enid can see the full whites of them, the dark brown irises deep and engulfed with a roiling emotion that Enid has only caught glimpses of on Wednesday’s normally perfectly-controlled face.

Her hands are clenched so tightly that they’re white-knuckled and her nails are cutting into her palms; Enid can smell the blood.

Wednesday’s breathing is harsh, a sharply controlled inhale through the nose, a deep burst of an exhale through the mouth, as if she’d been running for miles and miles, only stopping at that exact moment, her chest actually moving with it, something Enid can’t remember ever seeing before.

Most distressing of all is her heartbeat; it’s the fastest Enid’s ever heard it go, thumping dangerously loud in a wild rhythm that makes Enid’s heart want to pump along with it.

Enid feels frozen with the neck of the violin still clutched tightly in her hand, unable to look away from Wednesday’s intense gaze.

“ Oh, come mi hai stregato. ” Wednesday says raggedly; Enid’s never heard her sound so hoarse, so emotional before. She has no idea what to do with it. “ Come eclissi il sole dolcemente come la luna per me? Sei la creatura più bella che abbia mai visto. Sei la tentazione incarnata. ”

Her eyes are so intense, Enid's afraid they're going to swallow her whole.

Wednesday turns sharply away.

Enid is both grateful and sad for the reprieve.

“ Come avrei mai dovuto sopravvivere a te? Sei tutto ciò che brilla in questo mondo, e anche il sole deve essere in soggezione della tua bellezza. ” Wednesday whispers.

Enid has no idea what to say, what she’s supposed to do. The moment feels like it’s made of glass- one wrong move, and she’ll cut herself on a sharp edge, or shatter it entirely.

“Enid,” Morticia finally says, carefully breaking the silence. “You play absolutely beautifully! You never mentioned you played the violin.”

“Huh?” Enid asks, so confused she doesn’t know what question to ask first. “Did I- What just- I didn’t just curse you guys?”

“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” Morticia asks. Wednesday has turned away from them both, leaning on a piano nearby, slapping against it viciously when the lid tries to close on her hands. She seems to be trying to get a hold of herself, and Enid turns away to give her some modicum of privacy.

“You said the violin was cursed or haunted or whatever and that it doesn’t let anyone play it so I thought, I thought maybe I’d just accidentally, you know, cursed you guys?” 

Morticia actually laughs at that, wiping the tears off her cheeks and stepping forward to cup Enid’s in her hands.

“Oh my darling, even if you had cursed us, it would be far from the first time such a thing has happened. The reason we’re so shocked is because the violin normally kills anyone who touches it within an instant. That’s why it’s so tricky to get back into its case. The fact that you were drawn to it and that the violin let you play it can only mean one thing: it’s chosen you to be its new owner.”

“What?” Even as Enid says it, she clutches the violin a little closer, knowing it instinctively to be true. “But why?”

Morticia hums thoughtfully.

“My guess? It’s because you’re the first werewolf it’s taken a liking to since Griselda’s death.”

“Why would me being a werewolf have anything to do with it?”

“Didn’t I mention?” Morticia grins at her. “Griselda was a werewolf.”

Morticia turns towards Wednesday, who seems mostly back to normal, turning back toward them and straightening her sleeves, her heart rate nearly at its usual speed, though she’s avoiding eye contact with either of them.

“Isn’t it interesting, my little raven, how the golden violin crafted by a werewolf in honor of her witch lover has chosen Enid as its second player?”

“Mother.” Wednesday says in a tone that would normally shut down any conversation at Nevermore in moments. It only makes Morticia smile wider.

“What was it you said after Enid’s absolutely enchanting performance? Oh, come mi hai stregato …?”

“Mother.” Wednesday’s glare is razor-sharp, the way it almost never is around her family.

“Relax, my little raven,” Morticia says with a secretive smile. “I won’t interfere with your little game.”

“ Ce n'est pas un jeu, Maman !” Wednesday actually snaps, visibly livid as she faces Morticia.

“ Pensez-vous que je traiterais cela comme un jeu? Oserez-vous sous-estimer ma dévotion envers elle? Je n'utiliserais plus jamais de lame, je n'écrirais plus jamais un mot, je laisserais mon violoncelle pourrir dans un coin pour toujours si elle le voulait. J'ai même appris à sourire pour elle. Comment oses-tu dire que ce n'est qu'un jeu pour moi !”

By the end of this rant, Wednesday’s breathing is heavy again, her heartbeat is nearly out-of-control, and her hands are clenched tightly into fists.

Enid is frozen. 

She has no idea what’s going on and no idea what she can do to fix it, so she stands helplessly to the side as Morticia stares silently at Wednesday after her outburst.

Enid doesn’t think she’s ever seen Wednesday so outwardly furious. The sight is as terrifying as it is beautiful.

(She really needs to get this slightly-more-than-an-infatuation under control).

Morticia steps closer to Wednesday, and it doesn’t escape Enid’s attention that she places herself between them, so that she can only see Morticia’s back and can no longer see Wednesday, though she can still hear her pounding heartbeat and the angry exhales escaping her.

Morticia speaks in nearly a whisper, (a bit useless, since Enid can hear Gomez absolutely butchering what she thinks is an Italian opera in the shower three stories up and on the other side of the house), but like Wednesday did, she’s speaking in French, so Enid still can’t understand what’s being said, or what’s gone wrong so suddenly.

“ Je suis désolé, ma chérie. ” Morticia begins in a gentle murmur. Even though Enid can’t understand what she’s saying, the motherly tenderness clear in her voice both relaxes her and makes another spike of jealousy surge through her body, tingling against her fingertips. “ Je ne voulais sincèrement pas t'offenser ou laisser entendre que tu aimes moins Enid que toi. Votre dévouement est évident pour tous, et bien sûr je sais que c'est plus qu'un simple jeu. Vous avez trouvé celui qui vous convient, et je ne vois personne de mieux adapté pour vous. Elle a de la chance d'avoir mérité la dévotion de ma petite rose noire, tout comme vous avez de la chance d'avoir trouvé la lune de votre vie. ”

By the end of this little speech, Wednesday has clearly calmed down and collected herself.

“ Elle n'est pas la lune; elle est le soleil. ” She says in her usual deadpan tone but sending a challenging gaze to Morticia.

Morticia smiles.

“ Comme tu dis, mon cher coeur. Mais n'oubliez jamais que chaque soleil a besoin de sa lune. ”

“ Inexact, mère. La lune ne peut briller qu'avec l'écho du soleil. Le soleil peut brûler tout seul. Le seul moment où le soleil ne brille pas, c'est quand la lune l'étouffe. ”

Morticia turns so that Enid can see them both once again, and although she doesn’t know her that well, Enid thinks Morticia’s smile looks a bit sadder than usual. 

Morticia runs her hands lightly over Wednesday’s braids with that sad, loving smile, before a spark of mischievousness lights up her eyes.

“ J'ai hâte d'avoir Enid comme future belle-fille. Je vous demande de commencer à la courtiser bientôt. Ton père et moi planifions déjà le mariage. ”

Wednesday steps away from her mother’s touch, Morticia grinning at her despite Wednesday’s glare.

“As if I would let you two imbeciles interfere in such a matter.” A faint red highlights Wednesday’s cheeks and the tips of her ears. Enid can’t believe she’s witnessing Wednesday Addams blushing . She can’t fathom the reason behind it. Is Wednesday really that upset over Morticia’s teasing?

“If you aren’t quick, you won’t have much choice.” Morticia replies before turning back to Enid, smiling apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie. ”

“Is everything alright?” Enid asks hesitantly, her eyes mostly on Wednesday.

“Everything is fine. My mother and I simply had a small misunderstanding that we were able to quickly correct. You don’t need to worry.” Wednesday replies, her eyes a shade warmer than usual. Enid relaxes.

She trusts Wednesday. If she says everything’s alright, then Enid knows everything’s alright. 

She smiles and nods brightly.

“Well, good. I’m glad.”

“Still, I pride myself on being a wonderful hostess, and neglecting you in our conversation is simply inexcusable.” Morticia crosses to Enid and wraps an arm around her. “Please, allow me to escort you to your room so that I can help you put your violin away. It has a nasty habit of wandering outside of its case while everyone’s asleep, so I can show you the trick to keeping it where it’s supposed to be.”

“Mother.” Wednesday says warningly.

“Relax, mon ciel sans lune , I won’t ruin any of the surprises you have in store for Enid. That would simply spoil yours and Enid’s winter break.”

“Normally, I’d say I actually want to know, but when it comes to Wednesday I think it’s better that I don’t.”

“I see you already know my daughter well.” Morticia gives her a squeeze and starts steering her out of the music room. “Come, let’s get the violin put away, and then I can escort you to dinner.”

Enid’s stomach turns, her head spinning for a minute, nausea crawling up her throat at the thought of eating anything, let alone what might be roadkill.

“Um, I'm not sure I can eat, actually. I’m feeling a little sick.”

“Only to be expected after being bound to a cursed violin, I suppose." Morticia muses. "I’m sure a long night’s sleep will get you feeling like your normal self in no time. We’ll get you settled for the night then, and I’ll let the family know that you won’t be able to attend dinner.”

“I’m sorry.” Enid says a little miserably. Something tells her that meals are an important part of the family’s daily rituals. 

“No need to apologize, ma chérie . We’ll miss you at dinner, but everyone will be absolutely delighted when they hear the reason you won’t be joining us, Grandmama especially. And if you get hungry at all during the night, Lurch is only a bell ring away."

Morticia's grip around Enid's shoulder tightens briefly, helping chase the wooziness away. "Come, let’s get you settled in your room. Wednesday, dear, be a nuisance and scatter the music sheets for me, would you?”

Enid hears Wednesday exhale slightly louder than usual, her version of a sigh.

“Of course, Mother. Enid, I’ll be sure to startle you before retiring to bed for the night.”

Enid grins over her shoulder at Wednesday.

“Thanks Wednesday! I’ll see you in a little while then.”

"Perhaps." Enid just catches a small quirk at the corner of Wednesday’s mouth before they’re out of the room and Wednesday is out of sight.

Enid ignores the immediate ache welling in her chest.

Yoko’s going to have a field day with her.

Morticia, as promised, deposits Enid at her room and shows her the trick to keeping her new violin locked firmly in its case. Besides the regular two clasps found on every violin case, there’s two different combination locks on either side of each clasp, each four numbers long; 1317 for the first, 4943 for the second.

Enid isn’t surprised in the slightest when Morticia explains that 13, 17, 4, 9, and 43 are all considered unlucky numbers in different cultures around the world.

Addamses.

“Though, considering the case was open when we showed you the music room, there’s a good chance the violin may have figured out how to open those locks too.” Morticia muses, one long black fingernail tapping her cheek in thought. 

“Well, if the violin moves overnight, we’ll just have to figure out a new way to keep its case closed.”

“Alright.” Enid glances at the violin case, a tad uneasy now. “It won’t hurt anyone if it gets out, right?”

“Oh, only anyone who’s not you.” Morticia assures her with a smile. “You’re its new owner now. In all likelihood, it’ll just move itself to be in your line of sight when you wake up so that you’ll be more likely to play it, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” Enid breathes a sigh of relief.

“Though if Pugsley tries to sneak into your room with his crossbow tonight, I’m sure your violin will give him a beating he won’t soon forget.”

Enid blanches at this, because “ why ” on so many levels, but Morticia just smiles at her once again and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t worry, ma petite lune . Wednesday was very serious in her declaration that you’re her hostage. I’m sure she’s booby-trapped your room quite well to prevent anyone from trying to torment you while she’s sleeping. You can rest easy knowing she’ll be the only one tormenting you during your stay with us.”

For some reason, that actually does make Enid feel better.

Being best friends with Wednesday has made Enid so weird.

She couldn’t be happier about it, honestly.

Before leaving Enid’s room, Morticia gives her yet another hug and murmurs in her ear, “ Je ne vous souhaite que des malheurs à tous les deux, et qu'un jour vous mouriez et soyez enterrés côte à côte, comme le destin l'a toujours voulu .”

Enid sighs and hugs her back.

“Is the whole “foreign language” racket going to become a family-wide thing for the rest of the winter?”

Morticia pulls back and smiles at her.

“What better way to teach you a new language, mon papillon ?”

“I can see your point, but I’m pretty sure it’ll only be more confusing for me if you’re all speaking snatches of French, Italian, Spanish, Latin, and whatever other languages you guys know in conversations with me.”

Morticia laughs and kisses her cheeks.

“Well, I’ve been told you’re a fast learner.” Morticia winks at her and leaves the room, casting one last “good night” over her shoulder as she goes.

“Good night!” Enid returns as Morticia closes the door.

She sits on her bed, pulls her largest stuffed animal close (a huge panda bear that may or may not remind her of a certain roommate), and squeals happily into it.

Italian and crossbows and cursed violins aside, this winter break is going to be so much fun.

Wednesday follows through on her promise to say good night to Enid, though not in the way Enid expected. 

Rather than pop out of a secret passageway or suddenly appear beneath her bed with some kind of threatening message before melting back into the shadows of her own room, Enid hears Wednesday start playing the cello out on her balcony like she said she usually did. 

The sound is a bit farther away than she’s used to, but Enid can still hear it perfectly fine.

After a minute, she realizes that Wednesday’s playing an intense version of “Good Night” by the Beatles, and she has to smother her giggles into her pillow, heart glowing.

Alright, fine, she definitely has a slightly-more-than-slight-infatuation on Wednesday Addams. 

But who can blame her, really?

She’s certain everyone would fall in love with Wednesday Addams given enough time with her.

She draws people to her like she has her own gravity, a magnetism that lures people in before they even realize it’s happening, whether Wednesday realizes it or not.

Privately, Enid sometimes thinks that Wednesday calls to her more than the full moon ever could.

(One week since the Blood Moon - Three weeks until the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

Quindi trasferisciti qui definitivamente. Non ti mancherebbe nulla, e House ti adora già quasi quanto me. Se ci sposiamo, ti lascerò uccidere me e diventare l'unico proprietario della casa, se lo desideri. - “Then move here permanently. You would lack for nothing, and House already adores you almost as much as I do. If we get married, I'll let you kill me and become the sole owner of the house if you wish.” (Italian)

Sì, perché è la lingua più romantica per me, quindi è l'unica che ti lusinga correttamente. - “Yes, because it's the most romantic language for me, so it's the only one that flatters you properly.” (Italian)

Come mi torturi con il tuo sorriso. - “How you torture me with your smile.” (Italian)

Mi torturi - "You torture me" (Italian)

Non c'è bisogno, come ti dirò, nei minimi dettagli, di ogni momento in cui mi hai costretto a raccontarti della mia adorazione.Non ti lascerò mai dimenticare o dubitare del mio amore per te. Non per un giorno, non per un minuto, nemmeno per un respiro.  Se me lo permetti, mia cara, ti dirò che ti amo in ogni lingua che conosco, ogni mattina e ogni notte. Se lo desideri, imparerò più lingue per te, quindi avrò ancora più modi per dirti ti amo. Dì la parola, in qualsiasi lingua ti piaccia, e sarò tua. - “There is no need, as I will tell you, in minute detail, every moment you forced me to tell you about my adoration. I will never let you forget or doubt my love for you. Not for a day, not for a minute, not even for a breath. If you allow me, my dear, I will tell you that I love you in every language I know, every morning and every night. If you wish, I'll learn more languages for you, so I'll have even more ways to say I love you. Say the word, in any language you like, and I'll be yours.” (Italian)

Bellissima - “Gorgeous.” (Italian)

Mon cher petit couteau - “My dear little knife” (French)

Mon loup chéri - “My dear wolf” (French)

Ma chérie - “My dear” (French)

Ma petite rose noire - “My little black rose (French)

Oh, come mi hai stregato. - “Oh, how you have bewitched me.” (Italian)

Come eclissi il sole dolcemente come la luna per me? Sei la creatura più bella che abbia mai visto. Sei la tentazione incarnata. - “How do you eclipse the sun as softly as the moon for me? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. You are temptation incarnate.” (Italian)

Come avrei mai dovuto sopravvivere a te? Sei tutto ciò che brilla in questo mondo, e anche il sole deve essere in soggezione della tua bellezza. “How was I ever supposed to survive you? You are all that shines in this world, and even the sun must be in awe of your beauty.” (Italian)

Ce n'est pas un jeu, Maman! - “It's not a game, Mother!” (French)

Pensez-vous que je traiterais cela comme un jeu? Oserez-vous sous-estimer ma dévotion envers elle? Je n'utiliserais plus jamais de lame, je n'écrirais plus jamais un mot, je laisserais mon violoncelle pourrir dans un coin pour toujours si elle le voulait. J'ai même appris à sourire pour elle. Comment oses-tu dire que ce n'est qu'un jeu pour moi! - “Do you think I would treat this like a game? Do you dare underestimate my devotion to her? I would never use a blade again, I would never write a word again, I would leave my cello to rot in a corner forever if she wanted me to. I even learned to smile for her. How dare you say it's just a game for me!” (French)

Je suis désolé, ma chérie. “I am sorry, my dear.” (French)

Je ne voulais sincèrement pas t'offenser ou laisser entendre que tu aimes moins Enid que toi. Votre dévouement est évident pour tous, et bien sûr je sais que c'est plus qu'un simple jeu. Vous avez trouvé celui qui vous convient, et je ne vois personne de mieux adapté pour vous. Elle a de la chance d'avoir mérité la dévotion de ma petite rose noire, tout comme vous avez de la chance d'avoir trouvé la lune de votre vie. - “I sincerely didn't mean to offend you or imply that you like Enid less than you do. Your dedication is evident to all, and of course I know it's more than just a game. You've found the right one for you, and I can't think of anyone better suited for you. She is lucky to have earned the devotion of my little black rose, just as you are lucky to have found the moon of your life.” (French)

Elle n'est pas la lune; elle est le soleil. - “She is not the moon; she is the sun.” (French)

Comme tu dis, mon cher coeur. Mais n'oubliez jamais que chaque soleil a besoin de sa lune. - “As you say, my dear heart. But never forget that every sun needs its moon.” (French)

Inexact, mère. La lune ne peut briller qu'avec l'écho du soleil. Le soleil peut brûler tout seul. Le seul moment où le soleil ne brille pas, c'est quand la lune l'étouffe. - “Wrong, mother. The moon can only shine with the echo of the sun. The sun can burn on its own. The only time the sun doesn't shine is when the moon is smothering it.” (French)

J'ai hâte d'avoir Enid comme future belle-fille. Je vous demande de commencer à la courtiser bientôt. Ton père et moi planifions déjà le mariage. - “I can't wait to have Enid as my future daughter-in-law. I ask you to start courting her soon. Your father and I are already planning the wedding.” (French)

Mon ciel sans lune - “My moonless sky” (French)

Ma petite lune - “My little moon” (French)

Je ne vous souhaite que des malheurs à tous les deux, et qu'un jour vous mouriez et soyez enterrés côte à côte, comme le destin l'a toujours voulu. - “I wish you both nothing but bad luck, and that one day you will die and be buried side by side, as fate always intended.” (French)

Mon papillon - “My butterfly” (French)

Chapter Text

“Never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception.”

-Machiavelli

When Enid wakes up, not only is the violin case wide open, the violin itself is placed on the window seat with its bow directly in her line of sight, gleaming beautifully in the faint blue light of dawn.

Despite the fact that the violin isn’t supposed to be leaving its case on its own, Enid can’t help but grin at the sight.

She’s always been an early riser, and she can’t imagine a better sight to greet her in the morning.

Except perhaps for long black hair draped over her pillow…

She quickly shakes that thought from her head.

She’s been trying to shove those thoughts far, far away, because she just knows that when Yoko gets the chance to video call her she’ll be able to tell that Enid’s not-a-crush has evolved into a full-on-daydreaming-about-handholding-crush the moment she sees her.

Yoko’s always been scarily intuitive like that. 

Luckily for Enid, the first few days after their summer break starts are always crazy busy for Yoko, considering the huge amount of immortal relatives she has to catch up with, which often means Yoko doesn’t even have enough time to text Enid, let alone call or video chat.

Normally that makes Enid sad, since it leaves her largely alone dealing with her maelstrom of a family and tornado of a mother, but this summer she’s kind of glad.

The inevitable teasing over her “kidnapping” and developing crush could wait forever, if she had any say in it.

Pushing these thoughts aside, her eyes fall back on the violin.

Enid’s likely the only one awake right now; if the rest of the Addamses are anything like Wednesday, they’ll gladly sleep well past dawn. 

She’s always been a morning person though, something that caused Wednesday no small amount of consternation during the beginning weeks of their being roommates.

She sighs.

She doesn’t want to try texting Yoko, in part since she’ll probably just be getting ready for bed, her dad sleeps like a bear and won’t be up before 10am, and she can’t risk her mother answering the phone, and she doesn’t really feel like talking to anyone else besides, naturally, Wednesday.

Considering the haunted maze of a house she’s staying in, Enid doesn’t dare wander its halls alone for exploring quite yet (even if House does seem to like her, there’s only so much it can do to warn her about more biting rugs or other cursed objects that won’t be as likely to take a friendly interest in her like her new violin).

Everything in her room has already been put away or hung up, so she gets out of bed with nothing to do but make it, take a shower, and get dressed.

After fifteen minutes of deliberation, she ends up choosing to wear a long-sleeved black shirt with pink floral patterns, a bright red sweater-vest, blue jeans, and matching red combat boots.

She also drapes a long pink coat, her snood, and a pair of dark red gloves over the desk chair, since she has a feeling they’ll be exploring the unnaturally cold grounds of the Addams estate today, and she has no interest in freezing all day long.

(Seriously, how is it so cold when they’re close to summer ?)

Now she’s left with nothing to do, no one to talk to, and nowhere to safely explore.

She plops herself on her bed with a sigh, elbow on her knee and chin in her hand. She’s only been awake for a little over half an hour and she’s already bored.

Wonderful.

Her eyes fall back on the violin shining enticingly on the window seat.

The memory of Wednesday bidding her good night with her cello last night drifts to the surface of her thoughts.

It makes her smile, both out of fondness, and because it gives Enid an amazing idea.

She bounces out of bed, gleefully picking up the violin and bow with anticipation bubbling from her stomach up through her chest.

Placing the violin under her chin, she contemplates what to play for a moment before the perfect song comes to mind.

With a smile, Enid starts playing “Cold and Frosty Morning” just as the first golden light of dawn spills through her window. 

Her grin only widens when her ears catch the sound of a bed creaking and covers shifting from the room across the hall before she gets lost in the melody.

She’s playing to annoy Wednesday and hopefully wake her up enough to at least come in and threaten Enid for waking her up so early, but that doesn’t stop the sheer joy of playing a violin again from taking over her mind.

By the time Enid finishes and opens her eyes (she can’t even remember closing them), Wednesday is standing in her door, watching.

She’s as put-together and immaculate as she always is (besides when she started letting her guard down in their dorm, even unbraiding and rebraiding her hair in front of Enid before leaving for classes and occasionally letting slip tiny signs of exhaustion from her never-ending chase after answers to the case plaguing her every step during the term).

“Good morning!” Enid says brightly.

“Is it?” Wednesday asks in a familiar tone. “Because I was jarred from my restless sleep by torturous screeching coming from the garishly colorful room across the hall.”

“I thought you liked torture?” Enid asks innocently. 

Wednesday only raises an eyebrow at her.

“There’s a very clear difference between pleasant torture and unpleasant torture. Pleasant torture involves electrocution, swimming with sharks, and fencing with uncapped tips. Unpleasant torture involves being awoken at the crack of dawn by a barely tolerable rendition of a fiddle song by a werewolf covered in colors brighter and more garish than a rainbow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” She sets the violin back in its case, and she swears she can feel a sense of sadness or loss from it as she does. She ignores the feeling (though she does give the violin a reassuring pat; she plans to play it quite a bit from this point forward).

“So, are you officially awake then, roomie?”

“I surmised you wouldn’t stop playing until I awoke and greeted you, so I gave up on the nightmares slipping from my grasp to come bid you good morning. Am I correct in assuming this will be a daily ritual?”

“Just for the first week or so, until I get to know House well enough to explore it on my own.”

Wednesday releases one of her almost-sighs.

“ Sei il raggio di luce che appare nei miei incubi. ” Wednesday murmurs with exasperation. “Fine, but revenge will be swift and you will not see it coming.”

“I’d expect nothing less from you, cara amica .” Enid grins.

She hears a small stutter in Wednesday’s heartbeat

Wednesday tilts her head the slightest bit.

“I was under the impression you don’t speak or understand any Italian; how did you learn this phrase?”

“Before I went to bed last night, I found a book about learning Italian on my dresser. I’m not sure if someone in your family put it there or if House did, but I want to try learning the language since you keep teasing me with it. I was too tired to read too much of it last night, but I did use it to find how to say “best friend” in Italian. Because you’re my cara amica !” 

Wednesday’s heartbeat stutters again, and Enid’s grin must be particularly goofy-looking, but she can’t bring herself to care.

Wednesday enters her room properly and looks around.

“I see you set off a colorful explosive device in here as you did in your half of our dorm room. I’m impressed you were able to do so without anyone hearing the explosion.” She says. 

Enid lights up.

“Oh, that’d be such a neat thing to have! Some kind of color bomb that instantly paints a whole room in a bunch of random colors, and you said your brother and uncle are good with explosives- Wednesday, you’re a genius!”

Wednesday somehow grows a tad paler than usual.

“Actually, I believe I’ve potentially created a monster. And not the fun kind.”

Enid rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway.

“You’re such a killjoy.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. By the way, when is breakfast gonna be? I’m absolutely starving.” 

“Since you saw the need to wake me up at such an undesirable hour, I believe it’s only fair that I give my family the same treatment so that they can join in on my torment. They’ll be delighted to hear it was your idea. I’ll mention to Grandmama that you’re as hungry as a ravenous wolf and I’m sure she’ll have breakfast ready within the hour. 

“In the meantime, I would suggest entertaining yourself by exploring the room to the right of this one, as I’ll be occupied for most of the morning; I’ll see you at breakfast, however, and I’m sure Pugsley will be more than happy to bother you with a thousand questions about werewolves. He’s quite obsessed with them.”

“Oh, um, okay. What are you going to be doing.”

Wednesday smirks the tiniest bit.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

Enid sighs.

“Let me guess; revenge for waking you up?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, whatever, I don’t even want to know. So, why explore the room next to mine?”

“It has a secret passageway to one of the hidden libraries I neglected to show you yesterday. Maybe you’ll be able to scrape together enough cleverness to find it before breakfast, mio sole splendente. You’ll hear the bell ring when breakfast is ready.”

With that, Wednesday turns and walks out the door.

“Oh wait!” Enid scrambles out into the hallway after her. “I’m not sure I’ll remember where the dining room is-”

She cuts herself off.

The hallway is completely empty.

Typical.

She heads back into her room and stops.

The book on Italian that was sitting on her dresser is missing.

She sighs and tilts her head back in exasperation.

Addamses.

Enid doesn’t see Wednesday again until breakfast, after House helpfully guides her to the dining room with the creative use of moving floorboards and pointing banisters.

Technically it’s their second dining room, a dark and small room (at least, small when compared to the rest of the rooms in their home) attached to the kitchen, with a wooden table painted such a dull shade of weathered gray that it almost looks like metal.

Eight matching chairs are placed around it, with one at each head and three along each side. 

The other dining room is the one they use when they have many guests over for dinner, an unsurprisingly gothic room with black walls, table, and chairs, a crimson velvet rug beneath the table with matching curtains over the large windows, and a large fireplace set up behind the head of the table, across from the dining room’s entrance.

The table in that room is large enough to seat at least two dozen people, though Wednesday also made an offhand comment during the tour that it could stretch if needed and seat up to forty.

Enid didn’t even try to wrap her head around that, since the only way that could be possible is if House shifted with it, so she decided to not ask further questions on that and instead started asking about the suits of armor lining the wall opposite the windows.

The discovery of a second, much more reasonable dining room that the family used for their day-to-day meals was a very pleasant surprise, dark and dank though it may be.

Enid’s actually the last to arrive at the table, everyone else already seated.

“Good morning!” She greets them all with a bright smile.

“ ¡Buenos días, mi futura hija! ” Gomez says with more exuberance than Enid’s ever seen outside of herself, lit cigar clutched in one hand. 

“Why must you be so unbearably optimistic in the morning?” Wednesday asks, and Enid honestly doesn’t know if she’s asking her or Gomez.

Gomez ignores her entirely, grinning wider at Enid.

“It’s simply superb of you to join us! We were quite disappointed you weren’t able to attend dinner last night, but we’ll more than make up for it this morning! Grandmama has quite the surprise planned for you.”

Grandmama smiles from her seat at the table, nodding eagerly at Enid. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve cooked for a werewolf, and it was so fun to pull out some of my old cookbooks, so I made my best for you this morning!”

“Well, thank you! I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” Enid says, silently begging every ghost in the Addams family house that this surprise won’t include any roadkill.

She looks around the table to figure out where to sit.

Morticia is seated at the head of the table, Wednesday sitting across from her at the other end. Gomex sits at Morticia’s right, Pugsley in the seat next to him.

Fester sits at Morticia’s left with Grandmama sitting next to him.

This leaves two open spots next to Wednesday (which Enid is quite happy about), but now she has to choose between sitting beside the boy who keeps shooting at her or the grandmother who might try to pull out strands of her hair or get clippings of her claws while they eat.

Not wanting either her hair or her painted nails messed with, and reasonably sure she’ll be able to catch any pointed objects thrown at her, she quickly chooses to sit next to Pugsley.

She smiles at Wednesday, who nods in response.

Then, she looks down at what’s on her plate.

She has no idea what it is.

On one half of her plate is a pile of what looks like tentacles in a greenish-black sauce ( ew ) and on the other half is at least a dozen slices of some kind of meat cooked so rare it’s almost raw, with a hunk of bread placed on the very edge of the plate.

She decides to steer clear of the tentacles for now (because seriously, ew ) and gives the meat a tentative sniff.

Her stomach immediately grumbles. 

She’s not entirely sure what the meat is (it smells like some odd cross between venison and quail with just a hint of rabbit) but whatever it is, it smells delicious.

She immediately digs in, and the rest of the family follows suit, resuming their own breakfasts.

Enid is so hungry, and the meat tastes so good, she almost wishes she was like her brothers and could just shove it into her mouth using her hands, but her innate sense of politeness refuses to allow her to do anything but use her fork and knife. 

It certainly doesn’t mean she can’t eat quickly though.

When she’s halfway through the meat, Fester smiles at her from down the table.

“So, I see you’re liking the peryton steak.” He says.

“Oh, it’s delicious; I think this is the best meat I’ve ever tasted, better than anything my family’s hunted for breakfast.”

“ Andrò a caccia ogni notte così potrai banchettare con carne fresca ogni mattina. ” Wednesday says as she cuts the lump of peryton meat on her plate (only half as much as there is on Enid’s) into neat, precise bites, spearing one on her fork and putting it to her mouth as she glances at Enid with mischief glittering in her eyes.

Enid glares at her.

Before she can say anything, Morticia interrupts.

“Have you tried any of your calmar volant japonais ? It’s Mama's spécialité de la maison. ”

“Oh, not yet. I’ll try some now.” 

Damn Enid’s need to be polite and make good impressions on people.

She looks at the pile of slimy tentacles on her plate. 

She glances at Wednesday nervously.

At the amused and knowing look on Wednesday’s face, the quirk of her eyebrow that reads ‘I know you can’t do it’, determination and indignation rise up in Enid.

She turns back to her plate and viciously cuts off a piece of one of the tentacles. Before she can think too much about it, she shoves the piece of tentacle into her mouth and starts chewing.

To her delighted surprise, it actually tastes good. 

The texture is slightly rubbery, but it’s tender and firm, and the meat has clearly soaked up the sauce, which is an odd mix of savory and sweet, like soy sauce, the vague taste of fish, cilantro, mint, and some sweet berry that she can’t quite place.

“Wow! This is amazing!” She quickly tucks in, ignoring the amusement coming from Wednesday in her eagerness to slurp up the tentacles.

“Yes, it’s always been a house favorite.” Gomez says.

“Don’t forget to try the eyes.” Grandmama adds, obviously happy that Enid’s enjoying her cooking.

This almost gives Enid pause, but she’s seen her family eat too many rabbits whole and rip apart too many deer to really care, so she simply shrugs and dutifully scoops up one of the sauce-dripping orbs, putting it in her mouth.

With one bite, the eye pops, flooding her mouth with juicy flavor. 

She actually moans at the taste.

“Man, this is so good.” She says after swallowing and wiping her mouth with a napkin. (She may have been raised by a den of wolves, but she still has manners ). “Where’d you get the recipe?”

While Grandmama and the rest of the family talk about the origins of the recipe (something about an ancestor hunting down a Kraken), Wednesday leans closer to Enid and whispers:

“ Emetti di nuovo un suono del genere e non avrò altra scelta che baciarti, e questo rovinerà completamente i miei piani per corteggiarti correttamente, quindi ti suggerisco di astenersi dall'emettere suoni del genere in futuro. ”

She leans back and ignores the glare Enid sends her.

She’s fed up.

More Italian, and so early in the morning? 

Fine, then.

Two can play at this game.

Once the (admittedly fascinating) story ends and everyone gets back to eating, Enid smirks and looks Wednesday in the eye with as innocent an expression as she can.

Wednesday’s eyebrow raises in immediate suspicion, and Enid has to keep herself from ruining it by laughing.

“ Δώσε μου το αλάτι, καλύτερή μου φίλη, πριν ξεχάσω να πω σε παρακαλώ. ”

Enid’s hypothesis that Wednesday doesn’t speak Greek seems to be correct, judging by Wednesday’s slightly widened eyes and the tightened grip on her fork as she carefully lowers it to the table.

“What did you just say?” Wednesday asks.

Enid’s smirk gets bigger.

“I said: Δώσε μου το αλάτι, καλύτερή μου φίλη, πριν ξεχάσω να πω σε παρακαλώ. ” 

Enid pauses and gives Wednesday a considering look. “ Αν και ίσως θα το απολάμβανες περισσότερο αν σου το έκλεβα. ”

“Enid.” Wednesday says warningly, seemingly as put-together as ever, but Enid can hear the way Wednesday’s heart has started pumping faster, the small quickening of her breath, how the metal of Wednesday’s knife groans under the force of her hand.

Enid perks up in her seat, raising smug eyebrows at Wednesday.

“Something wrong, Wednesday?”

“What language is that?” She asks through almost gritted teeth.

“Oh I don’t know,” Enid says with a whimsical wave of one hand, resting her chin in the other to get a better look at Wednesday’s hilarious reaction at having the tables turned on her. “It’s all Greek to me.”

Enid barely avoids flinching when Wednesday’s oddly-sharp butterknife whizzes past her face, narrowly avoiding her ear, and buries itself in the wall behind Enid.

Then she has to avoid bursting into laughter.

Grandmama and Fester have no compunctions about cackling at the display themselves, though Pugsley looks mostly confused, and Morticia and Gomez simply grin at Enid.

“Ah, so our loba pequeña knows Greek? Where did you learn such a dreadful language from?” Gomez asks.

“I’m Greek on my Dad’s side, and my παππούς and γιαγιά, my grandpa and grandma, insisted that my brothers and I learn Greek to keep the family tradition alive. My dad doesn’t speak it much, and my brothers don’t really care about practicing, but I practice as often as I can, and my grandparents call me once every other week to make sure I’m not getting rusty.”

“How dreadfully practical of them.” Morticia says, smiling proudly at Enid. “I’m sure it’ll serve you well this summer.”

Enid frowns in confusion. Is this weird non-English war seriously going to last the entire summer?

“Ah, how wonderful! It reminds me of when we were young, Tish.” Gomez picks up Morticia’s hand and gives it a kiss before giving Enid a wide grin. “You will have such a wonderful summer here, Enid. Ahora solo vas a cautivar aún más a nuestra princesa oscura, ya que ahora puedes usar la mayor debilidad de nuestra familia contra ella; idiomas. ” Gomez says with a fond sigh, sharing an extremely sappy look with Morticia.

“Father, cease your useless prattle. It’s more aggravating than usual.” Wednesday almost hisses.

“There's no point in denying it, my beloved storm cloud. You know of the curse that haunts our family, y los idiomas siempre han jugado un papel en ese delicioso tormento. ”

“Curse?” Enid asks, alarmed.

“Ignore him.” Wednesday cuts in when her parents open their mouths to explain, glaring them down until they close their mouths with knowing smiles. Wednesday goes back to her food. “It’s nothing more alarming than any other curse our family’s been afflicted with. Mother and Father, I have no use for your input. I’ve already made up my mind; I need no further incentive to go forward with my plans.”

“And yet more incentives you’ll get. Our darling Enid is just full of surprises, isn’t she?” Morticia shoots Enid a fond smile, making Enid blush even as she smiles back.

“ Κάνω το καλύτερό μου. ”

Wednesday turns to Enid so quickly that one of her braids whips over her shoulder.

She’s clutching the tabletop in a way that makes Enid think she’s two steps away from throwing another knife, this one most likely silver and embedded in Enid’s chest rather than the wall.

“Enid.”

“ Ναί ?” Enid asks, a shit-eating grin spreading on her face.

Wednesday’s fingernails dig into the wooden surface of the table.

“No. More. Greek.” 

Enid raises an eyebrow and shrugs at Wednesday before turning her attention back to her own breakfast, spearing a piece of one of the tentacles on her plate.

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Addams.”

She brings the food up to her mouth, pauses, and looks back at Wednesday, whose intense eyes haven’t left her once, nails actually digging scratches into the table. 

Wednesday’s heartbeat is still faster than usual, and Enid is delighted at being able to pull one over on her usually unflappable best friend.

“ Μπορείς να το πάρεις, γλυκιά μου ?” Enid adds before putting the bite in her mouth, relishing the taste.

Wednesday is still staring at her, fuming with the slightest hint of red on her cheeks and the tips of her ears, so Enid can’t help but add a wink just to piss her off a little more.

It works.

Wednesday stands up so quickly her chair falls over and she storms out of the room, ears getting redder and heart only picking up speed.

“ Τα λέμε μετά το πρωινό, καλύτερή φίλη !” Enid calls after her, delighted at the actual growl she gets in response before Wednesday disappears down the hall, her heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs.

Enid settles back into her chair smugly, exchanging laughter and smiles with the rest of the family, and puts another bite in her mouth.

She doesn’t think she’s ever tasted something so delicious.

Thing is practicing his rollerskating when Wednesday suddenly storms past him, clearly ruffled and angry about something, considering the color high on her cheeks and her uneven breathing (a very rare sight for the girl). Since Enid isn’t right behind her, he assumes it’s because of the werewolf in question.

Using his rollerskate, he quickly gets in front of Wednesday, switching to skating backwards so he can clumsily ask Wednesday where she’s going.

“The library.” She says.

He asks her why just as they get to the main library’s doors.

“To find a book on Greek.” Wednesday snarls before wrenching the doors open and slamming them closed behind her.

Thing wisely decides it’s none of his business and quickly skates back down the hall, ignoring the sound of books being angrily pulled off of shelves and slammed onto tables, accompanied by flustered snatches of Italian, German, Spanish, French, and English, all interspersed with many iterations of Enid’s name.

He loves these girls, but unlike the rest of the family, he’s staying out of the beginning of their courtship. 

After all, the rest of the family won’t have to live with the two girls once they go back to Nevermore, and he doesn’t want either of them mad at him over interfering with their love lives.

He’d miss he and Enid’s mani-sessions, and he has absolutely no interest in spending a semester locked in Wednesday’s desk drawer. 

He’ll go see what Lurch is up to. 

Maybe they can play darts together while they both do their best to avoid the rest of the family’s shenanigans.

Thing’s probably gotten rusty, after all.

After breakfast and a promise to let Pugsley show her around the grounds later that day, Enid eventually finds Wednesday in the library, thanks to a few helpful nudges from the house.

Even from outside the heavy oak doors, Enid can hear banging and talking, though she can’t make out the words even with her heightened senses.

The library must be completely soundproofed if the sound inside is muffled even for her, considering she can still hear Lurch cleaning up the breakfast dishes downstairs, Gomez and Morticia talking in the greenhouse, Fester and Pugsley laughing about something outside along with the occasional explosion, Thing skating around on the floor below, and Grandmama mumbling crankily about something in her tower workspace.

Enid always knew that if she ever transformed, her senses would become heightened somewhat, but this seems a little extreme. Surely, if every werewolf could hear and smell this well, they would’ve all been driven to insanity a long time ago.

(That might explain her mother actually, but her point still stands).

Her first transformation was barely a week ago, and she already feels like she might go insane with all the overstimulation. 

Her noise-canceling headphones can only cancel out so much, after all.

But the sounds in the library are muffled. 

Either way, she has to go inside and see what Wednesday is up to.

Likely plotting some kind of scheme against Enid, especially after the whole breakfast thing, but if worse comes to worst and Wednesday sends her away, she can always go find Pugsley for a tour of the grounds a bit earlier than planned, or go looking for Thing to have an impromptu mani-session.

Resolved, Enid grasps the door handle.

“House,” she says, looking up at the ceiling, “if I’m murdered when I go in, please make sure Wednesday doesn’t get the chance to hide me in your walls somewhere. Much as I love you, I’d rather be buried outside and closer to the moon than stinking up one of your beautiful rooms, okay?”

A series of rapid knocks on the wall across the hall use Morse code to spell out: “Don’t worry. I’ll even make sure she buries you under a full moon.”

Enid grins and pats one of the walls affectionately.

“Thanks House; you’re the best.” 

The windows opposite her shudder as if in agreement.

With an encouraging push from the floorboards under her feet, Enid takes a deep breath and opens the door, only to immediately freeze at the chaos greeting her.

The library is an absolute disaster, with books in disarray on every available surface. 

Some are open to random pages, some have papers strewn all around them, some are journals filled with handwritten notes, some are ancient-looking tomes, some are stacked in teetering piles that look two seconds from falling over, some are scattered on the floor, and some are even on top of the chandelier somehow.

The entire room looks like some unruly poltergeist came storming through, and Enid has to assume that’s the reason it looks like this, because although she herself has never been huge on physical books and prefers storing her reading material online (physical copies take up too much space that could be used for housing clothes or fun decorations), she knows Wednesday would rather chop off her right arm than ever risk damaging a book. 

(Old, creepy ones anyway, which makes up the majority of the Addams family’s collection).

A sudden muttering of what Enid can only assume is Latin helps her find Wednesday amidst the chaos.

She’s standing near the top of the rolling ladder attached to the wall of books to the right of the door, leafing through a book. Her expression is as blank as ever, but Enid can see she’s frustrated by the speed with which she flips through the book and her white-knuckled grip on its cover.

When she reaches the end, apparently not finding whatever she’s looking for, she snaps the book closed with more ire than Enid’s ever seen someone imbue into such a simple action.

Wednesday can say more with the twitch of an eyebrow than Enid can by talking all day long.

The effect is as cool as it is frustrating when Enid’s faced with some new micro-expression that she has to decipher. 

She’s been getting a lot of those indecipherable expressions recently, though she can’t fathom the reason why. 

Maybe it’s because she’s one of Wednesday’s first friends and it’s Wednesday’s attempts to be more open with her?

Wednesday startles Enid into gaping open-mouthed when she carelessly tosses the book in her hand behind her, only for it to somehow land perfectly on top of one of the many teetering piles without knocking anything over before calmly picking up the next book on the shelf.

What the shit .

Enid doesn’t think even she could do that, and she has freaking werewolf reflexes to help her!

She’s becoming increasingly convinced that, whatever the Addamses might claim, they’re definitely not human.

“House,” Wednesday says, not looking up from her current book, “if I do not acquire the books I’m looking for within the next quarter hour, I will burn down the ballroom. I know it’s your favorite.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

Wednesday’s attention snaps to her, and if Enid didn’t know better, she’d think Wednesday looks the slightest bit embarrassed.

But Wednesday Addams doesn’t get embarrassed.

It’s one of the traits Enid’s always envied and loved- liked about her.

Wednesday’s spine straightens infinitesimally, her eyes becoming shuttered, and her hold on the books loosens until she’s just holding it rather than trying to crush it in her grip.

Enid smiles at her.

Despite how fun it is to tease Wednesday, she doesn’t actually want to make her friend mad like she did at breakfast, and not just because she knows Wednesday’s revenge comes quick and oftentimes with life-long injuries to show for it.

(Pugsley regaled Enid with all the details of the “piranha in the pool” incident, and she counts herself lucky that the friction between them only lasted a week or so before thawing, or she’s certain she would’ve ended up in a situation similar to Dalton’s). 

The main reason she doesn’t want to make Wednesday genuinely upset, though, is because she’s looking forward to this summer more than she’s ever looked forward to anything in her life, partly because it means an escape from her mother’s constant belittling remarks and her brothers’ constant teasing, but mostly because it means spending the entire break with her favorite person in the world.

Additionally, when she teases Wednesday, it’s because she enjoys the back-and-forth bickering that’s become one of the mainstays of their relationship, not because she actually wants to make Wednesday upset. 

“Hey Wednesday,” she says sheepishly, closing the library door behind her.

“Hello, Enid.” Wednesday replies.

“Why’s the library such a mess?” Enid asks, strolling her way around the stacks of books and piles on the floor. 

“Sometimes, if something doesn’t comply, you have to make it comply.”

Wednesday finishes her perusal of the old-looking book in her hands and once again carelessly tosses it aside. 

This time, instead of landing on one of the piles, Enid catches it with one hand and peers at the cover curiously.

“A Bestiary on All Known and Unknown Species”, written by A. Vidal.

Enid flips through it curiously, finding it handwritten partly in Italian, partly in French, and with notes in English written in the margins by what looks like a different hand translating it. 

Enid goes through it mostly looking at the breathtaking illustrations, but eventually she comes across a passage on werewolves.

Hm.

“Whatcha looking for anyway?” 

Another book snaps closed, a little more viciously than the last.

“It seems House has taken it upon itself to hide every book with so much as a hint of Greek in it.” 

“Is that really what’s got you all in a huff?” She giggles.

Wednesday glares with her arms folded.

“House is clearly picking favorites, leaving a book on learning Italian on your dresser but hiding every book on Greek from me.”

“Now, Wednesday, I’m sure that’s not true-”

Before Enid can finish her sentence, a dozen books come flying off the shelves, landing on the table closest to her. 

Enid and Wednesday lean closer to see what they are.

Sure enough, they’re all books either written in Italian or beginner’s guides to learning Italian.

Wednesday and Enid’s gazes meet.

Enid immediately bursts into laughter and Wednesday’s scowl deepens before she slides down the ladder.

“Let’s see if you find it as humorous once I start ripping pages out of those books and shoving them down your throat.” She says as she stalks towards Enid threateningly.

Enid rolls her eyes and hops up to sit on one of the few unoccupied spaces on the table, right next to the pile of books on Italian, her legs swinging slightly.

“ Ω Θεέ μου , you can be so dramatic sometimes Wednesday. And that’s coming from me. ”

She doesn’t get the chance to say more before Wednesday’s hands slam down on either side of her on the table, effectively trapping her as Wednesday snarls, “What did I say about Greek, Enid?”

Enid puts her hands up in surrender, doing her best to keep a straight-face, though it’s difficult to do so with how close Wednesday is to her right now.

It takes every bit of Enid’s self-control not to inhale deeply to fill her lungs with Wednesday’s unique scent, something like midnight thunderstorms and autumn leaves decaying on the forest floor, mixed with Wednesday’s rosemary scented soap and typewriter ink, though there’s an odd hint of graveyard soil she didn’t notice when they saw each other this morning before breakfast.

Enid’s eyes skip over the other girl’s face, pointedly not looking down at her lips.

Instead, she focuses on the spattering of freckles over Wednesday’s nose and curving up along her cheekbones, her brown eyes intense with the fury of a storm but still warm underneath the layers of hostility, so unlike the cutting coldness she regards almost everyone else with. 

It makes Enid’s heart flutter that she’s one of the few people who gets to see Wednesday Addams when her eyes thaw into anything less than freezing, let alone approaching warm.

Even when she’s seen Wednesday pissed beyond belief, it was always a cold fury, as solid and implacable and sharp as a dagger of ice in the midst of a winter hurricane.

Wednesday is only ever warm with the few people she cares about, whether she admits it or not.

And Enid has somehow become one of them.

Despite Wednesday’s clear annoyance, and her dangerous proximity to Enid’s person (she’s sure Wednesday’s carrying at least one silver dagger on her, if not several), Enid can’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“If you laugh at me Sinclair, I’ll disembowel you here and now.”

The threat would’ve put Enid on the defensive back when they first met, claws unsheathed and stance ready to pounce. Now, all it does is fill her with amused fondness.

“ Ω Θεέ μου means ‘oh my God’ in Greek.” Enid blurts out.

This gives Wednesday pause, a small frown creating the tiniest divot between her eyebrows. Enid will never admit that it’s sort of adorable.

“What?”

“I’m just telling you what I said just now. I want to call a truce.”

Wednesday slowly backs away, giving Enid the breathing room she needs before she does something incredibly stupid, like try to kiss Wednesday.

Kissing Wednesday? When did that thought start occurring to her?

Crap, this slightly-more-than-an-infatuation might’ve grown way out of control and be entering completely uncharted territory.

The feeling is as exciting and blissful as it is absolutely terrifying.

“An Addams never calls a truce, especially not under the agreeable threat of death or torture.”

Enid rolls her eyes, Addamses , then shakes her head and smiles at Wednesday.

“Fine goofball, not a truce. How about a deal instead?”

“Call me goofball again and I’ll lace your dinner with wolfsbane.” Wednesday crosses her arms and leans back against the table behind her. “But I’m listening.”

“How about, instead of driving each other crazy with this weird Italian-Greek war we have going on, we start teaching each other our respective languages? You teach me Italian, I teach you Greek. That way, we can still tease each other, but over time we’ll actually start to understand what the other is saying. At least to some degree on my part; I’m sure you’ll pick up Greek much faster considering the, what, five languages you know?”

“Technically eight.”

“Wait, so English, Italian, French, Spanish, Latin-”

“German, ASL, and Romanian, though I’m proficient in a few others as well.”

Enid heaves a deep sigh and shakes her head at the ceiling in exasperation.

“Of course you are.”

A tiny smirk forms at the edge of Wednesday’s mouth.

“You’re correct in that I’ll likely learn Greek faster than you’ll learn Italian due to my upbringing of becoming fluent in many languages, but you’re not as imbecilic and dim-witted as the majority of our peers at Nevermore, so I suspect you’ll pick it up faster than you think you will. Especially with me as your teacher.”

“Okay, so for the rest of the summer, we have language lessons everyday. Deal?”

Enid puts her hand out for a handshake on instinct, before freezing and starting to pull back.

“Sorry, I forgot-”

She’s stopped when Wednesday’s hand firmly grasps hers, her palm cold yet comforting against Enid’s, her grip oddly gentle.

Wednesday gives a decisive handshake and nods.

“Deal.” She retracts her hand and gives Enid a piercing look.

“Everyday, we will meet for one hour after breakfast for you to teach me Greek, and one hour after dinner for me to teach you Italian.”

“Wait, two hours a day? Isn’t that a bit much?”

Wednesday cocks a brow at her.

“I thought you wanted to at least become proficient in Italian by the end of the summer? The best way to accomplish that is to put as much time as possible into the endeavor during the nine weeks and two days we have left before our next semester begins.”

Enid scrambles for a response, temporarily struck dumb.

“But if you’d rather not learn-” Wednesday starts to turn away.

“Wait!” Enid nearly jumps at her, quickly placing herself in front of Wednesday before she can leave.

Wednesday stops and waits patiently for Enid to get her thoughts together. 

Wednesday’s always been weirdly kind like that, as if she understands how Enid’s thoughts go a million miles an hour without her being able to grasp them sometimes, like a bullet train constantly whipping by without her, leaving only whirls of loose paper flying around her as she tries desperately to catch them.

Most people aren’t as patient.

Enid’s so grateful Wednesday is.

“Okay, fine, two hours a day, but I have a few conditions.”

“Very well; name them.”

Enid raises a finger. 

“One: you can’t teach me the words incorrectly, like you can’t tell me that a swear word is a customary greeting or anything like that.”

“I would never butcher Machiavelli’s birth language for something as trivial as a prank.” Wednesday looks so affronted at the idea that Enid can’t help but believe her. (Plus, she doesn’t really think Wednesday would do something like that, since her preferred methods of revenge and “pranks” typically involve a lot more blood and life-altering trauma, but it never hurts to be safe).

“Okay good. Two: you can’t just switch to one of your other languages to tease me once I start getting somewhat proficient in Italian; you have to stick with Italian if you’re going to say what you want to say.”

“ Divertente che tu presuma che lo farò. Al contrario, non vedo l'ora che tu capisca esattamente cosa sto dicendo, perché il tuo fard è diventato l'unico colore che non detesto. In effetti, non vedo l'ora di vederlo più di ogni altro, anche il più scuro nero di mezzanotte. Quanto sei assolutamente devastante, mia amata. ”

Enid glares at her.

Wednesday gives the impression of rolling her eyes without moving a single muscle.

How does she freaking do that?

“What I said basically boils down to: ‘why would I do that? It would take all the fun out of it.’ But don’t forget, cuore mio ,” Wednesday leans in close, close enough that Enid has to fight not to take a step back.

Normally, she’s all for breaking people’s personal bubbles (especially Wednesday’s once she was given permission to do so), but for some reason this moment feels charged, dangerous, and Enid doesn’t even dare blink as Wednesday stares her down from scant inches away.

“The things I tell you in Italian aren’t teases ; they’re promises .” Her voice is deep and firm with certainty, unbreakable, eyes like a wolf’s prowling after an unsuspecting doe. “When I threaten someone, Enid, I mean it.”

All Enid can do is stare wide-eyed, a deer in the headlights, and nod.

Does Wednesday know how… suggestive, that sounds? Surely she doesn’t, or else she wouldn’t have said it.

Right?

Wednesday leans back, and Enid feels like she can breathe again, her heart racing a million miles an hour. 

Once again, she’s so grateful Wednesday doesn’t have the same superhuman ability to hear other people’s heartbeats, or else Enid would be screwed.

Wednesday’s heart rate, on the other hand, is as slow and calm as always.

Damn her.

“Are those the last of your conditions?” Wednesday asks cooly.

“Yes. Wait, no!” Enid pulls herself together (she’s a werewolf damnit, she shouldn’t get this flustered over apparently being threatened of all things), and raises a third finger.

“Third: no turning to anyone else for help. If any of your family happens to speak Greek or you have some distant third cousin you could get into contact with for help, you can’t let them help you. Obviously, the same will apply for me; I won’t ask any of your family for help in Italian, even if I get really, really frustrated, which I’m sure I will. Fair?”

“Those conditions are acceptable. However, I would like to add two of my own.”

“Which is?”

"Firstly, throughout the course of the summer, you will speak Greek only to me and I will speak Italian only to you."

"Why?"

Wednesday only raises an eyebrow at her in the expression that means Enid's not going to get anything out of her, so she sighs and lets it go.

"Fine. What else?"

“Secondly, once we’re both somewhat proficient in the other’s language, I propose we spend an hour a day conversing only in the other’s language. It may be difficult and frustrating at first, but when I was learning Romanian, German, and Latin from Grandmama, it improved my skills immensely and I was able to learn much faster.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Alright, is there anything else you can think of?”

“Not at this time. I’m sure if we need to, we can alter our plan to suit our needs as we go along.”

“How sensible.”

“All of my suggestions are, whether people like it or not. Though, I must warn you, Enid: I’m not going to be like our soft-skinned teachers at Nevermore. If I’m going to be teaching you, I’m going to work you into the ground. Are you prepared for that?”

Enid grins cheerfully and rocks back on her feet.
“Well, you know how the old saying goes: “Never was anything great achieved without danger”. I can take whatever you throw at me, Addams.”

Curiously, Wednesday’s heart skips a beat.

“You know Machiavelli?” 

Enid shrugs.

“One summer, I was pretty bored and found “The Prince” in our family’s library. After I read it, and boy was it dark, I got curious and looked up some of his most famous quotes online. That one just always stuck with me, I guess.”

“Hm. Well, if you’d like to know, the modern Italian version of that saying is: “ mai nulla di grande è stato realizzato senza pericolo”. I won’t teach you the original dialect Machiavelli wrote “The Prince” in for now, though it was the Florentine dialect of Tuscan that eventually evolved into modern-day Italian, to avoid overwhelming or confusing you.”

“My, how generous.”

“We’re getting off track. Repeat after me. “ Mai nulla di grande è stato realizzato senza pericolo”. ”

Enid asks her to repeat it several times, which Wednesday does, making sure to say the words slowly and separately so that Enid can differentiate them and hear the particular accent of the words.

Soon, Enid carefully repeats after Wednesday.

The next time Wednesday says it is slightly faster, so Enid follows suit, only stumbling once or twice.

Eventually, Enid is able to say the entire phrase with the same ease and speed she would any other, and she beams at the pride hidden carefully in the crease of Wednesday’s mouth and the warmth of her eyes.

Enid repeats it a few more times to make sure she has it memorized, and she almost misses the way Wednesday’s heart skips again.

Enid’s happiness bubbles up inside her like a balloon threatening to swell her heart to bursting.

Wednesday said she would be a harsh, unforgiving teacher, but if her lessons are going to be at all  like the impromptu one they just shared, with its patient back-and-forth, Enid thinks Wednesday is bluffing completely.

And if Enid can elicit such a reaction from Wednesday just being proud either in Enid learning her favorite language step-by-step or pride in her own abilities as a teacher, Enid suddenly can’t wait to start their lessons.

“Well, since you taught me a phrase in Italian, I think it’s only fair that I teach you one in Greek.”

“Oh really? And what phrase would that be?” Enid giggles at the doubtful expression on Wednesday’s face.

She’s probably expecting Enid to teach her a Taylor Swift lyric in Greek or something (though she’s definitely going to be using something like that as a language tool in the future). 

But no, Enid knows exactly what phrase to use.

“ «Μπορώ να γράψω λέξεις πιο γυμνές από σάρκα, πιο δυνατό από το κόκκαλο, πιο ανθεκτικό από τένοντα, πιο ευαίσθητο από τα νεύρα». It’s the modern Greek version of “May I write words more naked than flesh, stronger than bone, more resilient than sinew, sensitive than nerve”, since the original was written way back in Ancient Greece, like actual Archaic Greece, not Classical Age Greece, and unlike you, I don’t know whatever version of old Greek they were speaking back then. In modern Greek it translates closer to: “I can write words more bare than flesh, stronger than bone, more durable than tendon, more sensitive than nerves”.” 

Enid knows she’s rambling, but she can’t really help it. She’s hoping beyond hope that Wednesday isn’t familiar with this particular quote, or that if she is, that she doesn’t read too much into it.

Enid hides a sigh of relief when Wednesday says: “A very interesting quote, I don’t recall ever hearing it. Regretful, since it speaks strongly to my nature as a writer.”

Enid’s relief is immediately replaced by panic when Wednesday continues: “Who coined the phrase?”

“I don’t really remember, just some Ancient Greek poet. Probably Homer or something.” She holds her breath until Wednesday gives a short nod. She may not know the quote, but Enid’s certain she’d recognize the writer.

“Disappointing, but I suppose to be expected. You do have a rather short attention span.”

“Hey!” Enid forgets her lingering panic in lieu of being offended. Wednesday may be right, but that doesn’t mean she has to say it out loud, especially when everyone is already aware Enid starts bouncing off the walls if she has to sit in the same place for longer than two minutes.

“I can pay attention just fine! So long as it’s something interesting, I can spend all day on it!” 

Wednesday surprises her by nodding.

“True; I have seen how oddly quiet and focused you get on the inane things you choose to obsess over, though I find it interesting that those interests have veered into Machiavelli, Ancient Greek history, and poetry in the past.”

Wednesday gives Enid another of those mysterious, deep looks that Enid still can’t decipher, despite their increasing frequency and that she’s the only one getting pinned by them.

“I suppose I have to regretfully admit that my mother was correct in at least this one instance- you are full of many unexpected and unknown things.”

Enid blushes slightly, though she has no idea why.

She clears her throat and looks away, because she can only handle this unique brand of Wednesday’s intensity for so long.

“Anyways, let’s get back to it.” 

Enid repeats the phrase a few times, slowly and carefully, and then Wednesday starts copying her, catching on much faster than Enid did herself.

When Wednesday has it memorized, her accent is flawless.

“Wow! You’re really good at this!”

“I know.” Wednesday replies blandly. 

Enid grins and shakes her head.

What else was she expecting really?

“Well, since our actual language lessons are probably going to start tomorrow, should we get started on cleaning up the library?”

“No need; House will be able to reorganize the books on the shelves, and I’m sure Lurch is looming just outside the doors, waiting for us to leave so he can begin cleaning the room up. He’s very particular about the exact state of unkempt the house is in at all times.”

Enid pricks her ears and startles at indeed being able to hear the huge man breathing from just outside the door. 

She can’t believe she didn’t hear him coming.

In fact, now that she thinks about it, from inside the library she can barely hear everything else going on in the house.

For a moment, she wonders if wearing her noise-canceling headphones in the library might actually bring her total silence. 

Normally, the reason she can’t go longer than a minute without talking to someone or having some kind of music or a movie playing in the background is because she just can’t concentrate or relax otherwise. (As much as she can relax anyways; she is a werewolf after all, and even when everyone thought she would never be able to shift, she’s always been filled with the almost overbearing energy of a werewolf bubbling in her veins, to the point where it even annoyed other werewolves).

But with all the overstimulation she’s been getting since her shift, with the sleepless nights she’s had because of the snoring students at Evermore and the crickets chirping constantly outside and the times she spaces out completely because she can’t even see from the overwhelming weight of all the noise surrounding her, even just a moment of silence would be absolutely heavenly. 

She can almost understand Wednesday’s desire for quiet when she’s working now, and that’s something Enid never thought would happen.

Whatever. 

Testing the soundproof barrier of the library will have to wait for another day.

“Alright, so what do you want to do then?” Enid asks, hopping down from her perch when Wednesday starts making her way towards the doors.

“Unfortunately, I was unable to complete my project this morning, so I’ll need to return to it immediately; it is rather time sensitive.”

Enid groans and grabs one of Wednesday’s arms to swing it around, secretly delighting in the fact that she’s allowed to. She still lets go before Wednesday might snatch it away, though.

“Ah, come on Wednesday! The whole point of me being here is so that we can hang out this summer!”

“Is it?” Wednesday asks blandly. “I thought I made it clear that I kidnapped you for the sole purpose of tormenting you for the duration of summer break in order to prevent my own boredom, not yours. Do I need to spell it out more plainly for you?” Wednesday glances over her shoulder at Enid.

When Enid only pouts at her, Wednesday’s mouth twitches up slightly at the corner.

“My brother is quite eager to show you the grounds; considering how slow Pugsley is and how distractible you are, by the time you both visit the family cemetery I’ll most likely be in the middle of practicing my grave-digging. I’m sure you can find plenty of ways to pester me by then. Besides, with Pugsley distracting you for the rest of the morning and likely a good portion of the afternoon, it’ll give me the time I need to finish the first phase of my project.”

“What is this mysterious project of yours anyways?”

“You’ll find out.” Wednesday says with a small, secretive smile.

Despite that smile meaning she’ll probably be getting snakes in the pockets of her coats or spiders coming out of the shower drain, Enid’s heart still pounds at the sight.

She’s so far gone at this point, why even bother trying to fight it anymore, honestly?

Before she can examine that thought too closely, one of the doors opens for them.

Enid nearly flinches at the wall of sound that greets her. 

She barely even notices when Lurch shuffles around them into the library or when the doors close behind them.

She didn’t realize how muffled it was in the library until they left it, and suddenly, everything seems magnified tenfold what it was before she went inside.

She tries to take a moment to adjust to the cacophony ringing in her ears, unable to focus at all, but soon it starts to overwhelm her. 

The noise is smothering her; all the insects skittering and birds cawing and House groaning and the trees outside whispering and the brisk wind whistling through every crack in the walls and the people in a town miles away breathing and talking in a thousand different voices with a thousand different footsteps rushing from one place to the next or ambling along without hurry-

-the smells filling up her lungs with mildew and varnished wood and drying herbs and cold wind and the swampy bog and the corpses buried six feet beneath the soil outside and the blood of a deer on the road and the feathers of the carrion birds eating it- 

-the light of the dim candles as bright as the sun at noon all but blinding her, every minute movement of shadow and flame echoing on the walls and floor, trying to grab for her attention in every corner and floorboard and every thread of the ancient rug beneath her- 

-it’s all so much she can’t even raise her hands to cover her ears or her nose or her eyes from the never-ending assault.

She’s drowning in it, like her thoughts are lost in the sea of noise and sight and smell, and she’ll never be able to reach the surface again.

Cold hands grab her wrists gently.

She takes a deep breath.

Midnight rain, rosemary soap, typewriter ink, old books, forest soil.

Hands on her wrists, reminding her that she’s more than an aimless mind.

She’s a physical body. 

She’s a person. 

She exists.

The cold hands tighten slightly.

She thinks she hears someone calling for her.

Wednesday. 

Of course, Wednesday. 

How could she ever forget her, Enid’s γη δεμένο φεγγάρι , the one thing that can keep her calm even after nights full of blood and teeth and sleeplessness?

Enid fights through the tumultuous uproar to find the one sound that always calls to her, the steady rhythm of a slow heartbeat that never changes its pattern, the one thing that can always pull her back when she feels like she’s on the brink of something dangerous, something she won’t be able to come back from if she falls.

She finds it, that heartbeat more unique than any in the world, and forces herself to focus on that one thing, that one sound, the anchor pulling her back to shore. 

It blocks out the rest of the barrage until it all becomes background noise; still there, still too loud and bright, but at least bearable now. 

Enid opens her eyes to find Wednesday staring at her, skin a shade paler, though Enid has no idea how, her eyes wide with what Enid thinks might actually be concern.

Wednesday’s mouth moves, but Enid can’t process what she says.

“What?” Enid asks, then flinches. Even her speaking voice is too loud right now.

“I was calling your name.” Wednesday repeats, so stiffly her voice could be ice. Enid’s grateful that it at least isn’t piercing her ears like her own voice did. “You stopped in your tracks and you weren’t- you weren’t here Enid. You couldn’t hear me.”

Enid’s never heard Wednesday stutter before.

Enid blinks once, twice, and then tries to laugh it off, pulling her hands from Wednesday’s grip. 

Even touch feels like too much right now.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I think I just spaced out for a bit, no biggie.”

“It was for over five minutes, Enid.” Wednesday says, eyes narrowing, her now empty hands curling into tight, white-knuckled fists that lower to her sides. “The longest I’ve ever seen you space out is for close to a minute and a half.” Her eyes narrow even more, and Enid knows she’s entering interrogator mode. 

Well, she’s done for. 

“What. Happened?”

Enid laughs again, this time nervously.

“Um, really, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal. I think I just had a dizzy spell or something.”

Wednesday’s eyebrow raises.

“You spaced out and had a dizzy spell? That lasted for over five minutes ?”

Enid cringes.

She’s never been that good of a liar. At least, not when it comes to Wednesday.

“Okay, look, I think it might just be a werewolf thing? After our first transformation, our senses get really heightened in human form and it doesn’t really become manageable until after our second transformation. I’ve mostly gotten used to it, but the library was so quiet and when we left I just became… overwhelmed for a bit, I guess.”

Wednesday crosses her arms and leans back, though she does seem slightly more relaxed than before.

“And you’re sure that’s all it is?” She asks suspiciously.

Enid’s not about to tell Wednesday that she’s pretty sure it’s not normal that she can hear spiders scuttling in the dungeons three floors below them, or that she can see every sparkling dust mote in the air even when there’s no light to reveal them, or that she can smell someone baking bread in the normie town that must be miles away.

Enid shrugs and smiles.

“Yeah, that’s all it is. I’ll probably ask my dad about it when I call him on Friday.”

“Make sure you do. If you space out like that when wandering the house, you won’t catch Pugsley’s next crossbow bolt. Then we’ll have an annoyingly pink corpse to deal with, and I have enough to do today.”

“Right you are, roomie!” Enid agrees eagerly. “Speaking of Pugsley, I better go find him so I can get out of your hair and let you get back to your project. See you later!”

Before Wednesday can say another word, Enid whirls around and speed walks down the hallway in the opposite direction Wednesday was going, even though she can hear that Pugsley’s on the other side of the house. 

She’s just taking the scenic route, that’s all.

Everything’s fine.

Nothing’s wrong with her.

She’s fine.

Really.

When she rounds the corner, for the brief moment before the hallway falls out of sight, she can see Wednesday in the exact same spot, staring after her with scrutinizing eyes.

Once out of sight, Enid feels no shame in running away.

Most people run away from Wednesday after all, so it’s alright if she does it. Just this once.

Wednesday is furious as she stalks down the halls.

Maybe furious isn’t quite the right word.

Her insides are a turbulent mess of all kinds of emotions, both familiar and unfamiliar, but since anger is one of her dearest and closest friends, she lets herself relish in it for the time being.

She can examine whatever else is tugging at her gut in a nauseating way that she can’t even enjoy later. 

For now, she hones her rage and uses it to fuel the questions circling her head.

Whatever happened to Enid when they stepped out of the library wasn’t normal, and Wednesday didn’t buy Enid’s excuse of “it’s just a werewolf thing” for a minute.

If that were the case, why would Enid try to lie first? Why would she cover up what she’s claiming is a normal and expected thing to happen?

And besides, Wednesday’s read quite a bit on werewolves in the past and made sure to brush up on her research at Nevermore, especially when she was contemplating several different methods of murder she could employ against a certain pink fuzzy nuisance during the rocky first few weeks of rooming with Enid.

Obviously, things are drastically different now, but that only made Wednesday search for even more information on werewolves and their habits.

Of course she knows that werewolves have particularly heightened senses after their first shift, and that those senses wouldn’t be able to regulate themselves until after the werewolf’s second or even third shift.

She’s never seen so much as a mention of werewolves almost fainting from it, since that’s what it looked like Enid was about to do when they stepped out of the library.

Wednesday’s heart squeezes at the memory.

Wednesday didn’t notice it immediately like she should have.

She took three steps down the hall before she realized Enid wasn’t right beside her, skipping merrily and talking about a thousand things all at once like she normally does.

When she looked back, her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

Enid was staring at nothing, face as pale as a cadaver’s would be, wobbling on precarious legs.

“Enid?” Wednesday asked, startled, but received no response.

Her heart went from being paused to working in overdrive, especially when Enid still didn’t respond even after Wednesday called her name five more times. Five times too many.

Out of annoyance (desperation), Wednesday angrily (worriedly) wrapped her hands around Enid’s wrists. 

The simple action immediately made Enid take in a deep breath, which made Wednesday realize Enid hadn’t been breathing for close to two minutes.

Bone-deep dread flashed through her.

Her grip on Enid’s wrists tightened, thumbs centered over Enid’s radial arteries so she could feel how fast Enid’s heart was going. (Could feel that it was still going).

“Enid.” She kept calling, keeping time by the carefully controlled breaths she was taking in and letting out, forcing her own heart rate to slow down. She needed to be calm and in-control; she couldn’t let herself panic. 

She never panics.

She’s always in control.

Except for when she isn’t.

Because Enid always makes her feel completely out-of-control

She used to hate it.

Now, even the mere thought of losing that out-of-control feeling is completely impermissible.

By the time five minutes had gone by with Enid still completely catatonic, Wednesday was on the verge of panicking, heartbeat starting to pick up again, her breaths becoming more shallow, fighting the urge to pull Enid into her arms and keep her there until she came back, a strange burning sensation in her eyes that she’s only ever felt twice before in her life.

(She never wants to feel it again, especially not when it comes to Enid).

The moment Wednesday was about to fall off the edge, Enid came back, and the vice-grip on Wednesday’s ribcage relaxed.

She tried to interrogate Enid, but Enid was acting so oddly, flinching at random moments, giving odd, disjointed responses, even retracting her hands from Wednesday’s touch, which she’s never done once since the moment Wednesday met her , that it was impossible to get any kind of read on her. 

Of course, it also didn’t help that Enid practically ran away at her first opportunity, when literally moments before she was complaining that they were separating for the morning.

Wednesday can’t figure it out, and beyond anything else, she hates not knowing things.

Right now, all she knows is that Enid is hiding something from her, something that’s causing her distress and pain.

Normally, Wednesday likes pain.

In fact, she adores it, whether she’s experiencing it, witnessing it, or actively causing it (though she’ll admit the last is her personal favorite).

But seeing Enid in pain is devastating.

One of the few kinds of torture that Wednesday can’t abide.

Even now, her heart is pounding so hard Wednesday thinks it might just beat past her ribcage and tear itself out of her chest.

(She’s felt that way several times around Enid, but each of those previous occurrences were an exquisite kind of torture that Wednesday only wanted to luxuriate in. Each time, she hoped her heart would succeed in its escape, so that she could hold the bloody, beating organ in her hands and offer it to Enid. What could be a more fitting gift for her cuore mio than her heart, after all?)

But this feeling she wants to rip out of her chest and strangle is not the kind of torture she enjoys.

As she nears the greenhouse, she tries to compose herself.

She barely understands what’s happening within herself; she doesn’t need her mother asking questions and giving her those infuriating knowing looks.

By the time she’s at the greenhouse doors, she’s steadied herself.

Her body is back under her control, her maelstrom of emotions the storm and her traitor of a heart the ship trapped in a bottle for her to examine later.

She reassures herself that she can go back through her books and bestiaries for any scrap of information about werewolves she can find, to look for any clue that might be causing her tesoro distress.

Because once she finds out what it is, she’ll destroy it with her bare hands, viciously and without mercy, as is the Addams way. 

(Metaphorically or physically, though physically would certainly be preferred. She’s still not great at emotions, though she’s trying to be better at it for Enid, who’s accepted every awkward pat on the knee and unfamiliar hug with all the enthusiasm Wednesday would expect from her raggio di sole . But Wednesday’s always known that there’s no better way for her to release this pent-up rage, worry, and (blast it all) fear than to cleanly slice up whatever disgusting creature might be causing Enid anguish and have Grandmama serve it up for dinner).

She enters the greenhouse with her blankest expression, her body the exact amount of dangerous poise that she’s honed over the years.

The moment Morticia sees her, she frowns.

“Is something wrong, my beloved storm cloud?”

Verdammt noch mal.

“Nothing that needs concern you, Mother. I’ll handle it on my own.”

Morticia frowns a little deeper before it smoothes out into a gentle smile.

“Alright, my viper, I trust you to handle it on your own. But if you need any help or advice, you know that your family is here for you, for whatever you need, no questions asked.”

“Speaking of which,” Wednesday says, taking advantage of the obvious segue, “is it ready?”

Morticia smiles and nods, turning to a tall basket beside her and lifting the lid for Wednesday to peer inside.

A faint twitch indicating a smile forms at the corner of her mouth.

“Excellent. For once, you’ve proven yourself efficacious in one of my plans.”

“Such kind words my darling; Enid has certainly rubbed off on you, hasn’t she.”

Wednesday glares at her mother, but can’t bring herself to respond. 

She’s not even sure how she would respond if she could, as if there’s no sufficient answer available to her.

Morticia’s smile deepens.

She closes the basket and steps away, silently giving Wednesday the space she needs.

Wednesday steps forward and hoists the basket up by the handles, eagerness pressing against her insides despite her best attempts to bank it.

 (Sharp-edged worry still lingers in her mind. She quickly banishes it to the darkest corners of her brain to be handled later. Such unenjoyable unpleasantness has no part in her carefully thought-out plan, and she will not allow it to interfere).

Just before Wednesday exits the greenhouse altogether, Morticia calls out behind her: “Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with? Anything you ask for, ma fille , is yours, no questions asked.”

This time, Wednesday actually pauses and reconsiders. 

Despite her natural instinct to reject help from others, especially her family (she’s proven herself to be an incredibly independent person, after all, and most of the time, when people try to “help”, they tend to be more of a hindrance than anything), she thinks it over and decides, in this one case, help might not be such a bad thing.

She’s already enlisted Pugsley and her mother for the first phase of her plan. 

Perhaps her mother might be of some assistance to outside matters.

Wednesday turns back around to look at Morticia.

“Actually, Enid’s first transformation was during the last full moon.”

Morticia gasps and holds a hand to her heart.

“You mean to tell me that your bien-aimée was in the midst of her first transformation when she took down that wretched Hyde?”

“Yes Mother; does that have some significance?” 

Morticia raises one hand to tap a finger against her cheek in thought, but the other is clutched tightly against her sternum, one of Morticia’s very few tells, indicating she’s genuinely concerned.

Wednesday’s heart starts beating harder again.

Her heart hasn’t had as much exercise in almost 17 years than it has in the single semester she’s known Enid Sinclair.

“The fact she managed to bring down a Hyde before being fully-grown is practically unheard of, but for her to do so on the night of her very first shift… such a feat should be impossible. Shifted werewolves are at their weakest during their first transformation.”

“But Enid was much older than usual when she had her first transformation.”

“I’ve heard of werewolves years older than Enid having their first shift and still being as weak as those who shift the moment they hit puberty.”

“Could the fact that she shifted under a blood moon have anything to do with it?”

Morticia’s finger stops tapping for a moment.

“Possibly…” She muses. “Though, come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a werewolf’s first shift occurring during a blood moon, nor what the ramifications of such a thing would be.”

They both stare at each other for a moment, twin dark eyes deep with questions and emotions Wednesday doesn’t want to name.

Then Morticia shakes her head and claps her hands sharply together.

“While you and Pugsley initiate the first phase of your plan with Enid, the rest of the family and I will comb through the libraries and archives for any mention of blood moons and their effect on werewolves. Can you think of anything else we should look for?”

“While she was behaving rather strangely earlier, Enid mentioned something about how a werewolf’s senses become heightened after their first shift, as well as a brief period of disorientation before their next shift makes the senses manageable. However, from what I can observe, this seems to be magnified in her and is causing her some amount of distress.” 

Wednesday can no longer meet Morticia’s eyes, choosing instead to look primly over her left shoulder. 

“As I’m the only one allowed to torment her, a remedy must be found immediately.”

“We’ll look for any mention of that as well, my beloved daughter.” Morticia crosses the room to her and gently cups Wednesday’s face with one hand. 

Wednesday allows it.

“From the moment you realized Enid was the ray of light casting the shadow of our family’s curse onto you, she became an Addams. No matter what the future holds, she is and always will be considered one of us. We will do everything in our power to help her, mon petit corbeau . For her and for you.”

Morticia presses a feather-light kiss to Wednesday’s forehead before stepping back, a gentle smile on her face.

“Don’t fret; we’ll handle this. And besides, you have business to attend to, do you not?”

Wednesday can’t help the small smile that forces itself onto her lips, the handles of the basket digging into her palms.

“I suppose I do, Mother. Before I attend to it, however, I’ve had another idea.”

“And what idea is that, my precious viper?”

“The next full moon will be the second time Enid’s transformed. I’m sure she’s nervous to undergo the experience alone, particularly considering the events surrounding her first transformation, and I don’t want to deal with Enid pestering me with her anxiety in the days leading up to it. 

“Since I refuse to invite her family over to sully our halls, perhaps we should invite Cousin Itt, Cousin Lovella, and Cousin Kyousei, as well as their spouses, to spend the next full moon with us? I’m sure it would keep Enid from moping if she had company.”

“I’ll see that it’s done, my dearest. I’m sure they’ll all be delighted to hear of a werewolf joining the Addams Clan.”

“I’m sure they’ll be pleased to hear a werewolf might be joining the Addams Clan.” Wednesday turns away from Morticia, hoisting the basket up once again and heading out the door.

“They’ll be thrilled to hear about it either way, and I’m sure they’ll simply adore Enid.” Morticia says behind her.

Wednesday knows her mother’s correct. 

Besides, the family’s werewolf pack will surely be very helpful for her plans. 

The Addams Clan pack will be eager to adopt a new werewolf into their pack. 

As all Addamses are, they’re so very fond of family.

(One week and one day since the Blood Moon - Two weeks and six days until the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

- Sei il raggio di luce che appare nei miei incubi. - “You are the ray of light that appears in my nightmares.” (Italian) (Thank you, Lizeth17 for this wonderful suggestion!)

- Cara amica - "Best friend" (Italian)

- Mio sole splendente- “My shining sun” (Italian)

- ¡Buenos días, mi futura hija! - “Good morning, my future daughter!” (Spanish)

- Andrò a caccia ogni notte così potrai banchettare con carne fresca ogni mattina. - “I will go hunting every night so you can feast on fresh meat every morning.” (Italian)

- Calmar volant japonais - “Japanese flying squid” (French)

- Spécialité de la maison - “House special” (French)

- Emetti di nuovo un suono del genere e non avrò altra scelta che baciarti, e questo rovinerà completamente i miei piani per corteggiarti correttamente, quindi ti suggerisco di astenersi dall'emettere suoni del genere in futuro. - “Make such a sound again and I will have no choice but to kiss you, and it will completely ruin my plans to woo you properly, so I suggest you refrain from making such sounds in the future.” (Italian)

- Δώσε μου το αλάτι, καλύτερή μου φίλη, πριν ξεχάσω να πω σε παρακαλώ. - “Give me the salt, my best friend, before I forget to say please.” (x2) (Greek)

- Αν και ίσως θα το απολάμβανες περισσότερο αν σου το έκλεβα. - “Although maybe you'd enjoy it more if I stole it from you.” (Greek)

- Loba pequeña - “little wolf” (Spanish)

- Ahora solo vas a cautivar aún más a nuestra princesa oscura, ya que ahora puedes usar la mayor debilidad de nuestra familia contra ella; Idiomas. - “Now you are only going to captivate our dark princess even more, since now you can use the greatest weakness of our family against her; Languages.” (Spanish)

- Y los idiomas siempre han jugado un papel en ese delicioso tormento. - “And languages have always played a part in that delicious torment.” (Spanish)

- Κάνω το καλύτερό μου. - “I do my best.” (Greek)

- Ναί? - “Yes?” (Greek)

- Μπορείς να το πάρεις, γλυκιά μου? - “Can you take it, sweetheart?” (Greek)

- Τα λέμε μετά το πρωινό, καλύτερή φίλη! - “See you after breakfast, best friend!” (Greek)

- Ω Θεέ μου - “Oh my God” (Greek)

- Divertente che tu presuma che lo farò. Al contrario, non vedo l'ora che tu capisca esattamente cosa sto dicendo, perché il tuo fard è diventato l'unico colore che non detesto. In effetti, non vedo l'ora di vederlo più di ogni altro, anche il più scuro nero di mezzanotte. Quanto sei assolutamente devastante, mia amata. - “Funny that you assume I will. On the contrary, I can't wait for you to understand exactly what I'm saying, because your blush has become the one color I don't detest. In fact, I look forward to seeing it more than any other, even the darkest midnight black. How utterly devastating you are, my beloved.” (Italian)

- Cuore mio - “my heart” (Italian)

- γη δεμένο φεγγάρι - “earth bound moon” (Greek)

- Tesoro - “Treasure” (Italian)

- Raggio di sole - “Ray of sunshine” (Italian)

- Verdammt noch mal - “Damn it all” (German)

- Ma fille - “My daughter” (French)

- Bien-aimée - “Beloved” (French)

- Mon petit corbeau - “My little raven” (French)

Chapter Text

"Would Jupiter appoint some flower to reign, in matchless beauty on the plain, the rose (mankind will all agree), the rose the queen of flowers should be."

- Sappho

Despite the cemetery being closest to the house, Pugsley insists they bypass it and go straight to the forest surrounding the large, sloping hill House is built on. 

Enid can’t say she minds; the wolf in her would prefer exploring a forest to a cemetery any day of the week.

The moment they enter the forest, all the sounds outside of it become strangely muffled, just like when she was in the library.

It startles her even as it soothes her.

Odd how relaxed she feels even as fog suddenly swirls up around them, obscuring the place they just entered the forest from view. 

Fog blankets the ground all around, skeletal trees rising up from it, black against the gray sky with only the barest hint of leaves tipping their branches.

Moss and lichen is abundant, along with mushrooms growing on decaying logs and bushes and herbs growing all around (most of them poisonous, no doubt).

Random patches of flowers add odd splotches of color against the otherwise murky landscape, almost glowing with the brightness of their colors against the white, black, and gray surrounding them.

She can still hear the skitter of insects inside the trees, the cawing of ravens and crows perched on black branches, the groaning growth of the trees themselves, but it's so much more bearable than when she was at Nevermore, or even when she’s inside House.

A brisk wind blows past them, carrying a ghostly wail with it.

Enid shivers and pulls her coat closer, grateful she had the foresight to bring it along with her snood and gloves.

She looks around nervously.

She swears she can hear vague whispering all around them, voices too quiet to make out their exact words.

“Are you okay?” Pugsley asks when she doesn’t immediately step forward.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She responds automatically, still peering through the foggy trees. “It’s just, what are those voices? And where are they coming from?”

Pugsley lights up.

“Oh, that must be the ghosts!”

“Ghosts?”

“Yeah; there’s loads of unmarked graves around here, and the ghosts tend to get a bit mopey sometimes. Y’know, being murdered and all. It’s so cool that you can hear them! Normally, we can only hear them when they feel like yelling or shrieking at us.”

“Right.” Enid says faintly. “So they’re like the spirits in the house, then?”

“Oh no.” Pugsley frowns and shakes his head. “The ghosts in the house are all our family; the ones out here are the ones our family’s killed and had to dispose of.”

Enid’s expression must be some level of discomfited, because Pugsley smiles and says: “Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you. If they could, our whole family would be dead by now.”

With that reassuring thought, Pugsley takes her by the hand and tugs her forward.

“Come on! I’ve got so much to show you! Let’s start with the bog!”

Pugsley does show her the bog, pointing out to her which patches of peat are safe to walk on and which are just veiling murky water, which mud is safe to traverse and which are deceptive pits that try to swallow up unsuspecting passersby like quicksand.

All kinds of creatures lurk in the bog too, none of which Enid can identify by sight; brief glimpses of shaggy-haired things peering at them from beneath layers of moss and peat, huge snake-like things just barely visible beneath the water, huge lizards walking on two legs leaving swirls through the fog.

At one point, Pugsley leans over to peer into the water and excitedly says: “Enid, come here, look! It’s a ghoul! They sleep during the day, but at night we have to keep them from trying to eat the corpses in the cemetery.”

Enid, despite not really wanting to, traipses over to where he’s pointing. 

She leans over and frowns when she doesn’t see anything in the murky water.

Then she feels Pugsley’s hands on her back, pushing.

Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she whirls around, grabs one of his arms, and uses him to leverage herself back onto firm ground

The smells and sights are almost overwhelming, but when they start to lead her back to that nowhere place in her head, the place where she’s drowning and buried and blind all at once, she listens for the heartbeat that’s become her anchorpoint and her mind calms itself again.

Next is the swamp, where they trudge through knee-high water (she really didn’t wear the right shoes for this, and she’ll never be able to wash the smell out of her jeans), but she surprisingly doesn’t mind. 

Not with how excited Pugsley is to show her everything.

More creatures hide in the swamp.

Every few minutes, Enid swears she feels something feathery brushing against her legs under the water, and instinctively knows that whatever it is, it’s the same creature, just circling around them.

She doesn’t ask Pugsley what it is, since she already knows that she doesn’t want to know.

Strange creatures with long, stick-thin limbs and thick, tree-trunk bodies amble between the long-rooted trees. Enid’s positive that if one stopped and closed its eyes, she wouldn’t think it different from any of the trees around it. It makes her wonder how many of the trees nearby could start moving.

Will-o-the-wisps wink at them between the trees, Enid carefully keeping her eyes from being drawn to them, knowing they only want to lead her to a gruesome death of some sort.

An incident with a swamp hag almost gets Pugsley drowned, but with a few swipes of sharp claws and vicious bites with fanged teeth, the swamp hag quickly retreats back under the water and Enid drags Pugsley back to the shallows.

Rather than be terrified over nearly drowning, he’s nearly ecstatic at her display of werewolf abilities, asking her questions about her powers at a million miles a minute.

Everytime Wednesday talks about Pugsley, she always complains about how weak and soft he is, and how she constantly has the urge to strangle him. 

After months of learning to decode Wednesday’s unique way of speaking, she can sense the affection, laced with ire though it may be, underlying every insult.

No wonder Wednesday likes Eugene so much. Enid can definitely see the resemblance between them now that she’s spent some time with Pugsley.

She wonders for a minute if Pugsley has a phone.

If he does, she should definitely give him Eugene’s number; she’s positive the two would get along swimmingly, especially since Pugsley’s favorite thing to point out to Enid are the many poisonous and deadly insects populating the swamp.

Yeah, they’d become best friends in a heartbeat, even if Eugene is three years older than Pugsley.

If Pugsley doesn’t have a phone, she’s getting one for him ASAP.

Maybe then Eugene will stop texting her about bees so often.

The facts are fun and interesting, but Eugene deserves to have someone as into it as he is.

The water starts getting shallower, and eventually they’re back on dry land, in the forest proper, pretty close to the house by the smell of it.

“You’re so awesome!” Pugsley says. “If it were Wednesday here with me, she would’ve fed me to the bunyip by now!”

“The bun-what?”

“She can’t stand when I ramble on for too long about stuff.”

“Well, then it’s good there weren’t any person-eating monsters back at Nevermore. None that Wednesday could use anyway, or else I’d be dead meat for sure by now. I ramble all the time, probably even more than you.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

She squeezes him into a side hug, which he happily returns.

“We’re a couple a’ ramblers, you and I.”

She winks at him and he laughs.

They pull apart again, but now they’re walking hand-in-hand, swinging their arms wildly around, nearly knocking each other off-balance a few times and giggling when it happens.

“ No puedo esperar a que te conviertas oficialmente en mi hermana. ” Pugsley exclaims out of nowhere.

“Pugsley,” Enid groans. “Don’t you start with that. Please?”

“Alright, sorry.” He swings their hands excitedly, nearly skipping. “I just said that I can’t wait to hang out with you this summer.”

Enid smiles at his enthusiastic grin.

“Me too, Pugsley.” Enid looks around at the skeletal trees, the remnants of the swamp still lingering in her nose and drying on her pants, the sound of digging and a calm heartbeat just ahead of them. 

She sighs happily.

“This summer’s going to be amazing.”

“What’s all this?” Enid asks, kicking gently at one of the dozens of baskets in varying sizes lined up in neat rows beside the open grave Wednesday is digging. 

Some are the size of popcorn bowls, others as tall as Enid herself is, all of them closed and bound with twine.

“They’re for my project.” Wednesday replies, heartbeat steady and breathing as even as ever despite what must’ve taken hours of work.

“Again, what’s the project?” Enid leans forward to open one of the smaller baskets. 

“If you value your fingers, don’t open those.” Wednesday says without even looking up.

Enid smiles and straightens back up, backing away from the baskets with raised hands.

“Alright, keep your secrets. What’s with the grave then?”

“I devote three to four hours to practicing my grave-digging once a week. I refuse to let my corpse-hiding skills become anything less than exemplary.”

“Right, of course, silly me.” Enid crosses her arms and smiles down at Wednesday.

“So, are you almost done?”

“Actually, I believe I am.” Wednesday pauses and considers the open grave around her, leaning slightly on the shovel she’d been using.

“Pugsley, do you think it’s deep enough?”

Enid’s a bit surprised Wednesday’s asking Pugsley’s opinion (or rather, anyone’s opinion at all) but it still makes her grin and Pugsley’s exuberant smile.

He walks over to peer over the edge of the grave. 

After a moment, he nods.

“Yeah, I think it should be deep enough. You got rid of any rocks, right?”

Wednesday glares up at him.

“What do you think I am, an amateur?”

Pugsley grins sheepishly and backs away.

“Right. Sorry sis.”

“Your apologies are meaningless; simply don’t insult me again or I’ll feed you to our kraken.”

Enid does a double take. 

“Wait, you guys have a what-now?”

The siblings ignore her.

“Anyways yeah, I think it should definitely be deep enough.”

“Excellent.” Wednesday hands the shovel off to Pugsley and briskly wipes her hands.

Then she looks up at Enid.

Even covered in dirt with disheveled braids after hours of grave-digging practice, the sight makes Enid’s heart skip.

Crap, even if it’ll open up an entire world of teasing, she needs to talk to Yoko about this before the feelings boiling in her chest explode.

“Enid, since this grave is approximately three feet deeper than the ones I normally dig, I need assistance in climbing out.”

Wednesday reaches up a hand towards her expectantly, and despite not wanting to risk getting even more dirt on her clothes, what choice does Enid have but to comply?

So she kneels on the dirt at the edge of the open grave, stretching her hand down as far as she can until she’s able to grasp Wednesday’s, and starts pulling her out.

“So, why’d you dig it so deep, anyways?” Enid asks once Wednesday is nearly out of the grave.

“So that even a werewolf won’t be able to climb or jump her way out.” Wednesday gives her a wicked smirk, and in a move Enid barely processes, uses Enid’s body to pivot back up onto solid ground and push Enid into the grave in the process.

Enid gives a short shriek before she lands on the ground below, giving a short groan at the painful impact.

She rolls over and coughs before blinking her eyes open to see Wednesday smirking down at her.

The smirk isn’t even one of her small ones that you almost have to squint to see, it’s large enough to lift one corner of her mouth enough to reveal a dimple on her cheek.

Enid would find it incredibly endearing, if she didn’t know it was because Wednesday had just pushed her into a freaking grave.

Enid stumbles to her feet and glares up at Wednesday and Pugsley, whose grin is equally less-endearing now that he’s clearly been an accomplice in the ambush all along.

“Wednesday, what the hell?”

“You know, you look rather nice stuck in an open grave.” Is Wednesday’s only response.

Enid growls and tries to climb her way out, but the dirt is too slippery, and even when she jumps with her full werewolf strength, her fingertips only barely graze the top of the hole, not enough to get out.

Her attempts only make Wednesday’s smirk bigger.

Enid stops and growls in frustration, not even caring that her fangs are out and that she’s baring her fangs.

“I don’t know what this is, Wednesday, but payback’s going to be a bitch!” 

“If you get the chance to deliver it.” Wednesday turns to Pugsley, her face smoothing back into its usual calm indifference.

“Pugsley, have you ever buried someone alive before?” She asks, and Enid immediately starts panicking.

“Nope!”

“Then today I’ll teach you how. Go start opening the baskets.”

“Wednesday, come on! What’d I do? And Pugsley, I thought we were pals!”

“Sorry Enid,” he says cheerfully, “if I don’t do what she says, she’ll bury me alive instead.”

“Correct.” Wednesday responds, looking back down at Enid and starting to smile again ever-so-slightly.

“As for you, Enid, this is simply revenge for the torture you’ve been subjecting me to for nearly the entire time we’ve been acquainted, whether that torture was noticed or not.”

“Is this seriously about the color thing? I thought you were over that?”

“No.” Wednesday says, smirking again as Enid’s face starts getting flushed out of anger.

“Then what? The music? Me growling when I sleep? Is it because I’m always in your personal bubble? If you want me to stop touching you, just say so! You don’t have to bury me alive to get me to stop!”

“Oh, Enid,” Wednesday says in a way that would be a coo coming from anyone else.

She crouches down and leans in closer to Enid, not quite close enough for Enid to jump up and claw her eyes out, unfortunately.

“ Perché dovrei mai volere che tu ti fermi quando il tuo tocco mi fa accapponare la pelle nel modo più meraviglioso? ” Wednesday says, her eyes absolutely gleaming with delight as Enid’s frustration only grows. “ Mi torturi con i tuoi tocchi fugaci, mia amata. Mi hai rovinato, mi hai reso così disperato per il tuo tocco che riesco a malapena a trattenermi dal trascinarti tra le mie braccia. Ma non temere, cuore mio, perché sei l'unico a cui permetterei di prendersi tali libertà. E con ogni tocco che mi dai, illumini il mio cuore finché non sente che prenderà fuoco. ”

“Wednesday, I thought we were done with the Italian stuff?”

“On the contrary, I remember only that we agreed to teach each other the others’ language, not that we stop speaking it entirely until we can each understand it. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Indosserei il tuo maglione più colorato solo per un tuo abbraccio. ”

“Wednesday!” Enid almost screams in frustration, fear starting to worm its way into her heart as she hears Pugsley opening baskets.

All she can hear is the pounding of her own heartbeat and the frustratingly calm beat of Wednesday’s, all she can smell is the soil surrounding her on every side, all she can see is the dreary gray sky framing Wednesday’s dirt-smeared, infuriatingly beautiful face.

“ Ti lascerei intrecciare un numero qualsiasi di amuleti nei miei capelli solo per sentire le tue dita che li percorrono. ” Wednesday continues, as if completely oblivious to Enid’s frustrated screaming.

Enid wouldn’t be surprised if Wednesday’s tuned her out completely.

Well, Enid knows how to get her to listen.

“Wednesday! Αν δεν με αφήσεις να φύγω από εδώ αυτή τη στιγμή, ορκίζομαι ότι θα κόψω κάθε ένα από τα πουκάμισα και τα φορέματά σου και θα τα αντικαταστήσω με τα πιο ασαφή και πολύχρωμα που μπορώ να βρω! Ορκίζομαι ότι θα σου κόψω τις πλεξούδες και θα τις κάψω στάχτη, δες αν δεν το κάνω !”

It certainly gets her attention.

Wednesday pauses. Her eyes close briefly as if to recollect herself, her heart briefly going just a bit faster before settling back down again. She even takes a deep breath before releasing it slowly.

Without opening her eyes, Wednesday slowly says: “ Cosa non farei per poter assaporare il greco sulle tue labbra. Guadagnarsi un bacio da te varrebbe qualsiasi cosa al mondo. ”

“I’m going to tear your throat out for this, Wednesday!” Enid growls, thoughts no longer coherent enough to focus on the Greek.

Wednesday’s eyes slit open and she looks down at Enid in delight.

“Oh, do you promise?” She asks with a sly edge to her tone, and despite herself, a shiver goes down Enid’s spine.

Lord, even when Wednesday is apparently going to bury her alive, Enid still has a crush on her.

What is wrong with Enid?

Obviously, Wednesday’s driven her insane.

Enid’s sure Wednesday would be thrilled.

“Alright, Wednesday!” Pugsley says.

“Is it ready?”

“Yep!”

Wednesday stands up, a self-satisfied light in her eyes.

If this were anything else, anyone else, Enid would be in tears, would be panicking, would be terrified.

For some reason though, right now she only feels annoyed and incredibly frustrated. A small amount of fear is still there, a fear that raises goosebumps on her skin. 

But, for some reason, it’s the same type of fear that she feels when she watches horror movies or rides rollercoasters; the type of fear that thrills rather than scares. 

She really has lost her mind.

“Wednesday!” She yells one more time.

“Bring the first one over Pugsley. It’s time to start.” Wednesday keeps her eyes on Enid, who can’t seem to tear her eyes away from Wednesday’s.

Then Pugsley drags the first basket over, and Enid’s attention is focused solely on that.

“Guys, seriously, come on-”

Wednesday makes a sound and Pugsley starts to tip the basket over.

Enid raises her hands over her head, eyes squeezed shut, braced for the worst.

Dirt, spiders, snakes- with Wednesday involved, it could be anything.

Then, a cascade of something soft bounces over her arms and head.

After the cascade stops and nothing starts moving or slithering on her, Enid carefully opens her eyes and gasps in disbelief.

Littered on the ground around her and caught in her hair are hundreds of flowers. 

They all appear to be the same kind, just in different colors; some are a deep red, some a pale red that isn't quite pink, and some have bone white petals with blood red edges, though she doesn’t recognize what kind of flower they are. (She’s more familiar with the carnivorous varieties considering their classes at school).

“Did you know that carnations are toxic to dogs?” Wednesday asks, amusement clear in the slight crinkling around her eyes. Enid immediately scowls up at her, though deep inside she can feel relief and giddiness blooming in her. 

Wednesday walks a slow circle around the grave while Pugsley goes to retrieve another basket, her eyes never once leaving Enid.

“I wonder if the same would prove true of wolves?”

“I swear to God Wednesday-”

She’s cut off by another shower of blossoms, a mixture of white, red, orange, and purple ones, though this time she recognizes them as some form of orchid.

“Moth orchids.” Wednesday says. “You know, moths are commonly associated with endings, death, and even the mystery of the night.”

“All very fascinating Wednesday, but seriously what is going on?”

Wednesday doesn’t answer, but by the third shower of flowers, Enid can’t help but start giggling.

“Chrysanthemums are considered the flower of death in most European cultures, because of their common use to decorate the graves of the recently deceased.”

A waterfall of vibrant purple-blue comes next.

“Violets, of course, represent mystery, magic, and extravagance, often to excessive degrees.”

“This is certainly excessive.” Enid laughs, using her hands to swipe petals off her shoulders, the flowers surrounding her now up past her ankles.

“ Niente potrebbe mai essere considerato troppo stravagante per mostrare la mia devozione per te, cara mia. Perché sei l'unica cosa che mi fa battere il cuore .” Wednesday says, but Enid’s laughing too hard to care about even more Italian.

This continues until the flowers are nearly at Enid’s shoulders, the overlapping floral scents filling up her nose and drowning everything else out. 

She closes her eyes for a moment, burying her nose in the grave full of flowers and breathing in deeply, letting her head be pillowed by the soft petals and scent of green emanating from them.

“You know, when I planned to bury you alive, I wasn’t expecting you to fall asleep. Most people are too scared and busy pleading for their lives to fall asleep during the process. Unless they faint from terror, of course.”

Enid rolls her eyes beneath her lids, not bothering to open them, but she still grins.

“Eh, being buried alive with flowers isn’t so bad.”

“You might change your tune soon. The final and biggest basket is full of the heads of red roses, all from my mother’s garden. They should be sufficient enough to cover the rest of you and suffocate you completely.”

Enid’s eyes open and she grins up at Wednesday, who’s now sitting cross-legged at the edge of the grave.

Enid pretends to swim over to Wednesday through the mound of petals and flowers, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.

Wednesday looks down at her with amusement when Enid folds her arms and rests her chin on them, looking up at Wednesday through her lashes.

“Oh, being showered in red roses, whatever shall I do?”

“You don’t appear to be showing the proper amount of fear considering your situation.”

“Well, since I’m best friends with you, I think it’s pretty clear I don’t have a great sense of self-preservation.”

“Uncharacteristically self-aware of you to say.”

“ Μόνο για αυτό, θα κρύψω ροζ λουλούδια κάτω από τα σκεπάσματα σου απόψε. ” Enid replies, delighted when it immediately makes Wednesday’s eyes narrow.

“Enid.” She says warningly.

“What? You can speak Italian but I can’t speak Greek? Δεν μου φαίνεται τόσο δίκαιο. ”

At that, Wednesday gets up without a word, disappearing from Enid’s sight.

Enid almost frowns, but then Wednesday and Pugsley return, carrying the biggest basket yet.

They tip it over and absolutely bury her in red roses.

By the time the cascade ends, Enid’s head is almost covered, her hands wiggling around above her trying to pull herself up.

Before she can actually get concerned though, a cold hand grabs one of her own and gently begins to hoist her up.

By the time her waist is out of the grave of flowers, she’s able to scramble out of it on her own, giggling and covered in petals and dirt.

Once she’s on solid ground again, she brushes herself off as best she can and looks up.

She freezes.

Wednesday’s in front of her, Pugsley nowhere in sight.

She’s holding out a single black rose.

“What?” Enid asks.

“A black rose is symbolic of hatred, despair, and death.”

Enid laughs, accepting the rose from Wednesday.

“Of course it is.”

Wednesday laces her hands behind her back as usual, tilting her head as she eyes the black rose in an oddly vehement way.

“Curiously though, they’ve also been known to symbolize rebirth, hope, and everlasting devotion. An odd dichotomy for the symbolism of a single flower.”

Enid sniffs the flower, which somehow still smells like a regular rose with only a hint of decay and something like rain despite its color. 

She shrugs.

“I don’t know, it kind of makes sense. You can’t have a rose without thorns after all; roses have always been a study in duality, right?”

Wednesday’s eyes are intense as they stare at her.

“In the Addams Clan, it’s customary to offer a black rose to the one you wish to court.”

Enid freezes.

She blinks at Wednesday with wide eyes, certain she’s somehow misheard or misunderstood.

“I’m sorry? I think I spaced out for a minute; what did you just say?”

Wednesday straightens her spine, her gaze somewhere over Enid’s right shoulder. She’s holding herself so stiffly Enid’s afraid she might break a bone.

Holy crap, Wednesday’s nervous .

“I wish to court you.” Wednesday actually stutters over the words. “I know it may seem too early to enter into a courtship with me, since we’ve only been friends for a few months, with our friendship itself being somewhat… turbulent. I understand if you want to wait or don’t wish to be courted by me at all, but before you give me an answer, let me explain what entering a courtship with me would entail and why I wish to court you.”

Enid can only nod, her heart pounding.

She clutches the rose tightly to her chest, ignoring the prick of thorns against her palms.

She doesn’t think she could form words right now, even if she wanted to; her mind is whirling, her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, because this can’t be happening.

Why would someone as amazing as Wednesday ever want to be with someone like Enid, Wednesday’s exact opposite in every way?

Enid should be repugnant to Wednesday, not someone she lov- likes .

“In the Addams family, for as long as we can trace back our family ancestry, there’s been a curse that has plagued us for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.”

“What curse?” Enid is able to whisper.

“Love.” Wednesday’s eyes flicker back to Enid’s, deep with that unfathomable expression Enid’s seen so much. She might be starting to figure out exactly what it means.

“Our family has always been afflicted with it; we fall in love too quickly, too deeply, with a passion so fierce it sometimes scares off the person we fall in love with. And there’s only ever one person. Once an Addams finds that person, there will never be another, not even if death tries to separate them.”

“And- and you think that person is- is me?” Enid gets out through a tightening throat.

“I don’t think it , Enid, I know it .” Wednesday says so fiercely that it takes Enid’s breath away.

“Most Addams know from the moment they see the one they love that that’s the one meant for them, the only one they’ll love, for better or for worse.”

“For worse?”

“Sometimes, the person they love doesn’t love them back, or loves another, or is prevented from being with them for some reason or another. Sometimes, an Addams is even murdered by the one they love; for money, out of fear, or for no reason at all.”

“That’s horrible.” 

“Yes.” Wednesday’s chest puffs up slightly with pride. “In the Addams Clan, dying at the hands of your lover or because of the curse of love that is a scourge on our family is considered the best kind of death there is, one more lauded and honored than any other.”

“Of course it is.” Enid’s voice wobbles. Holy crap, is this really happening?

“But an Addams can never physically hurt the one they love; it’s literally impossible to do so. If I were to serve you a dinner laced with wolfsbane on a silver plate, it wouldn’t harm you in the slightest.”

“Seriously?”

Wednesday nods.

“If I were to genuinely try to bury you alive, you wouldn’t suffocate. You wouldn’t die. You’d find a way to crawl out and find your way to the surface again, no matter how deep the hole.”

“No, Wednesday, I meant,” Enid steps closer to Wednesday, hope fluttering in her chest. “You actually love me? Like, not crush-love me, but love-love me?”

Wednesday gives her an almost disdainful look, but it’s softened by the warmth of what Enid is finally realizing is fondness in her eyes and the anxiety making iron of every muscle of her body.

“I would never have a mere ‘crush’ on someone. When an Addams falls, it’s immediate, it’s intense, and it’s forever. There’s no uncertainty; the moment I realized you were the one for me, my heart became yours, and I’ll never get it back.”

“When did you realize?”

Wednesday’s eyes flicker away from her again, her body shifting uncomfortably. 

Wednesday never fidgets, holy shit.

Wednesday seems to scavenge her resolve and meets eyes with Enid again, more intense than ever.

“When we hugged. That’s when I knew.”

Enid’s mind explodes.

“Are you serious?” She can’t stop the grin from spreading on her face. 

Something in Wednesday’s rigid posture relaxes.

“Yes.”

“No way. No way no way no way!”

“What do you mean?”

Enid barely stops herself from bouncing up and down like she wants to, the glee and relief and adoration filling her up until she feels like she’ll burst.

“That’s when I knew too!”

“What?” Wednesday’s voice is blank, a sharp contrast to the emotion spilling out of her words just seconds before.

Enid holds out a hand and Wednesday accepts it immediately, going so far as to let Enid intertwine their fingers, though Enid’s beginning to suspect that Wednesday isn’t just tolerating her touches anymore.

Enid steps forward, gratified that Wednesday doesn’t move back.

If Enid were to take one more step forward, their faces would be close enough to-

“The hug. That’s when I realized it too. That I liked you.”

Wednesday takes in a shuddering breath, and it gives Enid the courage to continue.

“But it’s grown since then; it’s grown into so much more. At first I tried to ignore what I was feeling, since I never thought you could ever feel the same for me.” Wednesday’s grip on her hand tightens. Enid grins and squeezes it. 

“Then I realized I couldn’t, that what I was feeling for you wasn’t just gonna go away, so I let it take root. I thought it would be just a simple crush or infatuation, something simple and easy to deal with, but it’s grown into something so large and consuming that I don’t even know what to call it. 

“I think it’s love, but I’ve never been in love before, so I don’t know. All I know is that you’re my favorite person in the world, that I want to be with you all the time, and that even when I think you’re about to bury me alive- for real- something in me just trusts that I’ll be alright. That you’ll never hurt me.”

This time, Enid’s the one to look away, the intensity of the moment and her confession getting the best of her.

“And that trust, that faith, knowing I can let my guard down around you without fear of getting hurt-” Enid tightens her grip on Wednesday’s hand until it must be bruising, but Wednesday doesn’t so much as twitch. 

“I’ve never had that with anyone.”

She looks back up to meet Wednesday’s eyes shyly. 

“Only you.”

Wednesday steps closer, breaking the unspoken barrier between them.

Her free hand comes up to cup Enid’s face, more gentle than she ever thought Wednesday could be.

She pulls Enid down until their foreheads are pressed together, and all Enid can see is the eyes that always seem black but are actually a deep, warm brown, all she can hear is their mingled breaths and the thumping of Wednesday’s heart, faster than usual, but still that same familiar pattern Enid’s become so attuned to, all she can smell is midnight rain and rosemary and forest soil.

It’s blissful, so peaceful yet thrilling, a moment Enid wants to live in forever.

“Do you remember one of the first things I told you in Italian when we first arrived? When I was taking you to your room?”

“No; you’ve been speaking so much Italian it’s hard to keep it all straight. What did you say?”

“ Ti adoro più dell'oscurità della notte o del profumo dei morti. 

“Farei qualunque cosa per te.

“Ucciderei per te.

“Morirei per te.

“Vivrei per te.

“Se desideri la luna, la strapperò dal cielo e la schiaccerò in un anello, in modo che solo tu possa cantare con essa.

“Ogni giorno ti racconterò delle fiamme brucianti che provochi nel mio freddo cuore nero, di come mi torturi nel modo più squisito con ogni sorriso che mi dai, di quanto desidero avvolgermi tra le tue braccia finché non saremo sepolti insieme e per sempre intrecciato.

“Non riesco a immaginare una vita, o una morte, senza di te.

“Ridurrei in cenere il mondo solo per passare un giorno con te.

“Se me lo permetti, passerei ogni respiro del resto dei miei giorni con te.

“Un giorno ti sposerò e ti renderò parte della mia famiglia, una famiglia che ti vedrà per quello che sei veramente; magnifica, mozzafiato, bellissima.

“E se non è quello che desideri, morirò volentieri per il mio desiderio per te.

“Pensavo di poter sfuggire alla maledizione della mia famiglia, ma hai dimostrato di essere la mia rovina.

“Sei il mio amore, l'unico amore che avrò mai, e morire per mano tua è la morte più piacevole che potessi mai sognare.

“Sei la mia vita, il mio sole, la mia anima, e ti darei tutto. ”

Wednesday murmurs, and Enid can feel the words caressing her face with Wednesday’s warm breath.

“It wasn’t a threat, was it?” 

Wednesday’s hand moves from her cheek to the back of her neck, squeezing tightly, a light blazing in her eyes.

“It was a threat, and like I’ve told you before, I always follow through on my threats.”

Enid closes her eyes, unable to stand the intensity of Wednesday’s gaze without breaking.

“What did you say?” She whispers.

Wednesday pulls her closer until her lips are just barely brushing Enid’s cheek.

The touch is so soft, almost not even there, but it makes Enid’s entire body shudder anyways.

Wednesday pauses, as if to make sure Enid’s not overwhelmed.

Enid is overwhelmed, but in the best way, a way she never wants to end.

Then Wednesday speaks, her voice a mere suggestion of a whisper, and Enid can feel every movement of her mouth, like each word is a secret kiss pressed against her cheek.

Enid’s going to die from this, she can feel it.

“I adore you more than the darkness of the night or the perfume of the dead.

“I would do anything for you.

“I would kill for you.

“I would die for you.

“I would live for you.

“If you wish for the moon, I will snatch it from the sky and crush it into a ring, so that only you can sing with it.

“Every day I will tell you about the searing flames you cause in my cold black heart, how you torture me in the most exquisite way with every smile you give me, how I long to wrap myself in your arms until we are buried together and forever entwined.

“I can't imagine a life, or a death, without you.

“I would burn the world to ashes just to spend one day with you.

“If you let me, I would spend every breath of the rest of my days with you.

“One day I will marry you and make you part of my family, a family that will see you for who you truly are; magnificent, breathtaking, beautiful.

“And if that's not what you wish for, I will gladly die for my wish for you.

“I thought I could escape my family's curse, but you've proven to be my undoing.

“You are my love, the only love I will ever have, and dying by your hand is the most pleasant death I could ever dream of.

“You are my life, my sun, my soul, and I would give you everything.”

By the end of Wednesday’s confession, the confession that’s officially ruined Enid for anyone else (as if there could be anyone else), Enid pulls Wednesday into a tight hug, burying her face into Wednesday’s shoulder because she can’t handle looking her in the eye right now.

Wednesday returns the hug without hesitation, cradling the back of Enid’s head with one hand, holding her firmly at the waist with the other, solidifying it for Enid that Wednesday’s utterly certain of this, that no part of her is swallowed by doubt.

Enid realizes that, when she examines her own feelings on the subject, she finds no doubt either. Of course, there’s some anxiety (mostly from her mother’s inevitable reaction) and a silly, unfounded fear that Wednesday’s family will somehow be disappointed, but all of that is overshadowed by the relief and acceptance and the overwhelming feeling she finally feels safe to call love.

The whole thing is insane, absolutely insane, since they’re both so young and haven’t known each other that long, but when is anything to do with Wednesday sane, or rational, or expected?

They stand there for a few more moments, just holding each other.

Wednesday eventually breaks the silence.

“But Enid, there’s something else you should know.”
Enid pulls back, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the sleeves of her coat, probably getting dirt on her face, but she’s smiling too widely to care.

Even when their arms fall away from each other, their hands quickly intertwine again, Enid careful not to prick Wednesday with the rose’s thorns.

“What is it?”

Wednesday looks down, but not before Enid catches a flash of uncertainty and something like fear in her eyes.

She doesn’t speak for a moment.

Enid frowns, concerned.

“Wednesday, what is it? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”

Wednesday nods once, takes a deep breath, and straightens back up.

She keeps her head to the side, so Enid can only see her profile.

“When an Addams loves, their heart belongs to the one they love completely. If they lose that love, one of three things happens. If their love rejects them, they’ll wither away into death. If their lover dies, however, either they go mad and seek vengeance on whoever is responsible before dying themselves, usually due to an angry mob, or they simply die at the exact same moment their lover does.”

“How do they die?” Enid can’t help but ask.

“It varies, and no two deaths have ever been the same. When my Great-Aunt Calpurnia was burned at the stake, her husband, Jameson, spontaneously burst into flames until he was nothing but ashes.

“And a few years ago, my cousin, Agony, suddenly dropped dead during a family dinner. When we did an autopsy on his corpse, we found a dagger pierced through his heart, yet with no entry wound or sign of a hilt outside of his body. Upon further investigation, we found his wife, Blair, had been murdered and buried in a shallow grave outside. She had a dagger shoved through her chest, an exact twin of the one we found in Agony.”

“Did you ever find who did it?”

“Oh yes, that was the simplest part of the entire thing. Somehow, a burglar had gotten inside House, though we still don’t know how he managed it, with the intention of stealing whatever valuables he could upstairs while we were all gathered in the dining room.

“Blair went upstairs to retrieve something from the room they were staying in, surprising the burglar, who quickly murdered her, dropped her corpse from the window, buried her outside, and then ran off. 

“We found him an hour or so later, stuck up to his waist in the bog.”

“What’d you guys do to him?”

“Nothing. If he wasn’t smart enough to get away and avoid the bog’s mud pits, he deserved the fate he’d chosen. So, we just left him there to drown in the mud. His ghost still wanders around the forest somewhere.”

“And what about Agony and Blair? Are they somewhere in the house?”

“No, they moved on, though of course, they do come back every All Hallow’s Eve to join in the Great Addams Family Reunion, just as all our ancestors do.”

Enid’s eyebrows rise nearly to the top of her forehead.

“Must get crowded.”

“Not particularly, since it takes place mostly in the graveyard and the forest. Plenty of room for both the living and the dead, especially since it’s rare for everyone to show up. But we’re getting off track.”

Wednesday meets Enid’s eyes again, the uncertainty in them breaking and melting Enid’s heart simultaneously.

“The point of these stories is that, if you choose to allow me to court you and someday marry you, one way or another, we’ll share the same fate. If I die, you’ll die. And as you know, I’m one to run towards danger rather than away, and that won’t ever change. I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to risk it.”

Enid blinks in surprise before giving Wednesday a soft smile.

“Wednesday, do you remember when I told you why I was afraid I would never transform.”

“Yes. You said you’d be kicked out of your family pack, an imbecilic thing to do for something so trivial, with no prospect of finding a mate,” Wednesday almost growls the word, so Enid tightens her grip on Wednesday’s hands to remind her where they are and what they’re talking about. Wednesday relaxes slightly and continues.

“You said you could die alone.”

“Yep. And Wednesday, when I said that, I wasn’t talking hypothetically.”

Wednesday raises an eyebrow and tilts her head.

“What do you mean?”

Enid bites her lip and glances down at their feet before bringing her eyes back up.

“This is something werewolves don’t really talk about with outsiders, not even other outcasts. We don’t want people to be more scared of us than they already are. When werewolves mate, they mate for life, and when one of them dies, the other goes absolutely crazy. If they’re old enough, most of the time they’ll just have a heart attack and die from the stress. But if they’re younger and healthy, they immediately transform, whether it’s a full moon or not. 

“They completely forget everything about who they are, who they were; they become mindless, ravenous beasts. If nothing’s done to prevent them, they’ll go on a rampage, killing everything in sight. The only way to stop them is if their pack takes them down or if werewolf hunters kill them. 

“Obviously, we prefer when it’s our own kind that does the job; that way, we can bury the mates side by side and mourn them properly.”

“Werewolves aren’t too different from Addamses I guess; when the person we’re bonded to dies, we die too, whether that means literally with a dagger through the chest, or figuratively, by losing all sense of who we are and being driven mad by it.”

Enid brings one of Wednesday’s hands up to her neck, against her jugular, so that Wednesday can feel Enid’s heart is racing as fast as Wednesday’s is.

“I never told you this, Wednesday, but when a werewolf transforms for the first time, they’re completely mindless, unable to tell friend from foe, or even remember their own names. The only thing they can recognize is their pack. Anything else, they attack. The fact that I didn’t hurt you while I was in wolf form, the fact that I protected you from Tyler, it means that I recognized you as pack. I won’t be sure until the next full moon, but the only way that could be possible is if I recognized you as my mate.”

“Your mate?” When Wednesday says it this time, the words are drenched in whispered longing.

“Yes, Wednesday.” She squeezes their hands together again, smiling. “Your mate. Το ταίρι σου. ”

Wednesday closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, as if for patience.

“Enid, that’s Greek.”

“What is your problem with Greek anyways?” Enid asks curiously.

Wednesday’s eyes slit open, her gaze so heated it immediately makes Enid start blushing.

Wednesday leans in close to Enid and says; “Because a large part of the Addams family curse is that unknown languages are a weakness for us; it makes us fall even harder and even faster, and it heats our blood to hear it, so I’d tread lightly, Enid.”

A spirit of mischief takes over Enid (metaphorically speaking), so she grins, leans in even closer and murmurs in Wednesday’s ear: “ Τότε θα είμαι σίγουρος ότι θα το χρησιμοποιήσω με σύνεση, τη λαμπερή μου σκιά της νύχτας. ”

Wednesday rears back, and from the look in her eyes Enid’s certain she’s going to kiss her.

But then Wednesday lets their hands drop and backs away even further.

“Wednesday?” Enid asks, concern and dread a rock in the pit of her stomach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You did nothing wrong, Enid.” Wednesday openly sighs. “You just steal my sense from me and cause me to act impulsively; you can be too tempting sometimes, and I’m determined to court you properly.”

“Oh.” Enid grins again, not resisting the urge to bounce on her feet, barely able to contain herself at the fact that she makes the famously self-controlled Wednesday Addams want to act impulsively. 

“Wipe that smug look off your face or I’ll rip apart every horrid stuffed animal you keep in your room.”

“Whatever you like, Wednesday.” Enid grins mischievously. “I won’t mind whatever you want to do to me.”

Enid is delighted to see an actual blush starting to form at the tips of Wednesday’s ear.

Wednesday grits her teeth and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Enid, just- Stop. Talking.”

Enid mimes zipping her mouth shut and throws in a wink for good measure.

Wednesday stares at her for a moment.

“You’re impossible.”

“I learned from the very best.” Enid replies cheerfully.

“That’s talking.”

“Oh, so sorry, I was under the impression that you like my talking, considering you want to court me and all.”

“It’s one of the many grating habits of yours that I intend to correct over time. I’ll start by cutting off your tongue and feeding it to one of my many pets.”

“No you won’t, because then how else would I be able to sweet talk you in Greek?”

Wednesday takes in another deep breath to Enid’s absolute delight, but before more can be said, Wednesday’s eyes suddenly dart down and pause.

“Enid, your hands.”

Confused, Enid looks down, only to find that at some point during their conversation, she squeezed the rose so tightly it’d broken skin.

Now blood is slowly dripping down the rose’s stem.

Enid looks up, and finds Wednesday’s hands are in the same state, hands she’s closely examining.

Horrified, Enid rushes up to Wednesday and cradles her hands in her own.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry Wednesday!”

“Don’t be.” Wednesday has the gall to have a satisfied expression on her face. “This is an excellent development.”

“How? Look, I know you like blood and everything, but it got on the rose!”

“Exactly.” She says, nearly smiling. “In my family, to have the blood of both the one gifting the rose and the one receiving it staining its thorns is considered an omen that the match is a perfect one.”

Wednesday eyes the rose fondly, before switching that fondness to Enid, whose blush only darkens at the closest thing to sweet she’s ever seen on Wednesday’s face.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now, but I do ask that you keep the rose. It’s traditional.”

Enid rolls her eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that; I’m definitely saying yes.”

Wednesday raises an eyebrow.

“You wish to be courted by me?”

“Of course!” Enid starts bouncing on her feet again, barely able to contain her excitement. “Why wouldn’t I? I never imagined in my wildest dreams that you’d want me back, but now that I know that you do, I never want to let you go.”

Enid only sees the way Wednesday shivers at that because of her heightened vision. For the first time since her first transformation, she’s grateful for her insanely heightened senses.

Wednesday clears her throat.

“As much as I hate to say these words, I don’t think you should say yes just yet.”

Enid frowns, tilting her head to the side on instinct, even though she knows it probably makes her look like a confused puppy.

“Why not? You want to court me and I want to be courted. Why wait?”

“You said so yourself that you can’t be sure I’m your mate until the next full moon; I think it prudent that we wait for you to make your decision then.”

Enid pouts.

“But come on, Wednesday, I’m pretty much almost a hundred percent sure that you’re meant to be mine, just like I’m meant to be yours.”

“Listen to me, mio tesoro ; I want to begin this courtship as soon as we can too, but I need to be a hundred percent certain that you recognize me as your mate. I am precise in all things, and I can’t continue my plans for our courtship until it is proven absolute that you are tied to me as I am to you.”

“Wednesday.” Enid groans.

“No, mio sole . Please, give me this. We will only have to wait for a few weeks, and then we’ll know for sure.”

“And you’ll start courting me? Since I really really really want to be courted.” Enid stresses.

Wednesday looks at her, amused.

“So long as I’m your mate, then yes.”

“Fine.” Enid grumps. “But I’m going to give you hell for making me wait so long.”

“As to be expected. But Enid, if we begin a courtship-”

“ When .” 

Wednesday almost gives her a smile for that.

“- if we begin a courtship, it’ll begin with the rose. The rose is always the first step in a traditional Addams courtship.”

“So, do I, have to give it back, then?” Enid asks, oddly reluctant to part with it.

“No. In fact, I’d much prefer you keep it until then. It will likely be withered and completely dead by then, but it will still be able to serve our purpose.”

“What purpose is that?”

“You’ll see.”

Wednesday turns on her heel and starts walking back towards the house.

Enid skips after her, deciding to leave her frustration behind and focus on the anticipation already building inside her. 

Of course she’d prefer they begin their courtship today, but (despite what Wednesday often claimed) she could be patient. 

Sometimes. 

Mostly.

And besides, it’ll give her something to distract herself from the upcoming full moon, when she’ll have her second transformation all alone, with no other werewolves and no pack to guide her.

She’ll be fine.

She’ll have Wednesday here, after all.

And then she’ll have a courtship to look forward to.

She can’t wait.

Morticia is working in the greenhouse when she receives an unexpected visitor. 

Enid appears beside her, hands clasped behind her back, a nervous expression on her face.

“Um, hi Mrs. Addams.”

“Oh nonsense, dear. Please, call me Tish.”

“Oh, okay, Tish. I was just wondering if you could help me with something?”

“Of course, mon loup adoré , anything. What do you need?”

She hides a smile at the light pink blush that rises to Enid’s face. 

The girl is so sweet, it’s nauseating in the best of ways.

No wonder she has Morticia’s precious raven so enamored.

“Well, I was wondering if you could help me with this?”

Enid pulls her hands out from behind her back and presents a black rose.

But not just any black rose.

The black rose. 

The one Wednesday picked specially from the cemetery garden, just for Enid, one she spent over an hour deliberating over, determined to find only the perfect black rose for the sun of her life.

Morticia gasps and grins at Enid, who gives a shy smile back.

Morticia’s smile only grows when she sees the drying blood stained on the rose’s stem.

A very good sign indeed.

“So, you’ve accepted Wednesday’s courtship?”

Unexpectedly, Enid sighs and deflates a little.

Morticia knows enough of herself to know that she’s a mother through-and-through, and that though Enid is not (yet) her daughter, Morticia would do anything to ease her distress (the kind that can’t be enjoyed, of course).

“ Mon enfant de la lune , whatever is the matter?”

“I want to say yes to her courtship; Wednesday just won’t let me.”

What?

“Wednesday won’t- let you?” Morticia asks slowly.

Her daughter’s spent hours poring over her many intricate plans to initiate each stage of their courtship, both determined to keep to the ancient family traditions and to do so in a way that will make Enid happy.

“I made a stupid comment about how I’m pretty sure she’s my mate since I didn’t attack her during my first transformation which means I recognized her as pack and the only way that would be possible is if she is my mate but that I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure until the next full moon so now she wants to wait until then to accept my ‘yes’ so that she knows for sure that the courtship isn’t one-sided even though it’s definitely not and I know she’s my mate and I want us to start courting right now but she just won’t listen. ”

By the end of Enid’s little tirade, Morticia is holding back a laugh at their antics.

Her daughter can be so stubborn at times, particularly when it comes to the things she cares about.

And she’s never seen Wednesday care about something so much as she does Enid.

“Don’t fret, my darling girl. This is simply the way Wednesday is. She has very specific ways of doing things, plans things out to the very last detail, and she is masterful at it, but she’s very stubborn about it too. I’m sure you know this from your time together, yes?”

Enid slowly nods, but she’s pouting slightly as she does.

Morticia’s heart melts at the sight.

A young werewolf, holding the bloody black rose given to her by Morticia’s daughter, pouting that they can’t begin their courtship until a mere few weeks from now.

Ah, young love. 

It brings back so many fond memories of her and her own beloved Gomez from back when they were young and first falling in love.

Morticia gently cups Enid’s face with one hand, smiling when the girl leans into it like Wednesday never would.

She brushes her thumb across the girl’s cheek and says; “A traditional courtship in the Addams family is never to be taken lightly. Once one enters it, it’s almost impossible to break off without severe repercussions. The fact that Wednesday is willing to wait when I know she’s just as impatient as you are, especially now that she knows you return her feelings, means that she must love you dearly to put aside her own wishes on the slim chance that you might find better happiness elsewhere.”

“I won’t.” Enid says without hesitation, her voice firm and steady and certain, and Morticia knows in her bones that the girl means it with every fiber of her being.

Truly an Addams in the making.

“I know. But give her these few weeks, and then you’ll have the rest of your lives and deaths to tease her for her hesitation.”

Enid perks up at this.

“I didn’t even think of that! Oh, you’re right, I’m never going to let her forget this.” Enid lights up and laughs. Even though it’s like the clouds splitting open and letting through a ray of sunshine, Morticia doesn’t feel the need to avert her eyes or grimace at the thought of a lost storm.

All it does is make her smile widen.

Perhaps more like moonlight than sunlight, then.

“So, how can I help you with the rose, my dear?” She asks once Enid’s laughter peters out.

“Well, I’m going to be keeping this until the next full moon, but I don’t want it to wither since Wednesday said it’s important to the first step of our courtship. I was wondering if you know of any way to keep it fresh until then?”

Morticia puts an arm around her future daughter-in-law and starts steering her out of the greenhouse.

“I don’t have anything that I can think of, but I’m sure Grandmama will have something that’ll do the trick.”

Enid grins at her. 

“Thank you!” 

“Of course, ma chérie , I’m here to help anytime you need me.”

Of course she will be. Besides how fond she’s already grown of Enid in the short time they’ve been acquainted, she’s seen the effect Enid’s presence in Wednesday’s life has had.

Wednesday hasn’t smiled as much in the past sixteen years than she has in just the past two days. 

For a moment, her hand brushes against the rose in Enid’s hand, and she has a vision.

A collection of vague images trickle through her mind’s eye; a large, golden wolf howling happily at the moon; Wednesday sitting at the edge of the lake, a small smile on her face as she looks at something glimmering on her finger; two girls in beautiful dresses whirling around the grand ballroom, surrounded by chattering, smiling guests; the sun and the moon orbiting one another, surrounded by gleaming stars.

Morticia is so used to these visions that she doesn’t even pause in her walking, though her smile certainly grows fonder and warmer as they go.

Enid’s certainly not the kind of person Morticia would’ve imagined if her daughter fell in love with someone (and it’s something she’s certainly pondered many times in the past, mostly whenever her daughter was particularly insistent that she would never fall victim to the family’s curse), but seeing the two of them together, she now can’t picture anyone else in Enid’s place.

The girl seemingly made of sunshine, who sings to the moon and has stars in her eyes, truly compliments Morticia’s child of woe in every way possible, and Morticia can’t wait to become Enid’s mother-in-law.

From what Wednesday’s said about Enid’s mother, she’s determined that the girl needs an excellent one, so an excellent one Morticia shall be.

Wednesday returns to her room after showering and changing in the hall bathroom from her gravedigging. 

She’s distinctly not miserable after completing the most excellent and successful (though perhaps not entirely satisfying) plan she’s ever executed, and eager to adjust her plans to account for the 2 weeks and five days that she won’t be able to court Enid properly.

She stops dead in her tracks, still halfway in the door, when she sees Enid’s violin is laying on her bed, as if she left it there this morning.

But Enid didn’t. Wednesday specifically remembers Enid returning it to its case before Wednesday left to pick out a black rose for her, and she knows Enid wouldn’t have disgraced the instrument by leaving it lying anywhere rather than safely in its case.

That means the violin moved on its own.

And for whatever reason, it decided to move itself to Wednesday’s bed.

She approaches it slowly, the way one would a black mamba before it’s been properly trained, and stops at the edge of her mattress, staring down at the golden violin as if it’ll start explaining itself if she stares long enough.

It doesn’t, so after a few minutes, Wednesday slowly lowers one hand until it’s resting just above the neck of the violin. She knows that, even if she retrieves Enid and has her return the violin to its case, it’ll likely just pull the same trick again later. Better to get it over with now.

“Let me make this perfectly clear. If you kill me, Enid will never play you again.”

She grabs the violin’s neck.

Rather than the sudden release of death, however, her head throws itself back, her spine bends backwards as if it wants to snap itself, the feeling of unfamiliar electricity burrows itself into her head.

It overwhelms her.

Everything goes white.

A vision.

(One week and one day since the Blood Moon - Two weeks and six days until the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

- No puedo esperar a que te conviertas oficialmente en mi hermana. - “I can't wait for you to officially become my sister.” (Spanish)

- Perché dovrei mai volere che tu ti fermi quando il tuo tocco mi fa accapponare la pelle nel modo più meraviglioso? - “Why would I ever want you to stop when your touch makes my skin crawl in the most wonderful way?” (Italian)

- Mi torturi con i tuoi tocchi fugaci, mia amata. Mi hai rovinato, mi hai reso così disperato per il tuo tocco che riesco a malapena a trattenermi dal trascinarti tra le mie braccia. Ma non temere, cuore mio, perché sei l'unico a cui permetterei di prendersi tali libertà. E con ogni tocco che mi dai, illumini il mio cuore finché non sente che prenderà fuoco.- “You torture me with your fleeting touches, my beloved. You've ruined me, you've made me so desperate for your touch that I can barely keep from dragging you into my arms. But fear not, my heart, for you are the only one I would allow to take such liberties. And with every touch you give me, you light up my heart until it feels like it's going to catch fire.” (Italian)

- Indosserei il tuo maglione più colorato solo per un tuo abbraccio. - “I'd wear your most colorful sweater just for a hug from you.” (Italian)

- Ti lascerei intrecciare un numero qualsiasi di amuleti nei miei capelli solo per sentire le tue dita che li percorrono. - “I'd let you weave any number of charms into my hair just to feel your fingers running through it.” (Italian)

- Αν δεν με αφήσεις να φύγω από εδώ αυτή τη στιγμή, ορκίζομαι ότι θα κόψω κάθε ένα από τα πουκάμισα και τα φορέματά σου και θα τα αντικαταστήσω με τα πιο ασαφή και πολύχρωμα που μπορώ να βρω! Ορκίζομαι ότι θα σου κόψω τις πλεξούδες και θα τις κάψω στάχτη, δες αν δεν το κάνω! - “If you don't let me get out of here right now, I swear I will cut up every single one of your shirts and dresses and replace them with the most fuzzy and colorful ones I can find! I swear I'll cut off your braids and burn them to ashes, see if I don't!” (Greek)

- Cosa non farei per poter assaporare il greco sulle tue labbra. Guadagnarsi un bacio da te varrebbe qualsiasi cosa al mondo. - “What I wouldn't do to be able to taste Greek on your lips. Earning a kiss from you would be worth anything in the world.” (Italian)

- Niente potrebbe mai essere considerato troppo stravagante per mostrare la mia devozione per te, cara mia, perché sei l'unica cosa che mi fa battere il cuore. - “Nothing could ever be considered too extravagant to show my devotion to you, my dear, for you are the only thing that makes my heart race.” (Italian)

- Μόνο για αυτό, θα κρύψω ροζ λουλούδια κάτω από τα σκεπάσματα σου απόψε. - “Just for that, I'll hide pink flowers under your covers tonight.” (Greek)

- Δεν μου φαίνεται τόσο δίκαιο. - “Doesn’t seem so fair to me.” (Greek)

- Το ταίρι σου. - “Your match.” (Greek)

- Τότε θα είμαι σίγουρος ότι θα το χρησιμοποιήσω με σύνεση, τη λαμπερή μου σκιά της νύχτας. - “Then I'll be sure to use it wisely, my glowing night shadow.” (Greek)

- Mio tesoro - “My treasure” (Italian)

- Mio sole - “My sun” (Italian)

- Mon loup adoré- “My beloved wolf” (French)

- Mon enfant de la lune - “My child of the moon” (French)

- Ma chérie - “My dear” (French)

Chapter Text

“There is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things.”

- Machiavelli

Enid can smell Grandmama’s workshop from anywhere in the house- an unpleasant mixture of herbs and dead animals and mildew- but the closer they get to the entrance the more intense and overwhelming it gets.

When they’re mere steps away, Enid’s almost certain she’s going to vomit even though she’s breathing through her mouth.

To counteract the stench, she wraps the colorful snood she may-or-may-not have hidden in Wednesday’s room the day before when she realized the girl’s scent- for whatever reason- is able to counteract any overwhelming aroma she might stumble across around the lower half of her face.

The rush of rosemary soap, typewriter ink, and decaying autumn leaves immediately relaxes her.

When Morticia gives her a questioning look, she simply says; “After a wolf’s first transformation, our heightened senses can be a little overwhelming. This helps.”

“Of course; the pleasant fragrance of the attic must be a little too potent for you at the moment. Let me know at any time if it becomes too much for you and we can leave.”

“Thank you.” Enid says gratefully. She’s not sure how long Wednesday’s scent will hold up in the staggeringly horrible stench of Grandmama’s workshop.

Morticia lets Enid go ahead of her on the secret ladder leading up to Grandmama’s attic (because of course it’s secret, why wouldn’t it be?) and the moment Enid’s head pokes out of the swung-open trapdoor, an axe goes whizzing over her head, landing with a solid ‘thwack’ in the wall behind her.

She freezes, staring at Grandmama with wide eyes.

“Damn, I thought you were Fester.” The woman grumbles as she walks over to retrieve the axe from the wall, leaving a scratched dent behind.

The wall itself is covered in dozens, if not hundreds, of similar markings.

“Oh. Does he come up here often then?” Enid asks hesitantly as she finishes climbing up into the workshop.

“Only when he wants to bother me, which is why I threw the axe in the first place.” Grandmama winks at Enid before casually tossing the axe onto a table. She sits herself on a stool behind a wider table overflowing with herbs, various tools, and scattered books of spells, potions, medicines, oddity botany, and anatomy (both human and animal, which makes Enid’s stomach turn slightly).

She laughs nervously, mostly glad that Grandmama didn’t intend the axe for her, and turns to help Morticia up the last few rungs.

“Oh, thank you, my dear.” Morticia brushes off her dress of any dust that may have rubbed off on it (though Enid can’t see any) and smiles at the new dent in the wall behind them.

“Ah, thought we were Fester, did you?”

“He’s a nuisance.” Grandmama says fondly. “I’ll get him one of these days.”

“Of course you will, Mama.” Morticia crosses over to Grandmama and kisses her on the cheek. 

“Oh, so you’re Morticia’s mother then?” Enid asks.

The two of them look at her in confusion.

“No, darling; my parents died years ago after a tragic accident when an angry mob trampled them.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Enid nearly panics.

“Don’t be, love,” Morticia smiles. “Such a death was near the top of my mother’s list of ways she’d like to die, just beneath ‘being burned at the stake’ and ‘being sucked into an abyss by a bloodthirsty eldritch being’. Besides, they died together, so what more could they or I ask for?”

“Right.” Enid nods. If she’s going to join the Addams family someday (which she’s now determined to do) she really needs to get used to their odd approach to death. 

“So, Grandmama is Gomez’s mother then?”

They both frown at her in confusion.

“Of course not! Gomez’s parents died being shot to death by the same angry mob that trampled Morticia’s parents.”

Morticia and Grandmama share a nostalgic look.

“Ah, what a wonderful family reunion that was. Reminds me of my younger days.” Grandmama sighs.

“Indeed, it was quite eventful.”

“But wait, then how are you related to the Addams?”

“What do you mean?” Grandmama asks.

“Like, where in the family tree are you?”

“Oh!” Grandmama brightens up and pulls out a large scroll from beneath her worktable.

She unrolls it and shows it to Enid.

At the bottom of one of the branches are Fester and Gomez connected as siblings, Gomez connected to Morticia through marriage, and Wednesday and Pugsley connected below them as Gomez and Morticia’s children.

Off to the side, not connected to any lines whatsoever, is simply the word ‘Grandmama’, floating in the ether.

Growing more and more confused, Enid leans in and studies the family tree a bit closer, wondering if Grandmama is in the same “in-between” category that Thing and Lurch might be in. 

But nope, that would be too easy to understand. 

A little above Gomez and Fester but beneath their parents, an extra line stretches out that connects to ‘Lurch’, a neat ‘(Butler)’ written just below it.

And way higher up on the tree than should be possible (up there with what must be Wednesday’s great-great grandparents) is another extra line connected to ‘Thing’, a tidy ‘(?)’ written underneath.

“But, wait,” Enid says, leaning back from the family tree, which Grandmama hands off to Morticia to start carefully rolling back up. “If you’re not Gomez or Morticia’s mother, and you’re not related to any of them, then you’re not Wednesday and Pugsley’s grandmother?”

“Of course I’m their grandmother!” Grandmama cries.

She and Morticia peer at Enid in a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Are you feeling alright, dear? You’re not allergic to anything in here, are you?”

Enid decides that this is not the hill she wants to die on when it comes to figuring out the Addams.

Perhaps it would be better for her (and her sanity) to just change the subject.

She’ll just add Grandmama to her own growing list of “Addams Family Mysteries” that she keeps in her head. (If it gets any longer, she’ll have to start writing them down).

She shakes her head and smiles.

“Sorry, nevermind. Forget about it. What is it you’re working on, anyway?” 

“ Potio Inferni . I know I’m missing an ingredient, but I can’t find the recipe for it and my memory’s going.”

“Well, what have you added?”

“Two teaspoons of ground Qilin horn, three drops hydra blood, Ordinary Annie’s femur, two ladles of lake water, three dead witch’s nails, half a cup of Hellhound caul fat , four serpent feathers, a sprig of watersbane, and four slices of flaming bark.”

“Hm, you’re right, there is something missing.” Morticia says, tapping her cheek with her finger.

“Could it be fire poppies?” 

They both turn to her as if they’d forgotten she was there.

Enid remembers to be embarrassed for interrupting, immediately flushing under the attention.

“I just mean- I remember from school that Ms.-” she has to clear her throat, “that my teacher told us that fire poppies tend to go really well in potions that need watersbane, so I just thought that maybe that might be it…” She trails off into a whisper, cringing and preparing herself to be scolded for thinking she knows better than the experienced adults around her.

Instead, Grandmama lights up and immediately starts digging through one of the many drawers of the herb cabinet set up nearby, while Morticia claps her hands and looks at Enid proudly.

“Excellent, Enid! What a steel-trap of a mind you must have.”

“So I got it right? That was the missing ingredient?” Enid feels delight and a heavy sense of relief filling up her chest.

“No, not quite.” Morticia says, but her eyes are still beaming at Enid, her mouth still a curve of motherly pride. 

The image is a heavy contradiction to the one Enid’s built up in her head about mothers.

If she hadn’t answered correctly at home, she just knows her mother would be a study in disapproval, all tapping toes and folded arms and disappointed frowns.

“Why can’t you do anything right, Enid? First, you can’t wolf out, and now you can’t even answer this correctly? It’s like you want to embarrass your family in front of the entire pack!”

The disparity of their reactions are almost enough to give her a headache.

“But,” she says nervously, “if I got it wrong, then why-”

“Because you got close!” Grandmama says gleefully, holding up a few dried sprigs of some kind of red flower victoriously.

“What is it?” Enid asks.

“Fire lilies! Very similar to fire poppies, but with a little more kick to them.” Grandmama punctuates this by adding them to the cauldron, which immediately turns into a swirling mix of yellow, orange, and red and starts throwing off sparks and smoke.

“We had them imported all the way from Zimbabwe.” Morticia says. “Typically, it’s better to use them fresh, but the dried variety is still able to get the job done.”

“Especially if you use a little extra.” Grandmama says, picking up a rather hefty handful and tossing them onto the bubbling concoction, which immediately explodes into flames.

Enid’s the only one who jumps.

“Um, is that supposed to happen?”

“With Mama, it’s rather hard to tell most of the time.”

“So,” Grandmama brushes off her hands and turns to them with a wide grin, revealing three missing teeth Enid hadn’t noticed before. “What can I help the two of you with?”

“While we do have a request for you, Mama, I hope you know that we’ll visit you often just for the pleasure of your company.” Morticia says.

“Well, of course I know that!” Grandmama waves her hand as if Morticia’s being ridiculous. “But I know you wouldn’t be here unless it was for a reason, considering that today’s a big day for my granddaughter and a certain wolf she’s had her eye on.” Grandmama winks at Enid, who can’t help but smile and blush, looking down at the floor.

She holds up the black rose for Grandmama to see.

“Ah, so I see it went well then.” Grandmama cackles. 

“Yes, and darling Enid here was wondering if you have some kind of spell of potion we could use to preserve it.”

“Well of course I do, a lot of them in fact, but why aren’t you all in the study? Shouldn’t you be getting all the details of your courtship ironed out right around now?”

Enid looks up and scowls.

“Well-” Morticia begins.

“Because Wednesday won’t let us start courting!” Enid says furiously, only not slamming her hands on the table because she’s still holding the rose in one hand.

“What? Why not? It’s practically all she’s been talking about ever since the night of the blood moon!”

Enid’s thrown off track for a moment.

“Wait, really?” She smiles.

“To be fair, Wednesday typically says very little, but the little that she’s been saying since the blood moon has been about you Enid, other than the few details we were able to squeeze out of her about what exactly happened on the blood moon.” Morticia shrugs so gracefully Enid suddenly starts wondering if the woman’s composed half out of shadow. “But, yes. You and the courtship are all she’s been talking about.”

“Exactly!” Grandmama says. “So what’s all this about Wednesday stopping the courtship?”

“She hasn’t stopped the courtship so much as delayed it.” Morticia explains.

“Yeah, and she’s delaying it until the next full moon, which is weeks away.” Enid groans and slumps one of the few empty spots on the table. 

Enid’s always been many things, and dramatic is certainly one of them.

Morticia still pats her back consolingly, and Enid secretly basks in the touch.

Grandmama starts chuckling and grinding something that squeals into a mortar.

“Let me guess; she wants to make sure you recognize her as your mate first?”

Enid sighs heavily.

“Yeah. Which is stupid since I recognized her as pack on the full moon instead of tearing her apart, which could only mean that she’s my mate.”

“Well, not necessarily.” Grandmama says.

Enid whips her head up.

“What do you mean? Wednesday and I aren’t blood-related, and she’s not a member of my pack, so-”

“ So , I’m saying that doesn’t mean she’s your true mate. There’s been plenty of cases where werewolves recognize good platonic friends, even human ones, as pack.”

“Really?”

Grandmama nods, still grinding away with a smile on her face, before frowning.

“What are they teaching pups these days? Ridiculous.”

“So that happens, even on their first shift?” Enid asks doubtfully.

She jumps when Grandmama suddenly slams the mortar onto the table and gapes at her.

“Your first shift?! When was this?!”

“U-um, on the blood moon-”

“The blood moon? I thought werewolves don’t transform during the blood moon?”

“Oh, we don’t. It’s one of the few full moons when we don’t-” Enid cuts herself and frowns. “Wait, why did I transform during the blood moon?”

“I don’t know. It’s especially odd that it was your first change too. Can you think of anything that might’ve been different that night that could’ve triggered you to transform?”

“I mean, I knew Wednesday was in danger from the Hyde and I was in the forest trying to find her-”

“No, that wouldn’t have been enough.” Grandmama says, shaking her head. “During a regular full moon? Maybe. But not during something like the blood moon.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else it could’ve been.”

“Here, let’s go look in the family library and see if we can find anything about werewolves changing during a blood moon.” Grandmama says. “My Potio Inferni needs a few more hours to simmer anyways, and we can stick your rose in a preservative tonic while we’re gone.” 

Enid perks up. 

Not only could they find an explanation for her odd transformation during the blood moon, but they might even be able to find out why her senses seem so out-of-control.

“No, Mama, it won’t help.” Morticia sighs. “While Pugsley was distracting Enid and Wednesday was getting set up, Gomez, Fester, Lurch, Thing, and I scoured all three libraries and both archives for any mention of werewolves in relation to the blood moon. We couldn’t find anything.”

Enid deflates.

“Really?”

“Yes, ma petite lune ; I’m sorry.”

“Is there any chance at all you might’ve missed something?”

“Unfortunately, no. We even had the house spirits double and triple check for us, and they couldn’t find so much as a trace either. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, my dear.”

“It’s alright.” Enid sighs. “I’ll ask my dad if he’s heard anything about it before, and if he hasn’t he can check our pack’s library; they might have more information there.”

Morticia and Grandmama both light up, but Enid already knows her dad won’t find anything. 

She’s certainly never heard of a wolf transforming during a blood moon, and if they couldn’t find anything about that in one of House’s libraries or archives (which Enid is convinced must be one of the biggest collections of books on all things odd in the country, if not the world), they likely never will.

Then she frowns.

“Wait, why were you guys looking for that information anyway?”

Just as Morticia opens her mouth to explain, a loud bang interrupts the conversation.

They all turn to face where a random floor tile has been flipped over, revealing yet another secret passageway (Wednesday totally lied about showing Enid every secret room, staircase, and route in the house; Enid makes a note to ask House to show her the ones she hasn’t seen later). 

A moment later, Wednesday pops out of the hole.

“Wednesday!” Enid says cheerfully, not expecting to see her so soon but grateful and happy about it anyways.

Before she even realizes what’s happening, Wednesday launches herself at her, nearly hard enough to knock them to the ground, and pulls her into such a tight hug it almost hurts.

Enid hugs her back without hesitation, but that’s when she realizes that Wednesday’s shaking.

“Wednesday? What happened? Are you alright?”

When Wednesday doesn’t answer, Enid holds her tighter and looks over her shoulder to Morticia and Grandmama, hoping one of them might know what’s happening.

But they both look as surprised and worried as she does, Morticia’s hands pressed to her stomach and her sternum, Grandmama frozen with the axe in her hands.

“Wednesday, seriously, what’s wrong?”

Wednesday doesn’t respond except to nestle even closer to Enid, burying her face into Enid’s shoulder.

Enid can feel the familiar burn of tears behind her eyes.

She’s never seen Wednesday so outwardly distressed and can’t even imagine what could be the cause.

For now, she’ll hold Wednesday as long as she needs.

Eventually, Wednesday pulls back, but it doesn’t escape Enid’s notice that she still clings to Enid’s hand, as if scared she’ll vanish. 

The burn in her eyes starts to become tears threatening to fall as she looks at Wednesday’s face, so much more open and vulnerable than it should ever be.

“Wednesday, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

The vulnerability on Wednesday’s face abruptly changes to unshakeable iron, not in the way it would if Wednesday was reigning in her feelings and shoving them into a box in the deepest recesses of her brain to make way for her normal iron-tight self control, murderous sadism, and ruthless efficiency.

To Enid at least, it’s more like whatever emotion that was fueling Wednesday’s vulnerability is now fueling something else, something determined and fierce, something that dares anything to fight against her with any hope of winning.

It scares Enid as much as it relieves her.

The emotion is still more than she’s used to seeing on Wednesday, but it’s miles closer to her regular self than mere moments before.

But still, what happened to put her in such a volatile state?

Wednesday’s grip on her hand tightens, and she finally answers her.

“I had a vision.” 

It takes a moment for Wednesday’s eyes to clear from the blinding white flash that always heralds her visions.

When they do, she finds herself in the remnants of an ash-covered village.

No one’s in sight, though she thinks she can hear the distant sounds of weeping and terrified screams.

She circles, but no one pops out of one of the collapsing buildings, frozen in time. 

No one appears to greet her; that is, until she makes one final turn and is suddenly face-to-face with the specter of a girl standing directly in front of her. 

The entire thing is almost reminiscent of the first time she saw Goody, but this girl looks nothing like Wednesday’s other ancestor. 

She’s roughly Wednesday’s age and height, though her frame is gaunt and muscled, as if she’s naturally strong but has endured many months of hardship and malnourishment.

Her straight black hair is unbound, left to sway loosely at her waist despite there being no wind.

Her skin is olive-toned, but pale and sickly, and her almost yellow eyes are sunken in, with deep black circles underneath them.

She’s wearing a simple white shift, somewhat puffed sleeves rolled up to her elbows, overlaid with a red corset and a midnight black skirt trimmed in gold and red embroidery.

She’s barefoot, her feet dirty and covered in soot. 

Nearly every other inch of her is somehow exceptionally clean, despite their ashen surroundings.

The only exception are the smears of blood on her hands, arms, and face.

Wednesday’s almost certain that none of it is hers.

The thing that draws Wednesday’s attention immediately, however, is what the girl is holding.

In one hand, a black-stringed bow, and in the other, Enid’s violin.

“Are you Cressida?” Wednesday asks, knowing from the story that Griselda was memorably blonde and Cressida black-haired. She’s confused though; Cressida was in her thirties when she died, yet this girl can’t be older than 18, likely at least a few years younger. 

Why appear to Wednesday at this age? 

Perhaps it’s the age when she and Griselda first met?

“Beware of the Blood Moon.” Cressida says, her voice grim.

All of Wednesday’s questions dry up, replaced by the pounding of her heart and blood rushing through her veins. Suddenly, the only word in Wednesday’s mind is ‘Enid’.

“Did the Blood Moon do something to Enid?”

“Find the anchor.” 

“What anchor?” Wednesday asks, not caring that her voice bites with frustration. “What is it for? Is Enid in danger?”

“Save her.” Cressida says. “Save her from the Blood Moon.”

“What do you mean?” Wednesday shouts.

“A. Vidal is the only one with the information you need. Find the answers. Save your beloved.”

She looks behind her suddenly, as if there’s pursuers beyond them that only she can see.

She turns back to Wednesday with wide, sorrowful eyes.

“We’re out of time. Hurry. Before it’s too late.”

The rest of Wednesday’s questions are swallowed up by a storm of ash whipping up around them, Cressida disappearing entirely.

The ash fills up her throat until she’s suffocating on it, the taste of blood on her tongue, the feeling of water filling up her lungs.

A series of images and sounds flash through her mind so quickly she can’t process them all, only a few able to stick out in her mind.

Iron bars inlaid with silver; a heavy rock being tied around thrashing feet; people screaming in terror and running; fire blazing against a moonless sky; snarls and harsh growling and the padding of heavy feet; a blood moon glowing red in the sky; someone weeping quietly along with the discordant strings of a violin playing a bewitchingly beautiful song.

The image that follows, the last one, is the one that lingers the longest, even though Wednesday wishes above all else that it didn’t, wishes more than anything that she never saw it at all. 

It makes her want to scream for the first time in her life, scream as loudly and as gut-wrenchingly as she can, but her mouth is still filled with blood, her throat with ash, her lungs with water, so she can’t utter a single sound.

The vision is of Enid.

She’s lying dead in the middle of a field, her face and hair covered in blood but her skin completely drained of it, a shade of pale so unlike the vibrant rosiness of her living self. The rest of her is covered in a black mourning shroud.

All around her is a wide circle of faceless people, some looking down at her corpse, some howling mournfully at the moon, some seeking comfort from others.

The only one who’s broken that wide circle is Wednesday herself, somehow clean of blood (how could she ever let Enid fight such a battle alone? What could’ve possibly happened to keep her from her beloved’s side?), clutching desperately onto one of Enid’s blood-stained hands, openly sobbing over Enid’s corpse. 

This other Wednesday looks up at the waning moon, tears glittering on her cheeks, and wails .

Wednesday can’t look at this anymore; she can’t see the unnatural stillness of Enid’s dead face, the limpness of her always energetic form, the blood starkly contrasting her too-pale skin.

Wednesday scratches desperately at the vision, thrashing wildly until she can feel it ripping apart around her, collapsing under the weight of her own force of will, until she’s nothing but the taste of blood and the feeling of ash  and the weight of water pulling her down into darkness and cold and death and the bite of violin strings under her fingers and Enid’s cold hand clenched in her own and-

When she comes back to herself it’s with a gasp.

Normally, when she snaps out of her visions, she’s able to comport herself with the same tight self-control she always does.

Not this time.

She’s sweating, breathing heavily, her heart is racing, and she needs to find Enid now.

She checks Enid’s room first, but of course she’s not there, because why make things easy on Wednesday? 

“House, where’s Enid?” She asks as she quickly puts the violin back in its case, almost slamming the lid down on top of it.

With a quick series of knocks in Morse code, House tells her that Enid’s in Grandmama’s attic.

Without pause, Wednesday’s racing down the hall, entering a secret passageway that will take her straight up to Grandmama’s workshop faster than the normal entrance would.

When she moves the tile hiding the secret entrance aside, she pops her head up and immediately scans the room for Enid. 

Within moments she’s found her, smiling and colorful and vibrant as ever, already turning towards her like the sun turning to face the moon forever orbiting it.

“Wednesday!” She says cheerfully, as if there’s no one in the world she’d rather see. 

An odd shame rises up in Wednesday.

In some version of the future, Wednesday couldn’t protect her, a future in which she apparently didn’t even fight in the same battle that took Enid’s life. 

She doesn’t deserve Enid’s smiles, or the affection sparkling in her eyes.

That doesn’t stop her from hoisting herself up, running at Enid with enough force to crash into her, nearly sending them sprawling to the floor, and pulling her into a crushing hug.

“Wednesday?” Enid asks, alarmed. “What happened? Are you alright?” Even as she talks, she slides her arms around Wednesday, squeezing back just as hard, and Wednesday couldn’t be more grateful to feel the security of that warm cage surrounding her.

“Wednesday, seriously, what’s wrong?” Only now does Wednesday realize that she’s shaking.

Wednesday buries her nose in Enid’s hair and only starts to relax at the scent of pine, lavender shampoo, and something warm that Wednesday can only describe as ‘Enid’.

Enid’s alive.

Enid’s okay.

And Wednesday doesn’t care what she has to do or who she has to kill; she’s going to keep it that way.

She’ll protect Enid and make sure that her vision never comes true.

No. Matter. What.

It takes several repetitions of that mantra to calm herself, but once Wednesday’s calmed down enough to pull herself together, she draws away from Enid’s embrace.

She keeps hold of Enid’s hand however, unable to keep from touching her entirely due to a ridiculous human instinct to make sure Enid won’t disappear the moment she lets go.

(If she keeps her thumb firmly over Enid’s radial artery to keep track of her heartbeat, that’s no one’s business but her own).

“Wednesday, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

The worry and shimmer of tears in Enid’s eyes are enough to solidify Wednesday’s self-control and her determination to keep Enid safe.

So she looks Enid in the eye and says; “I had a vision.”

After she explains her vision to Enid, Morticia, and Grandmama (excluding the part with Enid; she can’t bring herself to think about it, let alone talk about it just yet), the three Addamses interrogate Enid until she confesses to her ludicrously heightened senses after the blood moon, so powerful the ability is torture in and of itself, a torture that she can’t turn off.

The four of them are left to sit in stunned and contemplative silence for several minutes.

“A. Vidal.” Enid eventually says absentmindedly, the first to break the silence. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Well, Cressida’s surname was Vidal, as well as Griselda’s once they married, but I don’t remember mentioning that when I told you the story of the violin’s origins.”

“It was? Yeah, I don’t remember you mentioning that either. Plus, who’s A. Vidal?”

“Sounds like a relative of Cressida’s, perhaps?” Morticia says.

“Or a descendent.” Wednesday says. “Cressida said to find A. Vidal; is there a branch of the family still living in Italy? Perhaps we could find A. Vidal there.”

“Of course we still have family in Italy, but the Vidal bloodline died with Griselda and Cressida. We're descended from Griselda’s sister, Orribilea Meraviglia Morte, who moved to France after her sister’s death and ended up marrying and changing her surname to Faucher. The only time a Vidal has ever been part of my mother's family was when Cressida married into it.”

“Then it must’ve been an ancestor of hers that Cressida wants us to find, but who?”

“Perhaps we can find a record of them in one of the archives or libraries-”

“A. Vidal!” Enid suddenly shouts, interrupting the three of them.

Wednesday blinks, perturbed at both the interruption and how excited Enid seems to be over it.

“Yes, Enid, that’s who we’re looking for.”

“No, I mean I just remembered where I’ve seen that name before!”

Suddenly, Enid has Wednesday’s full attention.

“Where?”

“In the library! While you were tossing books around, I caught one and looked it over- it was written by A. Vidal!”

“Which book was it?” 

“I can’t remember the exact title, only that it was some kind of bestiary, but I bet House will be able to help.”

“Let’s go.” Wednesday says, already heading for the alternate secret passageway that will lead from Grandmama’s attic to a hallway only a few turns away from the library’s main entrance.

She has no idea when her vision is meant to happen, so there’s a sense of urgency accompanying her every step.

She has to stop what she saw from happening, and she can’t help the feeling that there’s a guillotine blade hanging precariously over Enid’s vulnerable neck, waiting to drop at any second.

The image is nothing like when she used to behead her dolls as a child; it brings her no joy or satisfaction, only a sick feeling clogging her throat that tastes vaguely like ash.

The four of them hurry to the library, but once they arrive, Morticia says; “We’ll be back in a moment; Grandmama and I are going to retrieve everyone else so they can help us look.”

Wednesday barely nods in acknowledgement before Morticia and Grandmama are gone, leaving Enid and Wednesday alone to begin the search.

“Alright, do you remember roughly where the book was?” Wednesday asks.

“I don’t think I’ll need to. House? Do you remember which book it was that I caught while Wednesday was throwing a tantrum?”

Before Wednesday can even formulate a response to the tantrum comment, a book comes whizzing out of one of the top shelves to the right of the doors to land neatly on one of the tables.

Enid scurries forward and exclaims in victory.

She picks up the book and skips back to Wednesday with a smile so smug Wednesday wants to kiss it off of her.

Enid holds the book forward proudly.

“Just like I thought; “A Bestiary on All Known and Unknown Species”, written by one A. Vidal.”

“If I weren’t expecting my family to come charging through that door at any moment, I would kiss you right now.” Wednesday says, but she can’t enjoy the delightful pink blush that must be spreading across Enid’s face (judging from the particular pitch of her responding squeak) because she’s too busy starting to flip through the pages of the bestiary.

She examines each passage carefully, but when she gets to the section on werewolves, she pores over every sentence, closely examines every word, even studies the illustrations in detail just in case there’s some kind of message hidden between each inked line.

But even after her careful scrutiny and going through the last few passages of the book, there’s not so much as a mention of a blood moon.

Wednesday growls and flips back to the beginning, prepared to go through it even more thoroughly, when Enid places a calming hand on her shoulder.

Wednesday hates how well it works.

“Listen, if you didn’t find anything in there, then maybe it’s in another of Vidal’s books. Don’t give up so suddenly; it’s not like you.”

Wednesday feels foolish for getting so worked up, but she can admit to herself that she’s not exactly thinking clearly right now.

Normally, she thinks of herself as the sensible night to Enid’s exuberant sun, but for right now, Enid’s the calm earth bringing Wednesday slowly back into orbit like a wayward moon before she can spiral completely.

“Alright. You’re right; let’s look for more books written by A. Vidal.”

“Can’t we just ask House?”

“House only knows books by the way we keep them organized; it knew where all the books on Greek and Italian were kept, it remembered the exact book you were talking about by the placement on its shelf, but it wouldn’t know where the location of different books by the same author would be.”

“Oh” Enid groans in the way that she does when she knows she’s about to be subjected to an ungodly amount of work. The familiarity of the sound and (admittedly) cute distress in it is almost enough to make Wednesday feel like she could smile again. (She’s not going to, but she could). 

“This is going to take forever.” Enid whines.

“Not forever. We would likely die before then.”

“Oh great, much better. This is going to take until we die of old age.”

“Most distressing, I agree. It would be a truly pitiful way to go.”

“You really need to sort out your priorities.”

“I assure you, that’s well in hand. I have questioned many times in the past whether you have sufficiently sorted out yours, however.”

“Haha, I’m dying of laughter over here.”

“I wonder if that would be possible. I’ve heard of dancing plagues, but not of people dying of laughter. Perhaps Grandmama has some kind of potion that would force a person to laugh until they died of asphyxiation.” Wednesday muses.

“As long as you don’t test it on me.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I plan to take your breath away in a very different and a very hands-on manner.”

Enid squeaks again, and it’s even better than the sound of nails against a chalkboard.

Before Wednesday can continue teasing Enid into a flustered mess, the rest of her family comes charging into the library.

“Alright everyone.” Morticia says. “You know what we’re looking for. Anything written by A. Vidal, whether that be book, tome, or scroll. Go.”

The family scatters, everyone hurrying to a different shelf to begin the search.

Enid and Wednesday separate, since Enid’s eyes are sharper and can easily check the titles at the top shelves so no one has to climb the ladders unless necessary, but it doesn’t take long before someone else joins Wednesday’s side.

“You’re hiding something.” Morticia says, as conversationally as if she were commenting on the beautiful black storm clouds gathering outside.

“I’m hiding a lot of things.” Wednesday replies, but she already knows what Morticia’s hinting at and feels an uncomfortable dread rising in her.

Morticia gives her a look.

“I know you wouldn’t have been so distraught after your vision if that’s all there was to it. What are you not telling us?”

Wednesday takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, considering her options.

She knows Morticia won’t let this go until she gives her an answer, and that she’ll know if Wednesday lies, but honestly? To save Enid from the fate Wednesday saw in her vision, it would be more advantageous to have at least one other person in the know to help prevent Enid’s… passing, so she doesn’t feel the usual need to hide things from her mother. In fact, the thought of telling her loosens something tight in Wednesday’s chest just a fraction.

“ Cette conversation reste entre nous. ” She says, now that she knows Enid can hear her no matter where in (or out of) the house she is.

“ Bien sûr, ma chère .” Morticia replies easily.

“ Seulement entre nous deux, Mère. Tu ne peux même pas en parler à Père. Comprenez vous? ” Wednesday says sharply. 

Her nerves have her too on-edge to keep her self-control as tight as it usually is.

Most vexing.

“ Mon cher ciel sans lune, je promets que je ne dirai à personne que nous avons déjà eu cette conversation, et encore moins ce qui s'y est dit. Je le jure sur la tombe de Falseo. ”

Wednesday actually blinks in shock at this.

Falseo is a very old ancestor of their family. His tombstone was one of the first to be erected in the family cemetery where hundreds are now housed.

According to family legend, despite his name, he told the truth in all things and despised anyone who lied or told half-truths. When he died due to the deceptions of his would-be lover, he vowed with his dying breath that he would punish any and all deceivers for as long as his spirit wandered the Earth.

Since he’s only a wandering spirit though, he can’t actually hear the majority of what people say, let alone figure out if they’re lying.

If a member of the family swears by his grave, however, and then breaks the promise they made, he comes after them with a swift and brutal vengeance.

No one makes a vow on his grave lightly, so for her mother to do so now almost makes something in Wednesday’s chest feel warm.

She blames Enid entirely for this new influx of emotions and sensations she’s experiencing.

Feeling much more secure now that she has an angry ghost to avenge her if Morticia breaks her promise, Wednesday tells her everything about the vision involving Enid’s death in whispered flurries of French, including as many details as she can bear to.

Once she finishes, Morticia looks uncomfortably close to tears and like she might drag Wednesday into a hug.

Thankfully she doesn’t, choosing instead to place a hand over her heart and take several deep breaths.

Once her tears have dried and she seems to have control over herself again, Morticia looks back up at Wednesday with a steely determination lighting up her eyes. 

Wednesday feels as though a heavy burden lightens from her shoulders. Not entirely, but enough to no longer be crushing her down.

“ Nous garderons ta bien-aimée en sécurité, mon nuage d'orage, peu importe ce que nous devons faire ou qui nous devons tuer. Nous trouverons les réponses dont nous avons besoin; alors vous et moi déterminerons quand votre vision est censée se produire. Une fois que nous le saurons, nous prendrons toutes les précautions nécessaires pour que cela ne se produise jamais. ”

Wednesday sways closer to Morticia, inhaling the scent of decaying rose petals and belladonna she’s known all her life, the thing in her chest loosening its grip even more.

Morticia gently tucks a strand of hair behind Wednesday’s ear, waiting until Wednesday looks up to meet her eyes.

“ Rien de ce que vous avez vu n'arrivera. J'assassinerai personnellement tous ceux qui ont fait du mal à Enid pour m'assurer que cela ne le fasse jamais. Même la torture d'être emprisonné et séparé de votre père vaut la peine d'assurer votre bonheur. Je ferai n'importe quoi pour toi, ma chère, toi et Enid tous les deux. Vous êtes mes enfants, après tout. S'il te plaît, ne l'oublie jamais. ”

“ Comment pourrais-je oublier, avec combien de fois tu me le rappelles par jour? ” Wednesday replies.

Morticia smiles, reading between the lines as she always does, and leans forward to give Wednesday a feather-light kiss on her forehead.

When she leans back, Wednesday doesn’t even glare at her for it.

Morticia gives her head a little shake, claps her hands softly, and says; “Shall we get back to the search, then?”

“Yes.” And so they do.

Eventually, with the help of House, Enid, and the entire family, they manage to track down fourteen books written by A. Vidal, all numbered on the spine of the book in a gold almost too subtle to see.

Thank the spirits that Enid’s vision is so much better than the rest of theirs’, or else they may have never noticed the numbers at all.

The books are numbered one to fifteen, with only the thirteenth book missing.

The fact they’re missing one at all is incredibly aggravating to Wednesday, not only because that might be the book holding the answers they seek, but also because she’s always preferred to have complete sets.

Just the sight of the books stacked side-by-side with a conspicuous space near the end makes her feel annoyed.

Wednesday asks the house spirits to comb the shelves for the thirteenth book in case they somehow managed to miss it (which the majority of the spirits are more than happy to do, since they often find themselves bored).

They don’t find the missing book, but they do find a small brown notebook filled with a messy mixture of French and Italian handwritten notes, which turns out to be A. Vidal’s personal journal.

Morticia divides the stack of books evenly, giving everyone two of the books to look through.

In addition to her two books, Morticia also gives Wednesday the journal since she’s the fastest reader among them.

As everyone sets to work, Enid with an adorably determined look on her face, Wednesday decides to look through the journal first. 

“Appetites of the Philippines: A Closer Look at the Mandurugo Vampire” and “Swimming with the Sirens of Athens: A History of the Aquatic Outcasts of Greece”, while intriguing, don’t sound like the types of books to contain information on blood moons or werewolves.

Hopefully A. Vidal’s personal accounts and notes will prove more useful.

Initially, Wednesday doesn’t find much.

A. Vidal’s journal certainly contains fascinating information, as well as accounts of nearly fatal encounters with creatures and plants (some of which even Wednesday has never heard of) during Vidal's adventures that apparently spanned the globe, accompanied by incredibly detailed illustrations of the creatures and plants mentioned.

Normally, Wednesday would be poring over every word, memorizing every detail, letting herself become absorbed in the fascinating stories and oddities described, but she only skims it now.

Her eyes only focus when she catches sight of the words ‘blood’, ‘moon’, or ‘wolf’, but still she can’t find anything related to what she’s looking for. 

Near the end of the journal, when Wednesday is about ready to toss it aside and open one of the likely just as unhelpful books in her pile, she flips to the last few pages (blank) and several pieces of folded together paper fall out.

Intrigued, she carefully unfolds the pages to avoid tearing the delicate paper.

Her eyebrows raise in a mixture of surprise and delight.

The pages doesn’t have any words or pictures.

No; instead, it’s filled with lines of numbers, each in sets of five.

A code, indicating a mystery, indicating a case.

And here she thought she’d have to wait until their next semester at Nevermore to find more mysteries to untangle, with clues just waiting to be pieced together.

Wednesday pulls her notebook closer and prepares to start going through the strings of numbers using every kind of cipher and code she knows. A niggling part of her brain informs her that it’s not likely to be an easy one.

Her mouth quirks up slightly at one side.

Finally, something fun to do, other than torturing her beloved Enid of course.

(Something to take her mind off of the ever-present phantom feeling of a cold, lifeless hand squeezed between her own).

A light shudder goes through her that she steadfastly ignores.

She has a new puzzle to solve.

A few hours later, once almost everyone else has finished reading their designated books and closed them with an air of defeat, Wednesday is about ready to set the mystery pieces of paper ablaze.

Her teeth grit in frustration as she stares at the numbers in front of her, taunting her with whatever unknown message A. Vidal decided to leave behind in the most frustrating way possible.

Wednesday’s attempted every code and cipher she knows, and then tried every single one of them again, but not a single one has translated the numbers into anything even approaching a legible language that Wednesday is even somewhat familiar with.

The odd order of the numbers isn’t helpful either.

12-37-04-07-13, 06-86-07-03-06, 10-25-01-01-13; none of it makes any sense, and Wednesday’s going to tear this thing to shreds if it doesn’t start to make sense soon.

Wednesday’s just started contemplating actually going through with it when Enid closes her second book with a sigh, dropping her head to the table and saying in a muffled voice; “Welp, I found nothing. Have you had any luck?”

“I haven’t read through my books yet; feel free to pick one of them to continue researching while I continue my attempt to decode this.”

Enid’s head flies up so fast Wednesday’s surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash.

“What?” Enid says, just sort of screeching. “You haven’t read your books at all? What have you been doing for the past few hours?”

“As I said, I’ve been attempting to decode this.” She raises the first piece of paper filled with numbers to show Enid, allowing her a few moments to examine it before gently placing it back on the table atop the others. She ignores the strong impulse to slam it down and start crumpling it up in frustration. “After reading A. Vidal’s journal, I found these papers hidden between a few blank pages at the very end. Unfortunately, my attempts to decode the message on them have so far been unsuccessful. If this is written in code or cipher, it must be one of Vidal’s own devising or a very rare kind that I’m unfamiliar with, though I believe the former to be more likely than the latter.”

“Of course you do.” Enid says, so fondly it makes Wednesday’s heart twitch. 

Enid stands up and rounds the table until she’s leaning over Wednesday’s shoulder to look at the paper with her. 

Wednesday does her best to ignore the heat coming off of Enid’s body, the lavender scent of her hair, the way she bites her lip slightly as she always does when she’s concentrating, a habit that used to secretly drive Wednesday crazy long before she understood why it bothered her so much.

She wants to be the one biting that lip.

Truly, it’s ridiculous to feel jealous over Enid because of Enid, she reminds herself for the umpteenth time.

“Hey, did you try a book code?”

“What?” Wednesday’s pulled from her concentration on not being distracted by Enid’s closeness. “A book code?”

Enid nods, her face starting to brighten up.

“Yeah! I’m pretty sure this is a book code!”

“Explain.” Wednesday says flatly. 

If Enid’s actually about to solve the code in two minutes which Wednesday hasn’t been able to crack for two hours, it will be incredibly frustrating.

Not because Wednesday will be annoyed at Enid for accomplishing something she couldn’t; that would be foolish.

No, the true reason is because it would do the impossible and somehow make Enid even more attractive, since there’s nothing more attractive to Wednesday than cleverness, which Enid’s already proven she has more than enough of, despite what appearances and first impressions might initially suggest. 

After all, her grades were nearly perfect despite the sheer amount of extracurricular activities she took part in at Nevermore, something only someone at Wednesday’s par of intelligence and versatility could accomplish.

If Enid cracks this code so quickly, Wednesday really will have a hard time not pulling her into a kiss, courting plans and family as an audience be damned.

“Well, if this is a book code, which I’m pretty sure it is, each number corresponds to a different part of each book. For example, with this first line,” Enid bends down and, after a questioning look that Wednesday replies to with a nod, picks up Wednesday’s pen and starts writing on a blank page in Wednesday’s notebook in her signature curly writing. “12-37-04-07-13; that would be Book 12, Page 37, Paragraph 04, Line 07, and Word 13.”

She caps Wednesday’s fountain pen and turns to her with a bright smile.

“Should we test it out, then?”

Wednesday grabs her by the back of her neck and pulls her in close until their foreheads are pressed together, their lips mere inches apart.

“ Se non smetti di tentarmi così, mio bel sole, ti chiuderò nella mia stanza e ti bacerò a un centimetro dalla tua vita. ”

Enid shudders, and Wednesday almost smirks, but then Enid looks her directly in the eye and replies: “ Δεν ξέρω με τι ακριβώς με απείλησες, αλλά καλύτερα να είναι μια απειλή που θα την ακολουθήσεις σύντομα, φεγγάρι της ζωής μου, αλλιώς θα πρέπει να το αναλάβω να το κάνω για σένα. ”

They stare at each for a few tense moments before Wednesday finds it within herself to pull away, stand up, and turn towards the rest of the room.

(She doesn’t miss the look of disappointment on Enid’s face, which fills Wednesday with far too much satisfaction for something so small. She relishes in it anyways).

Her family is still looking through their respective books, some nearing the end, some clearly starting over completely in the hopes of finding something they missed.

“Everyone,” She calls out, “I believe Enid’s found something that may be useful to our search.”

“It wasn’t just me.” Enid complains. “You’re the one that found the papers.”

Wednesday turns to Enid and gives her a severe look.

“Which I wouldn’t have any chance of being able to read if it wasn’t for you. Don’t downplay your own intelligence, Enid.”

“We don’t even know if I’m right.” Enid protests weakly.

“Even if you aren’t, it’s something I wouldn’t have thought to try. But something tells me this is the answer to breaking the code. It provides a reason for why A. Vidal would number their books despite the subject matter of each being so wildly different.”

Enid shrugs, looking down at the ground as if she wishes she could hide her face completely.

Wednesday fights the sudden impulse to gently raise Enid’s chin and tell her that she never needs to hide her beautiful face from anyone, especially not Wednesday. 

Luckily, she’s able to squash the dramatic instinct before it flares up out of her control.

(She can always do that later, if need be, she reassures herself).

By this point, everyone has gathered around their table.

“What is it you’ve found, Enid?” Morticia asks.

“Well…um…” When Enid gives Wednesday a pleading look, she steps in without hesitation.

“I discovered these hidden in the last few pages of A. Vidal’s journal.” Wednesday gestures to the papers lying on the table, slapping Pugsley’s hand away without looking when he reaches forward to grab it. “I spent hours fruitlessly trying to crack the code, but Enid suggested that it may be a book code, with each set of numbers corresponding to a word in one of the books. Each set of numbers relates to the book, page number, paragraph, line, and finally the word that we need. I suggest everyone return to their books; Enid will read each number out loud, and the person with the book needed for each set will search for the word as she reads the numbers. Once the word is found, I will write it down.”

Wednesday sits back down in her chair and uncaps her fountain pen, Enid sitting in the chair beside her and pulling the pages closer to her.

“Mother, Father, I ask that you divide Enid and I’s books so that we can concentrate solely on writing and reading.”

“Of course, nuestra hermosa escorpión, anything for our amadas hijas. ”

Since Enid is distracted going over the papers, mumbling numbers under her breath, Wednesday responds entirely in Spanish.

“ Dado que se sabe que los escorpiones matan y comen a sus parejas después de completar el ritual de apareamiento, prefiero que dejes de referirte a mí como uno. ” Wednesday can’t help the small, sly smile that curves her lips as she glances back at Enid, still absorbed in the numbers in front of her. Wednesday turns back to Gomez, who grins at her far too cheerfully in her opinion. 

(Enid is the only one who can smile like that without making Wednesday want to pluck out her eyes and dip them in acid).

“ Sin embargo, no me opondría a que me llamen buitre negro, si siente que necesita agregar otro nombre tonto de mascota a su ya vasta colección. ”

“ ¡Por supuesto! Una excelente elección, mi queridísimo buitre negro. ” He says. He winks at her eye twitch before sweeping two of the books off their table and walking back to where Pugsley, Lurch, and Thing are all preparing their books.

“Must you both be so tiresome?” Wednesday asks Morticia.

“I’m afraid we must.” She replies with a smile. “It’s a vital part of our duties as parents.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Wednesday replies.

Morticia’s  before she steps forward a bit closer, their closest version of a hug.

She lowers her voice to a gentle murmur.

“ Nous veillerons à ce qu'aucune partie de votre vision impliquant Enid ne se réalise. C'est une Addams en tout sauf le nom, et nous protégeons toujours notre famille. ”

Wednesday gives her a nod.

Then, she swallows her pride, thinking of the way Enid’s own family treats her, how she’s brightened up so much inside the gloom of their manor in only three days after a week of being the saddest Wednesday’s ever seen her. All because Wednesday’s family treats her the way they treat Wednesday.

“Thank you Mother.” Wednesday manages to say. The words taste odd in her mouth.

 Morticia blinks once in surprise before her smile turns sickeningly fond and knowing. Morticia turns her attention to Enid.

“Enid, dear?”

Enid’s head snaps up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I miss something?

“No, I simply wanted to tell you that your idea is quite an excellent one that I believe will offer us an end to our search and give us more information on the blood moon and its possible effects on your transformation. You’ve done exceedingly well; I’m simply very proud of you, ma petite lune .”

Enid blushes bright red, all the way down to her neck, an image Wednesday doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of seeing. 

It does briefly make her wonder how far down the blush goes, but she bats the thought away before it can fully form.

Anything like that won’t happen until they’re already well into their courtship, if not until their wedding night.

A sudden image of Enid in a wedding dress flashes through Wednesday’s mind without consent, but she’s not dressed in the traditional Addams family black, or even in the traditional non-Addams white.

No, nothing about Enid has ever been traditional.

The gown Wednesday pictures her in has a white skirt covered in a thin layer of light pink tulle. Atop that is yet another layer, this one embroidered with elegant floral lace in varying shades of pink and white. The sleeves are off the shoulder and the collar dips down into the vee of her breasts, her modesty preserved by the thin white layer beneath that going up nearly to her neck.

She looks every bit the perfect bride in Wednesday’s idle daydream, and never could she have imagined that her version of a perfect bride would ever be one dressed in pink and white for their wedding.

She wonders what kind of jewelry Enid would wear at their wedding.

Despite Enid’s love of all things color and glittery, Wednesday can’t recall ever seeing her wearing any jewelry.

She wonders if that’s just Enid’s preference or if it’s yet another side effect of having Esther Sinclair for a mother.

Well, if Enid wishes, Wednesday will be able to shower her in all kinds of jewelry and gems to go with her pink sweaters and fuzzy dresses soon, of both the cursed and uncursed varieties. 

(If, and hopefully when, Wednesday can officially offer Enid her courtship, of course).

Bringing her mind back to the present moment, Wednesday flips to a blank page in her journal and nods to Enid that she’s ready.

“Everyone ready?” Enid calls out. 

After everyone gives their affirmative nods, they begin.

They hit their first snag by the fourth word.

“Crap, this one’s in the 13th book.”

“I’ll leave an underlined blank to indicate the missing word. Continue.” Wednesday says.

They hit their second snag at the end of the first sentence. 

“This one’s weird.” Enid’s frowning, making her nose scrunch up in a frustratingly endearing way. “There’s two number sets, but they’re separated by a slash and circled together. I’m not sure why.”

“Let me see.”

Wednesday stands up and leans over Enid, pleased when Enid freezes in much the same way she did when Enid leaned over her earlier.

06-98-05-13-11 / 14-66-01-07-02, both surrounded by a circle.

“Maybe it means the two words are meant to be combined?” Wednesday suggests.

“That sounds about right. Let’s try it.”

Wednesday and sits back down.

She combines the words into something that seems correct but that she’s never heard of before; ‘grimwolf’.

They continue like this until the entire passage (besides the words missing from the thirteenth book) is translated. The bits they can read are both explanatory and rather ominous. 

As they all read it, Wednesday sees Enid fiddling with her sleeves more and more out of the corner of her eye.

When she starts pulling at threads and unraveling one of the sleeves, Wednesday grabs the fidgeting hand and holds it in her own, lacing their fingers together underneath the table.

Enid immediately settles down.

Wednesday can tell she’s still nervous, but less so now.

Many variations _ werewolves _ _ this world, but none _ more _ _ _ grimwolf.

Grimwolves (sometimes _ to _ bloodwolves) are _ _ rarest _ _ powerful variant of _ common werewolf. As I write _ I _ only found _ documented _ of _ in all _ _ history.

I was _ _ to know _ _ personally.

Her _ _ _ passing _ left me _ most knowledgeable _ alive _ this subject.

For _ reason, I _ taken it _ myself to write everything _ know _ grimwolves; _ the things _ learned from _ _ firsthand accounts, _ vast amounts _ research.

I do _ in _ _ that it will _ useful _ future generations, in _ time when things _ _ and _ for _ _ _ outcasts.

Because of _ danger inherent _ grimwolves, _ to _ _ _ others, I am _ _ hide _ _ this information for now, lest _ _ into the hands of werewolf hunters _ _ akin _ them, _ _ _ only use _ knowledge as _ _ their constant _ against _ people, _ outsiders _ society.

But in this _ _ message meant _ the _ _ _ particular, I _ share _ _ knowledge needed _ _ newly born.

A grimwolf _ only _ _ during _ blood moon. While _ _ werewolves are unable _ use _ powers _ _ _ a grimwolf's full abilities _ only _ unlocked _ _ light. The blood _ _ _ only moon under _ they _ _ _ first transformation, as it _ _ _ moon _ calls to _ _ brings out _ _ wolf, _ they will _ to transform _ _ full moon following _ first change.

A grimwolf _ not _ to transform prematurely, _ _ to _ intense danger of transforming. _ if they go _ years past when most _ _ _ first change, they _ only change _ _ blood moon when they _ _ _ to _ it. If they _ _ they are _ they will _ from _ process.

Grimwolves _ _ larger than _ werewolf counterparts.

Records _ they _ range from _ twice _ size of _ _ werewolf _ larger than _ _ _ English _ Horses.

The one I _ _ was _ _ size of _ _ _ when _ transformed, although she _ transformed before _ _ fully grown, so I'm not sure what _ she was _ _ _ shift.

She died _ I _ _ _ _ and chance _ ask her.

In addition to _ _ _ fangs are _ _ larger and _ than _ _ other werewolves, _ _ _ well past _ chins.

Their senses _ _ _ than _ _ ordinary werewolves.

As mentioned _ _ _ be a danger to _ _ others.

This _ _ in _ crucial _ after _ first transformation.

While _ werewolves _ _ slight increase in _ senses _ _ a _ senses become chaotically heightened _ overwhelming, _ _ _ human form. 

With _ _ overwhelming sensory _ and painful changes _ _ body, grimwolves will _ go mad by _ third transformation. If _ happens, the grimwolf will either die beneath _ _ physical duress or succumb _ _ animalistic _ akin to werewolves _ _ lost _ mates. Due to _ _ power, size, _ strength, when _ in this state _ _ _ be monstrously destructive _ nearly unstoppable.

From _ research, _ _ only two _ methods to prevent _ and ensure the grimwolf _ survive their third transformation _ _ _ to live a _ _ _ with a typical lifespan. After _ third transformation, _ grimwolf _ no longer _ endangered _ their _ as a grimwolf. _ _ _ from their _ _ and abilities.

The first _ more _ method is for _ grimwolf _ find their anchor.

An anchor is _ _ that helps keep _ grimwolf grounded and prevents _ from being overwhelmed by _ world _ _ _ scent blocks _ all _ scents that _ _ causing the grimwolf distress, and _ _ _ _ _ helps the grimwolf center _ when everything they _ hear threatens to overcome _ completely.

The grimwolf’s anchor could be _ _ _ _ _ their _ moon, a _ or__ a close _ or another type of _ entirely _ I’ve not _ discovered in my research.

Once found, _ anchor's _ presence _ keep _ grimwolf from being driven mad by _ heightened awareness _ give _ time to _ _ _ their intense new senses, eventually _ _ the ability _ decrease _ intensity to a _ _ _ and choose _ to increase _ _ focus _ on _ in particular.

In the case of _ grimwolf _ _ her anchor was _ _ _ and _ fortunately already _ _ _ before _ first transformation.

The second _ less reliable method _ _ _ _ to be closely guarded _ _ by _ _ through their _ _ _ shift, being _ long and hard in _ _ _ their _ _ abilities in _ form in _ _ shift.

This cannot happen with just any _ _ not even a _ _ or the _ _ grimwolf was _ _ The _ doesn’t _ _ to be _ comprised of _ _ or particularly large. The _ _ has to be _ in which each member is _ _ and _ _ the grimwolf, no matter who _ _ they may be _ no matter where _ find themselves, whether _ be _ _ _ or running _ ground, whether _ _ _ _.

Above all _ a grimwolf will _ survive _ _ if they are _ _ _ _ of having _ their anchor _ a _ _ by _ _ during _ first tumultuous months after _ first shift.

After _ every wolf needs _ _ just as every _ needs _ _.

Once they finish reading it, there’s a deep and ominous silence around them.

“What does this mean for me?” Enid asks in a whisper, as if afraid to break the silence. “What am I supposed to find? Am I really going to lose my mind before my third transformation? Am I some sort of monster? Like an actual monster, like Tyler was?”
“Enid.” Wednesday squeezes her hand until the teary-eyed girl meets her eyes. She hates that no amount of murder, arson, or grand larceny could remove the tears from those crystal-blue eyes.

“It sounds like A. Vidal was studying monsters. What if the blood moon turned me into a monster? A monster like Tyler?”

“Enid, despite what my own preference would be if I were in your situation, you don’t have it in you to be or become something that’s anything like a Hyde.”

Enid sniffles, but she looks calmer than she did before.

“Are you sure?”

Wednesday gives Enid a wry look.

“Enid, do you really think I’d want to court someone who was anything like Tyler when I could barely stand going on a date with him, even before I found out he was a bloodthirsty monster trying to murder my friends?”

That actually gets a watery chuckle out of Enid, though she still doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“I thought the blood-thirsty monster thing would be a bonus?”

“Normally yes, but not when it comes to hurting my friends. The only person or thing allowed to hurt my family or friends is me, and anything else that tries will become a new rug in our home.”

Enid nods, laughing a little, and squeezes Wednesday’s hand under the table.

“We don’t know exactly what the document is saying.” Wednesday continues. “We won’t know until we have access to the thirteenth book. In the meantime, the only things we know for sure is that your abnormally heightened senses are due to the effect of the blood moon on your first transformation, there’s a chance , not a certainty, that you might be driven mad by the overwhelming sensory input you’re experiencing by your third transformation, and that you’ll be helped by finding something in particular, something I suspect is called an anchor.”

“Anchor? Why do you think that?”

“In my vision, Cressida told me to ‘find the anchor’. In addition, the word anchor is mentioned in the document, though there’s not enough words around it to give it much context.”

“Don’t worry, ma chérie .” Morticia has rounded the table and gives Enid a hug from behind. “We’ll figure it out. One of our relatives is sure to have a copy of the thirteenth book, and even if they don’t they’ll know someone who does, and we have more money than we know what to do with. We have three months to find it and translate the rest of the document; don’t let it consume you until we know for sure what it says.”

“And don’t forget, mi querida niña , the rest of us will be here to help you however we can.” Gomez adds, everyone else quickly agreeing with him. 

Enid looks overwhelmed by the sheer amount of unquestioning love and support she’s receiving from Wednesday’s family, like it’s something she’s so wholly unused to that she can’t process it. 

Wednesday takes a moment to think about how nice it would look if they carpeted a few of the bedrooms with wolf pelts, dyed black and with any unseemly smells removed, of course.

She’s sure her mother would agree that it would suit House rather well.

“But,” Enid says, her voice choked with emotion, “why do you all want to help me? You don’t have to; Wednesday’s not even courting me yet, and might not court me ever . Why are you all being so…so nice to me?”

“Well,” Morticia says thoughtfully, running a gentle hand over Enid’s hair, just barely tracing the scars Wednesday knows Enid is secretly self-conscious of, yet still refuses to hide, much to Wednesday’s delight, “besides the fact that you saved our daughter’s life, you’re a delightful guest who’s turning out to be a particularly unique and beautifully fierce girl. You’ve been treated poorly your entire life because of your perceived inability to shift; you’re an outcast even amongst outcasts, and that as good as makes you one of us. In all but name, Enid, whether you’re courted by my daughter or not, you’re an Addams, and we always protect our own.”

Enid breaks down crying and hides her face in the tabletop, squeezing Wednesday’s hand so tightly she feels something in it pop. 

Morticia continues to hug Enid from behind, Gomez and Pugsley quickly running around the table to join her and turn it into a group hug.

Lurch stands behind them imposingly in that customary protective way of his. 

Thing scurries across the table to hold Enid’s other hand, massaging it gently and squeezing it at different intervals. 

Grandmama and Fester start to pore over the translation again to see if they can fill in any of the blanks using context in order to clear up some of the mystery in it.

Wednesday looks around at this, her entire family comforting Enid in their own unique ways as she sobs quietly into the table.

Her lips quirk upwards.

For once, she doesn’t feel actively hostile towards the chaotic circus she calls family.

That night, after leaving the library, wandering the house quietly with Wednesday and eating a rather subdued dinner (despite the family’s attempts to cheer her up), Enid tosses and turns in her bed, unable to sleep with all the fearful and confused thoughts whirling through her mind.

She hasn’t been able to sleep for hours now, and if the crickets get any louder she’s going to go outside and start eating them, gross as that would be.

Even Wednesday beginning her usual midnight cello session doesn’t help lull Enid to sleep, though that might be due in part to how intense the songs Wednesday’s playing are.

After Wednesday’s fifth song finishes only for her to start another, Enid realizes that maybe, like her, Wednesday can’t sleep either.

By the seventh song, Enid’s had enough.

She gets out of bed and pads quietly over to her violin case, opening it and taking the violin, shoulder rest, and bow in hand.

She cracks her door open, knowing Wednesday’s hearing isn’t as good as hers, and sits on the edge of her bed.

After she puts the shoulder rest on the violin, she waits patiently for when Wednesday takes a momentary break, or for when she starts playing a song Enid recognizes. 

Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait long.

After the seventh song finishes, the next is one Enid knows very well.

She grins and puts her violin to her chin, bow already sliding across the strings in a familiar melody.

Wednesday’s cello pauses for a moment, but when Enid only keeps playing, the cello quickly picks back up again, flawlessly joining Enid’s violin as if there’d been no pause.

The song is fast-paced, an intense and altered version of Vivaldi’s Storm that must be of Wednesday’s own making, but Enid’s easily able to keep up with her, adjusting to the unfamiliar changes in the song with an improvisational flair of her own.

Sometimes she continues with the original melody as a base to Wednesday’s bouts of spontaneity, other times she improvises on top of it, leading to an almost clashing sound, as if the violin and cello are at war with each other, before melting back into a seamless harmony.

When the song ends, it actually makes Enid sigh and almost brings the burn of tears to her eyes. 

She’s never had so much fun playing with someone else before, and it’s been so long since she’s played the violin in general, it’s hard to let the moment go, especially since it’s the first thing all day that’s been able to take her mind off of all the ‘grimwolf’ business.

She moves her violin and bow to the resting position instinctively, tucked under her right arm with her right hand loosely holding the bow itself, and lets her head drop forward despondently.

But then she hears the beginning notes of another song before a pause, as if Wednesday’s reaching out an inviting hand for her to keep playing.

She grins and returns the violin to its proper place beneath her chin, repeating the notes with her bow before continuing into the rest of the song, Wednesday hot on her heels.

They spend most of the night playing like that, the songs gradually becoming slower and more peaceful, relaxing Enid as they do.

Inevitably, Enid nods off, her body slipping calmly to the mattress, the violin at her side and the bow resting along the top of her body, both still held in her loose hands.

Later, she’ll have the vague memory of someone gently taking the violin and bow from her unprotesting hands, cold hands and a soft voice encouraging her to get under her warm nest of covers, the comforting scent of midnight rain, typewriter ink, rosemary, and rosin surrounding her. She’ll remember reaching out and grasping onto the sleeve of someone’s arm as they leave with a soft whine, not wanting to lose the cold hands and soft voice and scent that drowns out every other. 

Small movements, then the sleeve loosens, and suddenly she’s surrounded by the scent completely. 

She snuggles into the soft blanket, inhaling deeply and sighing happily. 

Just before she drifts off completely, there's a soft chuckle and the press of lips to her hair, and then only the oblivion of sleep.

When she wakes up the next morning, well after dawn, she has her face pretty much buried in Wednesday’s hoodie, clutching it protectively in her arms. 

She’s left to wonder if the last part of her memory from last night was real or if it was just a dream. 

Either way, she smiles, takes in a deep lungful of Wednesday’s scent from the hoodie, and hides it under her pillow before making her bed.

If Wednesday thinks she’s getting that hoodie back anytime soon, she’s in for one hell of a surprise.

Besides, she’s the one who won’t let them start courting right away. 

Enid thinks that one hoodie is a very small price to pay in exchange for that.

After she finishes getting ready for the day, she picks up her violin, as is now quickly becoming her morning routine.

She can hear that everyone in the house is awake and moving around on various floors doing various things before breakfast, but that Wednesday herself is still sound asleep in her room. 

After a moment’s deliberation, Enid decides to play a jaunty, upbeat song that’s short enough to allow her to make an escape through the hidden passageway in the room adjacent to hers before Wednesday can finish waking up enough to catch her.

She still hears the annoyed ‘Enid!’ called after her as she climbs down the ladder.

She giggles quietly, quickly running down the tunnel that will eventually lead her to the main library.

Despite the turbulent events, discoveries, and mysteries unveiled for them to solve from the night before, she’s determined to listen to Morticia and Wednesday and not let the uncertainty surrounding her transformation and the mysterious A. Vidal consume her life. 

She has a future courtship to look forward to, after all, regardless of what Wednesday thinks, and an entire lifetime after that to wake Wednesday up every morning with a beautiful violin. 

She feels almost giddily happy.

Truly, it’s hard not to be, not after their impromptu duet-session from last night, and not when she gets to wake up surrounded by her Wednesday’s scent, play her very own violin first thing in the morning, and travel through the secret passageways of an amazing house, all before breakfast.

Really, what better way to start the morning could there be?

(One week and three days since the Blood Moon - Two weeks and four days until the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

- Potio Inferni - “The potion of hell” (Latin)

- Ma petite lune - “My little moon” (French)

- Cette conversation reste entre nous. - “This conversation stays between us.” (French)

- Bien sûr, ma chère. - “Of course, my dear.” (French)

- Seulement entre nous deux, Mère. Tu ne peux même pas en parler à Père. Comprenez vous? - “Only between the two of us, Mother. You can't even tell Father about it. Do you understand?” (French)

- Mon cher ciel sans lune, je promets que je ne dirai à personne que nous avons déjà eu cette conversation, et encore moins ce qui s'y est dit. Je le jure sur la tombe de Falseo. - “My dear moonless sky, I promise I won't tell anyone we've ever had this conversation, let alone what was said in it. I swear it on Falseo's grave.” (French)

- Nous garderons ta bien-aimée en sécurité, mon nuage d'orage, peu importe ce que nous devons faire ou qui nous devons tuer. Nous trouverons les réponses dont nous avons besoin; alors vous et moi déterminerons quand votre vision est censée se produire. Une fois que nous le saurons, nous prendrons toutes les précautions nécessaires pour que cela ne se produise jamais. - “We will keep your beloved safe, my storm cloud, no matter what we have to do or who we have to kill. We will find the answers we need; then you and I will determine when your vision is supposed to occur. Once we find out, we'll take every precaution to make sure it never happens.” (French)

- Rien de ce que vous avez vu n'arrivera. J'assassinerai personnellement tous ceux qui ont fait du mal à Enid pour m'assurer que cela ne le fasse jamais. Même la torture d'être emprisonné et séparé de votre père vaut la peine d'assurer votre bonheur. Je ferai n'importe quoi pour toi, ma chère, toi et Enid tous les deux. Vous êtes mes enfants, après tout. S'il te plaît, ne l'oublie jamais. - “Nothing you saw will happen. I will personally murder anyone who has harmed Enid to make sure it never does. Even the torture of being imprisoned and separated from your father is worth ensuring your happiness. I will do anything for you, my dear, you and Enid both. You are my children, after all. Please, never forget that.” (French)

- Comment pourrais-je oublier, avec combien de fois tu me le rappelles par jour? - “How could I forget, with how many times you remind me a day?” (French)

- Se non smetti di tentarmi così, mio bel sole, ti chiuderò nella mia stanza e ti bacerò a un centimetro dalla tua vita. - “If you don't stop tempting me like this, my beautiful sun, I will lock you in my room and kiss you within an inch of your life.” (Italian)

- Δεν ξέρω με τι ακριβώς με απείλησες, αλλά καλύτερα να είναι μια απειλή που θα την ακολουθήσεις σύντομα, φεγγάρι της ζωής μου, αλλιώς θα πρέπει να το αναλάβω να το κάνω για σένα. - “I don't know what exactly you threatened me with, but it better be a threat you follow through on soon, moon of my life, or I'll have to take it upon myself to do it for you.” (Greek)

- Nuestra hermosa escorpión - “Our beautiful scorpion” (Spanish)

- Amadas hijas - “Beloved daughters” (Spanish)

- Dado que se sabe que los escorpiones matan y comen a sus parejas después de completar el ritual de apareamiento, prefiero que dejes de referirte a mí como uno. - “Since scorpions have been known to kill and eat their mates after completing the mating ritual, I'd rather you stop referring to me as one.” (Spanish)

- Sin embargo, no me opondría a que me llamen buitre negro, si siente que necesita agregar otro nombre tonto de mascota a su ya vasta colección. - “However, I wouldn't object to being called a black vulture, if you feel you need to add another foolish pet name to your already vast collection.” (Spanish)

- Nous veillerons à ce qu'aucune partie de votre vision impliquant Enid ne se réalise. C'est une Addams en tout sauf le nom, et nous protégeons toujours notre famille. - “We will ensure that no part of your vision involving Enid comes to pass. She's an Addams in all but name, and we always protect our family.” (French)

- Ma chérie - "My dear" (French)

- Mi querida niña - “My dear girl” (Spanish)

Chapter Text

Also, everyone, PLEASE check out this absolutely gorgeous fanart made by @kizuroki (who you can find on Instagram and Twitter under the same handle, and I suggest you do because LOOK HOW GOOD!!).

It's the scene of Wednesday picturing Enid in a wedding dress in the last chapter, and somehow, I'm both dying from how pretty it is and yet it's giving me life. I don't know how that's happening but it doesn't matter because LOOK HOW PRETTY!!!

Thank you so so much for this gorgeous fanart; I'm keeping it forever because it makes my heart explode every time I look at it.

"Come and be my girl. To feel your face and hear your footsteps, I'd give the world."

- Sappho

Enid dials a long-memorized number and holds the phone up to her ear.

She only has to wait for two rings before it’s answered.

“Hi Enid. You doing alright?”

“Hi Dad!” Enid says with a grin. “I’m doing awesome! Wednesday’s family and house are so cool, and they have an entire forest on their property, and Wednesday and I have been having a blast, um, hanging out together!”

“I’m glad. They been treating you good?

“Yep! Morticia and Gomez, Wednesday’s parents, are so nice and welcoming, and her little brother Pugsley is super sweet and always wants to give me hugs, and her Grandmama and her Uncle Fester are always showing me really cool things around the house and teaching me all this really neat stuff, and Lurch, their butler, is pretty cool and keeps my room super clean, and Thing and I have mani-sessions almost every night.”

“Well, sounds like you’re having a good time.”

Enid sighs.

“I just wish you were here with me. It would be so fun to show you around their house, which is so huge it’s like a freaking mansion by the way. Plus, I want to introduce you to Wednesday and her family. They’re quirky, but I think you’d like them.”

Murray chuckles, and the deep sound makes Enid’s heart ache with a bittersweet nostalgia. 

The only part of home she misses is her dad.

“I’m sure I would. I like anyone that makes my daughter sound as happy as you do right now.”

Enid blushes and grins.

“I am happy, Dad. Really, really happy.”

“Good. Looks like I made the right decision in letting you spend the summer there.”

Enid has to fight a giggle, thinking of how Wednesday promised she would’ve ‘kidnapped’ her whether or not Murray gave his permission.

She’s entirely too fond of the memory, considering the ‘kidnapping’ involved.

“Oh! Don’t tell mom, but I’ve also started playing violin again.”

“I’m real glad, Enid. I can tell you’ve been missing it, and you’ve always been so talented; I was so sad when you decided to stop playing.”

Enid’s heart twists with guilt. She never did tell her dad the real reason she stopped playing. She just brushed it off as losing interest.

As if she could ever lose interest in music.

She’s glad that he doesn’t question why she doesn’t want Esther to know.

Maybe he knows a bit more about why she stopped playing than she thought.

She brushes the unpleasant memories and thoughts away and focuses on all the positives of the present.

“Yeah, I decided to pick it up again. The Addams even gave me a violin they had in their music room, and Dad, you’re never going to believe this, it’s a genuine Stradivarius violin .”

“Get out of here.” Murray says, actually sounding shocked, a reaction not easy to get out of her dad, who’s normally unflappable in the face of pretty much everything.

“Seriously! Apparently, one of their ancestors was close friends with Antonio Stradivari and she commissioned a violin from him, and they’ve kept it for all these years, and they’re giving it to me!”

“I’m liking these Addamses more and more. Interesting that they’re related to someone who knew Stradivari; that’s gotta be a fun story to tell when meeting new people.” 

“Oh, Dad, you have no freaking idea. Their family tree is insane! They have records dating back to practically the Stone Age! Every person who’s ever even been associated with the Addams family is remembered and written down, and they add the family trees of every person who marries into the Addams Clan. It’s,” Enid sighs, “it’s incredible.”

“It certainly sounds that way.” Murray says. The low undercurrent of sadness in her voice is echoed in his own.

The both of them are all too aware of the way their pack works, how easily it is for someone to get kicked out and be wiped from the records, erased from family and pack history as if they never existed at all.

Enid’s been carrying the ever present fear over the past few years that she would suffer that very same fate.

She knows Murray worried about the very same thing, but she also knows that his own brother was rejected from the pack and wiped from the records.

Enid doesn’t know a lot of the details, not even her uncle’s name. All she knows is that the pack pressured him to pick a mate, he refused, and so they kicked him out and erased him from the pack’s history. 

Murray’s only mentioned it a few times to Enid, but from what she’s gathered, she thinks that if he wasn’t already married to Esther with a child on the way, he probably would’ve joined his brother in exile out of principle.

Her dad’s always been loyal like that.

Maybe she should talk to Wednesday and see if she might be able to help Enid track her missing uncle down.

The pack can’t complain about Enid and Murray associating with a rejected pack member if they don’t know about it, and Enid’s certain the Addams would be more than happy to host such a clandestine reunion.

Both because they love everything and anything so much as related to the word ‘clandestine’ and because of the importance they place on family.

She moves the thought to the back of her mind to puzzle over later.

For now, she goes back to telling her dad about the beautiful violin, going into gratuitous detail about its intricate design and incredible sound, how it seems like it was made for her. 

(She doesn’t mention that it’s cursed, because she’s not an idiot, and that it’s partially made out of the body parts of a long-dead witch, because ew ).

Even though her dad has never been much for music (other than always being a happily willing audience for her songs, even when she was just starting out and her ‘songs’ sounded more like bouts of screeching), he listens intently and never interrupts her, as if he’d be happy to listen to her talk about her interests all day long.

He’s always been like that.

She has one of the best dads in the entire world. (The other, of course, being Gomez).

Eventually, though, she runs out of words. 

The anxiety she’s been trying to ignore starts rising up in her chest.

She fiddles with her sleeves and bites her lip.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” Murray asks after a pause, since he knows Enid well enough to know that she’s normally more than happy to fill the silence he often leaves in conversations. 

Where he’s always been a man of few words, she’s been more than happy to pick up the slack.

About this though, even though it’s her dad, she can’t help but be nervous telling him.

She has absolutely no intention of telling him about her possible courtship with Wednesday just yet (especially since she’s still not certain what exactly she and Wednesday are at the moment), or the fact that she’s gay, because one can of worms at a time, even though she knows her dad won’t care and will be as supportive as he always is, but there is one other major development in her life that she’s determined to tell him, even if she doesn’t add in certain details.

“Dad, I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise me that you won’t tell Mom or anyone else, okay?”

“Alright. I promise.”

He doesn’t even hesitate, and a promise from Murray Sinclair is as good as written in stone.

She loves him so much.

It gives her the courage to speak.

“I shifted.” She blurts out.

Even though she’s frozen, waiting for his response, she still feels like a huge weight has lifted off her shoulders.

“You’ve shifted?” Murray asks quietly.

“Yes.” Enid says nervously, before an almost vindictive self-confidence rises up in her, the same feeling that keeps her from hiding her scars every day.

“But even if I never did, it wouldn’t make me any less a werewolf than anyone else. No matter what, I’ll always be proud of who I am.” She says decisively, bristling as if ready to fight, forgetting for a moment that her mother isn’t the one on the line.

“I’m proud of you.” Murray says warmly, breaking her out of her self-righteous vindication. “Not because you’ve shifted, but because you’ve finally started to see yourself the way I always have. You don’t need anyone’s permission or acceptance to be and love who you are, and I’ll always support you. No matter what.”

Tears immediately spring to her eyes.

Her chuckle is the tiniest bit watery.

“Thanks Dad.” She says, wiping the tears from her eyes before they get the chance to fall. “That- that means a lot.”

“Anytime, honey. I’m always here for you. You know I love you more than anything.”

“I know, Dad.” Enid smiles. “I know.”

Enid enters the library, thanking House for opening the door for her. 

She skips over to where Wednesday sits, studying A. Vidal’s journal and the coded message, taking notes in her own notebook.

Enid hesitates to even call it a notebook, considering it’s a thick leather-bound journal, all the pages blank and unlined, and that Wednesday only writes in using an expensive, antique-looking fountain pen.

But Wednesday calls it her notebook, as if it were any other composition notebook Enid could buy for a dollar at pretty much any store, while Wednesday’s looks like it would cost over a hundred.

So, whatever.

She stops by Wednesday, too restless to sit down just yet, bouncing on her feet with what’s probably the largest and goofiest-looking grin on her face.

“Judging from the stifling amount of excessive delight and giddiness you’re radiating,” Wednesday says without looking up from her note-taking, “the phone call with your father went as you hoped it would.”

“Yep!” Enid says, nearly hopping up and down in a sudden, gleeful burst of energy. “It actually went even better than I thought it would! I told him that I shifted, but that even if I never did I would still be proud of who I am, no matter what, and he said he was proud of me and that he’s happy that I’m seeing myself the same way he’s always seen me, and he didn’t ask a bunch of overbearing questions about my shift and what size my wolf is and if I’ve had any prospective mates like my mother would have, he just told me he was proud of me and then asked how everything was going! He even promised that he wouldn’t tell my mom or anyone else in the pack until I’m ready and he was super excited to hear that I’m playing the violin again and that I get to play on an actual Stradivarius violin and-”

“Breathe.” Wednesday reminds her. 

Enid stops rambling and takes a deep breath, the tightening of her lungs easing and her heart rate calming down slightly.

It gives her the moment she needed to remember the most important part of their conversation. (Or rather, the most relevant to Wednesday and her almost non-stop research into the blood moon and A. Vidal).

“Right, thanks. Anyways, I also asked him to look in the pack’s library for any information on the blood moon and how it affects werewolves and to see if he could find any books written by A. Vidal. He said he’d call if he found anything.”

Wednesday pauses and turns to Enid with a slightly raised eyebrow. 

“I thought you decided not to inform him that your first transformation was during the blood moon, your possible status as a grimwolf, or A. Vidal’s hidden warning in order to avoid worrying him?”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell him about all that.” Enid says sheepishly. “But I may have implied that I was worried if skipping a full moon shift right after my first shift would affect me at all. I also mentioned that we found a bit of information about stuff like that in books written by A. Vidal and that we might find more if we could find more stuff written by them.”

“Impressively devious, Enid. Perhaps you’re not as woefully oblivious and trusting as I once thought.”

Enid barely fights down the urge to drag Wednesday into a hug at the very Wednesday-compliment, knowing Wednesday doesn’t appreciate being ambushed and always has a knife on her for such occasions. 

“Thanks, Wednesday.” Enid settles on instead. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Wednesday glares at her.

“Insult me again and I’ll chop off those obnoxious feet of yours.”

Enid didn’t even realize she’d been tapping her feet so quickly she might as well have been tap-dancing.

She immediately stops, but then her fingers start tapping on her arm instead and she starts shifting from foot to foot.

Wednesday’s eye twitches.

“Sorry.” Enid winces. “I can’t help it; I’m too wound up after talking to my dad and having it go so well and everything. If I don’t move around I’ll probably explode; I can leave if I’m being too distracting.”

“Spontaneous self-combustion or suddenly exploding into a thousand bits would be an interesting way to go,” Wednesday says thoughtfully, “but fine. As long as you don’t break out into song, I don’t care.”

The urge to hug Wednesday overwhelms Enid completely.

She’s nearly vibrating with excitement, eyeing Wednesday hopefully.

Wednesday glances at her.

She exhales in an almost-sigh, caps her fountain pen, sets it down, and stands up from her chair.

With her hands primly clasped behind her back, face turned to the side so she’s not looking directly at Enid, Wednesday says; “Five seconds.”

Enid squeals and immediately pulls Wednesday into a tight hug.

Despite Wednesday’s apparent reluctance to engage in any form of physical contact, she returns Enid’s hug as naturally as if she does it every day, her body softening as she easily wraps her arms around Enid. 

They wrap themselves around each other, their bodies slotting together perfectly like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

In the warmth of Wednesday’s embrace, with cold hands pressed firmly against Enid’s back, enveloped in Wednesday’s scent with the slow pounding of a long-familiar heartbeat echoing in her ears, Enid feels the frantic energy itching under her skin start to dissipate.

Her body relaxes, and she sighs in relief.

Perhaps there might’ve been a bit of anxiety over the whole grimwolf thing and a tiny fear of Wednesday deciding not to court her after all that was also getting her wound up.

But in Wednesday’s embrace, it feels like those things don’t matter as much, or at least aren’t as scary as they seemed before.

Five seconds come and go, then ten, then fifteen, but Wednesday still keeps holding her without any indication of wanting to let go until Enid does, so Enid stops counting the seconds and holds Wednesday just a bit closer, allowing herself to relax in the moment.

They stand there, locked in an impossibly comforting embrace, for a very long time.

Enid’s not even sure how long, but, as Wednesday tells (threatens) her later, no one else needs to know about it.

Enid laughs and agrees.

Privately, she wants to keep it secret too.

That special moment is theirs, just like their late-night duets, and she doesn’t want to share it with anyone else.

The Addams may be possessive, but werewolves are too.

Enid might be an exception to a lot of the typical werewolf rules and traits, but that tell-tale possessiveness certainly isn’t one of them.

Within her first week staying with the Addams, Enid discovered that, while playing in her room is nice, especially when it means playing duets with Wednesday or getting an early start to teasing her (girlfriend? Friend? Kidnapper?) by waking Wednesday up early, there’s no place in the entire house she likes to play more than in the music room.

The reason for this is very simple. 

Every time she picks up her violin and starts playing, many of the instruments inside will play along with her. Sometimes it’s just the piano, sometimes a few matching violins with the harp and maybe a flute, and sometimes it’ll be an entire orchestra. Every once in a while, ghostly voices will even sing along in an eerie, ethereal choir.

Enid absolutely loves it.

She loves it so much that by the beginning of her second week there, it’s almost become a ritual for her to spend an hour or two playing in the music room after her and Wednesday's daily morning Greek lessons, when Wednesday’s busy working on her fourth novel.

On her ninth day staying with the Addams, she’s so wrapped up in the music that it takes her a few songs to realize that someone’s entered the room, and that he’s been there long enough to pull up a chair.

Considering who it is, the fact he felt the need to sit down at all means he must've been listening for nearly her entire practice session.

Besides this very moment, Enid doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lurch sit down before.

His eyes are closed, but when he realizes she’s stopped playing, they blink open.

He stares at her, as if asking why she’s stopped.

“Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were there.” She says.

He keeps staring at her.

“Did you- do you want me to keep playing?”

He groans, but before she can decide whether that means yes or no, he reaches into his suit and pulls out a piece of sheet music and holds it out to her.

“Oh, you have a request!” She perks up and takes the offered sheet music.

Her eyes widen when she sees what it is.

She looks back up at Lurch excitedly.

“Really?” She asks, hugging the music sheet to her chest and bouncing on her feet.

Lurch gives a single, slow nod.

“Of course! Your wish is my command!” She whirls around and places the sheet music on the grand piano’s stand.

“Do you think you could play this?” She asks the piano, only feeling a tiny bit silly doing so. “The piece is normally meant for an orchestra, but even if no one else in here wants to join in, I think a piano and a violin will be all we’ll need.”

The piano plays the first few stanzas to test it out before playfully plucking a few of its strings to signal its agreement.

“Awesome! Let’s get playing then!” She has only a moment to wish a certain cello player was around (a cello would be a perfect addition to join a piano and a violin for this piece) before she props the violin under her chin and rests the bow on top of the strings to show she’s ready.

But before either she (or the piano) can get started, Lurch stands up and stops them by holding up one hand.

He leaves the room and lumbers away down the hall.

Enid looks to the piano in confusion, but it only flaps its lid closed and open again, as if in a shrug. 

She shrugs back and lowers the violin again, sitting in Lurch’s vacated chair, crossing her legs and resting her chin in her hand.

If Lurch isn’t back in ten minutes, she’ll just start playing something else until he comes back. 

(If he comes back, which she oddly really hopes he does).

Her leg is bouncing within the first minute.

Luckily, she only has to wait two more before Lurch returns, though he’s not alone.

Enid perks up immediately when she smells Wednesday’s familiar scent accompanying Lurch’s, as well as Thing’s favorite hand lotion.

When they arrive in the doorway, Thing on Lurch’s shoulder and Lurch towering over Wednesday, Wednesday only has to take a single look around the room- the sheet music on the piano, Enid almost jumping up and down in excitement, her own cello propped up in its music stand (which even Enid didn’t notice; man she needs to pay more attention to her surroundings)- before she’s put the pieces together.

“Lurch, you really interrupted my writing time and brought me here so that Enid and I could perform a special little concert for you? We’re not trained monkeys. I’m leaving.” Wednesday turns around.

Immediately, disappointment sinks like a rock in Enid’s gut.

“Well, I think it would be fun Wednesday!” Enid says, rushing forward to get in front of Wednesday and block her from the door. “Like our midnight sessions! Except this time we’ll have a piano playing with us and even have our own little audience.”

She waves to Thing and Lurch.

Thing gives an enthusiastic wave back before offering a thumbs up.

Lurch slowly lifts up one hand and copies Thing’s thumbs up.

It, quite possibly, is the best thing she’s ever seen.

Wednesday looks at Enid, expression slightly less cold than before.

“Our midnight sessions are for you and me alone. I’m not looking to share them with others. If you wish to play for them, I won’t stop you, but I need to get back to my writing.”

Even though Enid blushes, she still frowns and grabs Wednesday by the elbow to pull her back when she tries to brush past her. 

This time, Wednesday faces Enid with crossed arms, a blank but stubborn expression on her face.

“Come on, Wednesday, we won’t be playing any of-” Enid fidgets a little, glances away from Wednesday, blushes even harder, and lowers her voice. “-Any of our songs.”

She brings her eyes back up to Wednesday’s and raises her voice back to normal speaking level, forcing it not to wobble at the warm and self-satisfied light in Wednesday’s eyes. 

“This is a song Lurch requested for himself. And has Lurch ever even tried to ask you for anything before in the entire time you’ve known him?”

“He’s certainly trying my patience right now.” Wednesday says.

Enid gives Wednesday her best pleading eyes.

A moment passes, but then Wednesday sighs slightly, and Enid grins.

“Fine. What song does he want us to play?”

Enid skips over to the piano, which has somehow been flipping through the pages of the music sheet.

“Do you think you’ll need this, or are you good?” She asks.

The piano responds by folding its stand down, gently releasing the papers into Enid’s hands.

“Thank you!” She chirps, skipping back over to Wednesday and handing the music sheet over with a grin.

Wednesday stares at it for a few silent moments.

“You’ve corrupted him.” She finally says.

Enid rolls her eyes and huffs.

“How would I have even had the chance to corrupt him? We only met, like, a week ago, and I’ve barely even spoken to him since!” She cringes when she realizes what she just said.

She leans around Wednesday to look at Lurch.

“Sorry about that, by the way. I’d love to hang out with you whenever you want. You seem like a cool dude.”

Lurch groans, and Thing helpfully translates for her that it’s fine, he’s not offended. Thing also signs that Lurch would be happy to show her around the hedge maze tomorrow, since he’s the one who maintains it and no one’s gotten around to showing it to her yet.

How Thing got all that from a single groan is beyond her, but she still smiles brightly at Lurch and says; “Okay, sounds like a plan! I’ve been super curious about the maze, so thank you for offering to show it to me. I’m excited to see it!”

Lurch groans, and she’s pretty sure it’s a groan of agreement, even without Thing’s helpful translation.

“You corrupted Thing after barely a day, and now you’re corrupting Lurch. I thought he might be strong enough to fight it off, but it’s clear you contaminated him long before any of us had any clue.” 

Enid rolls her eyes fondly.

“ You say corrupted, I say befriended.” 

“Same difference.” Wednesday replies as she flips through the pages with a frown on her face that only deepens the further she goes.

Enid grins and leans a little closer to her.

“Are you saying I corrupted you?” She asks, doing her best to sound flirty rather than smitten. (She’s not sure if she succeeds or not).

Wednesday looks up at her.

“Yes.” She says without hesitation. “Before meeting you, I would never even consider playing such useless drivel, but now you’re making me consider it. Ergo, corrupted.”

Enid gasps, pretending to be affronted while trying to ignore the way her heart explodes into butterflies.

“How could you call “The Merry-Go-Round of Life” useless drivel?”

“Listen to the title and ask me again.” Wednesday says dryly.

Enid starts smiling again at her (hopefully soon-to-be) girlfriend’s snarkiness, so she quickly clears her throat and puts on as serious an expression as she can muster.

“Well, Wednesday Addams, you will be playing this ‘useless drivel’ with me. Right here, right now.”

“And why’s that?”

Enid softens her expression and says playfully (hopefully); “Because I’m asking you to?”

Wednesday stares at her for a moment, eyes dark.

“Fine.”

“Yay!” Enid jumps in the air and almost starts clapping giddily before she remembers she’s still holding her violin, so she settles for beaming at Wednesday instead.

Wednesday sits in the chair next to her cello and starts preparing to play it, placing the music sheet on her music stand.

“Do you not need a music sheet?”

“Nah, I’ve had this memorized for years.”

“Wow, shocking.” Wednesday says, her expression more deadpan than usual. 

“Har har.” Enid replies, double-checking her violin is still in tune.

“But just so you know, Enid,” Wednesday says without looking up, “ non c'è niente che non farei per te, ma sfrutta di nuovo la mia debolezza per te in questo modo e potresti non essere pronto per le conseguenze. ”

“ Wednesday , that’s Italian.” Enid almost whines. “I barely even know how to differentiate masculine nouns from feminine nouns yet! Αν θέλεις να με κολακέψεις, θέλω να το κάνεις στα αγγλικά, γιατί θέλω να σου πω και γλυκά πράγματα, όμορφα πράγματα, όλα αυτά που σε σκεφτόμουν κατ' ιδίαν που επιτέλους μπορώ να σου πω τώρα. ”

“ Enid , that’s Greek.”

Enid snorts and crosses her arms.

“ Ναι και ?”

Wednesday gives her a dangerously dark look that makes something in Enid’s stomach tingle and twist.

“ Usalo di nuovo e perderò il controllo. Nonostante i miei piani per il nostro potenziale corteggiamento, nonostante il fatto che potresti non essere mio come lo sono io tua, ti bacerò fino a quando il tuo respiro non sarà rubato, fino a quando i tuoi polmoni non saranno pieni di nient'altro che il mio stesso respiro. ” 

Wednesday leans forward, and the look in her eyes and the tension building between them is leaving Enid feeling breathless.

“ Ti bacerò finché entrambi non ci sentiremo come se stessimo morendo, e poi continuerò a baciarti comunque, perché mi fai sentire così meravigliosamente, orribilmente viva, e so che un tuo bacio sarebbe devastante nel modo più delizioso. Se ti rubo un bacio, non mi riprenderò mai. E la parte peggiore è: mi divertirò. ”

Wednesday leans back, her eyes dark but heated, her face blank but for an almost imperceptible expression that almost speaks of hunger, but Wednesday’s heartbeat is as calm as ever.

“And that is a threat . I suggest you don’t take it lightly, Enid.”

They glare heatedly at each for a few moments before Enid breaks eye contact.

She clears her throat and straightens her shirt with the hand holding her bow, ignoring the smugness radiating from Wednesday.

“Whatever. Anyways, are you ready to play?”

“This is entirely against my will.” Wednesday says as she places her bow on the strings of her cello, Thing hopping up to the music stand, ready to turn the pages as they play.

“Whatever you say,” Enid sing-songs.

She places the violin beneath her chin and winks at Wednesday. “ Πολυαγαπημένος. ”

Before Wednesday can say or do anything, despite the murderous look in her eyes, the piano starts to play, and soon the three of them are performing the song flawlessly, the fun and playful piece filling Enid up with a bubbling sensation she’s becoming more and more familiar with the longer she spends with the Addams.

God, Enid’s missed playing.

She can’t help but stare at Wednesday in adoration, the way she intently stares at the music sheet and plays the piece to perfection, despite it being one she clearly doesn’t care for and would love to massacre with violent strokes of her bow and tumultuous plucking of the strings in a darker rendition more suiting to her regular fare.

Even though they’re playing the song for Lurch, Enid knows that at least part of the reason Wednesday’s playing the song as it’s meant to be played is for her.

The knowledge of that leaves her with a feeling she doesn’t quite know what to do with, so she pours it into the music instead of trying to figure it out.

Once the piece is over, Enid basks in the moment of silence that follows.

The moments after every song are her favorite moments in the world; that one moment that almost feels like a liminal space, the only time her mind is ever completely quiet and peaceful.

She looks over at Wednesday, knowing Wednesday feels that moment too just from the way she breathes and how her eyes are closed.

The moment they open, she immediately looks at Enid.

When they make eye contact, Enid grins.

Wednesday doesn’t smile back, but the warmth in her eyes is all Enid needs.

Later, after Lurch and Thing leave, Enid decides to stop playing for the day. 

Wednesday’s claiming she’ll never be able to get back into the writer mindset now, so there’s no point in returning to her typewriter, and Enid’s always looking to spend as much time with Wednesday as possible.

While walking down the hallway towards the entrance to the catacombs beneath the house with a mostly correct map in hand (“sometimes the tunnels like to change, so we have to go down there once every other month to update the map and make sure nothing’s gone missing or suddenly appeared.”), something occurs to Enid.

She grins and skips in front of Wednesday, turning around and walking backwards so she can see Wednesday’s face.

“So, whatever happened to your ‘threat’, Addams? You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

“Oh, believe me Enid, I still intend to follow through on my threat.” She gives Enid a look that makes her knees go wobbly and sets her heart to racing. “It’ll just be when you least expect it.”

“Right.” Enid clears her throat and turns back around, resuming walking next to Wednesday and trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“Wednesday?”

“Yes?”

“What are we, anyway?” Enid asks as casually as she can, her heart pounding so hard it feels like it might pop out of her chest.

“I’m an Addams and you’re a werewolf.” Wednesday replies promptly, like the little shit Enid knows she truly is. 

Enid rolls her eyes.

“No, I mean, what are we relationship-wise? Since we haven’t started courting yet? Are we friends? Girlfriends? Something in between?”

Wednesday tilts her head in thought for a moment.

“I suppose that since we aren’t courting yet and cannot assume the titles associated with courtship, we would either be friends or girlfriends. Since I detest the idea of being relegated to merely ‘friends’, I suppose that becoming girlfriends will suffice.”

“Okay.” Enid tries not to smile as giddily as she feels, though she knows she doesn’t manage it when Wednesday gives her a faint smirk. “Alright, guess we’re girlfriends now.”

“I suppose we are. I would prefer the term ‘paramour’, but we unfortunately can’t use it, since my family already knows about my intentions towards you.”

“Yes, so unfortunate that we have to stick with ‘girlfriends’ rather than being secret and illicit lovers.” Enid laughs. “But, you do know what this means, right?”

“What?”

Enid holds out a hand, unfairly pleased when Wednesday immediately takes it in her own and tangles their fingers together.

If anyone else tried such a thing, they’d likely get their fingers chopped off.

It leaves Enid a little breathless.

“It means,” Enid says slowly, savoring the increasingly suspicious look on Wednesday’s face, “that we should start going on dates!”

Wednesday raises a single eyebrow.

“Dates?”

“Yeah; start doing coupley things, maybe? Only if you want to, of course, but I think it would be fun to go on dates and give each other gifts and hold hands and maybe even kiss sometimes? You know, girlfriend stuff.”

“I’m reserving my first kiss with you for a very special occasion.” Wednesday says.

Enid blushes at the fact that Wednesday’s been planning their first kiss, and that she intends to make it a very special one. The few people Enid’s ever dated (before figuring out that she’s gay, of course) never even tried to plan something romantic, let alone a special first kiss.

But then she starts deflating, realizing that she’s an absolute idiot for wanting to go on dates and things like that when the last person Wednesday did anything approaching that with was freaking Tyler .

Enid prepares herself for the rejection she’s sure is coming, but then Wednesday continues.

“However, I would not be adverse to engaging in the other activities you described. When would you like to go on our first date?”

Enid grins, lighting up.

She turns and pulls Wednesday by the hand.

“Right now, of course!” She glances over her shoulder and gives Wednesday a sunny smile. “No time like the present, right?”

“I suppose.” Wednesday says, but her eyes are crinkling the way they do when she almost smiles, and her hand tightens around Enid’s.

Enid’s smile widens before she faces forward again, not wanting to trip over something.

Time for their first date, and Enid knows exactly what it will be.

Wednesday isn’t the only one who’s been planning things out, after all. 

(One week and five days since the Blood Moon - Two weeks and two days to the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

- Non c'è niente che non farei per te, ma sfrutta di nuovo la mia debolezza per te in questo modo e potresti non essere pronto per le conseguenze. - “There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, but exploit my weakness for you again like this and you may not be ready for the consequences.” (Italian)

- Αν θέλεις να με κολακέψεις, θέλω να το κάνεις στα αγγλικά, γιατί θέλω να σου πω και γλυκά πράγματα, όμορφα πράγματα, όλα αυτά που σε σκεφτόμουν κατ' ιδίαν που επιτέλους μπορώ να σου πω τώρα. - “If you want to flatter me, I want you to do it in English, because I also want to tell you sweet things, beautiful things, all the things that I was thinking about you in private that I can finally tell you now.” (Greek)

- Ναι και? - “Yes and?” (Greek)

- Usalo di nuovo e perderò il controllo. Nonostante i miei piani per il nostro potenziale corteggiamento, nonostante il fatto che potresti non essere mio come lo sono io tua, ti bacerò fino a quando il tuo respiro non sarà rubato, fino a quando i tuoi polmoni non saranno pieni di nient'altro che il mio stesso respiro. - “Use it again and I'll lose control. Despite my plans for our potential courtship, despite the fact that you may not be mine as I am yours, I will kiss you until your breath is stolen, until your lungs are filled with nothing but my own breath.” (Italian)

- Ti bacerò finché entrambi non ci sentiremo come se stessimo morendo, e poi continuerò a baciarti comunque, perché mi fai sentire così meravigliosamente, orribilmente viva, e so che un tuo bacio sarebbe devastante nel modo più delizioso. Se ti rubo un bacio, non mi riprenderò mai. E la parte peggiore è: mi divertirò. - “I'll kiss you until we both feel like we're dying, and then I'll keep kissing you anyway, because you make me feel so wonderfully, horribly alive, and I know a kiss from you would be devastating in the most delicious way. If I steal a kiss from you, I'll never recover. And the worst part is: I will enjoy it.” (Italian)

- Πολυαγαπημένος. - “Darling.” (Greek)

Chapter Text

“The wise man does at once what the fool does finally.”
- Machiavelli

Enid continues to tug Wednesday down the hall, hand wrapped tightly around hers, the excitement radiating from her so intense it would make Wednesday feel slightly nauseous if it were anyone else.

Actually, if this were anyone else, she would’ve ripped off their fingers and shoved the presumptuous digits down the offender’s throat by now.

But since it’s Enid, she allows (loves) it.

Her face softens each time Enid looks back just to smile at her.

Honestly, the effect Enid has on her would normally be very discomfiting, but since it’s Enid, she can’t bring herself to mind.

Enid is proving to be the only exception to nearly all of Wednesday’s well-established rules.

Enid takes them up to their rooms and pulls her into Enid’s.

For a moment, Wednesday thinks Enid’s going to suggest a movie marathon or something akin to that, considering her nest of blankets, stash of junk food, television, and her large collection of movies that would no doubt be torturous for Wednesday to watch.

Something like dread starts to rise up in her.

Despite the fact that she only agreed to Tyler’s date in order to keep what she thought was one of the advantageous and easily exploitable people around her still in her grasp (and out of what she can now admit was loneliness after Enid moved out of their room), the idea of repeating the experience with Enid is…unpleasant, in a way she doesn’t enjoy.

It almost feels like engaging in such an activity would be soiling Enid in some way, tainting their first date with the memory of that idiotic Hyde.

She doesn’t say as much to Enid, not wanting to ruin her plans, but then it turns out she never had to.

All Enid does is grab one of her blankets, her least fluffy one of a rather large size, a bearable red just a few shades shy of being the color of blood, closer to a crimson than anything else, before tugging Wednesday back out into the hallway and then straight into Wednesday’s room.

“Alright, just wait here; I’m going to go get everything set up and then I’ll come back and get you. It shouldn’t take more than twenty or thirty minutes. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. I’ll find something to amuse myself with until you come back.”

Enid grins at her and whirls her way back into the hallway.

With one last “Bye!” thrown over shoulder, Enid closes the door, and Wednesday can hear her skipping down the hallway until she’s out of earshot.

With a huff of amusement, Wednesday sits down at her desk and opens one of the drawers, pulling out her notebook in order to pass the time.

Wednesday waits in her room as Enid requested, taking notes in the notebook she’s set aside for the mystery of the blood moon, her vision, and A. Vidal, as well as her theories on all of it. 

She’s about ready to set up a corkboard to start connecting it all together, but that she’ll have to keep in one of the secret rooms she hasn’t yet shown Enid in order to avoid Enid seeing it. 

She doesn’t want to worry her girlfriend anymore than she already is about the whole mystery.

Odd how thinking the word ‘girlfriend’ makes something in Wednesday’s chest warm, the same way it does when Enid smiles.

Roughly thirty minutes after she left, Enid returns.

“Okay!” Enid nearly sings as she bursts into Wednesday’s room, grinning like a lunatic. 

The look is terribly endearing on her.

“It’s ready!”

“Oh, is it?” Wednesday asks, putting her notebook away in the desk drawer she’s reserved for it, hiding her amusement at Enid’s antics.

“Yep! So come on!” Enid holds her hand out.

Wednesday appreciates that, even now, she either waits for Wednesday to initiate physical contact or invites it without making Wednesday feel pressured to accept it.

Wednesday takes Enid’s hand, lacing their fingers together and almost smiling at the small blush that lights up Enid’s face.

Wednesday’s positive that Enid doesn’t realize she blushes every time Wednesday holds her hand, and that’s why she takes the opportunity to do so more and more with each passing day.

The blush of Enid’s cheeks and the crystal-blue of her eyes are the only two non-black, gray, white, or blood-red colors that Wednesday can abide. 

In fact, she’s becoming sickeningly fond of them.

What a remarkable parasite Enid’s turned out to be.

In the heart of the cemetery, right next to the open grave still filled with the flowers Wednesday buried Enid in, a blanket is spread out on the ground.

The blanket is held down with rocks at each corner, and all around it are lit candles in open glass containers, close enough to the blanket to set the mood but far away enough to not be a fire hazard.

Unfortunate, but understandable.

In the center of the blanket is a black woven basket that Wednesday recognizes as being one of Grandmama’s for when she’s collecting herbs in the forest, surrounded by two plates with matching cutlery, as well as glasses and neatly-folded cloth napkins.

“Our first date is going to be a picnic?” Wednesday asks blankly, trying to keep her heart under her normal iron-tight control and force it to remain at the same pace. 

It still dares to stutter once or twice.

Traitor.

“A cemetery picnic.” Enid says cheerfully. “I figured that since your first overture of courtship was you burying me alive in flowers, we should have our first date in the same place. And since it’s your favorite weather right now- overcast with dark gray clouds before a nighttime thunderstorm- I thought it would be nice to do something outdoors! Plus, I’ve always loved picnics, and Grandmama helped me make all your favorites.”

Wednesday can’t respond right away.

Her mind is awhirl with snatches of adoring Italian and French poetry and Latin declarations of love.

The mess of her thoughts is nothing like the usual methodical precision she orders them in, and she has no idea what to do with it.

The longer she goes without talking, the more Enid’s shoulders start to slump, her smile starts to get smaller, and the light in her eyes slowly starts to go out.

Wednesday can’t tolerate such a display.

She does her best to pull herself together, narrowly avoids clearing her throat, and says as evenly as possible; “So what will we be eating then?”

Enid lights up and immediately starts babbling about the food, opening up the basket and pulling out Wednesday’s favorite lunch foods.

Wednesday doesn’t hear a word she says though, half her brain occupied by trying to put her thoughts in order, the other half simply listening to the sound of Enid’s voice.

“ La tua voce è più seducente e dolorosa di quanto quella di una sirena possa mai sperare di essere. Annegherei volentieri se l'ultima cosa che ho sentito fosse la tua voce. ” She says idly.

Ridiculous.

She’s truly become ridiculous.

But that still doesn’t stop a small smile from forming on her face, especially when Enid turns to her in exasperation.

“Really?”

Wednesday raises an eyebrow at her in response. 

Enid’s sigh turns into a breathy chuckle. 

“ Μια μέρα, επιτέλους θα καταλάβω τι σημαίνουν τα λόγια σου. ” She says.

Wednesday’s heart is beating faster, her blood rushing through her veins. She opens her mouth to retaliate, determined to win this bout, but then Enid continues.

“ Μια μέρα θα καταλάβετε τα δικά μου, και θα μπορέσω να σας βρέξω με γλυκό τίποτα που μόνο εμείς μπορούμε να καταλάβουμε. ”

The soft longing in her tone keeps the Italian lodged in Wednesday’s throat. All she can do is stare down at Enid’s blond hair, the dreary gray light not lessening the glow of gold in her strands in the slightest.

Enid looks up at Wednesday with so much affection that it takes Wednesday’s breath away.

“ Δεν μπορώ να περιμένω για εκείνη την ημέρα περισσότερο από σχεδόν οποιαδήποτε άλλη. ”

Oh, how addicting love is, when it makes Wednesday feel like she’s on the verge of dying each and every day.

Her “date” with Tyler was annoying at best and torturous at worst (and not in the good way like she let him think).

Her first date with Enid is already looking to be more torturously romantic than anything anyone else who’s tried to woo her (and there’s been an annoyingly high number over the years) could ever hope to achieve.

She settles herself down next to Enid on the blanket, calmness settling over her like a blanket, a warmth she’s becoming more accustomed to as she spends more time with Enid turning to a blaze in her heart when she sees that Enid’s loaded up Wednesday’s plate first before starting on her own.

"So," Enid says as they start eating, "out of curiosity, what is the whole courtship thing anyway? Like what happens? How long does it take?"

"Well, as you know, the official courtship begins with the presentation of the black rose. If the rose is accepted, the courtship begins. As tradition dictates, since I'm the one who presented the rose, I'll be referred to as the courter or the suitor in terms of our courtship, and you'll be referred to as either the intended or the beloved."

Enid immediately starts blushing a light pink. Wednesday hides a small smirk behind a bite of her food and swallows before continuing.

"Typically, after the courtship is accepted, it's customary for the families of both parties to sit down together and make a contract outlining the details of the courtship- whether chaperones are needed, if there's a limit to how long or often the lovers can see each other, and so on- as well as what exactly will happen if and when the courtship is over and the two become engaged or married, such as who will join which family. Although each family is often happily overzealous in fighting to make sure their own child's wishes take precedence in the courtship's proceedings, the courter and intended themselves are also part of the negotiations, and their opinions are considered priority above all else. They're often given the final say in allowing or vetoing certain rules. However, another long-standing tradition in the Addams family is for the pair to allow rules they don't like to be added to the contract in order to find creative ways to circumvent those rules later on."

"Both our families have to be involved?" Enid asks, deflating. 

Wednesday frowns slightly in concern even as her heart spits in anger.

She really must have a sit-down talk with Esther one of these days, preferably alone. She needs to get to know her future mother-in-law, after all.

Setting aside thoughts of future in-law matricide, Wednesday reaches over and squeezes Enid's hand.

"In the event one of the parties has no family willing or able to negotiate, surrogates in the form of friends or members of the other family will step in on their behalf. No matter what, Enid, you'll always have someone on your side in our family."

Enid looks down with a nod, not quite in time to hide her glassy eyes.

Wednesday waits patiently until Enid looks back.

"Okay." She nods. "What happens next?"

Wednesday lets go of Enid's hand so they can both resume eating.

"The next step is the presentation of the gifts. Outside of their order and symbolic representation, this is the most flexible and ambiguous part of the courtship. Both the courter and the intended are expected to present three gifts to one another, a process that can take as little as days if both parties were already well-equipped before entering their courtship to as long as years if they wish it. Depending on when or if we decide to get engaged and subsequently married-"

"When." Enid interjects.

Wednesday's lip twitches in amusement.

"Assuming everything goes as planned, when we decide to get engaged can happen at any point we choose. For example, if we decided to wait until after graduating college, we could use the years between now and then to pick out our gifts and present them to the other over the course of that time."

"So what are the gifts then? I'm assuming they're something specific?"

"Yes and no. The gifts could technically be anything, but each comes with an attached meaning that changes between the courter and the intended. For the courter, the first gift is something meant to prove their devotion to and ability to take care of their intended for the rest of their lives. The second gift is to show they know their intended well. The final gift is to prove that they can protect their intended, though this can range from everything to a demonstration of their fighting capabilities to weapons of some sort to a protective amulet. 

"For the intended, their first gift to the courter is something to prove both their devotion to and ability to keep life interest of the courter for the rest of their lives together. The second and third are the same as the courter's; the second to prove they know their lover well, the third to show they can protect the courter just as the courter can protect them."

"Hm, I'm not sure what kinds of gifts would be appropriate for me to give you, since this is all so new to me."

"I could give you examples, but the gifts really could be anything you can imagine. If you want advice, you can always ask my mother. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to help you. Just don't ask my father. Whenever he talks about courting my mother, it's both with a disgustingly over-dramatized lovesickness and constant complaining that he couldn't complete his original idea for his second gift to her as quickly as he wanted, so he had to wait until later to present it to her as a wedding gift instead."

"What was it?" Enid asks, head cocking curiously.

"He built a mausoleum in her honor and had the bodies of some of her favorite and most highly-regarded ancestors shipped here from Europe so she could visit them anytime. All with her family's blessing of course."

"Of course." Enid's slightly blanched, and Wednesday barely holds down a chuckle. Some part of her hopes that Enid never stops being so squeamish.

"Well, then what happens? With the courtship, after all the gifts and everything?"

"The final step of the courtship is for the intended to present the courter with a rose. If they present a black or white rose, it means they've accepted the courter's affections and the two will be considered engaged. If they present a thornless red rose, it means they reject and spurn the courter completely."

Enid hums before smirking at Wednesday.

"Well then, it's a good thing I know where to find plenty of black and white roses. Isn't it, αγαπημένο μου φεγγάρι?"

Wednesday glares at Enid, forcing a small blush down before it shows itself on her cheeks, but allows the Greek to slide so they can eat the rest of their meal in relative peace.

She'll get her revenge later.

Halfway through their impromptu picnic lunch, Enid’s prediction about the coming thunderstorm happening that night is proven wrong. 

They don’t even get the warning of a light sprinkle before a downpour rains down upon them, lightning crackling in the distance.

Enid immediately starts panicking, flitting from trying to save the food to the candles to the blanket. 

As she does, Wednesday calmly places their plates inside the wicker basket and closes it firmly, knowing her Grandmama likely already waterproofed it long ago to avoid unexpected rain ruining any herbs she’s collected for her various potions.

The candles are a lost cause, the blanket is soaked, and the two of them quickly become drenched as well.

Wednesday waits quietly until Enid’s attempts at rescuing the picnic finally die down.

She plops down onto the wet blanket, looking close to tears.

“I’m sorry Wednesday. I should’ve known it was going to rain; even before my shift I could always smell it in the air. I was just so distracted with the food and talking to you and having fun that I didn’t notice it. Now our first date is totally ruined.”

She wraps her arms around her legs and hides her face in her knees.

“I’m so sorry Wednesday.”

Wednesday suppresses the urge to smile fondly at Enid’s adorable nonsense ruthlessly.

She’s finally restored her inner balance and neatly-ordered mental process; she’s not going to let Enid catch her off guard again.

She settles down next to Enid and cautiously wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“The picnic might be ruined, Enid. But who said that means our date is ruined?”

Enid peeks at her doubtfully.

“What do you mean?”

Wednesday stands up, holding out her left hand for Enid.

When she takes it, Wednesday hoists her to her feet, drags her closer, puts Enid’s right hand on her shoulder, and wraps her own around Enid’s waist.

“What are you doing?” Enid asks, clearly alarmed and flustered at their closeness.

Wednesday barely avoids smirking.

“You know what my favorite thing to do during thunderstorms was when I was child? Besides holding up metal antennas in the hope of being struck by lightning?”

Enid blanches, but still only tilts her head curiously at Wednesday.

“What?”

Wednesday leans closer to her, adoring the way red lights up her cheeks and neck.

“Dancing.” She whispers.

Then, she pulls Enid into the beginnings of a sloppy and chaotic waltz.

Enid clearly isn’t familiar with the steps, but she’s a fast learner.

Enid steps on Wednesday’s feet a few times, which Wednesday always makes sure to return tenfold.

Even though Enid winces slightly each time it happens, she still giggles each time too, and she never lets go of Wednesday.

Soon, she’s following Wednesday’s lead with relative ease, grinning broadly as she does. 

So, Wednesday decides it’s time to take things up a notch. 

Without warning, Wednesday twirls Enid in a spin, nearly sending her stumbling over a rock, but it makes her burst out laughing, so Wednesday counts it as a win. 

The second time Wednesday throws her into a twirl, Enid’s more prepared. 

She does it nearly flawlessly and returns her hand to Wednesday’s shoulder as if magnets are pulling them together.

After a few more circles around the gravestones, Enid grows confident enough to start adding her own improvisational flair to their not-quite-a-waltz.

Each time they make a turn, she starts letting go of Wednesday’s shoulder and extending her arm into the air with all the grace of a ballerina, returning it to its proper place just before they’re about to make another turn.

After several more turns around the cemetery, Wednesday twirls her but pulls her back before Enid can complete the full circle, so that Enid’s back is completely pressed against Wednesday’s front, their interlocked arms trapping her there. 

Wednesday rests her chin on Enid’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth emanating from her through their closeness.

Wednesday feels Enid’s breath hitch.

She allows herself a small smirk.

Wednesday turns them in slow circles a few times in their embrace before she releases Enid and completes the twirl, putting them back in their first position.

“What was that?” Enid asks breathlessly, her face completely red. 

Considering what Wednesday knows of werewolf stamina, she knows it’s not because she’s winded from the dancing.

Satisfaction and something else she has trouble identifying rise up in Wednesday’s chest. 

She’s used to things like satisfaction and smugness, but many of the emotions Enid elicits are still mostly foreign to her, so she sometimes has trouble naming them.

If she had to take a guess, however, she would label this one as desire.

Not of the carnal variety; simply the desire to keep Enid blushing.

To Wednesday, Enid rain-soaked and smiling with red in her cheeks and a breathlessness to her voice is the most beautiful vision in the world.

“It was part of the dance, cuore mio. ” Wednesday replies.

Enid frowns.

She probably means it to look more intimidating than endearing, so Wednesday won’t enlighten her. (In large part because she loves to see her amato sole so adorably flustered).

“Alright, Italian lessons be damned, please tell me what that means.”

Enid gives Wednesday her pleading eyes.

If Enid only knew the effect those eyes have on me, I would never be able to deny her anything ever again.

“Later.” She promises. Then she gives Enid a small smile, one full of satisfaction and adoration. 

“For now, let’s keep dancing.”
And so they do.

Later, once they’ve exhausted themselves with dancing, they pick up the sodden blanket, store the candles in the wicker basket, and head back to the house.

Enid is skipping, grinning so widely her cheeks must hurt, holding the incredibly heavy wet blanket with ease.

The sight makes something in Wednesday sigh.

Soon. She promises herself. Hopefully .

After sending the wet blanket down the laundry chute and handing the basket off to Lurch, who only seems mildly perturbed at the amount of water they’re dripping onto the floor, they head upstairs by mutual agreement to get dry and warm again.

Much as Wednesday loves a good illness, colds are mildly annoying at most rather than wonderfully torturous, so she always does her best to avoid them.

Plus, she gets the feeling an Enid with a cold is a very cranky Enid, something else she’d rather avoid.

Once they’re dried off and in new clothes with only mildly damp hair to show for their spontaneous dance in the thunderstorm, they decide by mutual agreement to head to the music room.

Enid wants to try out a new cover of some song of hers, and Wednesday’s only too happy to watch her play.

The way Enid gets so lost in the music that she no longer notices the world around her, the way she plays with all her body and soul, the look of bone-deep contentment on her face with each movement of the bow over the strings- it’s absolutely enrapturing.

Before they leave though, Wednesday pulls Enid close and sends them into another brief waltz.

Enid bursts out laughing but goes along with it anyways.

“What are you doing?”

Wednesday doesn’t respond right away, instead sending Enid into another twirl, dancing them around in a few more circles, before abruptly dipping Enid.

Instead of pulling her back up after a few seconds, as is typical, Wednesday holds her there.

She leans down and murmurs in Enid’s ear; “ Cuore mio means ‘my heart’, creatura ammaliante , because that’s what you are to me.”

Unexpectedly, Enid goes from wide-eyed and speechless to sporting a deep frown.

She stands up and pulls herself out of Wednesday’s grip, backing away a few paces and crossing her arms to scowl at Wednesday.

“What’s wrong?” Wednesday asks. She’s never been great with emotions, her own or other people’s, but she was fairly certain she would receive a positive reaction from Enid.

She’s a bit perplexed by this unexpected response.

“What’s wrong? Are you serious, Wednesday?” Enid almost growls, looking seconds away from tearing her hair out in frustration. “What’s wrong is that you keep being so romantic and saying all these beautifully passionate things and telling me that I’m your heart and soul and everything!”

Wednesday’s even more confused now.

“And that’s a bad thing?” She asks cautiously, knowing she’s treading on unsteady and unfamiliar ground.

“No!” Enid throws her hands up to the ceiling in frustration. “It’s amazing! It’s the best thing ever, and I think my heart will burst every time you so much as look at me or speak Italian or do something like bury me in flowers, but it’s also the most infuriating thing in the world!”

“Why?”

“You are my chosen mate, Wednesday; I can feel it.” Enid curls one hand into a fist. 

She pounds that fist against her chest, right where her heart is.

“I know you’re my mate. I know you’re the one I want to be with. So why won’t you start courting me?”

“You know why, Enid.” 

“I know you think there’s a chance you might not be my mate, but I know there’s no chance that you aren’t. Why can’t you trust me?” 

Enid’s eyes start to look glassy, and Wednesday will not let Enid cry over something so silly.

“Enid, there’s no one I trust more than you. It’s myself that I don’t trust.”

Enid stops from where she’d been opening her mouth to make a retort, clearly thrown for a loop.

“Wait, what?”

Wednesday can’t meet her eyes anymore, choosing to turn her face to the side and study the portrait next to her.

“If we were to begin courting, if I allowed myself to fully have you as mine as I am yours, but we were to discover that you weren’t meant to be mine, I’m not sure I could let you go. I’ve told you before that Addams can be driven to madness by their love, but not all of them wither away and die if their love refuses them; sometimes- sometimes they choose to cage the person they love instead. I’ve always been selfish, self-serving, and uncaring of the emotions or well-being of those around me, especially if they interfered with my own self-interests.

“I cannot guarantee that, on the very slim chance that you choose not to be with me, that I will not eventually succumb to the desire to lock you away, to chain you where I can keep you, to steal your freedom from you forever if I fall for you any harder than I already have.”

Wednesday finally looks back to Enid, whose face is filled with shock but also a dawning understanding.

“As it stands now, I would rather die in the most boring and painless way imaginable before ever falling to such a state. Despite my threats, I would never wish harm or anguish upon you that you do not want, and I know there would be nothing more painful to a werewolf than to lose their freedom.”

“Please, Enid, allow me this. Allow me to know beyond a shadow of a doubt before I bind us together for eternity.”

Enid smiles slightly, stepping forward and taking Wednesday’s hand in her own.

“Alright. I won’t push anymore. We’ll wait until after the next full moon. But I reserve full rights to say ‘I told you so’ for the rest of our lives.”

Enid starts tugging her along again, a smile on her face.

Wednesday finds herself smiling too.

“Very well.” She pauses. “But only if you promise to do it in Greek.”

“Oh, η καρδιά μου ,” Enid glances at Wednesday over her shoulder with a devious smile; it’s unbearably attractive. “I can promise that I’ll be speaking Greek for you every day for the rest of our lives, πολυαγαπημένος. ”

A little over a week after their first date, with five more dates in the interim (a midnight monster hunt in the forest where Enid put her claws and Wednesday put her knife skills to good use; stargazing from the top of House’s tower and coming up with new stories for the constellations; Wednesday teaching Enid how to waltz and tango properly in the grand ballroom with Lurch and Thing helpfully playing the piano for them as they danced; spending an entire day in Enid’s room playing all sorts of card and board games, Morticia bringing them their meals and snacks at various times; a daytime swim in the cave pond where Wednesday taught Enid how to swim safely with the ashrays living in its waters), Wednesday can see the beginnings of anxiety showing themselves in Enid.

They have less than a week until the next full moon, and Enid’s climbing up the walls despite the entire family’s attempts to help assuage her worries.

It certainly doesn’t help that they still haven’t found the 13th book or any other information on A. Vidal, grimwolves, or blood moons relating to werewolf transformations, something that’s growing more and more frustrating for everyone, but especially Wednesday and Enid, as time goes on.

But Wednesday knows that one of Enid’s other greatest concerns is that she’ll be transforming alone, with no pack or other werewolves to guide her.

Her last Friday phone call with her father didn’t help, since he was apparently just as concerned as Enid, even offering to come to their home to shift with Enid and help her. 

Since this carried a heavy risk of Esther and Enid’s brothers also showing up, Enid declined, though she was reluctant to do so.

After Enid told Wednesday this, Wednesday made sure to use her own phone to give Murray a call and assure him that Enid wouldn't be alone during the full moon. The amount of gratitude he imbued into the few words of his response left an unpleasant itching sensation all over her skin.

Besides being unused to earning people’s gratitude, she just didn’t like it. She much preferred for the majority of people to dislike her. But since this was for Enid, and it was probably better for Enid’s father to like her anyways, she powered through her discomfort and let it slide.

After their call, Murray apparently called Enid again and reassured her that she would be alright during the full moon, though he didn’t spoil Wednesday’s surprise.

Truly, Murray is the only redeemable member of Enid’s family, if not her entire pack in general.

It helped Enid calm down slightly, but not for long.

Four days before the full moon, Enid is nearly always sporting claws, her hair is an untidy mess, and she hasn’t played her violin in days.

(Her violin has been rather grumpy about this, starting to appear in rooms at random that Enid’s taken to pacing in and whacking anyone else with its bow that gets too close to it).

Enid’s nearing her wit’s end.

So, Wednesday is very pleased that this is the moment her surprise arrives. 

(Or, at the very least, part of her surprise).

As they’re all eating dinner, Enid barely touching her food despite it being all her favorites- calmar volant japonais, thinly-sliced manticore tail with blackberry sauce, and a large steak so rare it’s basically bleeding on the plate, with a bowl of blueberries and raspberries on the side- the pounding of the knocker against the front door interrupts them.

“My.” Morticia says mildly, exchanging a mischievous look with Wednesday. “I wonder who that could be at this hour. Enid, Wednesday, accompany me to see who our mysterious guest is?”

Enid frowns slightly and glances at Wednesday in confusion.

Wednesday hides her anticipation and gives a subtle shrug to Enid as a response.

She and Enid stand from their chairs and follow Morticia as she gracefully leaves the dining room.

Enid plods along beside Wednesday, nothing like her usual perky prancing and skipping.

Wednesday’s surprised at how excited she is to see Enid gain that perkiness back. 

Almost the moment they arrive at the front doors, House nearly flings them open, clearly just as excited as the rest of them to see Enid happy and unanxious again.

On the other side are-

“Cousin Lovella! How dreadful to see you both!” Morticia says, ushering them inside with delight.

“Of course, we’re absolutely distraught to be visiting.” Lovella replies, exchanging cheek kisses with Morticia.

“And Wednesday! You’ve grown up so much since the last time we saw you!” She says, turning to Wednesday.

“You saw me last year, Lovella. I doubt I’ve grown that much.” 

“Not in that way, liebling .” She says, with a quick glance at Enid and a mischievous smile that’s all too reminiscent of Morticia’s.

Wednesday forces herself not to react, annoyed they’re making comments on her relationships when there’s much more important matters at hand.

“I’ll thank you to not make anymore comments on my ‘growth’, cousin, oder ich kann nicht für meine Handlungen zur Rechenschaft gezogen werden. ”

“I’d stop teasing her, Lovella; you know Wednesday always follows through on her threats.” A man’s voice comes from outside.

Lovella giggles and winks at Wednesday, but doesn’t reply beyond that.

She looks much the same as she did the last time Wednesday saw her; vibrant and curly red hair pinned up with porcupine quills and streaked with gray, her dress an amalgamation of different patches of fabric all layered on top of one another, with a fox fur wrap dangling around her neck to complete the ensemble.

Coming in behind her, several suitcases in hand, is her husband, Frankie.

He’s 6’2, nearly two feet taller than his wife, with scruffy blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. He has laugh lines, made all the more apparent by the wide grin he’s sporting, and subtle wings of wrinkles around his eyes that make his face look like it’s built for smiling.

What a horrible thought.

He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans, tall combat boots, and a leather jacket over a simple black t-shirt.

They couldn’t make for a more oddly-matched couple.

Wednesday glances at Enid out of the corner of her eye.

Perhaps that’s simply a trend in the Addams Clan.

“Morticia, you’re looking lovely as always.” Frankie says, giving her a wink as he sets down their bags and House closes the doors behind them. 

The moment he’s upright again, he pulls his wife closer to his side with an arm around her waist in a movement that looks well-practiced and almost subconscious. 

“Why thank you, Frankie. Charming as always.” Morticia says.

“Well, I certainly try.” 

“Yes, you certainly do.” Lovella says teasingly.

“Are you saying I’m not charming?” He asks, acting offended but unable to stop smiling.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She smiles back. His grin broadens and he leans down for a quick kiss.

Wednesday almost forgot that these two could be as bad as her parents. 

She hopes that isn’t a common trend amongst the Addams Clan as well.

Though, thinking back on it now, her language war with Enid and the sheer amount of hugs, hand-holding, and casual touches that have never come so naturally to her between them are probably their own particular brand of that same overbearing romantic sappiness.

Wednesday blanches.

In her quest to not become her mother, she’s beginning to suspect that she may have gone too far and become uncomfortably similar to her father.

She bottles this horrifying realization up to be dealt with at a later time, preferably alone and with something she can destroy with a hammer, both because the implications of it are just too ghastly to consider and because this is the moment Lovella and Frankie turn to look at Enid simultaneously.

“Ah, so is this the little wolf you mentioned, Morticia? She’s even more colorful than you described! How wonderfully awful.” Cousin Lovella steps forward and clasps Enid’s hands in her own with a wide smile. “I’m Lovella Addams, but feel free to call me Lovella. It’s a pleasure to meet you, liebling .”

“You too.” Enid says distractedly. Her brow is furrowed as she stares at Frankie, sniffing the air around him.

Wednesday ruthlessly suppresses the smile fighting to escape.

“Yeah, it’s real good to meet you, kiddo. My name’s Frankie.” Frankie steps forward and shakes her hand, grinning even wider when Enid blinks in confusion.

“I’m sorry, are you a-”

“Werewolf? Sure am. That’s why Lovella and I are here.”

“That’s why you’re-” Enid gasps and whirls to face Wednesday, who’s slowly losing the battle with that treacherous smile.

“Wednesday- no way- you didn’t!” Enid says, but even as she does a delighted smile is slowly blooming on her face. 

Wednesday’s heart aches at the sight. Only two days have passed since she last saw it, but it was two days too many.

“You’re right. I didn’t.” Wednesday says, almost on the verge of seceding to the smile just from seeing the way Enid’s lighting up. “I simply suggested to my mother that it might be sensible to have a few other werewolves around during this full moon, so she invited the Clan’s pack.”

“A few- pack- you mean there’s more coming?”

“There should be two arriving within the next few days, assuming they don’t make the mistake of not showing up, in which case I’ll hunt them down and drag them here myself.”

Wednesday’s barely finished her sentence before Enid’s crashing into her, nearly knocking Wednesday off her feet with the force of her hug.

Wednesday finally gives in and lets a very small smile force its way onto her face.

She wraps her arms around Enid, squeezing her tightly when she feels the stuttered breathing that means Enid’s holding back tears.

“Thank you, Wednesday. Thank you so so much.” Enid whispers into her hair, so what else can Wednesday do but pull her in closer?

“Oh my darkness, is that actually Wednesday?” Cousin Lovella asks, only half-teasing from her tone. “I never thought I’d see the day she’d let someone outside of her family hug her, let alone actually hug someone back. And is that an actual smile I see?”

Enid freezes and starts to pull away, but Wednesday only tightens her grip and pulls her in closer until Enid relaxes back into the hug.

Wednesday glares at Cousin Lovella over Enid’s shoulder.

“ Bring Enid wieder in Verlegenheit und ich verfüttere deine kostbaren Stachelschweine an meine Piranha ." Wednesday hisses.

“Oh,” Cousin Lovella looks appropriately regretful, “I’m sorry, liebling . I didn’t mean to cause any discomfort. I’m just not used to seeing you look so comfortable with- well, with anyone. ”

“Enid’s certainly had quite the effect on our little child of woe.” Morticia smiles.

Enid squeezes Wednesday one last time and then pulls back from their hug, smile as bright as the sun and eyes only a little red.

Thank you. She mouths to Wednesday, who gives the slightest nod in response.

Enid somehow smiles even more brightly before turning back to face the others, her shoulder brushing gently against Wednesday’s. 

“So, wait, you guys seriously came here just to help me through my second shift?”

“Sure did. Though I’ll be doing a little more of the helping than my lovely Lovella here.” He winks with a smile, making Enid actually giggle, a sound Wednesday hasn’t heard for at least three days, if not more.

Hearing it again makes something like giddy laughter rise up in Wednesday’s throat, though she knows it’s not laughter, because laughter knows that if it ever tried to squirm its way into her chest cavity and wrap around her vocal cords, it would die a cold, brutal, and isolated death. 

The inescapable claws of love have torn their way into her and grown unmovable roots, happiness and affection have built a fire in the cold recesses of her heart and each day fan it into a larger flame, blaze, inferno, but laughter knows well to keep its distance from her.

At least, it used to.

But laughter, as it turns out, is conniving and clever.

It found a safer way to get unbearably close to her.

It found her in the form of one Enid Sinclair.

“And two other members of your pack are really going to come help with my shift?” Enid asks excitedly.

Frankie blinks before chuckling.

“Well, the three of us are the entire werewolf pack of the Addams Clan, but yeah, we’re all coming to help out. Can’t let a sweetheart like you go through her second shift alone, can we?”

Enid’s mouth drops open.

“Wait, what? The entire pack is coming? Just to help me?”

“Of course! Morticia asked us to, and we Addamses take care of our own.”

“But how can there only be three werewolves in the entire Clan? The Addams Clan is huge!” Enid deflates, her smile dimming.

“Do a lot of people get kicked out of the pack?”

Frankie’s eyes flash yellow and his fangs show themselves for a brief moment.

“No one gets kicked out of this pack, not ever!” He almost growls.

Lovella places a hand on his elbow, immediately settling him down.

He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm anyone. We know that some packs kick out werewolves for breaking whatever rules or laws they have, but the Addams pack isn’t one of them. We always take care of our own, no matter what. As for why we only have four members, I guess that was a bit inaccurate; we’re the North American branch of the Addams Clan pack, but worldwide we have a few hundred members.”

“Holy shit.” Enid says in awe. “You must be one of the biggest packs in the world! Right up there with the Banewalker Pack.”

Frankie laughs again.

“Kid, we are the Banewalker Pack. Even though everyone in the pack is part of the Clan, most of us don’t share the same surnames and obviously aren’t all in the same place. So it was decided 150 years ago that we’d go by the Banewalkers.”

Enid is nearly vibrating in place with excitement.

“You guys are really the Banewalkers? Really?”

“What are the Banewalkers?” Wednesday asks, eyebrow raised.

Enid turns to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

“How do you not know? They’re the largest wolf pack in the world! They’re one of only three packs that span more than one country, and they’re the only pack that have footholds in every continent on the planet, even freaking Antarctica!”

“Fascinating.” Wednesday deadpans, but her chest is blazing at the return of Enid’s characteristic dramatic giddiness. 

“I know right?” Enid starts hopping up and down, using Wednesday’s shoulders for leverage. “And I’m actually meeting one of them!”

“You’ll actually be meeting three of them.” Wednesday reminds her.

Enid stops hopping and pulls Wednesday into a tight yet brief hug, pulling back to grin at Wednesday.

“This is the best. Thing. Ever!”

Wednesday hums in neither agreement or disagreement, but she does make sure to brush their shoulders together when Enid turns back to the others, not wanting to relinquish contact with Enid yet.

“I’m glad you think so.” Frankie laughs, clearly amused at the display.

“But, wait,” Enid frowns slightly in confusion. “Why are there only three werewolves in the North American branch then? I would’ve thought there’d be more considering how many Addamses there are in the U.S.”

Lovella waves a nonchalant hand.

“Just circumstance. Well, circumstance and an unfortunate run-in with werewolf hunters around thirty years ago. But, we are hoping to add a fourth member to the pack soon.” Lovella shoots a knowing and pointed look at where their shoulders are brushing.

Enid starts blushing and stammering about the delayed state of their courtship, but before she can get too far (that’s their business after all), Wednesday takes Enid’s hand, raises it to her face, kisses her knuckles (making Enid squeak), and lowers their hands only to tangle their fingers together.

Wednesday raises an eyebrow at Frankie and Lovella, who are staring at them slack-jawed.

Frankie bursts out laughing, deep-bellied guffaws that are both at odds with and complemented by Lovella’s tinkling laughter.

Morticia gives her a fondly amused look that Wednesday resolutely ignores.

“Man, kid, I forgot how much of a riot you can be.” Frankie says, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You’ll refrain from calling me ‘kid’ in future, Frankie. Also, I have not induced any riots recently, though I did cause mass hysteria and panic at a large gathering by destroying the statue of an insane and bigoted town-founder with the use of liberal amounts of gasoline and a match not long ago.”

Enid sighs.

“Should’ve known that was you.” She says mournfully, though Wednesday can detect an undercurrent of fondness in her tone. “And I worked so hard on that dance number too.”

“Well, you’ll be able to do plenty of dancing at the All Hallows Eve Ball, I’m sure.” Lovella says.

“What’s the All Hallows Eve Ball?” Enid asks.

“Every year, we hold a ball during All Hallows Eve, as it’s the best day for the dead to join the living. Although we hold similar celebrations throughout the year to recognize important holidays, as well as family marriages and funerals, the All Hallows Eve Ball is considered to be one of the most important, so many of the Addams Clan will be there, from all over the world.”

“Wow, that sounds incredible.” Enid says wistfully. “It’ll be in the ballroom, right?” 

“Of course.” Morticia says. “Here, why don’t you and I go back to the dining room and I’ll tell you all about it. Wednesday, would you show Lovella and Frankie to their room?”

Wednesday nods.

Frankie takes a deep sniff and sighs. 

“Oh man, is that Grandmama’s flying squid I smell?”

“It certainly is.” Morticia says with a smile. “Would you like to join Enid and I while Wednesday shows Lovella to your room? Lurch can assist in carrying the luggage.”

Lurch groans in agreement from where he’s been looming behind them in the shadows.

“Lovella?” Frankie asks, giving her pleading eyes that are all-too-similar to Enid’s despite being brown instead of blue. 

Must all werewolves use puppy-dog eyes when they want something?

“Go on, dear.” Lovella smiles. “We’ll join you all soon.”

Enid lets go of Wednesday’s hand, hesitates, and then dives down to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Thanks again, Wednesday.” She says, before scurrying away to join Morticia and Frankie as they head back to the dining room.

Wednesday can’t move for a moment, her entire mind focused on the spot of heat burning on her cheek.

Luckily, Lovella doesn’t seem to notice Wednesday’s inattention, probably because she’s distracted with something else.

When Wednesday’s able to drag her attention back to the world around her, Lovella’s frowning and digging around in a deep, brown leather bag.

“What is it?” Wednesday asks.

“Well, it’s something Frankie and I found in our library just before we left. We heard from Morticia that you were looking for anything written by A. Vidal and- AHA!” 

Lovella pulls a small, weathered gray journal from her bag.

She holds it out to Wednesday triumphantly.

“That’s written by A. Vidal?” Wednesday asks, hand already reaching out for it, eager to start poring over every word for any further clues as to the location of the missing 13th book, grimwolves, or blood moons.

“ Ja , and we’re certain because Frankie knows how to read Italian and it comes from the same time period Morticia described. It should be at least part of what you’re looking for.”

“Yes, it better be.”

Wednesday takes the journal from Lovella.

The moment Wednesday touches the book, her head is thrown back, her back arches, and her vision whites out as the feeling of electricity engulfs it.

When she’s able to see again, she finds herself in a dank, miserable little prison. 

The prison is pitiful, with only three tiny cells, but since only one of them is occupied, Wednesday guesses whoever owns it doesn’t need much more than that. 

In the cell placed farthest from the door, a woman sits with her head bowed, long black hair spilling on the floor around her. She’s in the farthest corner of her cell, back pressed against the stone walls, hands folded in her lap.

“Cressida?” Wednesday asks, approaching the cell. “Tell me about A. Vidal and the grimwolves. We’re running out of time and I need answers now . So tell me what you know-”

“Cressida!” Wednesday whirls around at the sound of a new voice, quickly pressing herself back against the wall when a woman with bedraggled blonde hair bound up in messy braids comes storming past her, falling to her knees outside the cell. 

“Griselda?” Cressida asks, looking up in shock.

Wednesday’s shocked too, mouth nearly falling open. 

The woman in the cell, Cressida, isn’t the same woman she saw in her previous vision.

Even taking into account that this version of Cressida would be older than the girl she saw before, there’s no denying that Cressida is someone else entirely.

Her eyes are dark brown, nearly black rather than a yellowish-hazel, her features are sharper and more angular, her eyebrows thinner, her skin nearly as pale as Wednesday’s with no underlying olive tone to offset the appearance of a corpse, amongst a myriad of other small details that make it undeniable that this is a different person.

But, if Cressida isn’t the one who appeared to her last time while holding Griselda’s violin…

Who did?

(Three weeks and three days since the Blood Moon - Four days until the Second Full Moon)

Translations:

La tua voce è più seducente e dolorosa di quanto quella di una sirena possa mai sperare di essere. Annegherei volentieri se l'ultima cosa che ho sentito fosse la tua voce. - “Your voice is more seductive and painful than a siren's could ever hope to be. I would gladly drown if the last thing I heard was your voice.” (Italian)

Μια μέρα, επιτέλους θα καταλάβω τι σημαίνουν τα λόγια σου. - “One day, I will finally understand what your words mean.” (Greek)

Μια μέρα θα καταλάβετε τα δικά μου, και θα μπορέσω να σας βρέξω με γλυκό τίποτα που μόνο εμείς μπορούμε να καταλάβουμε. - “One day you will understand mine, and I will be able to shower you with sweet nothings that only we can understand.” (Greek)

Δεν μπορώ να περιμένω για εκείνη την ημέρα περισσότερο από σχεδόν οποιαδήποτε άλλη. - “I can't wait for that day more than almost any other.” (Greek)

Aγαπημένο μου φεγγάρι - "My beloved moon" (Greek)

Cuore mio - “My heart” (Italian)

Amato sole - “Beloved sun” (Italian)

Creatura ammaliante - “Bewitching creature” (Italian)

H καρδιά μου - “My heart” (Greek)

Πολυαγαπημένος - “Beloved/Darling” (Greek)

Calmar volant japonais - “Japanese flying squid” (French)

Liebling - “Darling” (German)

Oder ich kann nicht für meine Handlungen zur Rechenschaft gezogen werden. - “Or I cannot be held accountable for my actions.” (German)

Bring Enid wieder in Verlegenheit und ich verfüttere deine kostbaren Stachelschweine an meinen Piranha. - “Embarrass Enid again and I'll feed your precious porcupines to my piranha.” (German)

Ja - “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Hello everyone!

I’m sorry if you were expecting the next chapter, I just wanted to update you guys on a few developments that might affect my writing and updating schedule.

Over the next month, I’m going to be packing and getting ready to move. I plan to be out of the house I’m currently living in by January 15th and have only just started being able to pack and load up furniture.

After leaving, I’ll be spending an estimated 5-6 days driving across the country to get to the new house, and once I’m there, I’ll probably need 2-3 days to unload, unpack, and get everything set-up/organized.

Long story short, I have no idea when I’ll be able to upload the next chapter. 

Optimistically, I'll be able to upload at least one or two chapters before I leave for my grand road trip.

Unfortunately, the packing has already been severely cutting into my writing time. 

(I definitely typically spend longer than an hour a day on writing, whether it’s on my laptop or in my notebooks. I’m sorry Wednesday, my beloved; I’ll try to do better in future ;; ).

With this move and the amount of time it’s going to consume, there’s a chance I might not be able to update this story for close to another month.

I want to do everything I can to keep giving you guys content, because all of you have been absolutely amazing. 

Not only have you tremendously boosted my confidence in my own writing skills, but you've also been so kind in helping me correct all the non-English translations, teaching me a little bit about coding, and making me absolutely beautiful fanart. You guys definitely deserve more content as soon as possible, since you all seem to enjoy my writing for some strange, unfathomable reason.

I have a few ideas about what can be done in the meantime if I’m unable to find enough time to finish the next chapter, and I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

First: I can just try to focus on the next chapter and hopefully finish it before I leave, though I will say that the next one is going to be exceptionally long and will take a lot of time to write. I’ve only gotten a few pages into it so far in between all the packing, when typically I'd be almost done with it by now.

Second: I might just concentrate on updating previous chapters to include hover-text. It’s a bit tedious to code, but it’s at least simple now that I’ve gotten the hang of it so it probably wouldn’t take up too much of my time. That way, I'd be all caught up and able to add it in with each new chapter I upload in future.

(If anyone who speaks/reads Italian, Greek, French, Spanish, German, or Latin is willing to go back and look over the translations from chapter 5 onwards and let me know if there’s any errors before I update them, I would greatly appreciate it. :) And if anyone would also be willing to look over the first four chapter translations, I'd be super thankful. (Though I’m definitely not touching those until I’m set up in my new house, since it’ll take longer to fix those than to update the not-yet-coded chapters)).

Third: I had the idea that I could start a series of short one-offs based on prompts you guys send in during this month. They wouldn’t take too long for me to write, so if you guys want to see more Wednesday/Enid content from me while waiting for the next chapter of this fic, let me know and feel free to leave prompts for me in the comments below. (Honestly, this is my favorite of the three options, but only if you guys are interested and are able to send me prompts. Don't worry too much about it otherwise). 

I plan to do plenty of writing during the road trip (thank everything I’m not one of the drivers), so hopefully that means I’ll be able to upload several chapters of this fic all at once after I’m officially moved in, but until then I don’t want to leave you guys without anything to look forward to or look back on.

Again, sorry for any disappointment over this not being a chapter, and I’m sorry for any disappointment that I might not be able to upload again until close to the end of January.

Thank you all for being such amazing people!

You guys are truly an absolute pleasure to hear from and interact with, and I’m so grateful to have you as my readers.

Again, let me know what you think in the comments about the options I proposed, and let me know if you think of any others. 

Love you guys, and I hope you all have/had a good new year.

Here’s hoping 2023 is a good year for everyone! :)

Chapter Text

“The gleaming stars all about the shining moon
Hide their bright faces, when full-orbed and splendid
In the sky she floats, flooding the shadowed earth
with clear silver light.”
- Sappho

“My treasure, what are you doing here?” Cressida asks.

“I had to see you, at least one last time before- before-” Griselda reaches for her, but Cressida quickly shakes her head and stops her.

“Don’t touch the bars! They’re made of iron to suppress my powers, but they’re also lined with silver to prevent any werewolves from breaking me out. Even though they don’t know what you are, they know I’ve been consorting with your kind. You need to get out of here before they catch you!”

“You need not fear, the guards did not see me come in.”

Ignoring Cressida’s warning, Griselda grips the iron bars and starts trying to pry them apart, only groaning once at the pain as her flesh starts to sizzle and burn against the silver.

Minutes later, Griselda slips away from the bars in defeat, breathing heavily with sweat dotting her brow.

The iron hasn’t moved an inch.

“Please, my love-” Cressida says, reaching out for Griselda through the bars. “I’m begging you for one final favor. Please, find it in yourself to die before tomorrow. We’ll die together either way, but at least in this we will be together in the Great Beyond. Don’t make me wait all alone in the blessed land of the dead, do not ask that of me.”

“That’s not why you ask this of me.” Griselda growls, her flesh sizzling as she grips the bars once again, even harder than before. “You want to spare the lives of those who will kill you, those who sat idly by as you were sentenced, those who will watch your death for entertainment . I cannot let this go unpunished, Cressida. I will avenge your death; I will punish them all .”

Cressida lunges forward, gripping Griselda’s collar desperately.

“I beg of you, my beloved, do not seek vengeance for me. If you do, it’s not only the guilty who will suffer. What of the village children? What of Venturo and his family, who fought so hard to prevent this from happening? Would you really betray our closest friends?”

Griselda doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Why should I care about them? The children will only grow up to be the same as their parents, condemning anyone to death simply for being different, and Venturo and Philippa, hard as they tried, were still unable to save you from this. They broke their promise to us. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just as guilty as those who have condemned you.”

“Then what of our family?” Cressida pleads. “What about-” She freezes and looks around the prison fearfully, as if suddenly afraid that someone might be listening. 

She finishes in a whisper. “What about my little sister?”

This actually does give Griselda pause.

It makes Wednesday pause too.

She frowns in confusion.

Wednesday didn’t know Cressida had a sister; they certainly found no record of her even in the most obscure accounts they could find on Cressida. 

So who was she? 

Whoever she was, it would make sense why her name was erased from any records, why she didn’t seem to exist. She likely ran from this village to escape further punishment after Cressida was drowned and Griselda was ripped apart by an angry crowd, erasing herself from history to avoid anyone finding her, just like Orribilea likely ran away to France before Cressida’s drowning in order to avoid a similar fate.

Wednesday applauds Cressida’s sister's loyalty, but is somewhat disgusted by Orribilea, who abandoned her family when they needed her most.

A creeping suspicion starts to take root in Wednesday’s mind, but before she can examine it further, Griselda interrupts her thoughts with a snarl.

“She’s smarter than that, Cressida. She knows better than to be here after you die. I’ll make sure that she leaves on the fastest horse in the village tonight. She’ll be gone and safe from the consequences of my vengeance long before your execution.”

“But you can’t know that for certain-”

“Of course I can! She will be safe, and I refuse to let this go. I will avenge you, no matter the blood I must spill or the amount of lives I must take, but I will ensure her safety above all else. I promise you.”

“You’re letting your anger cloud your judgment.”

“And so what if I am?” She shouts. “The two of you are everything to me, and now they’re taking you both away. Whether you die or I die first, we will both perish, and your little sister will be left all alone. I must get revenge, not just for me, but for the both of you as well.” 

With one last kiss to Cressida’s knuckles, Griselda stands up and storms out of the prison.

Her eyes are hollow, their flashing gold nothing but cold fury, steely determination, and the calculating anticipation of revenge.

Wednesday knows that look all too well.

She’s seen it in her own eyes every time Pugsley was bullied and she had to take care of it, when she found out Tyler was the Hyde trying to murder her friends and was prepared to do anything to prove it, when she faced down the pieced-together corpse of the man who murdered her ancestors and the woman who murdered Principal Weems with plans to murder every outcast she could find, starting with Wednesday’s own territory; Nevermore.

She understands that look.

She used to relish in it, thrive on it, loved how it made other people turn and run when they saw it.

But she can’t enjoy it when it comes to the people she can finally admit she loves.

Not when it comes to her family.

Not when it comes to her friends.

Not when it comes to her Enid.

Wednesday turns back to Cressida, and the woman is a harsh contrast to that coldness.

Her eyes are blazing with fear and anger and desperation.

She’s begging Griselda to come back, to change her mind, to not hurt the small-minded people living in their echo chamber of a village.

Wednesday wishes she could tell Cressida not to waste her breath.

Griselda is on the warpath now, and there will be no stopping her.

But Wednesday isn’t actually there, no matter how real it feels.

Wednesday’s merely an outsider viewing a memory, unable to interact with it, unable to do anything to help or stop the people inside it.

Her visions are always an exercise in frustration, in many different and increasingly diverse ways.

Cressida continues her pleading, but Griselda doesn’t listen.

When the heavy door to the prison bangs shut, the lock slamming into place, Cressida finally falls silent.

Her eyes well with tears.

She’s clearly trying to hold them back, but it makes her face twist into a perfect mask of fear and sadness, despair stitching it all together.

This look is familiar to Wednesday too, but in a much more new and uncomfortable way.

Cressida’s face is so similar to the expression on Enid’s when Wednesday first pulled away from their hug during the blood moon, after all was finally said and done, before Wednesday pulled her back in and Enid sagged against her in relief.

She never wants to see that look on Enid’s face again.

She would kill (or even refrain from killing) anyone to make sure of it.

Eventually, Cressida gives in to her grief.

She slumps against the bars, arms still reaching out and grasping nothing but empty air, and she starts openly weeping.

Before Wednesday can look away uncomfortably, since this is crying she can take no joy in, the scene of Cressida suddenly freezes.

The same girl from Wednesday’s previous vision appears in front of her, hazel eyes tired and hollow with sadness.

“Are you her sister?” Wednesday asks, immediately cursing herself for the idiocy of it. 

Of course this girl is Cressida's sister, that’s obvious with how similar they look, but there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Find A. Vidal.” She says, neither confirming nor denying that she is who Wednesday suspects she is.

Wednesday nearly growls with frustration.

“We already found A. Vidal, what we need to find is the 13th book! So where is it? What is it that Enid needs to find? How do I save her?”

“Find A. Vidal.” She repeats. “There is only one of the 13th, and A. Vidal took its secrets to the grave.”

Wednesday freezes.

“Wait, when you said I needed to find A. Vidal, you meant it literally? I know A. Vidal is somehow related to Cressida, that she's one of their ancestors, but there’s no record of any A. Vidal ever existing, let alone anywhere near the time period Cressida and Griselda lived in. Why is there no record of them? Who were they? Where are they buried?”

“A. Vidal is hidden. You must find them. Find the 13th book. Do not let the events of the past repeat themselves. Prevent the danger of the blood moon. Prevent losing your love to its madness.”

Before Wednesday can ask anything else, the vision swallows her deeper into the water with struggling arms bound by iron chains and choking on ash running through fire blood filling her mouth and her nose and her eyes until it’s all she can see and she loves it hates the feeling of violin strings under her fingers overcome with the anger sorrow fear desperation madness insanity love loss hatred hatred hatred-

-and she’s back in the present, breathing heavily, the journal still clutched in her hand.

“Oh my- Liebling , are you alright?” Lovella asks, concern heavy in her eyes.

“I’m fine.” Wednesday almost snaps, her composure still off-center.

“Are you sure? Du kannst mit mir über alles reden; Ich schwöre, es niemandem zu sagen. Alles, was du mir erzählst, nehme ich mit ins Grab und darüber hinaus. ”

Wednesday takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. 

She pulls the notebook closer and tucks it under her arm, meeting eyes with Lovella.

“I assure you that I’m behaving as usual. Regarding the journal, I’m sure my mother and father will be most appreciative that you found and brought it.”

“Really? Your mother told me that it was you and Enid looking for anything written by A. Vidal?”

Wednesday can’t find an answer, so she doesn’t bother to try.

She turns away and starts heading up the stairs.

“Follow me closely, unless you want to end up like Cousin Torrent.”

Lovella quickly picks up her brown bag and drops the subject, following Wednesday closely with Lurch just behind her.

Wednesday’s grateful she’s in front of them.

That way, no one can see the series of expressions crossing her face both from her strange vision and the new journal tucked under her arm.

She’ll be keeping both to herself until after the upcoming full moon.

Enid’s stressed enough about her second transformation and the entire grimwolf business as it is.

No need to add anymore pressure to the pile.

As for her…

Wednesday tightens her grip on the journal.

Well, she certainly has a lot to think about now.

Over the next two days, the rest of their guests arrive.

The day after Lovella and Frankie’s arrival, Cousin Kyousei and her wife, Banshee, knock on the door just before lunchtime.

Luckily, Grandmama just so happened to make nearly double what they needed to feed everyone, so they have just enough to feed the family in addition to four ravenous werewolves.

The day after that, Cousin Itt and his wife, Margaret, arrive early in the morning, interrupting her and Enid’s Greek lesson, much to Wednesday’s annoyance.

(The feeling is tempered slightly by the excited way Enid scrambles up and rushes downstairs to meet their new guests).

Wednesday’s amused by Enid’s initial surprise at Cousin Itt, but is equally unsurprised when Enid shakes it off within mere moments. 

She can also tell how excited Enid is to meet Margaret, one of the Addams family members who still dresses in colors other than black, white, or gray. In fact, she’s wearing an entirely purple outfit, albeit in different shades; a pale lavender coat with matching gloves, a violet cardigan over a periwinkle dress, and matching violet shoes.

(The fact that Wednesday knows and can recognize every shade is nauseating, but she really brought it on herself the night Enid asked if the orchid or the amethyst shirt looked better on her. When Wednesday callously said she couldn’t see any difference, it launched Enid into a nearly three-hour rant on the huge spectrum of colors and the importance in their distinction when being paired, complete with improvised slides involving an extensive collection of colored pencils and pictures on Enid’s phone. The fact that Wednesday listened and retained the information at all should’ve been a blaring sign to Wednesday as to her true feelings, but her love for Enid has been a discovery in her own impressive skills of self-deception).

The ensemble is similar to Enid’s own penchant for occasionally (often) wearing entirely pink outfits. 

They withdraw to the billiards room for games and conversation, and within and hour Enid’s figured out how to interrupt Cousin Itt’s unique form of talking and is happily engaged in conversation with him and Margaret over an otherwise intense game of blackjack.

And Enid wonders why she’s moving along so quickly in Italian.

Honestly.

“So, Margaret, you’re a werewolf, right? I can smell it on you, but your scent is just a little different than any other werewolf’s that I’ve met, so I just wanted to make sure.” Enid says as they all sit down to tea after all the introductions were made and a few hours were spent playing games ripe with cheating.

Margaret blinks in surprise for a moment before giggling and setting down her cup of tea.

“Well, that’s quite an amusing story. You see, I’m not actually a natural-born werewolf; I was turned when I got bitten a few years ago.”

Wednesday comes alarmingly close to laughing when Enid almost drops her tea in surprise.

“Holy crap! I’m so sorry-”

“Oh nonsense.” Margaret waves a hand and smiles at Enid. “Other than marrying my darling Itt, it’s one of the best things that ever happened to me! And besides, like I said, it’s a very funny story.”

Everyone else grins as Frankie leans his head back and groans. 

Lovella gives him a supportive pat on the knee even though she’s grinning just as widely as the rest of them (besides Wednesday of course).

“Do you have to tell every single person you meet?” He sighs.

“Of course, dear.” Margaret says happily. “It’s a wonderful conversation starter.”

Frankie sighs even more loudly, but doesn’t interrupt again.

Margaret turns back to Enid excitedly.

“So, a few years ago, during the Addams family Halloween party, it just so happened to fall on a full moon. Of course, many more attended than usual to witness the event of the Addams pack transforming during one of the infamous Addams gatherings.

“I decided to help Gomez, Lurch, and Grandmama in the kitchen to account for all the extra guests, and at one point I volunteered to take some raw steaks out for the pack to enjoy; it wouldn’t be right to not include them, after all.”

Enid starts to grin, clearly starting to see where this story’s going.

“Of course, all the other werewolves made sure to be very careful when taking their steaks, but dear old Frankie over here was apparently starving.”

“I forgot to eat before wolfing out and we hadn’t gone hunting yet, it’s not my fault!” He complains as everyone else starts to laugh quietly, though the twitch of his lips betrays that he’s fighting down a smile as well.

“Mhm.” Margaret says with a pointed expression that immediately makes him duck his head like a scolded puppy. “Anyways, I’m sure you can guess what happened next.”

Margaret takes off one of her lavender gloves to show off the bite mark engulfing nearly her entire left hand, letting everyone look at it with a mixture of awe and envy.

Wednesday tilts her head slightly as she examines it.

The scar is a truly impressive one to behold.

She wonders if Enid would be willing to turn her at some point-

“Absolutely not!” Enid says, pointing a finger in Wednesday’s face, apparently reading Wednesday’s mind just by looking at her. “I’m not ever biting you to turn you, and that’s final!”

Wednesday deflates slightly as everyone else bursts into laughter.

“Fine, as you wish.” Since everyone’s still busy laughing, Wednesday picks up her teacup and murmurs just loud enough for Enid to hear; “But I do hope that doesn’t apply to regular bitemarks and scratches, since in future I fully intend to leave my mark on you.”

When Enid turns bright red and squeaks, Wednesday smirks ever so slightly and takes a sip from her tea.

Her favored belladonna and cyanide tea has never tasted better.

The day the full moon is set to arrive, all the werewolves are in a state of hyperactivity that’s edging close to mania, rushing to and fro and looking for anything at all to do, absolutely unable to sit still.

Anyone else acting this excitable and energetic around Wednesday would swiftly find themselves dangling from a roof somewhere, but with Enid it’s both endearing and similar enough to their days at Nevermore after Enid would pull an all-nighter and need to down three energy drinks the next day to avoid falling asleep in class.

Since she convinces Enid to spend most of the day playing increasingly fast-paced duets in the sound-proof library, Wednesday doesn’t have to deal with the other werewolves and their obnoxious running around, so no one’s at risk of getting a silver knife to the throat.

As the day winds down, everyone manages to corral the wayward werewolves into the sitting room a few hours after (a very hectic) lunch to drink a strong calming tea. 

The tea is surprisingly effective.

“Mint and chamomile tea with a healthy dose of poppy extract is usually pretty effective at calming a werewolf down before a full moon as long as you don’t use it multiple times a day.” Grandmama whispers to her.

Wednesday nods and takes careful note of this, both for days before full moons and days after all-nighters once she and Enid return to Nevermore.

Once the werewolves are relatively calm, the family spends the next hour or so exchanging stories of their various misadventures, Enid equal parts laughing and grimacing at the assorted tales.

The conversation (which Wednesday regrettably finds rather interesting, especially with Enid’s amusing reactions) is interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

“That’s odd.” Morticia frowns, setting down her tea. “Were we expecting anyone today, mon cher ?”

“I don’t believe we were, cara mia .” Gomez responds with an absent kiss to Morticia’s knuckles. 

Even though she now violently understands the urge to shower one’s love with any and all forms of adoration, the sight of her parents engaging in it is still revolting to watch.

But still, everyone is frowning in varying degrees of confusion and apprehension.

“Lurch,” Morticia says, setting her teacup down gracefully and giving him a smile. “Be a dear and answer the door for us, will you? If it’s a solicitor that managed to get past Gate, please take care of them. If it’s a family member or friend, let them in but make sure they stay in the front hall. Come fetch me and I can explain that now’s not a good time for guests.

Lurch nods before slowly leaving the room and disappearing down the hall.

Everyone quickly starts speculating over who it could be, everything from girl scouts (who are about to get the scare of their life) to dear lost Cousin Torrent (which Wednesday severely doubts, since she’s still of the opinion that he starved to death in the labyrinth beneath the house).

But Enid only continues to stare towards the door, clearly concerned (and even a little afraid).

Wednesday doesn’t exactly need to use her investigative skills to determine why Enid’s so anxious.

Wednesday places a hand on Enid’s jittery knee.

She startles and looks at Wednesday with wide eyes.

“Did you tell your father where the exact location of our home is?” Wednesday asks.

Enid shakes her head.

“No, he never asked; he trusts you guys.”

Wednesday despises the sickeningly warm feeling that sentiment spawns in her stomach and chooses to ignore it entirely.

“Is your mother aware that you’ve transformed yet?”

“No.” Enid shakes her head. “Dad wouldn’t have told her without me giving the go ahead first.”

“Then what reason would your family have to find you, let alone come to collect you?”

Enid starts to relax under Wednesday’s touch. 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, nodding.

“You’re right, you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

The shaky smile Wednesday gets in response is worth every cursed gem in the world.

“Take a sniff; you’ll be able to recognize if it’s them waiting outside.”

Enid does so, immediately relaxing even more, affirming Wednesday’s own thoughts that it’s not Enid’s family.

Wednesday carefully takes one of Enid’s hands in her own and starts rubbing her thumb back and forth over the back of it, gratified when Enid relaxes even further.

Enid cautiously leans her head on Wednesday’s shoulder.

Wednesday wraps a tight arm around her, leaning her own head on top of Enid’s.

She’s still not accustomed to the idea of “comforting” others, but she seems to be doing alright, considering how Enid reacts to Wednesday’s increasingly common attempts to cheer her up whenever Enid’s feeling down.

And Wednesday’s well-acquainted with the concept of “practice makes perfect”. 

(It took her until she was twelve and a half before she memorized the entirety of human anatomy and perfected the art of dissection, something utterly disgraceful by her own standards. However, the cadaver Uncle Fester gave her for her next birthday more than made up for the previous two years of frustration and disappointment).

Still rubbing her thumb over Enid’s hand, Wednesday uses the other to start combing gently through Enid’s hair.

Enid melts into it with a little sigh, and Wednesday almost smiles, musing to herself.

Wednesday always thought love would change her into something unrecognizable.

Now that she has it, she sees that it’s only helped her evolve into a fuller version of herself. 

She likes to think she’s done the same for Enid.

Like Enid said when she returned to their dorm room- when Wednesday’s horrible loneliness was alleviated and an emotion she refused to identify at the time as relief seeped into every part of her, when Enid declared that she wouldn’t apologize for being herself anymore, completing the spine that’d been growing over the course of their rocky friendship- they just fit.

They shouldn’t, but they do.

Wednesday closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of Enid’s lavender shampoo.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

A few tense minutes later, Lurch returns to the sitting room.

But he’s not alone.

However, the two people standing behind him are anything but a disappointment?

“Cousin Nyx? Lowell?” Morticia asks in abject shock.

The two of them were in Greece last she heard; what on Earth are they doing here?

Still, regardless of how they’re here, it doesn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. 

She stands (everyone else in the room standing as well) and walks over to greet them, warmly embracing both.

“May I presume you’re here because of our dear little wolf?” She asks.

“You presume correctly, dear cousin.” Nyx replies, pulling back to grin at Enid.

The darling immediately blushes at the attention, but still smiles at them excitedly and skips over to meet them, Wednesday following sedately behind her.

It makes Morticia want to coo, but she knows Wednesday wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture, so she settles for exchanging a look with Gomez instead.

How sweet their little lovebirds are.

“Hi! I’m Enid; it’s super nice to meet you!” Enid holds her hand out to shake, only to get wrapped up in a big bear hug by Nyx that lifts her off the floor.

“Oh, you’re just absolutely precious!” They squeal, twirling her around in a circle that has Enid giggling.

“Unless you desire to lose a few fingers, Cousin Nyx, I suggest you set Enid down.” 

Nyx gasps excitedly and sets Enid down, whirling to face Wednesday with a nearly manic grin on their face.

“Holy shit, you’re like three feet higher than the last time I saw you!”

 Morticia would normally assume their exuberance could be blamed on the approach of the full moon, but during the few occasions they’ve interacted, Nyx was still just as energetic and hyperactive as they appear to be now.

Nyx’s hair has changed drastically since the last time Morticia saw them, no longer a close shave, but now shaved only at the sides, the long section of black hair in the center gathered into several intricate buns and braids swinging down to nearly the center of their back.

They’re wearing a black trenchcoat over tight black pants and black shirt, along with a multitude of black and white scarves wrapped around their neck or draped down their front.

Morticia briefly wonders how they managed to get past Hector without losing the coat and scarves, but figures Nyx must’ve just bolted past after Lowell more sensibly gave up his own outerwear.

Lowell looks about the same as when Morticia last saw him, with balding brown hair and a closely shaved beard, kind blue eyes and a green-black three piece suit.

While Nyx eagerly greets every member of the family, Lowell himself mostly smiles genially at them, the exact opposite of his spouse in nearly every way. 

In contrast to Nyx’s almost obscene exuberance, he’s remarkably calm, especially with how close they are to the full moon.

In many ways, he seems to be the eye of Nyx’s storm.

Morticia muses that there’s something familiar in that, something a little more similar to the relationship between Enid and Wednesday than theirs is to Morticia and Gomez’s.

Even now, Enid eagerly talks with the other pack members, Wednesday close by her side despite looking extremely annoyed at the cheerful energy crackling through the air. Similarly, Enid frequently glances at Wednesday to make sure she’s not starting to feel overwhelmed, smiling at her as they meet eyes like Wednesday hung the moon in the sky just for her.

Morticia sighs fondly over the two and their endearing antics.

Perhaps instead they are binary stars, forever circling each other in a perfect balance, not unlike the sun and the moon.

How terribly romantic.

At dinner, a few hours early to account for the moon’s rise, Enid learns something about the Addams pack that she wasn’t expecting in the slightest.

Halfway through the meal, during a brief lull in conversation, she gathers her courage and asks; “So, who’s the pack alpha? Not to offend anyone, but I can’t really tell.”

The other pack members gape at her, and for a moment Enid freezes, terrified she’s made a grave social error.

But then their faces soften, each looking sad for some inexplicable reason.

“Ah, so you were raised in one of those packs.” Kyousei says delicately, setting down her utensils.

“What do you mean, “one of those packs”?” Enid asks. “Aren’t all packs generally the same?”

“No, Liebling ; no they’re not.” Lovella glances at Frankie sadly and squeezes his hand on the table. 

Lowell heaves a deep sigh from his place further down the table and looks at Enid.

“Dear, it sounds like you were raised in, and might even still be part of, a pack that believes Alphas exist and should rule over an entire pack clan; is that correct?”

“Um, yes? But isn’t that true?”

“No.” Frankie growls slightly, softening when Lovella squeezes his hand again. “No, it isn’t.”

“The entire idea of “Alphas” came from a study of two regular wolves unfamiliar with one another being forced into captivity to be researched.” Banshee says. “The “Alpha” dynamic found in that study was simply one wolf establishing dominance over the other wolf in a small space that could only house one’s territory.”

“In the wild, wolves typically form smaller family packs and are fiercely territorial, but the closest thing they get to “Alphas” are the parents of the pack; the other wolves listen to them because they’re literally just the Mother and Father of the family.” Margaret adds.

“Although us werewolves are a tad different, we’re otherwise mostly the same in our pack dynamics. We form smaller family packs, but when our children branch out and form new family packs of their own, we remain connected and form a larger pack clan.” Kyousei says.

“But some packs buy into all that stupid “Alpha” shit.” Frankie snarls.

“And they unfortunately often disown members of their pack when they don’t obey the Alpha or don’t fit the usual werewolf norms.” Lowell adds sadly.

“Like not being able to shift, or refusing to choose a mate.” Enid says, thinking of all the problems she has waiting for her back home.

“Yep.” Frankie says. “That’s what happened to Lowell and me; we got kicked out of our original packs because we didn’t conform to their ideas of what a normal werewolf should be or act like.”

Enid’s head snaps up.

“Wait, really?”

“Yep; it’s kind of funny actually, both of us got kicked out of packs here in the U.S. and decided to move to different countries; I moved to Germany, where I met my lovely Lovella,” Frankie pauses to kiss Lovella’s hand, “and Lowell moved to Greece, where he met Nyx.”

“It’s where my family originally migrated from, so it seemed a good choice.” Lowell shrugs.

“Really?” Enid asks, finally able to place Nyx’s accent.

“Well, mine did too.” Frankie says with a grin. “Lowell and I both speak Greek, actually.”

Enid gasps and almost spasms with excitement.

“No way! I speak Greek too!”

Everyone’s eyebrows fly up (excluding Wednesday’s family of course).

Nyx grins at Enid while Lowell gives her a large smile.

“ Αστειεύεσαι? ” Frankie laughs. “ Ήξερα ότι υπήρχε κάτι που μου άρεσε σε σένα παιδί. ”

“Morticia, how could you not tell us this sooner?” Nyx exclaims.

“Well, since you didn’t send any word ahead that you would be coming, I’m afraid it didn’t cross my mind to inform you.” Morticia teases.

“You did want it to be a surprise, αγάπη μου. ”

Nyx only sulks in their seat for a minute before springing up and grinning wildly at Enid.

“Λοιπόν, από πού έμαθες ελληνικά?”

“ Λοιπόν, κυρίως έμαθα από τον παππού και τη γιαγιά μου- ”

“Enid.” Wednesday interrupts, no inflection to her voice, not even pausing in cutting her steak.

Almost no one else at the table would be able to notice any difference from her usual indifferent tone.

Enid, on the other hand, throws her hands up in the air in frustration.

“Oh come on, Wednesday!” Enid whines. “They’re literally from Greece. ”

“You know the rules of our arrangement.”

“Please, Wednesday, just for tonight? Pretty please?”

Enid puts her hands together and gives Wednesday her best pleading eyes. 

Wednesday glances over at her.

Her eyes twitch slightly and her chest heaves in an imperceptible sigh before she turns back to her food.

Enid pumps her fist in victory.

“Yes! You’re the best, Wednesday!”

“I’m well aware.” She replies flatly, making Enid laugh. “But the rules will be reinstated tomorrow.”

“I know, I know.” Enid waves off, eager to talk to people actually fluent in Greek for the first time all summer. 

(Unfortunately, the signal on the Addams property is spotty at best, meaning she hasn’t been able to call her grandparents in Alaska or even text Yoko all that often (who’s spending her whole summer in Japan, both a blessing and a curse). 

“What’s this about rules?” Lovella asks, clearly amused.

“Well, you see-” Enid goes on to explain about the weird Italian-Greek lessons she and Wednesday have been having, which quickly evolves (after quite a bit of laughter that no one quite explains the meaning of to Enid) into Enid speaking to Nyx, Frankie, and Lowell in Greek, Wednesday conversing quietly with Lovella and Grandmama in German, and everyone else talking in a confusing blend of English, French, Spanish, Italian and Romanian as they all continue to eat, the werewolves tearing into their meat as everyone else eats as calmly as ever.

She never would’ve thought she could enjoy such a messy dinner, but, as is happening more and more frequently, the Addams are redefining everything she thought she knew about werewolves, outcasts, and (most importantly) herself.

She tears into a nearly raw piece of meat with fanged teeth and grins at the bloody juice that runs down her chin.

Enid looks around at everyone enjoying themselves, eventually meeting Wednesday’s dark, fathomless eyes.

She can’t think of a better way to spend the last hours before the full moon rises, joining in on this merrily savage feast.

Wednesday can tell the exact moment the moon starts to peek its head over the horizon, not because she can see it yet, but because the seven werewolves standing between the house and the forest begin to shiver and change.

Just as the sunset’s last colors drain from the sky, the transformation takes hold of each of them.

The process looks slow and painful, with bones crunching as they rearrange themselves into unnatural positions and their features morph in wonderfully grotesque ways, but none of them are making any sounds of pain or even seem all that perturbed. 

None of them except Enid, that is.

She’s whimpering in pain, crying out as each bone breaks and each of her limbs twists unnaturally, hyperventilating in panic.

If it were anyone else, Wednesday would be enjoying the display.

But because it’s Enid, the sounds grate on Wednesday's ears like a discordant note on her cello or the click of a jammed crossbow. The sight of Enid’s agony makes her want to claw out her own eyes for no other reason than to stop seeing her beloved in so much pain.

The only thing that stops her from leaping forward to do something, anything to stop Enid’s distress is Morticia’s staying hand on her shoulder.

“ Ne t'inquiète pas, ma chérie. ” She murmurs. “ Les autres vont l'aider. ”

“ Tu madre tiene razón, mi pequeño escorpión. ” Gomez adds, his hand coming to rest on Wednesday’s other shoulder. She hates how comforting it is. “La manada sabrá cómo ayudar a Enid a superar esto. Por las miradas de los demás, no siempre será tan doloroso para tu amado sol. Prepárate para ayudarla después de que haya vuelto a cambiar; la manada se cuidará de ella por esta noche.”

“There’s no point for the two of you to be speaking in French and Spanish.” Wednesday says through gritted teeth, her knuckles white from her grip on the bannister to prevent herself from launching herself over it. “I don’t believe Enid is in a state to complain about it at this time.”

“Oh, mi querida tormento , you know that we’ve always loved you, no matter how much you’ve detested us for it at times.

“Ever since you were little we’ve expressed that through the languages we love most. For me, Spanish, your mother, French, Grandmama, German and Latin, Thing, his unique sign language, and for Lurch, the groans he gives no one else outside of our family. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it will always be, no matter how old you grow.” He turns her attention back to Enid, still only partway through her transformation.

“And now you pass that tradition on through Enid, by expressing your love for her through the language you love most: Italian.”

“Just as she does you with Greek.” Morticia adds, gently tucking a lock of hair behind Wednesday’s ear.

“I know.” Wednesday says quietly.

She takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and finally lets go of the bannister.

She crosses her arms in front of her, feeling much more collected than she did before.

“Much as I despise it, I suppose you both need the practice; your skills seem to have become woefully inadequate.”

They squeeze her shoulders almost simultaneously.

She relaxes into it ever-so-slightly.

Just for now, just for tonight, she’ll allow her parents to comfort her.

Enid’s transformation takes almost twice as long as the others, and Wednesday honestly can’t tell if it’s because this is only her second time changing or if it’s because of how much larger she is than the others. 

And she’s large.

The rest of the werewolves (Margaret excluded) could almost be mistaken as regular wolves except for their larger size (closer to the extinct direwolf than even the largest of normal wolves) and their abnormal coloring. 

Margaret herself, being a werewolf turned by bite rather than a naturally born werewolf, is a hybrid between wolf and woman, standing on two legs, close to seven feet tall, with uncomfortably human eyes and suddenly tight clothing protecting what Wednesday can only assume is her modesty.

Enid, on the other hand, even from where she’s laying curled up on the ground, is massive in comparison to the rest of them.

The other werewolves shuffle in surprise, but soon enough Margaret and a sandy-colored wolf that can only be Frankie slowly approach, sniffing Enid and carefully cuddling up to her.

When Enid slowly starts moving, they back away slightly, movements unhurried, clearly in an attempt not to startle her.

It seems to work, since once Enid gets to her feet, she’s perfectly calm and not at all the feral monster A. Vidal implied she might become, nor the confused wolf the other werewolves warned she would be.

In fact, once she’s given a moment to get her bearings, she starts looking around excitedly, her tail wagging like the puppy Wednesday’s always known she is.

The last (and first) time Wednesday saw her in her wolf form, it was just after experiencing huge amounts of blood loss, getting attacked by a Hyde, and followed by a hasty retreat to save the school.

She barely remembered that Enid’s fangs were similar to those of a saber-toothed tiger, and that’s only because Enid paused in the middle of a fight to give her a doggy smile of all things, let alone remember her actual size between all the chaos.

But now, with Enid in a field under the bright light of a full moon and surrounded by regular werewolves of both the natural and bitten variety, it’s very clear that there’s nothing regular about Enid’s transformation.

For one thing, she has at least two feet on the other wolves in length, with paws the size of Wednesday’s face, and front legs likely close to the size of Wednesday’s entire body. (Maybe she was closer to Tyler’s Hyde size than Wednesday realized during their fight).

For another thing, although Enid’s on all fours, it’s clear she could easily stand up on her hind legs like Margaret does if she wanted to.

And apparently she does want to. After a few shaky misstarts, she manages to clamber onto her back legs and take a few wobbly steps, her tail still wagging excitedly. Her front limbs are slightly longer than her hind legs, likely to allow both for running on all fours and standing upright like a human. 

With Margaret’s help, (who she’s easily two feet taller than, even with her back still slightly hunched in comparison to Margaret’s straight spine), Enid experimentally walks around and even swipes the air with her front claws as if attacking something. She only walks around for another few moments before falling back onto all fours. 

She runs in excited circles around the clearing, quickly being joined by the rest of the werewolves, though she outpaces them easily.

After a few turns, one of the black-furred werewolves stops and lopes to the center of the clearing.

Without further ado, the werewolf howls at the bright full moon just edging over the treetops. 

The others stop immediately and, without any hesitation, they join in with howls of their own.

Even though the entire pack is howling and baying at the moon, Wednesday swears she can make out which voice is Enid’s, though she can’t be entirely sure.

Either way, their moonsong is intoxicating to listen to.

Wednesday rests an elbow on the bannister, her cheek in her hand, and closes her eyes to listen more closely.

She’s sure her family are doing the same, though she can sense that her parents are waltzing behind her to the eerie music echoing all around them.

Eventually, the howling ends and Wednesday’s eyes open again. The werewolves all start to head towards the forest, clearly excited to show their new (very large) pup the best spots to howl and hunt, but Enid has other ideas.

Without hesitation, she bolts towards Wednesday, a goofy dog smile on her face.

The other werewolves try their best to stop her, but Enid’s so much faster she soon leaves them behind in the dust.

Wednesday’s parents try to pull her back inside, but she’s not afraid.

If they honestly think Enid’s trying to hurt them or Wednesday with that ridiculous facsimile of a grin on her face, they clearly don’t know her at all.

Wrenching herself out of her parent’s hands, Wednesday actually does launch herself over the bannister.

She rolls to absorb the impact and runs a few paces forward to meet Enid.

She stops and only has to wait a moment before Enid’s there, running in excited circles around her before settling down and wrapping herself around Wednesday, gently settling as much of her chin on Wednesday’s shoulder as she can and rubbing her face against Wednesday’s, the end of her wagging tail hitting Wednesday’s waist with every excited swish.

Wednesday smiles ever-so-slightly and leans back against Enid.

“I take this to mean that I’m officially your mate then?” Enid’s small delighted bark (that Wednesday can feel vibrating through every inch of her body) is all the answer Wednesday needs.

“I assume this means we can officially begin our courtship as well?”

Enid apparently can’t contain herself any longer, circling back around Wednesday and eagerly baying at her. 

Enid’s prancing steps are so reminiscent of the way Enid hops on her feet when she’s particularly excited that Wednesday can’t contain a sound approaching a laugh.

“Alright, I understand, Enid. We’ll begin the courtship tomorrow. For now, will you do me a favor?” 

Enid stops in front of her, looking at her expectantly with her tongue lolling out the side of her sharply-fanged mouth. 

Truly, Wednesday’s fallen for the most ridiculous girl in the world.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Howl for me?” Wednesday asks quietly.

Enid gives her another of her doggy grins, sits down, and howls up at the moon.

The sound is pure liquid silver, the chill down Wednesday’s spine before she’s about to run for her life, the golden light of sunrise draped over a foggy cemetery. 

The sound gives Wednesday an idea.

When Enid’s howl ends, she looks at Wednesday with such a puppy-dog look it makes Wednesday’s heart skip a beat.

Wednesday nods. 

“Acceptable. Now, much as I’m sure you’d love to continue chasing your tail in circles around me,” Enid huffs in a way that could easily be either annoyed or amused, Wednesday honestly can’t tell. 

She waves a hand towards the wolves waiting behind Enid. “Go have fun with the others. Try not to be too loud if you can help yourself.”

Enid looks behind her as if just remembering the rest of the pack exists.

Wednesday finds it horribly flattering and ridiculously endearing.

With another excited yip, Enid runs back towards the werewolves, following them into the forest as fast as they can go.

Just before entering, Enid pauses and looks back at Wednesday.

Rolling her eyes ever-so-slightly, Wednesday makes a “go-on” gesture.

Enid gives one more baying howl before turning around and disappearing into the trees.

Soon enough, the rest of the family go back inside, laughing and jostling each other in excitement over Enid’s successful shift and the incredible display of werewolf transformations.

Rather than joining her family in the sitting room however, Wednesday retreats back to her room.

She goes out onto her balcony, listening to the distant howls in the night, and opens two separate books of blank music sheets.

Hearing Enid’s howl planted a seed of inspiration in Wednesday’s mind, and she’s never been one to ignore inspiration.

So, placing her bow on her cello, she lets inspiration (and the howling of her muse) guide her hand over the strings.

The next sunrise, the werewolves stumble out of the forest, beginning the transformation back to their human forms, quickly greeted by their spouses or Morticia and Gomez with warm robes.

Enid’s surprised (and a tiny-bit hurt) that Wednesday’s not amongst them, but mostly she’s too exhausted to want anything more than her own bed.

By the time she stumbles up to her bedroom, Morticia carefully guiding her, she’s almost seeing double.

She’s always heard how exhausting the first few shifts are (her last one not counting due to the sheer adrenaline and insanity of the night), but hearing about it is nothing compared to the reality of experiencing it first-hand. 

Morticia delivers her to her room with a soft smile and a “Goodnight dear” before shutting the door behind her.

Looking forward to sleeping through the whole day (and likely the rest of the following night), she doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas or worrying about showering off the mud and brushing the twigs out of her hair, instead heading straight for her bed.

Before she can fall onto it and snooze forever though, she sees a small packet of crisp white pages on top of her pillow, a small typewritten note on top of them. 

Squinting to force her eyes into focus, she picks up the packet of papers, realizing they’re handwritten music sheets for a half-finished song. The bass clef staffs for each page are filled out entirely, but the treble clef staffs have all been left blank.

Tired and confused, she reads the note left on top of the small pile.

I’ve written a song for my cello, but it unfortunately requires violin accompaniment to make the song complete. If you don’t have it finished by the end of the week so that it can be played properly, there will be dire consequences.

Yours,

Wednesday

She barely thinks to put the papers on her nightstand to avoid crumpling them before falling onto her bed.

With a vague smile on her face, she falls asleep cuddling the stolen hoodie living under her pillow to her chest, the scent of rosemary and midnight rain drowning out everything else and lulling her to sleep.

If she knew of the tumultuous weeks to come, she would’ve savored this last moment of peace just a little longer.

(One day since the Second Full Moon - Three weeks and six days until the Third Full Moon)

Translations:

Liebling - “Darling” (German)

Du kannst mit mir über alles reden; Ich schwöre, es niemandem zu sagen. Alles, was du mir erzählst, nehme ich mit ins Grab und darüber hinaus. - “You can talk to me about anything; I swear not to tell anyone. Anything you tell me, I'll take with me to the grave and beyond.” (German)

Mon cher - “My dear” (French)

Cara mia - “My darling” (Italian)

Αστειεύεσαι? - “You’re kidding?” (Greek)

Ήξερα ότι υπήρχε κάτι που μου άρεσε σε σένα παιδί. - “I knew there was something I liked about you kid.” (Greek)

Αγάπη μου - “My love” (Greek)

Λοιπόν, από πού έμαθες ελληνικά? - “So, where did you learn Greek?” (Greek)

Λοιπόν, κυρίως έμαθα από τον παππού και τη γιαγιά μου- - “Well, I mostly learned from my grandparents-” (Greek)

Ne t'inquiète pas, ma chérie. - “Don’t worry, my dear.” (French)

Les autres vont l'aider. - “The others will help her.” (French)

Tu madre tiene razón, mi pequeño escorpión. - “Your mother’s right, my little scorpion.” (Spanish)

La manada sabrá cómo ayudar a Enid a superar esto. Por las miradas de los demás, no siempre será tan doloroso para tu amado sol. Prepárate para ayudarla después de que haya vuelto a cambiar; la manada se cuidará de ella por esta noche. - “The pack will know how to help Enid through this. From the looks of the others, it will not always be so painful for your beloved sun. Be ready to help her after she's changed back; the pack will take care of her for tonight.” (Spanish)

Mi querida tormento - “My dear torment” (Spanish)

Chapter Text

Also, everyone, LOOK AT THIS AMAZING FANART!! It was made by @kizuroki (who you can find on Instagram and Twitter under the same handle, and I suggest you do because LOOK HOW TALENTED!!).

But after the previous fanart @kizuroki made of Enid in a wedding dress (which is in Chapter 8 if you guys want to take another look at that lovely one), the brilliant idea was born to make another BEAUTIFUL ART of Wednesday in her OWN wedding dress. @kizuroki very kindly asked me to send some pictures of dresses that I thought would make for good inspiration for a wedding dress that Wednesday would wear, and then you FREAKING NAILED IT!

I'm actually going to explode from how good this is, and I will proudly tell you all that I shamelessly based a certain descriptive segment in this chapter entirely off this incredible piece of art. (I'm sure you'll all know it when you read it).

But seriously, thank you so much @kizuroki; I can't explain in words how much it means to me to receive such a wonderful and frankly delightful gift, especially on top of the previous one you made for me. I love them both and squeal over them way more than is probably healthy, so thank you thank you thank you!!!

Quote: “The promise given was the necessity of the past; the word broken is the necessity of the present.”

- Machiavelli

A night and a day after Enid’s second transformation, she finally wakes up.

The time of day is later than when she usually wakes up- Wednesday’s already awake, eaten breakfast, and is making good progress on the additional notes she’s taking on Vidal’s second journal- but Wednesday can tell Enid’s awake by the loud groan she hears from Enid’s room.

Wednesday quirks a smile, closing her notebook and picking up the tray beside her on the desk.

The other werewolves all took care to warn her that the mornings after the first few transformations are typically akin to having an extreme hangover for the newly transformed werewolf, so Wednesday prepared accordingly.

She stands up, tray in hand, and goes to greet her sleepy wolf.

The other werewolves certainly weren’t wrong about what Enid’s condition would be like.

She’s still curled up in bed in a nest of blankets, hair a mess, eyes bleary, clutching her stomach like that’s the only thing preventing her from vomiting.

When Enid glances up at Wednesday, she whines in a small, miserable way.

Suppressing the urge to smile, Wednesday sits down next to her piccolo sole , places the tray on the bed beside Enid, and takes off the cloche keeping the food inside warm without fanfare.

On the tray are four pieces of toast, a bowl of blueberries and raspberries, a large plate of peryton bacon and scrambled komodo dragon eggs, a tall glass of orange juice, and a warm cup of coffee.

“Ugh?” Enid groans in an almost coherent question.

“Breakfast.” Wednesday says, placing the cloche aside. 

Wednesday stands, brushes any lingering colorful lint off her dress, and starts leaving the room.

“I expect you to join me in the library for our daily Greek lesson once you’re done eating and getting ready. If you’re not there in precisely one hour, I’ll ask my father to come sing his favorite aria to you, since we both know you’re very fond of his loud operatic talents, so any thoughts you might have about ignoring me and going back to sleep should be discarded.”

The last thing Wednesday hears before she shuts Enid’s door is a louder and much more miserable whine.

It brings a small smile to Wednesday’s face as she walks down the hall, hands laced behind her back.

An excellent morning overall.

Enid practically sprints into the library nearly exactly one hour later, hair still wet from her shower and wearing mismatched socks (not that she didn’t intentionally do that on the regular, she just didn’t actually intend to this morning and didn’t notice it until she was already halfway to the library).

She bursts in clearly as Wednesday is just about to leave the library and go find Gomez, and Enid sighs in relief that she escaped Wednesday’s follow-through on that particular threat.

Her brain is still throbbing behind her eyes, clearly too big for her skull at the moment, she’s somehow equally light-headed with a faint ringing in her ears, and all she wants is death. 

Wednesday’s thoughtful gesture of serving her breakfast in bed at least helped somewhat; it took care of the nausea and helped her stop feeling super dizzy, which is the only reason she managed to get out of bed, get ready, and sprint to the library before the appointed deadline.

She hopes Lurch cleans her room while she’s out doing other stuff.

If she’s forced to choose between cleaning that disaster today or sleeping on Bruno tonight, Bruno’s going to have to get okay with a lot of things very quickly, namely a werewolf that grinds her canines while she sleeps and not chewing on her hair under penalty of bubblegum pink dye.

“You’re lucky.” Wednesday says, sitting back down in her chair and opening the notebook she’s kept reserved for their Greek lessons (she has an entirely different one dedicated to their Italian lessons). “I was just about to fetch my father and ask for his assistance in waking you up. You narrowly avoided permanent aural damage.”

“Gee, thanks.” Enid plops down in the chair opposite Wednesday’s, setting her small whiteboard, pencil case, and regular composition notebook down on the table, a stark contrast to the perfectly aligned fountain pen set and the thing Wednesday insists classifies as a notebook despite it clearly being a cursed ancient tome of one variety or another; Enid cannot be fooled.

Enid slumps down in her seat and (very lightly) bonks her head down on the table.

“Where did we leave off yesterday?” She sighs against the tabletop, eyes already closing to block out the light.

“You mean the day before yesterday. You slept through the entire day and night after the full moon.”

Enid would be alarmed that she’d slept for so long, but she’s too tired and sore to care.

“Okay, whatever. Where did we leave off the day before yesterday?”

“Well.” Something abruptly bangs against the desk, making Enid nearly jump out of her skin and the chair she’s sitting on. She winces and rubs at her forehead, trying to stave off the migraine she can already feel brewing.

A thought jumps to mind of a miniaturized Grandmama stirring a cauldron in the center of her brain, cackling as lightning shoots out of it and crackles against every sensitive nerve in her skull.

The image is just bizarre enough that Enid’s certain everyone in the family would get a kick hearing about it. 

Maybe she’ll tell them when she’s not feeling so miserable.

Enid looks at the table and sees Wednesday apparently callously dropped her copy of the book they’ve been using as a guideline for their Greek lessons, the source of the bang that nearly vibrated Enid’s brains out of her ears.

“If I recall correctly, we decided you’d start teaching me how to discuss hobbies and activities. I should also inform you that we’ll be stretching our individual lessons today to two hours instead of our regular one, to make up for the lost time from yesterday.”

Before Enid can shoot down this unjust decision made entirely without her input, Wednesday outright slams a second book- Enid’s copy of their guideline book- against the table, making Enid’s vision actually go white for a few moments.

By the time it returns, Enid’s contemplating murdering Wednesday the next chance she gets. Perhaps just some light maiming if Wednesday can find it in herself to apologize, though Enid sincerely doubts she will. All the Addams she’s met so far are rather stubborn, and Wednesday outdoes them all by a mile, so death it will have to be; today, Wednesday’s started a war that Enid has every intention of finishing, no matter the cost. 

(As an additional benefit, when Enid dies along with Wednesday, Enid’s headache will die right along with them, a truly fitting and agreeable end for them all).

When she growls at Wednesday for the mistreatment, only to wince as the sound reverberates through her cranium, Wednesday huffs in what Enid murderously recognizes as amusement and reaches across the table with a small green vial in hand.

“Here, it’s something to relieve pain that Grandmama whipped up for you; it should help alleviate your headache and any body soreness you’re feeling. She even made sure to sweeten it for you.”

Enid glares sourly at Wednesday for a moment before snatching the vial from her.

“You’re granted a stay in execution.” Enid mumbles before downing the vial’s contents, the taste a strange blend of juniper, pineapple, and something distinctly meaty.

“How distasteful.” Wednesday says dryly as she pulls away. “If anyone were to find out, my reputation would surely be ruined.” 

“Then I’ll be sure to spread the word.” Enid grouches after finishing the potion and handing the bottle back to Wednesday.

“And they call me cruel.” Wednesday says with a smile.

On anyone else, the smile couldn’t be considered big by any stretch of the imagination, but on Wednesday it’s practically a grin.

Enid’s traitorous heart flutters when she realizes that Wednesday’s smiles have both been getting more frequent and increasingly bigger as the summer’s progressed.

She reminds her heart that Wednesday just intentionally aggravated her already intense migraine not once, but twice, and should not be regarded with any degree of affection for at least the next hour.

But then Grandmama’s potion kicks in, and both Enid’s headache and muscle pain quickly fade away under a gentle wave of cold relief.

She reluctantly lets her heart have its way and stutter out a ridiculous rhythm over how pretty Wednesday is with her satisfied smile and the twinkle of mischief in her eyes, but Enid’s mind knows that this slight still can’t be allowed to go unpunished.

Enid needs to avenge herself, and she knows exactly how to do it.

“Actually, I was thinking we should do something different; we can focus on hobbies and activities next week or something. For now, we’re going to go back to describing people so that I can broaden your vocabulary.”

“Oh really?” Wednesday raises an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

Enid shrugs glibly, well aware she might as well have a neon sign spelling out ‘Mischievous Intent’ above her head. But there’s absolutely nothing Wednesday can do to stop what’s coming next. 

“I’ll even teach you a few Greek sayings so that you don’t get bored or anything.”

Wednesday smirks, clearly thinking Enid’s going to use this lesson as an excuse to cuss her out in Greek, but Enid has a much better idea.

Any word that could so much as hint at affection or compliments of any form has been so far gone untouched in their Italian lessons, a fact that has not gone unnoticed by Enid.

Enid’s followed Wednesday’s lead in their Greek lessons, avoiding anything that could be construed as romantic both for Wednesday’s comfort and to avoid them getting derailed in their lessons.

Enid’s well aware that, while Wednesday might be comfortable saying romantic and affectionate things to Enid in a language she can’t understand, Wednesday has a much harder time doing so in English. 

Enid knows that expressing emotions to anyone outside of Wednesday’s family (at least, non-violent emotions) is something she has very little practice in, so Enid’s been mostly content letting the Italian phrases and pet names Wednesday slides into their conversations slip past with little to no fuss (though she still gets playfully grumpy at Wednesday about it from time to time, out of principle if nothing else).

Now though?

Now she’s going to make Wednesday regret ever setting foot into Enid’s room this morning.

When Wednesday opens up her book on Greek, Enid quickly shakes her head.

“Oh no, we won’t be using those today.”

Wednesday frowns, pausing in flipping through the pages of her book to get to the describing people section.

“That’s not how we normally do this.”

Enid smirks.

“Well, it’s how we’re doing it today. You might as well close that; we won’t be needing it.”

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Wednesday slowly closes her book and slides it away from her, fingertips lingering on the cover as if urging Enid to change her mind.

When Enid doesn’t, Wednesday lets out one of her not-sighs and lets go of the book, opening her notebook to an empty page and taking the cap off of one of her fountain pens.

Enid smiles happily, zipping open her pencil case and taking out a handful of colorful dry-erase markers.

“Alright, I’m writing this down so you can add it to your notes.” Enid says as she scribbles the Greek letters out on the whiteboard. “We’ll be both expanding your vocabulary and testing your memory from previous lessons. To start with, the top sentence will be a ‘you are’ statement with a new descriptive word at the end. Beneath it, I want you to turn it into an ‘I am’ statement, and I’ll add the modified version of the descriptive word used in an ‘I am’ statement underneath for you to use.”

“Oh really?” Wednesday says with amusement, clearly thinking Enid’s going to trick her into insulting herself. 

But Wednesday seems to be forgetting that Enid’s being taught the fine art of revenge from the very best, and would no longer be tempted to use anything so juvenile. 

“Yep!” Enid says with a bright grin, glee bubbling in her chest as she finishes the last symbol. 

She turns the whiteboard around to show Wednesday.

To Wednesday’s credit, she immediately starts jotting down the sentence with her usual, elegant pen strokes, clearly not letting whatever trick Enid’s playing on her distract from her usual intense focus on their lessons.

“Alright, now I’m going to say it, but I want you to say the modified version, okay? Είσαι όμορφη .”

Wednesday’s eyes twitch upward in an eyeroll, but she still complies.

“ Ειμαι ομορφη .”

“Very good.” Enid nods, trying her best to contain the grin threatening to border on adoring.

If Wednesday saw that, it would be a dead giveaway and Enid could lose out on this fucking fantastic opportunity.

“Alright, so what does it mean, and why did you trick me into saying it?” Wednesday asks, her face a study in fond exasperation.

Enid waves her off.

“Eh, we’ll get to that in a minute. The first few of these are going to be pretty short, so we’ll get through a few more and then I’ll tell you what they mean.”

Wednesday’s eyes twitch again before she nods.

“Alright, cool. Next one: Είσαι απίστευτος .”

“ Είμαι απίστευτος. ”

“Awesome, awesome. Είσαι αγαπητός ?”

“ Είμαι αγαπημένη. ”

“Okay, that’s a good start. Let’s try some that are a little more challenging-”

“Enid. You said you were going to-”

“And I will, once you get these more complicated ones done. Unless, of course, you don’t think you can do them?”

Enid smiles innocently at Wednesday, knowing that the easiest way to get her to do something is by implying that she isn’t capable of doing it.

Wednesday glares at Enid competitively and gestures to the whiteboard with her fountain pen.

“Continue.” She says.

So they do.

“ Είσαι τρομακτικά έξυπνος .” Enid starts.

“ Είμαι τρομερά έξυπνος. ” Wednesday replies.

“ Είσαι αυτός που αποκαλύπτει τα πράγματα που κανείς άλλος δεν μπορεί .” 

Wednesday pauses ever-so-slightly, thinking it over, before replying flawlessly: “ Είμαι αυτός που αποκαλύπτει τα πράγματα που κανείς άλλος δεν μπορεί. ” 

“Good job! That was perfect.” Enid grins, ignoring the way her heart beats faster.

“ Είσαι προγεννητικά ταλαντούχος. ”

“ Είμαι προγενέστερα ικανός .” Wednesday sighs.

“ Είστε η λεπίδα που κόβει όλη τη μαεστρία με ευκολία .” Enid says.

This time Wednesday doesn’t even pause.

“ Είμαι η λεπίδα που κόβει όλη τη μαεστρία με ευκολία .” 

Enid’s heart beats faster; somehow, there’s just something about hearing Wednesday speaking Greek with a slight accent (cute) that makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside.

She’s sure Wednesday would hate it, but Enid knows she would love to find out what her speaking Italian does to Enid. 

In fact, Enid’s pretty much certain by this point that Wednesday does know, and that’s why she uses it so often.

But Wednesday learning a language Enid’s been fluent in for her entire life- it makes her feel all sorts of things that aren’t like the Italian flames heating up her insides and making her skin break out into horribly distracting goosebumps. 

Instead, it makes her chest warm up in a gentle way, a way that makes her feel safe, like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be. 

She shouldn’t feel so smitten by it, but she does, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“ Είσαι απίστευτα συναρπαστικός. ” Enid says.

“ Είμαι απίστευτα συναρπαστικός .” Wednesday returns.

“ Είσαι η φλόγα που τραβάει όλους τους σκώρους στο θάνατό τους. ” Enid.

“ Είμαι η φλόγα που τραβάει όλους τους σκώρους στο θάνατό τους. ” Wednesday.

Wednesday’s eyebrow twitches slightly in annoyance as they keep going back and forth, and Enid has to stop herself from breaking out into giggles.

“ Είσαι ατελείωτα μυστηριώδης .” Enid.

“ Είμαι ατελείωτα μυστηριώδης. ” Wednesday.

“ Είσαι η μαύρη τρύπα που καταναλώνει τα πάντα στο πέρασμά της. ” Enid.

“ Είμαι η μαύρη τρύπα που καταναλώνει τα πάντα στο πέρασμά της. ” Wednesday.

Wednesday’s glare deepens as she keeps taking notes, her grip on her pen tightening enough that Enid can hear the metal start to groan softly in protest.

“ Είσαι απολύτως τρομακτικός. ” Enid.

“ Είμαι απολύτως τρομακτικός .” Wednesday.

Each stroke of Wednesday’s pen is nearly cutting into the page by this point, and Enid has to physically cover her mouth for a moment to keep her laughter at bay.

If Wednesday’s glares could cut, Enid would be nothing but ribbons by now.

Enid used to be normal. 

Once upon a time, she didn’t think murderous intent, especially when aimed towards her, was cute in any way. 

Apparently, those days are long gone now.

Oh well.

“ Και είσαι αγαπημένος γι' αυτό .” Enid continues.

“Enough.” Wednesday says, capping her fountain pen and placing it neatly amongst the others. “You’ve had your fun, Enid, but this is preventing me from learning anything of value. Please desist.”

“Alright, alright.” Enid sighs, feigning reluctance. “I’ll come show you the translations.”

Enid stands up and rounds the table, coming to a stop by Wednesday’s side to look over her shoulder.

Wednesday’s reaction is going to be gold , and Enid has no intention of missing any of it.

“Alright, let’s start with the first one.”

“That’s typically the best place to begin.” Wednesday says somewhat snappishly.

Enid leans back thoughtfully.

“Then again, I guess I could just let you figure these out by yourself …”

Wednesday breathes another not-sigh.

“Fine, I won’t interrupt.”

“Good.” Enid leans a bit closer over Wednesday’s shoulders, using putting her finger beside the first line on Wednesday’s page of untranslated Greek as an excuse to put her other hand on the back of Wednesday’s chair, her fingers inches from the nape of Wednesday’s neck, her arm almost wrapped around Wednesday’s shoulders.

(Wednesday wouldn’t let anyone, not even members of her own family, get this close behind her for almost any reason. Enid tries not to think about that too much).

“Okay, so this first one, είσαι όμορφη , means ‘you’re beautiful’.”

Because Enid’s so close, she knows the exact moment when Wednesday’s entire body tenses up, her heartbeat stutters, and her breathing briefly fluctuates.

Enid suppresses a smirk.

“So then ειμαι ομορφη would mean …?”

“...I’m beautiful.” Wednesday says, voice almost strained in her attempt to sound indifferent.

“Mhm.” Enid breathes out a laugh, feeling the shift from hiding all emotion to murderous intent in the stiffness of Wednesday’s spine as she does. “And if είσαι υπέροχος means ‘you’re incredible’, then what would Είμαι απίστευτος mean?”

“...that. I. Am. Incredible.” Each word is punctuated and underlined with the sharp promise of a future full of pain for Enid, even while Wednesday’s hands are white-knuckled from clutching the edge of the table so tightly.

Enid has to fight back giggles.

Wednesday is just so damn cute sometimes.

She can’t resist the urge to lean in a little closer, her fingers brushing the back of Wednesday’s neck and idly playing with the short wisps of hair that managed to escape her tight braids, mouth close to Wednesday’s ear and voice softer for it.

Whereas Enid wouldn’t have thought it possible, Wednesday somehow manages to get even stiffer.

Enid lets her mouth just barely brush against the edge of Wednesday’s ear to distract from her own slightly faster breathing.

“And so, if είσαι αγαπητός , means ‘you’re loved’, what would είμαι αγαπημένος mean?”

Wednesday’s body twitches violently, her heart suddenly goes from its typical steady beat to a pounding flurry, and her breathing stops entirely.

When the silence stretches to over a minute, Wednesday staring blankly at the page in front of them, Enid smiles and nudges Wednesday slightly.

“Come on, Ms. Top-of-the-Class, you can figure it out.”

When Wednesday still doesn’t say anything, Enid moves her hand from the back of Wednesday’s neck, reaches around her, and gently places it on top of Wednesday’s left hand, lightly placing her fingers in the spaces between Wednesday’s own from where they’re still holding on to the table for dear life.

Wednesday shudders ever-so-slightly and starts breathing again.

“It’s alright.” Enid says, amused. “I’m sure you’ve figured it out, but we’ll still come back to it. Let’s go down the rest of them for now, hm?”

Enid’s a little nervous to translate the rest- it just seems almost too personal-  but she’s determined to see this through. 

Not only because she means every word of it, but because Wednesday deserves to hear it, revenge or not.

So Enid starts going down the page, stopping by each line that she spoke to Wednesday and murmuring its translation into Wednesday’s ear.

“You’re scarily intelligent.

You’re the one who reveals the things that no one else can.

You’re unnaturally capable.

You’re the blade that cuts through all mastery with ease.

You’re morbidly fascinating.

You’re the flame that draws all moths to their death.

You’re endlessly mysterious.

You’re the blackhole that consumes everything in its path.

You’re absolutely terrifying.”

Enid presses her cheek against Wednesday’s hair, squeezing her hand softly, lowering her voice to nearly a whisper.

“And you are loved for it.”

Wednesday’s already unsteady breathing hitches, and her right hand wrenches up from the table to cling onto Enid’s forearm, nails digging into her skin almost painfully, but not pulling her hand away from the page.

Enid rests her chin on Wednesday’s shoulder, closing her eyes and breathing in Wednesday’s comforting scent for a moment before opening them again.

“So let’s try this again.” Enid says, having to work hard to keep her voice casual. “If είσαι αγαπητός means ‘you’re loved’,” she tightens her grip on Wednesday’s hand, “what would είμαι αγαπημένος mean?”

“It would mean,” Wednesday’s voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, fingernails digging even deeper into Enid’s arm, “I’m loved.”

Enid brushes her lips over Wednesday’s hair in an almost-kiss, smiling.

“That’s right, Wednesday. And don’t forget it.”

Wednesday shivers before abruptly trying to lurch out of the seat in an attempt to escape, but Enid was expecting that to happen eventually.

She doesn’t even have to do anything, just keep her body wrapped around Wednesday’s, and her natural strength does the rest of the work.

Enid lifts her head and moves it away slightly to look at Wednesday.

Wednesday’s head snaps towards Enid, braids whipping around, one nearly smacking Enid in the face.

Wednesday is clearly flustered, with unsteady breathing, faint color high on her cheekbones (as close to a blush as Enid’s ever seen on her), and heart racing even by a normal person’s standards.

“Let me go, Sinclair.”

Oh, pulling out the last names, huh?

Wednesday’s even more flustered than Enid realized.

She relishes in it.

Enid smiles innocently at Wednesday.

“But Wednesday, we have a two hour lesson to get through today, remember? So we can make up for lost time? That was your idea after all.” 

Enid feels the sharp point of a knife dig into her stomach, but she doesn’t move an inch, still smiling as innocent as can be.

Wednesday’s shaking, though if it’s from anger, frustration, or something else entirely, Enid has no idea at the moment, too distracted from how fun it is to witness Wednesday so off-kilter just because of Enid’s (admittedly not great, though she definitely tried her best) poem and the thrill of their proximity.

Enid leans in closer, letting her innocent smile slip into a smirk when their faces are inches apart.

“But we can cut it short if you don't think you can do it, Addams .”

Wednesday’s breath is tight and strained as she clearly tries to reign her body’s reactions back in, and Enid has to fight not to lean in those last few inches to kiss her, especially with how intoxicating Wednesday’s scent is, washing over Enid like an irresistible tsunami.

She’s going to have to remember to steal another of Wednesday’s hoodies later.

“Fine.” Wednesday finally grits out, the knife disappearing from its threatening place at her gut. 

“Great!” Enid says brightly.

Wednesday turns stiffly in her seat to face the table, picking up her pen once again, but one of her braids is still draped over her back.

Before she can fix it, Enid quickly picks the braid up, wraps it around her fingers a few times, and rubs her thumb over the silky smoothness of Wednesday’s hair.

After a moment, she drapes it back over the front of Wednesday’s body.

Enid leans in one more time, whispers “breathe” into Wednesday’s ear, and then stands up, skipping back to her side of the table.

Once she sits down, she grabs her composition notebook and rips a page out of it. 

The page has each sentence painstakingly written out in Greek letters, the pronunciation for each word underneath, and the translations for each written under that.

“I figured you were a little too distracted to jot down the translations, so I took the liberty of doing it for you. I won’t be doing that for the rest of them though, so you better pay attention.”

Wednesday snatches the paper out of Enid’s hand and shoves it into her bookbag.

Wednesday crosses her arms and glares even more fiercely at Enid than she has yet, which only makes Enid’s grin grow even brighter.

Wednesday’s pen creaks and breaks in half, spilling ink everywhere, but Wednesday’s eyes don’t even twitch away from staring Enid down.

Enid’s never felt more smug.

Thing’s skating down the corridor, having an especially fun time since he can see a bright splash of blue with each movement of his fingers (he and Enid had a particularly fun manicure session the night before), and narrowly avoids a horrible fate thanks to House’s intervention.

House raises a floorboard that stops Thing in his tracks just before the door to the main library slams open, just barely saving him from being catapulted and splattered against the wall.

Wednesday doesn’t even seem to notice, stomping down the hallway with Enid’s howling laughter trailing behind her from within the library.

Nope.

Thing quickly turns around and skates away in the opposite direction. 

From now on, he’s never using this corridor for skating practice ever again.

Wednesday stalks down the hallway, absolutely seething.

Enid’s transgression shall not, will not , go unpunished.

Wednesday never allows anyone to get away with humiliating her, and not even Enid will be an exemption to this rule.

Her punishment shall be severe.

She will not get out of this unscathed.

Wednesday will make sure of it.

An hour or so later (once Wednesday’s sufficiently cooled down), Wednesday and Enid are having their weekly graveyard picnic, a tradition they picked up pretty quickly after the excellent success of the first.

Wednesday takes the opportunity to inform Enid on the discovery of A. Vidal’s second journal, something she did with the rest of her family the day before.

“Holy crap, really? Have you found anything?” She asks excitedly.

“Not much as yet.” Wednesday replies reluctantly. “But when I touched it, the journal did trigger a vision that revealed the 13th book is buried with A. Vidal. We’re still looking for information on where that might be, but it’s a promising lead.”

“Oh, okay.” Enid deflates slightly, but she quickly perks back up. “Well, I’m sure we’ll find something soon; you guys probably keep better records of where your ancestors are buried than where they lived anyway.”

Wednesday has to concede the point.

A moment of silence passes between them.

“So, you aren’t upset?” Wednesday asks, decidedly not nervous.

“Upset about what?” 

Wednesday stabs a piece of the sludge in her bowl trying to escape a tad more aggressively than usual.

“Upset that I kept this information to myself until yesterday, when I told my family, and today, when I told you?”

Enid rolls her eyes fondly.

“I already figured you did it so that I wouldn’t freak out even more about the upcoming full moon. And honestly? I’m kinda glad you didn’t. It definitely would’ve freaked me out even more, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be a lot more useful in helping figure it out now than I would’ve been if you told me the second you got it.”

Wednesday breathes a small sigh of relief and nods.

“I’m glad. But I still promise not to withhold important information from you- especially if it’s information regarding you- in the future.”

Enid smiles at her sweetly and takes one of her hands, swinging it briefly.

“Thanks, Wednesday. I promise not to keep secrets from you either.”

“Well, I never said we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. How else does one sustain an interesting relationship?”

Enid laughs and pulls her hand away to continue eating her sandwich between her giggles.

With her mind feeling clearer now that she’s informed Enid on A. Vidal’s second journal, Wednesday starts thinking about Enid’s grave insults from mere hours before.

Wednesday’s still ruminating on different revenge schemes she could use to secure retribution against Enid when Enid clears her throat.

“So, I was wondering… just out of curiosity, not a big deal or anything-” 

Indicating to Wednesday that it is, in fact, a big deal. 

“Well, I was just sort of wondering why you weren’t there when I changed back with the others the morning after the full moon?”

“Ah. Yes, that would be my mother’s fault. After completing my section of the duet you have yet to work on-”

“I’ve only been awake for like four hours-!”

“-I retired to bed at a later hour than I normally would. Not only did Mother neglect to wake me when I slept past the appointed time, she ensured the other members of my family would do likewise and not disturb my rest. I do not plan to converse with her for the rest of the day.”

The grin that starts spreading across Enid’s face is entirely too mischievous for Wednesday to allow.

It makes Enid too attractive in a way that could lead to Wednesday doing something drastic.

Like pushing Enid down against the grass and kissing her breathless.

Or perhaps locking Enid in the greenhouse at Cleopatra’s appointed feeding time until she loses the smugness radiating off of her and grovels for Wednesday’s forgiveness.

Or Wednesday could just choose the simplest method and carry Enid off to elope somewhere.

Wednesday knows there are plenty of judges all over the world that owe her family favors, and she’s sure her parents would be more than happy to offer their parental consent, so Enid and Wednesday could elope and honeymoon virtually anywhere in the world.

Italy would, of course, be Wednesday’s first choice, but she knows Enid would equally love places like France or Spain. Wednesday would even be willing to tolerate Greece if that’s what Enid wanted.

The elopement idea is starting to become a little too appealing for Wednesday’s liking, since she’s determined to do things properly for Enid (who deserves absolutely nothing less, Greek lesson notwithstanding), so Wednesday shakes the idea from her head and focuses back on Enid, whose smile is only becoming more impish by the second.

“What?” Wednesday asks, already knowing that she’s going to be keeping Enid up with long and hectic midnight cello sessions for the next week for whatever answer she gets.

“Did wittle baby Wednesday need her mammina to come wake her up? Aw, poor cute wittle baby Wednesday.”

Wednesday narrows her eyes.

Maybe she’ll just tie Enid up and abandon her in the swamp instead.

Enid would be fine.

She’d break out of the chains in no time, and nothing that dwells there could pose any meaningful threat to Enid, even in her human form.

Enid would just get home drenched, smelly, and pissed off about her ruined clothes.

The image is certainly a tempting one at the moment.

“Do you value your personal safety, Sinclair?”

“Obviously not, since I still hang around you, Addams.” Enid quips with a wink.

Wednesday almost growls, hating how Enid’s winks always render her temporarily speechless.

She’s just about to get up and go find her strongest iron chains when Enid’s grin softens into something more genuine, more precious, something intimate that’s meant for Wednesday alone.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

“Couldn’t you?” Wednesday asks dryly.

“Nope.” Enid chirps. Then she smiles that soft smile again and Wednesday’s head goes fuzzy, like the satisfying moments after a good electrical shock. 

“I actually think it’s very sweet that you want to write a duet together, especially since you stayed up so late working on it.”

Actually, Wednesday finished her part of the duet within an hour, but she’s certainly not going to tell Enid that she actually spent most of the night rereading A. Vidal’s second journal for the fifth time, scouring it for any clues about the 13th book or where A. Vidal’s grave might be found.

Wednesday sniffs and turns her face away slightly.

“I resent the accusation that I’d ever do something sweet. It goes against everything I stand for.”

Enid rolls her eyes with so much fondness that it makes Wednesday’s heart almost stutter before she catches it.

She squeezes her heart in her chest to remind it that she’s in control of it, not the other way around.

“Fine, I think it was very romantic of you.”

“Acceptable.” Wednesday turns back to face Enid and takes a bite out of her peeled lemon, savoring the burst of sourness on her tongue.

“I actually looked over what you had before I left my room this morning.”

Wednesday raises an eyebrow.

“Did you?” She asks, containing the urge to shake Enid by the shoulders and demand to know what she thinks of it. “Thoughts?”

“Oh, Wednesday,” Enid sighs, “it’s absolutely incredible. I think it’ll be one of the most beautiful pieces I’ve ever heard once I get the chance to hear it played. I’m almost afraid to sully it by adding anything, but I’ll still do my best.”

Wednesday scoffs slightly to distract from the way her heart is suddenly pounding.

Damn the stupid thing for always escaping her iron tight grasp whenever Enid’s around.

"You're a prodigy at the violin, Enid, and from me those words don't come lightly, girlfriend or not. I'm sure your contribution to the duet will be tolerable at the very least."

Wednesday entire body warms at the surprised yet pleased smile that earns her.

Spirits, she really has become her father. And worse yet- she doesn’t even care .

Her past self would be thoroughly disgusted.

Her current self can only focus on the way Enid’s smile turns shy and entirely too endearing.

“Actually, I was sort of wondering if you’d be willing to play it for me at some point in the next few days, just so I can get a better feel of it and maybe get some ideas for my part?”

Wednesday can only stare at Enid for a moment, blood threatening to rise to the surface of her skin and form an unforgivable blush.

“Very well. I’m sure we can find the time within the next few days for me to show you, provided nothing particularly interesting happens in the meantime.”

“I don’t even want to know what you mean by ‘particularly interesting’.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t.”

“Well, here’s something I want to know. When do we start the courtship? Or are we already in one?”

“We’re not currently in one; I have to redo my presentation of the rose to you, which I plan to do within the next few days.”

“Aw, Wednesday, come on! Can’t you just give it to me now?”

“I intend to shower you with every form of affection I can conceive of for the rest of our days and nights together; I will not have my first traditional Addams clan act of devotion to you reduced to a simple on-the-spot handover. When I present my rose to you again, it will be in a way that shows how devoted I am to you, and how I plan to treat you for the rest of our lives and our deaths. Please, I know you want to start immediately, but allow me the time to plan and prepare; it’s important to me to do so.”

Enid stares at her, mouth agape, for a few moments, before a slow shy grin spreads across her face, her cheeks and nose turning pink, her eyes glimmering with joy and longing and something deeper that sings to the very marrow of Wednesday’s bones.

“Alright, Wednesday.” She says. “I’ll wait forever if you need me to. Just so long as we’re together, I won’t need anything more than you.”

Wednesday stares at Enid, studying her, unable to look away from the creature who has bewitched her so wonderfully unexpectedly.

Bathed in the beams of sunlight peeking from between gray clouds, Enid’s hair is a pale golden halo framing her face, the ends streaked with meadowsweet pink and sapphire blue, her skin a warm honey and her beautiful scars more pronounced than ever, her eyes a crystal-clear blue shot through with yellow sunlight, playfully hinting at the danger hiding within her.

She looks like a goddess of sunlight and war and joy and spring-turned-summer, something ancient and new and fiery that would burn Wednesday’s hands to touch.

Oh, how badly she wants to burn.

Forget France and Italy and Greece; Wednesday’s going to put Enid over her shoulder and drag her to the nearest courthouse she can find, family traditions, proper weddings, and laws be damned.

Even if the judge she goes to doesn’t owe her family a favor (doubtful), she’s certain a brief phone call with her parents would get her the parental consent they’d need, and if the judge tried to object in any way, she’d make it clear to them why doing so would be a very bad idea.

“So, what’re you thinking about over there?” Enid asks.

“Our marriage.” Wednesday responds idly.

Satisfaction bubbles up in her when she hears Enid almost choke on a bite of her sandwich.

“What?” Enid shouts. “Since when?”

“Since the end of last semester, when I decided to seek out a courtship with you. In truth though, I think of it often, particularly what you’ll look like in your wedding dress.”

“Seriously?” Enid starts to blush a complimentary pink and smiles shyly down at her plate.

“Yes.” Wednesday says blankly. She takes a sip of tea, keeping a sharp eye on Enid’s face. “But mostly what you’ll like when you’re out of it after the ceremony.”

Enid squeaks and turns a bright red, covering her face with her hands.

“Wednesday!” She nearly shrieks.

“Apologies,” Wednesday says dryly. “I simply couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

Enid peeks out at Wednesday from between her fingers.

The familiar and welcome pain of fondness aches in Wednesday’s heart at the sight.

“So you were just teasing?”

Wednesday takes another sip of her tea to hide her amusement.

“We can pretend I was if that would make you more comfortable.”

Enid hides her face in her hands with a squeal bordering on a scream, though from the way Enid’s toes are curling on the picnic blanket, it’s evidently not entirely due to mortification.

Wednesday leans in a bit closer and murmurs just beside Enid’s ear:

“ Rendi troppo allettante scappare con te, tesoro mio. Dovresti fermarti prima di subirne le conseguenze. ”

Enid squeaks again, folding in even further on herself as if that’ll hide the bright red blush Wednesday can see on the tips of her ears and the back of her neck.

Wednesday leans back and hides a smirk behind her cup.

She’s had her revenge, and she didn’t even have to plan or lie to get it.

How fortuitous.

Enid’s very glad they still have a few hours before dinner for her to lock herself in her room and have a mini-meltdown. 

All she can think about is what Wednesday said during their weekly graveyard picnic. 

Thinking about their marriage? 

Describing in detail what she imagines Enid’s wedding dress will look like?

Implying that she’s thought about- about-

Is Wednesday actually trying to kill Enid by giving her a heart attack?

Because Enid’s pretty sure she’s well on her way there.

The worst part is that, now that Wednesday’s planted the idea in her brain and she’s desperately trying to avoid thinking about Wednesday’s allusion to their future honeymoon, all Enid can think about is what their wedding would be like. 

Would they both wear dresses, or would one of them wear a suit?

Who would stand at the end of the aisle and who would walk down it to join them?

Where would they have it?

How gothic would the decor be, and how many colorful flowers could Enid get away with adding?

But more specifically, she can’t help but wonder what Wednesday’s wedding dress would look like.

The dress would definitely be black, there’s no doubt about it, but there’s so many more details to a dress (especially a wedding dress) than the color.

After spending longer than she’d ever admit ruminating on the idea, Enid has a pretty clear image in her head of what she’d expect Wednesday to look like.

She’d be wearing her regular twin braids of course, but with a beautiful thin headband set just behind her bangs, made up of tiny white pearls with a slightly bigger diamond as the centerpiece, from which a black veil hangs down.

The same kind of small pearls from her headband would decorate her high neckline like a necklace, from which a small chain would hang down in loops, and would hem her off-shoulder lacy sleeves. 

The dress itself would be largely without decoration- a simple silk black for the most part- except for the pinprick diamonds scattered around a waistline of diamond stars, and the long silky skirt would end at her ankles with billowy lace poking out from beneath the hem to float gracefully around Wednesday’s feet.

She’d be holding an umbrella (whether to protect her skin from the sun or because they decided to marry during a rainy day; either option would be equally likely) trimmed with black ruffles and lace.

But the most beautiful part of the dress by far would be the black lace cape draped down her back and floating behind her, dotted with hundreds (if not thousands) of small diamonds of various sizes, making it look like Wednesday’s wearing the entire night sky as the train of her dress, pinned to her shoulders by shining black stars.

Enid can’t get the image out of her head.

When she goes down to the music room to play her violin in an attempt to distract herself, she finds that the only song she can play, over and over, is Carmen’s “Habanera”.

Dying. 

She’s dying, and Wednesday’s killing her very very slowly.

Goddamnit. 

After another of Grandmama’s bizarre yet delicious home-cooked dinners, complete with some extremely fun stories exchanged over the dinner table (mostly with Frankie and Lowell, who like to slip as much Greek into their conversations as possible just to tease Wednesday into glaring at them and to make Enid giggle) and an absolutely excruciating two-hour Italian lesson with Wednesday that pretty much consisted entirely of romantically-morbid poetry and increasingly suggestive phrases, (Enid still can’t get the saying, “ Una donna è come una castagna: bella fuori -– abbastanza buona da mangiare dentro ” out of her head), an exhausted Enid ends up deciding to go to bed early.

So she says good night to everybody and heads up to her room.

After getting ready for bed and shutting off the lights, she gets under her covers and pulls out her phone, ready to scroll through social media for a bit until she drifts off to sleep.

But an hour passes.

Then two.

Another half hour later she gives up on her entirely useless phone and starts tossing and turning, trying to find a more comfortable position or cooler side of the bed or whatever it is that’s keeping her from sleeping. Even burying her nose in Wednesday’s hoodie doesn’t help, which is definitely not a great sign that she’ll be getting to sleep anytime soon.

She figures out pretty quickly that the reason she hasn’t conked out yet is because Wednesday hasn’t started up her usual midnight cello session.

And since it’s- Enid checks her phone- nearly three in the morning, she doubts that’s going to happen anytime soon.

She frowns, since any kind of deviation from Wednesday’s routine is usually due to an investigation, which means that Wednesday’s probably staying up looking over the A. Vidal stuff again.

Sighing, Enid gives up entirely, gets up, shoves her feet into her favorite pair of slippers, and slouches her way over to Wednesday’s room.

Without knocking, she opens Wednesday’s door, ignores the ninja star that goes whizzing past her head and buries itself into the wood directly beside her, walks inside, and flops onto Wednesday’s empty bed.

Wednesday’s sitting at her desk and staring at Enid with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Can’t fall asleep, so I’m using your bed instead.” Enid mumbles, crawling under Wednesday’s covers and dropping her head onto the pillow.

Wednesday stares Enid blankly for a moment.

“Fine, but don’t expect me to sleep in your bed instead of my own tonight.” 

Enid makes a sleepy noise of affirmation, only half listening.

Wednesday shakes her head after another few moments, turns back around, and mutters, “ Ma la tua vista nel mio letto è troppo allettante. Voglio già addormentarmi con te tra le mie braccia ogni notte. Se mi permetti di stringerti stanotte, potrei non trovare mai più sonno senza di te tra le mie braccia. ”

Enid’s too tired to even care that Wednesday’s speaking Italian again (though some distant part of her brain still gets shivers from it), and simply huddles more comfortably under the familiar black and white comforter.

But even surrounded by Wednesday’s scent and the familiar sound of a pen being scrawled against paper, Enid still can’t find sleep.

Eventually, groaning, she gives up completely and chooses to go annoy Wednesday instead of continuing the struggle against remaining conscious.

She rolls out of Wednesday’s bed, wrapped in the blanket because Wednesday always keeps her room cold as balls, and wanders her way over to the desk.

She leans down and plops her chin on Wednesday’s shoulder.

“So the sleeping’s going well I see.” Wednesday says.

“Whasha doin?” Enid grumbles in a mostly comprehensible way.

“Rereading A. Vidal’s second journal to see if there’s anything I’ve missed.”

Enid frowns.

“Isn't this like the fourth time or something?”

“Sixth, actually.”

Enid sighs and replaces her chin with her forehead.

“I doubt you’re going to find anything new if this is the sixth time, Wednesday.”

“Perhaps.” Wednesday hums, leaning forward to flip through her notebook in search of something or other.

It makes Enid stumble forward without something to lean all her weight on top of, but when she straightens up to complain, something catches her eye.

“Hey.” Enid frowns and leans over Wednesday’s shoulder. “Why are only some of the pages numbered?”

Wednesday stops flipping through her notebook to give Enid her blank definitely-not-quizzical look. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how come this page is numbered but the rest of them weren’t?”

Wednesday stares at her a moment before turning her focus to the page Enid’s indicating. 

After a few moments of Wednesday staring at it intently, Enid snorts and taps her thumb against the brown “4” on the bottom right corner of the page.

Honestly, the paper might be brown too, but it’s a massively lighter shade than the number is, it's pretty hard to miss.

“It’s right here, Ms. "Oh-So-Smart" Detective.” 

“That’s Ms. "Master Investigator" Detective to you.” Wednesday murmurs distractedly.

She leans so close to the bottom right corner of the page that her nose almost touches it.

Enid rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to make a joke about Wednesday trying to save face for missing something so obvious, but her mouth clicks shut when Wednesday pulls out a very large magnifying glass (shaped like a serpent curled around the glass, the handle a coiled neck and head preparing to strike, because Addamses ), places it over the corner, and leans in so close her eyelashes actually brush against the lens.

Enid’s feeling oddly anxious now.

Can Wednesday really not see it?

After another few moments, Wednesdays makes a small sound of frustration that Enid only catches because of her heightened hearing.

Wednesday stands up and places the open journal near her desk lamp. She lowers the lamp and swivels it to face the notebook using a few knobs on the lamp’s stand, the light spilling out over the journal and most of the desk’s surface.

Wednesday carefully lifts the page and peers at it on the side opposite of the bulb, making the page all but translucent. 

She inhales sharply, the closest she ever gets to a gasp, and turns to Enid with excitement glimmering in her eyes.

A sudden wave of fond nostalgia washes over Enid.

The look on Wednesday’s face- a nearly manic glee, not that many people would be able to see it- is the same exact expression she wears every time she finds a new lead or a missing clue.

“Enid, you’re right; there is a number.”

“You seriously couldn’t see it?” Enid asks, flabbergasted. 

“Not even the faintest indication.” Wednesday confirms, snapping the journal shut and turning off the lamp. “Don’t forget Enid, your eyesight is leagues and bounds beyond almost anyone else’s; you can see things the majority would never be able to.”

Wednesday cups Enid’s cheeks and brushes gentle thumbs under her eyes.

“ Ma questa è la cosa meno sorprendente dei tuoi occhi per me, amore mio. Le loro insondabili profondità blu intrappolano tutte le stelle, le lune, e le galassie al loro interno. Brilli con tutta la luce dell'universo. ” 

Wednesday’s voice becomes noticeably deeper as she continues to stare into Enid’s eyes. Enid can’t even bring herself to blink, the blood rushing to her face despite her not understanding most of what Wednesday’s saying.

“ Oh, come mi rapisci, mio sole. ”

Enid almost melts, eyelids fluttering, because although she can’t understand most of it, she knows what mio sole means, and it makes her heartbeat dangerously fast and her breath unsteady and her knees feel weak.

She knows Wednesday can tell the effect she’s had on Enid by the smirk on her face.

Then Wednesday plays dirty, leaning forward until her lips practically brush against Enid’s ear.

“ Quanto profondamente mi fai desiderare te, tesoro mio. ”

Before Enid can recover enough to pull some Greek together, Wednesday abruptly releases her and marches towards the door.

Enid stumbles.

“Wednesday?”

“Come on; we must show the rest of the family at once.” Wednesday says as she opens the door.

Enid blinks after her incredulously.

“But Wednesday, it’s the middle of the night!”

Wednesday looks at Enid over her shoulder.

“Your point being?” She asks before disappearing into the hallway.

Enid stays frozen for a moment before scrambling after Wednesday.

“Wait, Wednesday, you can’t just wake everyone up over something that might be nothing!” Enid says while chasing after her, but she’s laughing as she does, so Wednesday doesn’t even offer a rebuttal.

(Honestly? Enid wouldn’t either).

Although they originally only meant to wake up the main members of the family and leave their guests out of this, by the time they’ve all assembled in the library, all their guests have followed them there as well.

“What are you all doing here?” Wednesday asks coldly, hiding the turmoil of annoyance and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. 

“Well we heard you all getting up so we had to come see what was going on!” Nyx almost shouts, as energetic as if it were the middle of the day rather than directly after being woken up in the middle of the night. Even the majority of Wednesday’s family is looking rather bleary-eyed, despite all of them tending to wander the halls during the moonlit hours more often than not. 

“This has nothing to do with you. Return to your rooms and keep yourselves out of our business.” Wednesday says.

“Now, now, mi flor muerta ,” Gomez says placatingly, “they are werewolves, and part of our family’s pack; they might be able to-”

“To help?” Wednesday lifts a disdainful eyebrow. “Doubtful. They’ll only bog us down. They need to leave.”

“Don’t you think that’s something for Enid to decide?” Morticia asks, crossing her arms and raising her own eyebrow. “She’s the one this is about, no?”

Wednesday stiffens, immediately cursing herself for not taking Enid into account. 

Wednesday turns to look at Enid apologetically.

“Do you want them to stay and help us?”

Enid fidgets nervously, playing with the hem of her pajama shirt.

Wednesday softens her face slightly.

“It’s alright; it’s up to you, mio sole . I should’ve remembered that.”

“You’re okay. I think I’d like for them to help; they might know something we don’t, after all.”

Wednesday nods, doubting the others will, but knowing there’s a chance they might, however small.

So they sit their guests down and explain everything to them; Enid being a grimwolf, Wednesday’s visions, the frustratingly elusive A. Vidal, the incomplete message, the 13th book- all of it.

By the time they’re done (and have wasted far too much time in Wednesday’s opinion, with the pack members and their spouses constantly interrupting to ask questions), none of them can offer any new information or leads that might be related to the mystery (as Wednesday suspected) but are enthusiastically willing to help in any way they can.

So, they get to work.

Sitting down with the journal, everyone crowds around, jostling each other to get a better view, with only Wednesday and Enid remaining in their positions in front of the book.

With Enid’s assistance, they ultimately find 19 numbered pages, arranged in the order of:

19, 4, 16, 12, 3, 14, 2, 18, 8, 6, 13, 9, 17, 11, 15, 7, 10, 5, and 1.

Wednesday, Morticia, and Banshee, being the best at forgery, all make careful copies of each numbered page, making sure to label the pages with their numbers and making two copies of each.

Once they finish, they hand the copies off to the others to begin looking for anything odd or out of place.

By the time they’ve made copies of every page, no one’s found anything, so they decide to just place the pages in order and try from there.

The first set of copies they set in a sequential line, 1 to 19, and place the second set of copies in the odd order A. Vidal chose for them in a row underneath the first.

For hours they all scour over the pages, trying every code and cipher, pulling out every riddle-solving trick they can think of (and in a group of 17 people, there’s quite a few tricks to try), but they keep coming up with nothing even remotely worthwhile.

Looking for any commonality between the pairs of pages, or any of the pages at all, seems almost impossible.

Each page is as unique as can be in its contents- everything from accounts of bone-chilling stories of run-ins with cults, to detailed illustrations of creatures none of them have ever heard of with only a few short paragraphs of description beside them, to instructions for a potion with no indication as to what it is or what it does.

When Grandmama starts taking a little too much interest in that one, Wednesday raps the table sharply with her knuckles.

“You can test it after we find A. Vidal’s hidden message. Try to contain yourself, hag.”

Grandmama hisses at her but dutifully (and sulkily) starts looking over page 13 again, an account of A. Vidal’s breakfast with an interesting heretic living in the wilds of France, (only referred to as Scythe), during their expedition to find a rare subspecies of werewolves, which evidently could transform at will rather than having to wait until a full moon.

Even the werewolves going over the account aren’t sure whether such a type of werewolf has ever existed or not.

Initially, they only find four things that seem out of place or somehow significant.

First, the 11 on page 11 has a dash to its left, though no one is quite sure if that actually has any significance or if it was simply an errant pen stroke.

Second, on page 4, in an account of being betrayed by someone A. Vidal was working with in order to steal a cursed ruby, instead of using the English word for betrayal in one of the sentences, they used the Italian word tradimento , making it the only non-English word used in any of A. Vidal’s books or journals, disregarding names or quotes.

Third, on page 17, a simple anecdote of an unexpected run-in with a seer, one of the words is written in all-caps: FOREWARN.

Fourth, each page pairing- the sequential row lined up with the arranged row- has a page with very few words matched with a page filled to the brim with words.

Although everyone tries to fit these odd puzzle pieces together, none of them exactly fit, and it doesn’t take into account the rest of the pages or their odd sequence in A. Vidal’s journal, so they set those possible clues aside for later and try even more to find anything else unusual in the other pages.

Two hours after they first started, they finally find the thing that cracks the riddle open for them.

“Hey, hold on a moment.” Margaret says suddenly, studying page 1 intently. She points at something on it.

“Did anyone notice this?”

Wednesday hurries over to her, most of the others following suit.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t notice it before, but in the middle of this sentence there’s an ‘a’ with a period right beside it, but the rest of the sentence continues on as if the period isn’t there.”

“We saw that,” Enid says, shrugging. “We figured it was just an accident or stray ink drop or something.”

“Though it does seem a little too clean and deliberate to have been unintentional.” Wednesday says now that she’s studying it more closely.

“And it’s doubly suspicious since the name of the person is A. Vidal.” Pugsley adds, looking at Wednesday hopefully.

She stares at him for a moment.

“Correct. I’ll practice archery with you as my target tomorrow.”

Wednesday turns back to study the page and ignores the fist pump and quiet “yes” from Pugsley.

He gets entirely too excited about their archery sessions.

Margaret sighs.

“Well, there’s nothing like it on the other page, so I suppose it’s probably nothing.”

“Maybe it’s not the commonalities we’re supposed to be looking for.” Wednesday murmurs to herself. “Maybe it’s the differences.”

Enid turns to her with a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

Wednesday raises her voice and turns to address everyone in the room.

“Everyone, look at each of the paired pages. See if you can find a word on one page that isn’t anywhere on the other, and if you can, tell me or Enid and we’ll write it down.”

Everyone quickly splits up and pores over the pages with renewed vigor, Wednesday turning to a blank page in her notebook and jotting down this new method, as she has with all the others they’ve tried, to ensure they don’t use it again later if it doesn’t work.

But this time, they’ve struck obsidian.

Everyone manages to find one word from each pair of pages that isn’t anywhere on its counterpart, and when Wednesday puts all the words in sequential order, they have an almost legible sentence.

The full message reads:

“a. life grim reaper is closer than you think. Keep looking for misfortune. Do not allow any to surrender.”

“A. life grim reaper? What is that even supposed to mean?” Nyx asks, somehow making perplexed look closer to hyper.

“It is rather odd for A. Vidal to either refer to themself as simply ‘a.’  just before an oxymoron, not to mention it being an extremely strange way to begin a sentence. And who is A. Vidal talking to? Who was this message intended for?” Kyousei asks. 

“Cressida and Griselda, perhaps?” Lowell suggests.

“Maybe, but we don’t even know if they knew each other. The only connection we have between them so far is that Wednesday’s visions of Cressida and Griselda always mention A. Vidal. For all we know, this is a random message meant for someone we don’t even know about that’s not related to this grimwolf business at all!” Fester says.

“But it could’ve also been a warning to Cressida and Griselda that they were in danger, which would mean that they did know A. Vidal!” Gomez counters.

Soon, all of them are arguing and talking over each other, the sleep deprivation and exhaustion from staring at the same 19 pages for the past two hours clearly getting to them.

Wednesday sighs and starts looking around for Thing.

They’ll both clear the table of all the books and papers on it so that Wednesday can then set it on fire.

She’s found that setting things on fire will always make people stop yelling about inane things. 

Or at least, it’ll make them start yelling about other, much more exciting things. 

Namely panicked screaming, which is always Wednesday’s personal favorite, though she enjoys outraged cursing nearly as much.

But as she’s looking, she pauses at the sight of Enid hunched over Wednesday’s notebook at a different table.

Ignoring the arguing behind her, Wednesday joins Enid at the table she evidently migrated to in order to get away from the useless ‘discussion’ everyone else is having. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, slightly peeved that Enid absconded with her notebook without even asking her first. (Well, more than slightly, but she’ll try to tone it down for Enid).

Enid turns to her with a glimmer in her eye that immediately catches Wednesday’s attention and makes her forget her annoyance.

“What did you find?” She asks immediately.

“We both know that A. Vidal is perfectly capable of writing simple messages but loves hiding them in layers of riddles, right? I think that this message might be a riddle too. What’s the Italian word for ‘life’?”

“ Vita .” 

“Which sounds awfully similar to Vidal, doesn’t it?” Enid asks with an excited grin.

“It does.” Wednesday says, moving to stand beside Enid and press their shoulders together.

“And obviously the grim reaper is representative of death, so it’s implying something about A. Vidal’s death, and maybe-”

“It’s referring to A. Vidal’s grave.”

“Exactly!” Enid says, bouncing on her feet as she continues.

“And the ‘looking for misfortune’ part, I think that might be talking about the number 13, since it’s considered an unlucky, or misfortunate number. So it could be referencing the 13th book! So then the first two sentences basically boil down to-”

“A. Vidal’s grave is closer than you think. Keep looking for the 13th book.” Wednesday nearly exclaims, quickly picking up a pen and writing the altered version of the message beneath the original.

“Yeah! Though, I’m not sure what the last line means. ‘Do not allow any to surrender’? Who are the people we’re not supposed to allow to surrender?”

“It could be referring to us. Surrender is a synonym to giving up; perhaps it’s alluding to the fact that we shouldn’t give up in the search.”

“a. lifes grim reaper is closer than you think. Keep looking for misfortune. Do not allow any to surrender.”

“So, then it means, ‘A. Vidal’s grave is closer than you think. Keep looking for the 13th book. Don’t let anyone give up in the search’?”

“That sounds about right.”

They fall silent for a few moments, staring down at the page.

“Wednesday,” Enid says slowly, “is it just me, or does it feel like this message is directed at us?”

“It’s not just you.”

Enid turns to her.

“What does that mean? How could A. Vidal be talking to us from hundreds of years ago?”

“I’m not sure, but there’s a few other strange things I’ve noticed about A. Vidal’s odd writing style. Have you not found it odd that all of A. Vidal’s journals and books are written in English rather than Italian, despite that most likely being A. Vidal’s first language?”

“That- that is a bit weird actually. It would be one thing if A. Vidal just wanted to write their books in English for whatever reason, but you’d think they’d use at least a mixture of Italian and English and whatever other languages they might’ve known in their personal journals.”

“Yes, you’d think so. I also still don’t understand what my visions have to do with all this.”

“Neither do I. None of it makes any sense.”

Wednesday turns to look at Enid, her eyes nervous and her hands tugging at the hem of her shirt again.

“Wednesday, does A. Vidal know us somehow? I don’t understand what’s going on, how are we going to figure this out?”

Wednesday reaches forward and stops Enid’s fidgeting hands, slowly unfolding her hands and massaging them lightly until Enid starts to relax. Then she tangles their fingers together and steps forward until her forehead is pressed against Enid’s.

“I don’t know, but I promise that we will. We’ll figure all this out before the next full moon; you’re going to be alright, Enid. Trust me.”

“I do.” Enid closes her eyes and leans in closer to Wednesday. “I do.”

Later that night, after explaining Enid’s epiphany to everyone else- the true meaning of A. Vidal’s message and the odd implications that A. Vidal might somehow know them and be talking to them directly- everyone retires to their rooms, more than ready to go back to sleep now that the hidden message has finally been decoded, even if it still brings up more questions than answers.

Since it’s nearly five in the morning, Wednesday strongly suspects that no one’s getting up before lunch at the earliest. (Except for Enid, perhaps. She’s an annoyingly consistent early riser and always entirely too cheery to be awake in the morning, rather than comfortably wrapped in the half-death of sleep. Wednesday despises and loves her for it).

Wednesday and Enid return to their rooms, Enid regretfully going to her own bed rather than returning to Wednesday’s. 

Wednesday has to admit that it’s likely for the best. She’s entirely certain that falling asleep with her arms wrapped around Enid would become instantly and dangerously addictive, even if it meant waking up at absurdly early and entirely too sunny times of day.

Perhaps she wouldn’t mind the sunrise if she could see the colors it would paint on Enid every morning. 

A thought to be explored later.

Wednesday slinks into her own room, but rather than lay down on her bed as she’s sure the rest of her family is doing, she returns to her desk.

She can’t sleep yet, because there’s something’s off, like there’s still something to be found in the 19 pages A. Vidal set aside seemingly specifically for them. 

The three odd and unexplained things they found that never merged with the rest of the puzzle- the dash beside the 11, the use of tradimento instead of betrayal, the fully capitalized FOREWARN- those things point to the possibility of another message hidden inside, though what those things could possibly be hinting at is beyond her at this time. 

Even she can admit that her mind isn’t working at full capacity at the moment, and that trying to decode something that might not even exist right now would lead to potentially rash actions.

Like setting the pages, her notebook, and the journal on fire.

She’s always loved a good dose of arson.

Shaking off thoughts of a lovely little bonfire in her room, Wednesday puts the two sets of 19 pages, second journal, her notes from the night’s discoveries, and the hint of a second secret message beneath the false bottom of her left desk drawer.

She’ll come back to the possible mystery after digging a little more into the secret location of A. Vidal’s grave.

Even on the slim chance that she’s right and there is a second message hidden there, she somehow doubts it’ll be any more helpful or less obscure than anything else they’ve gotten from A. Vidal so far, the useless fuck.

If they haven’t found anything else by the end of the week, she’ll spare some time to look into it.

But for now she’s done with Italy.

Time to bring the search closer to home.

The possible second riddle hiding in her desk drawer is quickly forgotten as the next week progresses.

Initially, things seem fine.

Everyone’s more hopeful and newly energized to solve the mystery behind A. Vidal and Wednesday’s strange visions. Enid in particular has a new spring to her step that Wednesday didn’t even realize she’d been missing.

But within a few days, it quickly becomes apparent that they’re no closer to finding more information on A. Vidal or their hidden grave than they were before, and since no new visions seem forthcoming, they’re once again figuratively stuck.

Enid quickly becomes a ball of nerves.

In between frantic hours spent researching in the library or hours of frustrated pacing in front of the cork boards Wednesday hid in one of the seldom used dungeons, she spends the rest of her time trying to help Enid feel better.

She even suggests, unprompted, that she and Enid have a movie night every night to unwind before bed, complete with popcorn and Enid’s favorite sugar-ridden snacks. 

Wednesday insists Enid pick the movie every night, claiming (not entirely dishonestly) that she hasn’t seen that many movies to begin with due to her refusal to become a slave to modern technology. 

They cuddle up together in Enid’s bed, laptop at the ready, and watch her choice of the night.

Wednesday’s shocked initially that Enid doesn’t watch movies like Legally Blonde (and thank Wednesday’s ancestors they haven’t come across that uncomfortable conversation just yet), though there are certainly one or two that might carry some resemblance to that horror show.

Wednesday’s shock wears off fairly quickly (Enid has yet to stop surprising her after all), and although she certainly doesn’t care for all of Enid’s choices, she finds herself enjoying and even becoming enthralled by more of them than not, and certainly more than she was expecting.

(“Why has he not waited to see if the top falls over? When do we find out if he’s awake or still dreaming?”

“We don’t; it’s an ambiguous ending, so we never find out.”

“ Unacceptable .”)

She enjoys them all the more for how eclectic Enid’s choices are, the movies coming from nearly every genre Wednesday can think of.

(“I wouldn’t have expected you to enjoy a movie about abused female cellists cutting off each other’s hands.”

“The hand thing definitely used to make me nauseous- I always had to cover my eyes for those scenes- but after months of hanging out with Thing it seems almost silly to be freaked out by it now. Besides, I think it’s kind of romantic that by the end of the movie, when they get together and everything, they can only play the cello by doing it together, you know?”)

She even asks Enid one night if she’s doing it on purpose in deference to what she suspects Wednesday might like, which actually makes Enid burst out laughing for the first time since the night they found A. Vidal’s hidden message. 

(Wednesday wishes she’d asked sooner).

After her laughter subsides into giggles, she assures Wednesday that she’s picking movies she loves, figuring (correctly) that if Wednesday didn’t like them she’d at least enjoy the torture of being forced to endure watching them.

The sentiment would be uncomfortably close to what Tyler said on their crypt “date”, if it didn’t come on the tail end of Enid’s laughter (or from Enid in general).

After watching one of the few movies Wednesday doesn’t enjoy at all (except for the idea it gives her), she starts responding to Enid’s every request with a simple: “as you wish”, which never fails to bring a smile to Enid’s face, no matter how small it might be.

But no amount of movie nights or romantic declarations can help when, a week after the full moon, the pack has to reluctantly take their leave.

All of them have duties to attend to back at their own homes and have already stayed longer than they planned in order to help Enid.

Each and every one of them swears to return by the next full moon, ostensibly to assist Enid through her third transformation, but everyone can hear the words left unspoken.

We’ll come back in case events unfold the way we fear they will, in order to permanently ensure that Enid doesn’t become the very thing she fears she will; a murderous, mindless monster.

With that thought hanging over everyone’s heads like an executioner’s blade with none of the anticipatory thrill, it’s a very somber group that sees the pack off.

Fortunately, two of the werewolves choose to remain as guests in the house until the next full moon in order to continue helping with the search, to provide Enid the company of other werewolves, to help train her on how to better control her extremely heightened senses, and to help bolster her emotional support (particularly when Wednesday is busy): Frankie and Lowell. 

Wednesday suspects that they’ve grown especially close to Enid due to their shared experience of growing up in American packs equally as toxic as Enid’s family’s pack is. They both seem to view the pack’s “new pup” as kin, even more so than they do the rest of the pack. 

(Wednesday’s sure that the fact all three of them speak fluent Greek only adds to that sense of kinship).

Their partners still choose to leave- Nyx because they suspect they might be able to find a lead in Italy, Lovella because she and Frankie’s home tends to walk off on its giant chicken legs to destroy things if they don’t attend to it regularly. Yet another reason Wednesday will never accept a house as a gift from their Slavic cousins.

Although they’re sad to be parted, the four of them agree it’s for the best for Lowell and Frankie to stay behind.

Unfortunately, even this doesn’t prevent Enid’s emotional state from taking an abrupt and dangerous nosedive the day after the rest of the pack leaves.

Enid starts oscillating between defensive hostility, desperation bordering on panic attacks, fear to the point where she’ll break down sobbing in Wednesday’s arms when they’re in private, to becoming so overwhelmed she’ll shut down completely, moving in autopilot in silence, eyes blank like a doll’s as she does.

Wednesday hates the last one the most, because no amount of threats to dye all of Enid’s clothes black, promises to wear every shade of pink under the sun for the rest of their lives, or desperate pleas for Enid to come back will snap her out of her dissociative trances until she’s good and ready to.

When she does come back, regardless of where they are or what time it is, Wednesday always quietly leads Enid up to her colorful bedroom, wraps her in her fluffiest blanket, and then just holds her on the bed for as long as Wednesday needs to, in order to reassure herself that Enid’s still here with her.

Enid understands, like she always does, and never ends these abrupt cuddle sessions until Wednesday’s ready to, despite the time limit imposed on them by time’s unceasing march towards the next full moon.

Wednesday’s unfathomably grateful for this.

Very few things in Wednesday’s life scare her, but when Enid’s just gone , reduced to a walking, aimless husk of herself, especially when coupled with the idea that she could stay that way forever, as nothing but a shadow of an echo of her beautifully vibrant self- that scares Wednesday.

So she buries herself in Enid until the fear goes away- or at least reduces enough for her to safely contain it in a secure metal box in the deepest corners of her mind.

Wednesday’s well aware that all of this will lead to huge emotional blowback, likely with rash and potentially serious consequences.

She’s proven right five days later.

She and Enid are walking down the corridor to their bedrooms when Enid abruptly stops in her tracks with an angry growl.

Wednesday’s already sighing as she turns to face her anima gemella .

“Enid-“

“No, Wednesday! This needs to stop!” Enid’s hands are by her sides, claws extended, her canines bared.
Wednesday frowns ever so slightly and laces her hands together in front of her.
“What are you talking about.” She says flatly, already knowing exactly what Enid’s talking about. She needs to hear the words anyway, in order to properly rebuke them and rip them to shreds so they can stop tormenting her beloved.

“We’re never going to find that stupid fucking grave in time! If you keep doing this, if we keep doing this, it’ll only end in disaster! And I know you might like disasters, but I don’t!”

Enid’s eyes get watery.

“And you say that I’m the only one you’ll ever love-”

“You are.” Wednesday interrupts.

Enid’s lip quivers, and when she blinks tears spill down her cheeks.

“But I don’t want that anymore!”

Something in Wednesday’s chest tightens, and she can’t breathe for a second.

“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do! If it means you’ll die, then I don’t want you to love me anymore!” Enid says, breath unsteady, as if she’s close to sobbing.

Wednesday can’t allow it.

(Can’t bear it).

She closes the distance between them, pulling an unresisting Enid into a rough, desperate embrace.

Wednesday can feel Enid’s shoulders shaking as she fights back sobs.

“Enid, we’re going to figure this out. We’ll find the 13th book and decode A. Vidal’s message; I promise you that we’ll find the answer.”

Enid pulls back and smiles at her, but it’s a horrendously sad smile.

Wednesday despises the sight of it on her face. 

“You don’t know that.” She whispers.

“I do.” Wednesday says firmly, grasping Enid by the back of the neck and pressing their foreheads together. 

She waits until Enid finally meets her eyes before continuing.

“Remember A. Vidal’s message to us; we can’t allow ourselves to surrender. I promise you that I won’t give up until we find the answers we need, no matter what, and that we can do it beyond any doubt if we do it together. Don’t give up on this; don’t give up on us . Don’t give up, Enid, promise me you won’t. Please .” 

“Okay, Wednesday.” Enid whispers, closing her eyes and leaning against Wednesday. Her smile is small, but it’s a happy one, like the moon breaking through clouds. “Okay, I won’t give up on this, or on us. I promise.”

Wednesday smiles, surprised and relieved at Enid’s almost easy acquiescence.

She closes her eyes, pulling Enid into a firm hug and softening her grip on Enid’s neck.

They stand there for what could be seconds or an eternity.

Wednesday finds she doesn’t care in the slightest which it is.

Together, they’ll find the answers to the questions they’ve been asking for nearly the entire summer.

Together, they’ll find a way to save each other from the dangers facing them.

Together, they’ll get through this and put it to rest, once and for all.

Wednesday will settle for nothing less.

Close to three hours after midnight, Grandmama hears the familiar creak of her trapdoor (the main one) opening up. 

With well-practiced movements, she picks up the axe leaning against her workbench and throws it violently towards the intruder. 

To her surprise, she doesn’t hear the axe dig itself into the wall behind the trapdoor as it usually does, or strike a blow into the flesh of a living person, which has only happened maybe once or eleven times. (Her memory might be going slightly, an excellent cover on the off chance the authorities come poking around).

Frowning, she looks up to see Enid holding the axe by the handle, evidently having caught it midair. Grandmama can’t help but be impressed- she can’t remember the last time someone successfully caught her axe; she has quite the mean throw- but she wouldn’t expect anything less of the person who’s won her beloved and terrifying granddaughter’s heart.

The display only continues to bolster the pride she feels that Enid will one day officially be a member of their clan, despite her clearly already being family.

Even if Enid and Wednesday lost their minds (in a non-Addams fashion) and decided not to enter a courtship or one day marry, Grandmama is already certain Enid has been all but adopted by their family and the Addams werewolf pack.

And leaving all that behind, a person meant to be an Addams will be an Addams, whether they’re related by blood, married in, adopted, or none of the above. 

Grandmama’s already seen the proof that Enid is meant to be an Addams, even if she hasn’t seen it for herself.

“O, bună seara, micul lup lunar! I thought you were that three times cursed Fester coming to bother me again. What brings you here after the witching hour? I was under the impression that you’re normally asleep by now.”

Enid sets the axe on the ground and nervously approaches her workbench, fidgeting with her hands.

“Well, I um, sort of need your help with something…”

When she doesn’t continue, Grandmama smiles and taps the table with her stirring spoon.

“Come along now, I don’t have all night. If I don’t get back to the Diaboli Celia within the next ten minutes, it’ll explode and destroy the whole house! Probably half the town, too.”

At Enid’s alarmed and frantic look, Grandmama cackles.

“I’m joking, no need to look so worried.”

Enid deflates and lets out a relieved sigh.

Grandmama turns to add a sprinkle of crushed siren scales into the cauldron, humming with satisfaction when it turns a bright silver.

She turns back to Enid and grins reassuringly. 

“At most it would destroy the workshop, and there’s only a small chance we would die.”

“What?” Enid yelps.

“You’re a rather jumpy one, aren’t you?”

“Well when it comes to things that could potentially explode and kill me -”

“Wasn’t there something you wanted help with? Much as I love a good bout of conversation, especially with a werewolf as fun to talk to as yourself, I am rather busy at the moment, unless it’s something important. Or at least something interesting.”

Enid nods and takes a deep breath, apparently gathering her courage.

She steps forward, plants her hands on the workbench, and looks up at Grandmama with a determined fire in her eyes.

“I want you to give me something that will make Wednesday stop loving me.”

(One week and one day since the Second Full Moon - Two weeks and six days until the Third Full Moon)

Translations:

Piccolo sole - “Little sun.” (Italian)

Είσαι όμορφη. - “You’re beautiful.” (Greek)

Ειμαι ομορφη. - “I’m beautiful.” (Greek)

Είσαι απίστευτος. - “You’re incredible.” (Greek)

Είμαι απίστευτος. - “I’m incredible.” (Greek)

Είσαι αγαπητός. - “You’re loved.” (Greek)

Είμαι αγαπημένη. - “I’m loved.” (Greek)

Είσαι τρομακτικά έξυπνος. - “You’re scarily intelligent.” (Greek)

Είμαι τρομερά έξυπνος. - “I’m scarily intelligent.” (Greek)

Είσαι αυτός που αποκαλύπτει τα πράγματα που κανείς άλλος δεν μπορεί. - “You’re the one who reveals the things that no one else can.” (Greek)

Είμαι αυτός που αποκαλύπτει τα πράγματα που κανείς άλλος δεν μπορεί. - “I’m the one who reveals the things that no one else can. (Greek)

Είσαι προγεννητικά ταλαντούχος. - “You’re unnaturally capable.” (Greek)

Είμαι προγενέστερα ικανός. - “I’m unnaturally capable.” (Greek)

Είστε η λεπίδα που κόβει όλη τη μαεστρία με ευκολία. - “You’re the blade that cuts through all mastery with ease.” (Greek)

Είμαι η λεπίδα που κόβει όλη τη μαεστρία με ευκολία. - “I’m the blade that cuts through all mastery with ease.” (Greek)

Είσαι απίστευτα συναρπαστικός. - “You’re morbidly fascinating.” (Greek)

Είμαι απίστευτα συναρπαστικός. - “I’m morbidly fascinating.” (Greek)

Είσαι η φλόγα που τραβάει όλους τους σκώρους στο θάνατό τους. - “You’re the flame that draws all moths to their death.” (Greek)

Είμαι η φλόγα που τραβάει όλους τους σκώρους στο θάνατό τους. - “I’m the flame that draws all moths to their death.” (Greek)

Είσαι ατελείωτα μυστηριώδης. - “You’re endlessly mysterious.” (Greek)

Είμαι ατελείωτα μυστηριώδης. - “I’m endlessly mysterious.” (Greek)

Είσαι η μαύρη τρύπα που καταναλώνει τα πάντα στο πέρασμά της. - “You’re the blackhole that consumes everything in its path.” (Greek)

Είμαι η μαύρη τρύπα που καταναλώνει τα πάντα στο πέρασμά της. - “I’m the blackhole that consumes everything in its path.” (Greek)

Είσαι απολύτως τρομακτικός. - “You’re absolutely terrifying.” (Greek)

Είμαι απολύτως τρομακτικός. - “I’m absolutely terrifying.” (Greek)

Και είσαι αγαπημένος γι' αυτό. - “And you’re loved for it.” (Greek)

Mammina - “Mommy” (Italian)

Rendi troppo allettante scappare con te, tesoro mio. Dovresti fermarti prima di subirne le conseguenze. - “You make it too tempting to run away with you, my darling. You should stop before you suffer the consequences.” (Italian)

Una donna è come una castagna: bella fuori -– abbastanza buona da mangiare dentro. - “A woman is like a chestnut: beautiful on the outside -- good enough to eat on the inside.” (An Italian saying).

Ma la tua vista nel mio letto è troppo allettante. Voglio già addormentarmi con te tra le mie braccia ogni notte. Se mi permetti di stringerti stanotte, potrei non trovare mai più sonno senza di te tra le mie braccia. - “But the sight of you in my bed is too tempting. I already want to fall asleep with you in my arms every night. If you let me hold you tonight, I may never find sleep again without you in my arms.”

Ma questa è la cosa meno sorprendente dei tuoi occhi per me, amore mio. Le loro insondabili profondità blu intrappolano tutte le stelle, le lune, e le galassie al loro interno. Brilli con tutta la luce dell'universo. - “But that's the least amazing thing about your eyes to me, my love. Their unfathomable blue depths trap all stars, moons, and galaxies within them. You shine with all the light in the universe.” (Italian)

Oh, come mi rapisci, mio sole. - “Oh, how you enrapture me, my sun.” (Italian)

Quanto profondamente mi fai desiderare te, tesoro mio. - “How deeply you make me want you, my darling.” (Italian)

Mi flor muerta - “My dead flower” (Spanish)

Mio sole - “My sun” (Italian)

Vita - “Life” (Italian)

Anima gemella - “Soulmate” (Italian)

O, bună seara, micul lup lunar! - “Oh, good evening, little moon wolf!” (Romanian)

Diaboli Celia - “Devil’s Brew” (Latin)

Chapter Text

“Weeping many tears, she left me and said,
‘Alas, how terribly we suffer, my love.
I go unwillingly’.”

- Sappho

“Absolutely not!” Grandmama hisses, angrier than she’s been in a long, long time.

The very thought of it, the very idea - it’s anathema to everything an Addams is, everything their family cherishes and stands for, and Grandmama refuses to hear anything like it coming from her future granddaughter.

Throwing her wooden stirring spoon aside carelessly, she marches around the table, furious as a bull presented with red.

She ignores the acrid green smoke that’s starting to billow from her cauldron.

She couldn’t care less if it explodes and destroys her workshop, this is far more important.

(Besides, it’s not like it would be the first time her workshop exploded; far from it in fact).

She takes hold of Enid’s biceps and violently shakes her back and forth in an attempt to shake the stupidity out of her.

“Where’s your head at, girl? There’s no power in the world that could ever break the Addams curse, and no Addams would ever want to try, no matter what it might cost them!”

“You can’t want your own granddaughter to die so young!” Enid rips herself out of Grandmama’s grasp with a growl. “She’s only 17!”

“Of course I don’t want that! I don’t want either of you to die when there’s so much chaos and havoc you could wreak on the world over the years to come! We’re doing everything we can to find the solution- you just have to trust that we’ll find it!”

“But what if we don’t?” Enid pleads. “I can’t let Wednesday die so young just because I transformed on the worst possible night in the history of forever! What about an anti-love potion? Something that would make her just stop loving me?”

“There’s none I’ve heard of that’ve ever been able to stop an Addams from loving, and I’ve heard of them all.”

“What about a hate potion, then?”

“Pft, you think people haven’t tried that? It just ends in a maddening cycle of love and hate until one of them kills the other. You underestimate the power of our delightfully horrid curse, girlie.”

“There’s gotta be something!”

“There’s nothing! And even if there was, Wednesday would never want you to use it. Have more faith in our family, little one; we’ll find the answer. So just forget all this nonsense and drive it out of your head.”

“I-” Enid stops and deflates, resting her elbows on Grandmama’s workbench and covering her face with her hands.

“You’re right.” She says, her voice muffled and wobbly. “I’m sorry. I’m just- I can’t bear the thought of killing her.”

Grandmama tugs Enid off the bench and into a bone-crushing hug.

“Don’t you fret, micul meu lup ; everything will work out. It always does in our family.” 

“You’re right.” Enid sighs, returning the hug with just as much force as Grandmama’s giving, making her grin in a distinctly maniacal way. “I should just forget about it.”

“Good.” Grandmama pulls back and gives Enid a stern look.

“Now I want to hear no more of this demented talk of making Wednesday hate you. Find a different brand of lunacy to indulge in and then we’ll have fun, alright little queen-of-poisons?”

Enid tilts her head in confusion.

“Queen-of-poisons?”

Grandmama waves a hand and starts leading Enid to the trap door.

“Another name for wolfsbane. ”

“Yes ma’am. And um, Grandmama? Can you promise not to tell Wednesday about this? It was stupid and silly, and I only came up here because I had this dream about Wednesday dying and it really freaked me out-”

“I promise I won’t tell her, draga mea. But only if you promise me that you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise.” Enid gives Grandmama a sunny smile. “You’re right; we’ll figure this out. Everything’s going to work out okay.”

“Exactly.” Grandmama winks. “Now, off to bed with you. Can’t have werewolves cluttering up my workshop so late at night; that’s when I do my best work!”

Enid starts climbing down the ladder, only to pause and look back up at her.

“When do you even sleep?”

“And why do you ask so many silly questions? I stopped sleeping years ago; takes up too much of my time. Now go get some for yourself, or else Wednesday will have my head if you end up sleeping past your Greek lessons. Go on!”

Enid does, and Grandmama shuts the door behind her once she’s safely out of reach.

Grandmama heads back over to her work area, opens the window, and throws her cauldron out of it.

A loud boom is heard when the cauldron makes contact with the ground outside, the potion exploding into a fiery inferno that only destroys half of the overgrown garden.

Grandmama dusts off her hands and closes the window again, latching it firmly shut.

After getting out a spare cauldron from one of her cupboards and beginning the process of redoing her batch of Diaboli Celia from scratch, she glances back towards the trapdoor and shakes her head.

She sets a large hissing leech on her cutting board, ready to be minced.

“ Jur, aceste fete vor fi moartea mea.” She mutters to herself.

The leech seems to hiss in agreement.

That still doesn’t save it from the chopping block.

The next morning, while Grandmama is busy cooking breakfast and Wednesday is still asleep, Enid sneaks into Grandmama’s workshop as stealthily as she can manage.

From what her nose and ears tell her, no one else is nearby, not even the admittedly sneaky Fester, but she can smell his faint stench of rot is on the other side of the house in Gomez’s office. 

He’s likely stealing something or leaving something in there for Gomez to find in the odd, never-ending prank war the two of them seem to have.

Since everyone in the house is either sleeping or distracted far from her, Enid has the time and the privacy she needs to find what she’s looking for.

She quickly heads over to Grandmama’s collection of books, flipping through a few of the promising-looking ones before she finally finds what she’s looking for.

She stares at it nervously for a moment.

“This better work.” She mutters to herself before ripping the page out of the book and shoving it into her pocket. 

She puts the book back where she found it and tiptoes her way out of the attic, careful to leave no trace that she was ever there in the first place.

She heads back to her room, hides the stolen page beneath the loose floorboard she discovered in her room a few days ago, and sets about waking Wednesday up with a cover of a song from one of the few animes Enid’s shown her that Wednesday actually likes.

She’ll carry on, business as usual, and no one will suspect a thing.

At least, not until after she’s completed her mission.

Hopefully.

Over the next few days after their conversation in the hall, Enid is much more cheerful and light-hearted than she’s been in a long time.

Everyone in the house is all the more cheerful for it, too.

It relaxes the iron grip hiding in Wednesday’s ribcage, makes her feel like she can breathe normally and think clearly again, so she redoubles her efforts in finding the location of A. Vidal’s grave, unraveling the mystery surrounding her visions, and preparing the special surprise she has planned for Enid.

She’s found it odd that Enid hasn’t brought up their courtship and the distinct lack of it commencing, so she’s going to surprise her with a redo of its beginning by the end of the week to keep Enid’s spirits up if they don’t find anything before then.

Her intentions are upended entirely three days after Enid’s abrupt (and admittedly suspicious) change in attitude. 

Wednesday’s working with Grandmama in the workshop, trying out the mysterious potion recipe A. Vidal included in their collection of coded papers in the event it might provide some sort of insight.

After some time discussing the infuriating mystery, the conversation turns to Enid, and this is when Grandmama frowns and puts down her ladle for a moment.

“You know, between you and I, she may not be as alright as she appears.” Grandmama says carefully, making Wednesday’s eyes narrow slightly.

Grandmama never speaks carefully, regardless of who she’s talking to, and especially not when she’s talking to family. 

“I think she might be hiding her worries to put less pressure on the family. I know you’ve been planning to wait until the end of the week to begin your master plan, but perhaps you should expedite your scheme, in order to remind her of everything you both have to look forward to in the future? To help reassure her that things will not end with the next full moon?” Grandmama suggests.

Wednesday thinks this over.

She stands up and collects her notebook and assorted papers.

“I trust you’ll not mind that I’m cutting our session short.” She says, not particularly caring one way or the other what her Grandmama will say.

“Of course not, micul meu corb.” Grandmama says, clearly amused and clearly hiding some relief.

Wednesday’s eyes narrow further.

What does she know that Wednesday doesn’t? 

“I can handle the potion on my own,” Grandmama continues. “I’ll let you know if I find anything. And if you need anything from me, anything at all, simply say the word.”

Wednesday gives Grandmama one last nod before leaving the workshop.

She has quite a lot to prepare much more quickly than she initially planned, and yet another mystery to investigate.

Her Grandmama may be odd, but this is an entirely different oddness than her typical absurdity.

Wednesday decides that she’ll interrogate the hag after she completes the first stage of her plan and officially starts her courtship of Enid.

She has more than enough time to do so, after all.

The next morning, Enid is woken up by a knock at her door.

Initially, she groans slightly and sits up groggily, fighting off the headache behind her eyes and the hollow nausea swimming in her stomach.

Night after night of sneaking out to work on the project she stole from Grandmama’s workshop is taking its toll on her body, and it’s getting harder and harder to hide behind increasingly forced sunny smiles and an almost manic cheerfulness.

Then she realizes why someone might be knocking at her door at such an early hour.

Anxiety builds in her stomach as she nearly falls out of bed, her sheets tangling around her legs.

Grandmama found out didn’t she? 

She found the missing page in her book and knows exactly what Enid’s up to. 

Or she decided to randomly break her promise four days after their conversation and told Wednesday all about it and now Enid’s about to be dragged off to a horrible fate that will likely involve a lot of cursing in more languages than Enid can count on two hands.

She slumps her way across the floor, resigns herself to her fate, and slowly opens the door.

To her surprise, Morticia’s the one on the other side of it.

To her relief, Morticia has a gentle smile on her face.

Looks like Grandmama didn’t rat her out after all.

(Not yet anyway, and spirits help Enid if she ever does).

“Morticia-?”

“Hello, Enid dear. May I come in?”

Enid nods, so Morticia gracefully glides into Enid’s room, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead as she passes her by.

The same warmth that Enid feels everytime Morticia treats her like a daughter rises up in her, along with the guilt that’s been simmering in her stomach for days. 

“Good morning, my little evening star. I trust you had a dreadful night’s sleep?”

“Um.” Enid’s not entirely sure how to answer. “Yes?”

“Wonderful!” Morticia claps her hands together in delight and drifts further into the room, heading towards Enid’s wardrobe. “But we really should be getting you ready.”

“Ready for what, exactly?” Enid asks, completely confused. 

She doesn’t recall anything special coming up. 

Nothing good, anyway.

Morticia turns to her with a happy smile.

“For you and I to go shopping. I’ve been terribly remiss in not taking you sooner. I know you have more than enough lovely outfits to last you for the rest of the summer, but Wednesday so rarely allows me to go with her when she needs to buy new clothes, and you know how particular she is about keeping to her specific style. 

“I think it would be simply darling for you and I to go together; there’s quite a few lovely shops in town, and I’m certain you’ll find many to your liking. And besides,” Morticia opens the curtains over Enid’s window with a happy sigh. “It’s shaping up to be a perfect day for an outing.”

Enid glances out the window.

Gray clouds cover the sky in a dreary blanket, sagging with the weight of an oncoming storm.

Yep. Looks about right.

“Um, that sounds amazing,” Enid says hesitantly, “but I don’t really have any money-”

“Nonsense.” Morticia cuts her off with a wave of her hand. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t intending to pay, and before you say something along the lines of it being too much for you to accept, I assure you that we have more than enough money to buy you an entirely new wardrobe ten times over without it making so much as a dent in our expenses.” 

If Enid heard this from anyone else, it would sound unbearably snobby and condescending, but when it’s coming from Morticia, it only sounds comforting and just a little bit teasing.

Morticia smiles gently at her and tucks a strand of hair behind Enid’s ear.

“Besides, much as I love my darling raven, I’ve always wanted to take a daughter shopping that will enjoy the experience as much as I do. I think it would be a delightful bonding experience for the two of us, no?”

Despite the guilt clawing at her, Enid smiles back at Morticia.

“I would love to, as long as you’re sure you’re okay with it. I don’t exactly dress in the preferred Addams color palette.”

“Of course I am, mon petit chou-fleur. And besides, I think you’ve brought the perfect amount of color into our home,” Morticia smiles knowingly at her. “And into my beloved daughter’s life, much as she wasn’t expecting it.”

Enid looks down at the floor, blushing a bright pink.

“Now then,” Morticia turns away and opens the wardrobe’s doors with a flourish, revealing the veritable rainbow of clothing within. “Where is that blue sweater that matches your eyes so well?”

Enid and Morticia shop for hours, going in and out of stores that caters to both their tastes, Enid getting quite a bit more than she was expecting to.

If anything so much as catches her eye for a brief moment, Morticia is buying it for her, reassuring her with a satisfied grin each time Enid protests that she’s more than happy to do so.

Considering Morticia’s increasingly joyful mood, Enid has no choice but to believe her.

For whatever reason, Morticia is determined to spoil Enid rotten today, and she can’t complain in the slightest, especially since Morticia seems as excited by Enid’s more colorful choices as she is by the darker ones Enid’s been wearing more and more often recently.

They buy every conceivable thing they could buy on a shopping trip, from clothes and shoes to makeup and jewelry of all various types, with Thing more than happy to help pick things out (especially in the makeup department).

They would be weighed down by their bags, but Lurch accompanied them too, and he seems perfectly content with trailing behind them, his arms loaded with piles of bags and boxes.

By the time they grab lunch, Enid feels so happy she could burst.

She can’t stop grinning, and Morticia’s smiling with bright eyes right back at her.

Enid’s never had an experience like this with her own mother, not only because Esther thinks things like this aren’t practical or becoming of a werewolf, but also because Enid’s always been the unwanted runt of the family, even before it seemed like she would never transform. 

Having a day like this with Morticia feels like a dream come true, especially with Thing and Lurch happily tagging along.

(Enid ignores the gnawing guilt and creeping sense of loss in her gut; she’s determined to enjoy today, and as many days as she can before she loses them all completely). 

After they finish eating at a small bistro that’s apparently one of Morticia’s personal favorites (and Enid can see why, with its gothic theme and delicious food), they start walking down the sidewalk again, everyone around them quick to scurry out of their way.

Enid’s so grateful for Frankie and Lowell’s help in training her how to tone down her senses, or else this happy trip through town would be a nightmarish hellscape with all the muttering and people tripping over themselves surrounding them.

The four of them are passing by a particularly fancy-looking boutique with formal dress displayed in its windows when Morticia stops and grins at Enid.

“Oh, we simply must look inside this one.”

“Are you sure?” Enid eyes the shop in confusion. She sincerely doubts a store like this sells the kind of casual and fun clothes they’ve been buying all morning.

“Of course I’m sure!” Morticia links her arm through Enid’s and winks at her. “I always am.”

Enid giggles and lets Morticia pull her into the shop.

“But I’ll never wear these!” Enid says in exasperation for the fourth time in a row. 

Morticia is looking at her consideringly.

Thing make a circling motion.

Enid sighs as loudly as she can and dutifully turns in a slow circle.

“There, are you happy? Can we go now?”

“Nonsense dear, you simply must have at least one formal evening gown. If I’d known you didn’t have one already we would’ve done this much, much sooner.”

“But where would I even wear something like this?” She gestures to the dress she’s currently wearing, a flouncy pink gown that looks like something straight out of a fairy tale movie. (Not that she dislikes it; quite the opposite in fact, even if she’s sure it looks ridiculous on her).

“The fanciest parties I’ve ever been to are Nevermore’s school dances, and they’re never anything this close to formal. And what’s with all the pink and gold? Pink might be my favorite color, but I wear a lot of different colors too, you know?”

“Well, they’re the colors that suit you best. And you never know when a formal occasion might pop up, dear. I’ll not have any future daughter of mine be caught unprepared for anything.”

Enid’s face heats up at Morticia’s casual reference to Enid basically being her daughter-in-law. 

Guilt claws up her throat.

Liar, liar, clothes on fire,

Strangling noose hanging ever so higher.

Thing signs and taps.

Morticia sighs.

“You’re right, Thing. This one isn’t quite right either.”

“Isn’t quite right for what ?” 

“Alright, Enid, let's try another.”

Enid finally gives into her baser, primal instincts.

She slaps herself on the forehead.

After twelve extremely frustrating “attempts”, it’s finally (un)lucky thirteen that wins the day.

The moment she steps out of the dressing room, Morticia’s smile brightens and Thing starts doing a happy jig on the seat beside her. Even Lurch nods approvingly.

“Well?” Morticia gestures towards the large, floor-length mirror beside the dressing rooms. “Take a look.”

Enid turns around, exhausted, only to immediately straighten up and stare at herself in disbelief.

In the mirrorless dressing room, she thought it would look trashy or too flamboyant (even for her), but out in the light of day it looks gorgeous .

The dress is slim, flaring slightly at the bottom, and it’s covered entirely in pink glitter. The head to toe glitter is what made her think it would look too showy, but under the warm golden lamps above them, it shifts from pink to gold and flashes of silver with each movement she makes.

The top of the sleeveless dress is made up of sheer gossamer fabric covered in decorative gold swirls and crystal flowers, the neckline resembling a golden choker, the back of the dress from the neck to just below the waist made in the same crystal-decorated gossamer fabric.

From a gold and crystal waistband hangs a sheer, light pink train that trails out behind her. It floats as she walks and drifts slowly back down when she stops.

Morticia comes up behind her and rests her hand on her shoulders, face down beside Enid’s with a delighted smile as they stare at her in the mirror.

“This one.” Morticia says with certainty.

Enid nods absently.

“This one.” She agrees.

Even though she’ll never have reason to wear it again, for now, in this moment, it makes her feel…

Beautiful.

When they get back, Lurch helpfully putting their things away for them, they’re just in time for dinner, Enid regaling her entire day to Wednesday with a probably goofy-looking grin on her face, Wednesday seeming content to listen as she eats. 

After Enid and Wednesday have their regular after-dinner Italian lesson, Enid gets pulled into a particularly fun and colorful game of blackjack with Gomez, Lowell, and Frankie, gets a surprise gift in the form of a large, colorful rug for her room from Uncle Fester, and somehow ends up playing a game of darts with Morticia, Grandmama, Pugsley, and Frankie, which Morticia solidly wins, being shadowed throughout it all by a quietly content Wednesday.

After all the excitement and fun of the day, Enid changes into her pajamas and collapses into bed, thoroughly worn out and intending to get at least a few hours of sleep before she sneaks out again to continue her work.

Not long after she gets in bed, the familiar sound of Wednesday’s heels come clicking down the hall. Rather than enter her own room to prepare for bed and her regular cello session, Wednesday instead pauses outside of Enid’s door.

Before Enid can so much as frown, something slides under her door before Wednesday retreats into her room, shutting and locking the door firmly behind her.

Confused, Enid gets out of bed and shuffles over, bending down to pick up a rather formal-looking envelope, complete with a wax seal marked with an intertwined “W”and “E”. 

Enid’s heart pounds, but not in the pleasant way she usually associates with Wednesday.

With shaking hands, Enid breaks the seal and pulls out a soft, thick piece of paper.

Written with dark red ink in meticulous, beautiful cursive, it reads:

Dearest Enid,

You are cordially invited to attend a dinner for two tomorrow night at

precisely 8pm, to take place in the third dining room.

Dress will be formal. 

Wine will be served.

Everything will be provided for, so do not feel the need to bring anything

other than yourself and your dreadfully bright smile.

Forever Yours,

Wednesday

Enid stares down at it grimly, nearly crumpling the paper in her trembling hands before she stops herself.

At least now she knows why Morticia was so insistent Enid that pick out a formal gown.

A tear drops down onto the paper before she even realizes she’s crying.

It runs down the page, smearing the ink in its path.

Quickly setting it atop her desk to avoid destroying it further, Enid wipes at her face until she’s forced her tears away.

She’s grateful for the slap in the face the invitation’s given her.

It revitalizes her, reminding her of her mission, reminding her of what’s at stake.

Tonight, she doesn’t steal a few hours of extra sleep for herself like she’s been doing for the past few nights, foolishly trying to prolong the inevitable. 

Instead, after waiting with a stone-still patience for close to an hour, she slips out of her window and climbs down to the ground as quickly as she can, ignoring House’s attempts to keep her in her room.

It might not know what she’s doing in the forest so late at night (it would definitely sound the alarm and wake everyone up the second it found out) but it’s clearly concerned for her.

She gives House a reassuring pat.

“Don’t worry.” She whispers. “I’m working on a surprise for Wednesday.”

The best part is, she doesn’t even have to lie.

With a sad little wave from one of the window shutters that Enid returns, she sprints across the barren glen leading to the bordering forest.

Before, she thought she had weeks to waste, to pretend everything was fine, to pretend she was an Addams, to pretend she could ever have Wednesday. 

Now, she knows her deadline is tonight.

She’s going to have to work quickly if she has any hope of success.

A white bird flies into the forest ahead of her, its singing call echoing in the eerie trees like an omen, and she follows it in.

Enough of being selfish and stealing as much time as she can.

The time to act is now.

The morning after Wednesday slipped the dinner invitation under Enid’s door, Wednesday wakes up to a violin playing one of her favorite love songs, a morbid tale no matter the interpretation and a staple of Día de los Muertos ; “La Llorona”.

But just because it’s a personal favorite of Wednesday’s doesn’t make her any less annoyed at being woken up even earlier than the day before.

And the day before that.

And the day before that.

And the day before that .

At this rate, Enid will be waking her up before it’s even dawn , and Wednesday refuses to allow Enid to turn her into a morning person .

She shudders at the very thought of something so detestable happening to an esteemed night owl such as herself.

She storms into Enid’s room.

  “Si no dejas de despertarme tan temprano todas las mañanas, comenzaré a arrastrarte a mi cama y a besarte hasta que estés demasiado sin aliento para mantenerme despierta.” Wednesday growls, still tying off one of her braids with distinctly angry motions.

“ ¡Entonces te tendré como rehén en mis brazos, te susurraré las cosas más sucias al oído si tratas de irte y dormiré mientras te ahogas en una excitación humillada! ”

“Hey!” Enid points at Wednesday accusingly with her bow. “What’s the rule about no other languages? Because if you’re going to start breaking rules, I’m going to talk to Frankie and Lowell in Greek all I want.”

“If you’re going to wake me up at increasingly early times of the day with a Spanish song, you’re going to get Spanish threats in return.” Wednesday snarls.

Then she frowns and crosses her arms.

“And no Greek except with me, Enid. No exceptions.”

Enid raises an amused eyebrow and crosses her arms in return.

“Then only Italian with me, Wednesday. No exceptions.”

Wednesday smirks.

“Fine then, mio sole , I solemnly swear to only speak Italian for you. È il linguaggio più romantico per me, quindi ha senso parlarti del mio amore per te solo con esso. ”

Enid stares at her with an unreadable expression on her face, rather than become flustered as Wednesday was expecting her to.

“ Καταλαβαίνω μόνο ένα μέρος αυτού που λες, και με στεναχωρεί τρομερά που δεν θα μάθω ποτέ τι είναι. Αλλά υπόσχομαι ότι σήμερα, την τελευταία μας μέρα μαζί, δεν θα σας βρέξω με τίποτα άλλο παρά τη λατρεία και την αφοσίωση που νιώθω για εσάς. ” 

Enid sighs fondly and steps forward, gently caressing the side of Wednesday’s face, looking at her with so much adoration it makes Wednesday’s heart start pounding faster, the Greek sounding so much like the silvery sound of howls in her ears.

“ Ω, πόσο βαθιά νιώθω για σένα, αγαπητό μου φεγγάρι. ”

Enid pulls Wednesday into a hug, burying her face in Wednesday’s hair and breathing deeply. Wednesday clutches her back just as tightly, wanting to burn in the warmth of Enid’s arms forever, knees feeling weak from the sound of Enid’s voice speaking in an all but foreign tongue to Wednesday that comes so naturally to Enid.

“ Γιατί πρέπει να τελειώσει έτσι; Γιατί πρέπει η αγάπη μας να τελειώνει με δάκρυα; Δεν μπορώ να φανταστώ χειρότερο τέλος για εμάς, και το μισώ, περισσότερο από όσο νόμιζα ότι θα μπορούσα να μισήσω οτιδήποτε. Το περιφρονώ με όλη μου την καρδιά και την ψυχή. ”

Enid pulls back. With a gentle smile, she lightly presses her forehead to Wednesday’s, whose breath feels shallow and unbalanced.

The morning is unfolding nothing like what she was expecting it would, and it leaves her feeling off-balanced and out-of-control in a way she would’ve hated before she met Enid.

From the moment she first looked into those crystal-blue eyes, Wednesday should’ve known she was doomed.

How could she ever survive Enid? 

How could she even try?

Enid will be her undoing, and Wednesday will gladly die of it, whether that be today or a hundred years from now. 

Just so long as she has her sun, she'll accept any fate that may befall her, and be revoltingly delighted to do so.

“ Αλλά θα κάνω ό,τι περνάει από το χέρι μου για να σε σώσω από αυτό. Υπόσχομαι. ”

“Enid,” Wednesday says, startled at how raspy her voice is, “that’s Greek.”

Enid smirks slightly.

“ Certo che lo è, mia luna. In quale altro modo dirti ti amo ?” She says, stuttering over a few of the words, but Wednesday still shivers at the sound of Italian in Enid’s mouth.

It makes her mouth far too tempting.

“What was all of that?” Wednesday manages to ask, her grasp on Greek only allowing her to catch a few of the words.

(Enid must’ve practiced that Italian line on the side, the little cheat).

Enid gives her a small, strange smile.

“A threat.” She says innocently.

Enid’s traipsed right over Wednesday’s breaking point.

Plans be damned, Wednesday is going to kiss her.

She wants to kiss her, needs to kiss her, needs to kiss this beloved infuriating creature that’s become a permanent parasite feeding on the blood in her heart.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on which drastically different mood she’s fluctuating between at the moment), their moment is interrupted by Pugsley excitedly running down the hall and skidding to a halt in front of Enid’s open door.

“Oh good, you’re both up!” He says.

Wednesday’s eye twitches, her hand drifting towards the throwing knife hidden in her sleeve.

“Good morning, Pugsley!” Enid says brightly, bouncily stepping forward and stopping in front of him, regrettably blocking Wednesday’s shot.

Wednesday sullenly slips the knife back into her sleeve.

She’ll have to drag Pugsley off for some target practice later, it seems.

“What’s got you all excited?” Enid asks.

“A caladrius flew into the house!” He says, bouncing nearly as much as Enid does when she’s particularly thrilled. “It’s in the family room right now!”

Wednesday freezes.

Merda.

“So what’s a caladrius?” Enid asks as the three of them walk down the hall.

“Oh, they’re super cool!” Pugsley gushes like an idiot. “They can tell when-”

Wednesday stomps down hard on Pugsley’s foot, giving him her deadliest glare, one she’s thus far only reserved for those who’ve dared hurt her family or friends. (Only she’s allowed to do that, and she’s more than happy to remind people of it).

Pugsley winces and gives Wednesday a questioning look.

In a normal situation, Wednesday would be over the moon to see a caladrius with her own eyes, especially in her own home, but the situation they’re in is far from normal.

As subtly as she can, Wednesday tilts her head towards Enid, who’s thankfully skipping just ahead of them.

When Pugsley finally gets the message, his normally lightly tanned skin turns almost as pale as Wednesday’s own.

Good. The little idiot’s finally figured out the huge problem a caladrius might pose to them.

Unfortunate that it didn’t occur to the single brain cell vaguely drifting around in his skull that it was an incredibly bad idea to inform Enid about the bird before they could find a way to hide it from her.

Perhaps Wednesday will dig up a cadaver, drag it to Pugsley’s room, and perform a late-night lobotomy. 

She’ll just shove a little more brain matter into his head and sew him right back up.

Maybe that will prevent stupidity like this from ever happening again.

Then again, considering Pugsley’s apparent inability to understand the idea and application of simple common sense, the extra brains would likely just come oozing out of his ears.

A more interesting but decidedly less-helpful outcome.

She’ll have to think more on this later, after the caladrius is appropriately dealt with.

Although Enid asks non-stop questions about the caladrius during their seemingly endless walk to the family room, Wednesday and Pugsley are able to keep their answers vague and distract her with long-winded anecdotes on the bird’s appearances in the rooms of kings, oracles, witches, and other great figures throughout history without actually explaining why it would be there.

Luckily, House assists them in getting to the family room all the faster, preventing Enid from asking too many questions before Wednesday and Pugsley run out of increasingly ambiguous answers.

Floorboards insistently press their feet forward, the stairs once more turn into a slide that Wednesday tolerates for its speed (but only this once), rugs drag them down hallways, and House uses Bruno to practically launch them into the family room.

Enid laughs as she stumbles to her feet.

“Wow, you must all be really excited for me to see this thing.” 

Everyone else is already gathered in the family room, going back and forth between giving Wednesday, Pugsley, and Enid frantic looks and glancing at the caladrius nervously.

While Enid brushes off the dust from her clothes after their exciting ride through the house and Pugsley darts over to grasp Morticia’s arm tightly ( emotion is weakness, Pugsley ), Wednesday quickly signs to the rest of the family that Enid has no idea what the bird is or what it’s there for.

Everyone breathes out sighs of relief as silently as they can, Gomez and Morticia leaning close together with closed eyes for a moment before straightening up and putting on convincingly normal expressions, everyone else doing likewise with an air of surprisingly effective casualness, as if this is nothing more special than hunting a chimera in the swamp.

Wednesday has to reluctantly admit that she’s impressed by their skill in pretending everything’s fine when the thing that might ruin everything is staring directly at Wednesday and Enid, eyes flitting back and forth between them.

The wretched thing is perched on the back of the couch closest to the door, its glittering black eyes made all the more apparent by the glistening, snowy-white feathers covering its body.

“Oh wow, it’s so pretty!” Enid says when she finally looks up at the horrible thing.

“Has it done anything since it arrived?” Wednesday asks, in reality asking if it’s taken an interest in anyone besides them.

“No.” Morticia says calmly, a soft smile adorning her face. Her eyes flash with worry. The leeches in Wednesday’s stomach writhe. “The caladrius simply flew through the window seconds after it mysteriously opened and has been sitting patiently on the couch ever since.”

“How long has it been here?” 

“Only a few minutes, my scorpion.” Gomez says.

“And I’m sure it won’t stick around for long, having nothing to do around here.” Fester says, grinning with a manic energy that’s thankfully common enough for him that Enid doesn’t question it.

“So, why’s it here? What does it do?” Enid asks, carelessly walking up to the bird.

“Enid, don’t-!” Wednesday tries to grab Enid’s elbow to drag her back, but it's already too late.

The caladrius looks Enid up and down, turns its face away from her almost immediately, caws, and then half the feathers covering its body fall off, covering the floor and clinging to the couch. 

Instead of flesh beneath the blank spots, there’s only bone left behind.

Everyone in the room freezes, Wednesday’s arm still outstretched in a futile attempt to pull Enid away, to pretend the omen never presented itself, to turn around and pretend that the bird doesn’t exist at all.

Enid’s too distracted by the sight to notice everyone’s reactions.

“Oh shit, what’d I do?” She backs away from the bird quickly, nearly running into Wednesday.

Wednesday pulls herself together as well as she can.

“You did nothing wrong.” She says, amazed at herself for how monotone and smooth the sentence comes out. She steps forward to stand side by side with Enid, their shoulders brushing. 

“The caladrius sheds its feathers when in close proximity to humans. It’s a trait the bird evolved to avoid being hunted and killed by humans who desired its feathers, which are both beautiful and very useful in the practice of witchcraft. Despite being quite rare, the caladrius is no longer hunted, both due to this natural defense mechanism and because it was added to the endangered species list in 1976. Nowadays, they often intentionally seek humans out during the summer months to shed their feathers in the increasing heat, since they’re not migratory birds, usually by entering homes so that the humans will be able to keep the shed feathers. Here, I’ll show you.”

Wednesday steps in front of Enid and calmly approaches the bird, well-aware of what will happen.

She stops a few paces from it.

Sure enough, the bird looks her up and down, turns its face away, caws, and the rest of its feathers fall off, leaving only a scant few behind.

All that’s left is its skeleton, the glittering obsidian eyes from before disappearing into empty black sockets.

“See how the caladrius has bones in its wings, unlike most normal birds, as well as a thin membrane connecting them, similar to bats? This allows the caladrius to fly even when all its feathers have been shed.” Wednesday adds, feeling oddly detached and emotionless in a way she hasn’t for a very long time.

As if to prove her point, the bird shakes itself off with the familiar sound of bones clacking against each other, jumps off the couch, and sails out the window, vanishing when it abruptly soars upwards and out of sight.

“Huh, that’s pretty cool.” Enid says when it’s gone, smiling obliviously when Wednesday turns back to stand beside her once again. 

Everyone looks at the cloud of feathers still drifting through the air.

“So,” Enid says cheerfully, breaking the tense silence, “what do we do with the feathers now?”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Wednesday seethes as she paces back and forth in front of Pugsley. 

He’s sitting on the couch Wednesday threw him onto the second Enid was out of sight, assisting Grandmama, Lowell, and Frankie in taking the piles of feathers back to Grandmama’s workshop. 

“You could have ruined everything! If Enid finds out, there's no telling what she'll do! ¡Eres un pedazo de mierda inútil, sin espinas y sin cerebro ! I should kill you here and now, if only so I can be rid of your stupidity forever and never have to deal with it again, you imbecilic hijo de puta! ”

“Now darling,” Morticia interjects calmly, “as much as you flatter me, you well know that your father and I were already very happily married long before you or your brother were born. In addition to that, Enid would’ve found out about the caladrius eventually, since it was clearly here for the two of you. If anything, Pugsley’s exuberant interference likely helped more than just about anything to convince Enid that the bird is harmless.”

“That’s not the point!” Wednesday nearly screeches, about to pull her hair out in frustration. “We’re running out of time to find A. Vidal’s grave, and the calidarius’s prediction just proved that Enid’s going to die by the next full moon, and I don’t care if I die, but if she does-” 

“Wednesday.” Uncle Fester says quietly.

It immediately stops her diatribe, because Uncle Fester is never this quiet. He never sounds this somber.

Her entire family is looking at her with naked worry and shock, and that’s when Wednesday realizes her blurred vision isn’t from anger, but tears.

She gently touches the wetness on her cheeks and stares at the droplets dripping down her fingers mutely.

She’s cried only twice in her life; the day Nero died and the night Thing almost died.

Now, she can count a third. 

The day they were visited by the grim reaper’s herald announcing Enid’s death.

Enid’s going to die.

The reality finally slams down on her, driving every thought from her brain.

Enid’s going to die, and there’s nothing Wednesday can do to stop it.

She looks back up at Pugsley.

A fiery rage overtakes the grief and desperation she didn’t even realize was pressing against her eyes and throat, an anger both unfamiliar and the complete opposite of her typical ice-cold and tightly-managed fury. 

All she can see is red.

“This is all your fault!” She screeches, launching herself at what she can no longer see is her brother, only as something she can blame and hate and destroy.

Two people intercept her, she can’t even recognize who, and pull her away before she can kill the thing she hates.

She’s so overwhelmed by the boiling-hot fury that she can’t remember the moves she mastered years ago, how to escape any hold she could be trapped in, can’t manage to think about the impulsive stupidity of what she’s doing.

All she can do is hit and bite and claw to get away from the people holding her back, the people who nearly slam her against the floor when she almost escapes their grasp.

Muffled voices echo in her ears, but she can’t hear them over the rushing blood and the pounding of her own furious heartbeat.

She’s left with nothing to do but thrash and howl and scream , trying to rip apart anything that’s close enough for her to reach.

She wants to hurt.

She wants to maim.

She wants to kill .

Eventually though, her rage exhausts itself, her body shutting down from however long she spent fighting to tear something apart, and she’s left panting on the floor.

Her vision finally clears, and she sees that Gomez, Morticia, Uncle Fester, and Lurch are all holding her down.

She frowns vaguely, coughing and wheezing from screaming and cursing for so long.

“Wednesday?” Morticia asks slowly. “Are you with us?”

Wednesday nods weakly, forcing her face back into its usual blankness.

Everyone relaxes when she does, letting her go and helping her sit up.

She brushes off their hands and stands up on her own, only wobbling for a second before she firmly stands on her own two feet.

Pretending to brush the lint and dust off her dress to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes (though there’s admittedly quite a lot), she clears her throat.

“How long?” She asks.

“Close to an hour.” Morticia says quietly. “Enid didn’t hear it, or else she would’ve been here shortly after you started, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

Wednesday nods.

“Good.”

A tense silence descends upon them, but Wednesday has no clue how to break it.

Eventually, Uncle Fester does.

“Wow kiddo,” He says shakily. “I knew you were strong, but I didn’t realize you were that strong. It took all four of us just to keep you down.”

“Of course; I’m an Addams.” She says, finally looking up at them.

She becomes as still as a corpse in rigor mortis. 

Everyone in her family (besides Pugsley, who’s hesitantly hiding in the corner of the room furthest from Wednesday, and Thing, who’s perched on the windowsill) are sporting injuries and ripped clothing.

For the first time since Enid stormed out of their dorm room after Wednesday nearly got her killed, Wednesday feels guilty and ashamed of herself.

She laces her hands behind her back and forces herself to meet Pugsley’s eyes first.

“I am… aware that you are not at fault for the caladrius’s arrival, Pugsley, nor responsible for the news it brought with it. I must also regrettably admit that Mother is correct both in her observation that your excessive excitement at its initial arrival likely helped prove to Enid that the bird’s harmless, and that you were not born out of wedlock.

“Also, while you may be dim-witted, you are not as foolish as I may have insinuated.”

“It’s okay, sis.” Pugsley hesitantly steps forward until he’s beside Uncle Fester. 

“I forgive you.” Something in Wednesday relaxes.  

Pugsley rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“You’re obviously really upset about this whole thing, and what I did was pretty stupid. I don’t blame you for-” He stops, obviously unsure how to continue.

“For attempting to kill you? While I may do that on a daily basis, I will admit this attempt was rather harsh, even by my standards.” She says, turning her attention back to the rest of her family.

Morticia has a large red mark already darkening into a bruise on her cheek from where Wednesday must’ve kicked her, Gomez’s suit jacket and shirt are practically ripped to pieces, Uncle Fester has a series of scratches on his face and neck, and Lurch has a black eye and bite marks on his arms.

Regret and shame grow even larger within her.

“ I’m so sorry. ” She wants to say. “ I never meant for this to happen; I’m sorry I took out my rage and fear and grief out on all of you. I never meant to hurt you, not like this. I never want to cause you pain out of hate instead of love. ”

She wants to say it, but the words just won’t come out of her mouth. 

So they don’t.

“I believe a demon may have temporarily possessed me, as it is the only logical explanation for my behavior. But even so, I’m surprised it took all four of you to hold me down, especially with Lurch’s contribution.”

She curses herself.

Why can’t she give an apology to the few people she can admit to herself she loves after wounding them so deeply?

Why can’t she spit out even a simple “ I’m sorry ”?

Disgraceful.

She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath.

WWED?

What Would Enid Do?

Wednesday opens her eyes.

“I’m… sorry.” She says quietly, forcing herself to meet her family’s eyes as she struggles to get the words out. “My behavior was unbecoming of an Addams, and the way I hurt each of you was… not acceptable by my standards. It will not happen again.”

“Oh, cariño .” Gomez says tearfully, pride shining in his eyes as he pulls her into a tight hug. “It’s alright. We understand, my little deathtrap, and Grandmama will be able to patch us up in minutes. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Incorrect as usual, Padre .” She replies stiffly.

When Gomez moves to pull back, well aware of Wednesday’s aversion to almost all forms of physical touch, Wednesday surprises both him and herself by wrapping her arms around him and carefully pulling Gomez back into the hug. 

He tightens his hug to a lovingly painful degree, nearly lifting her off the floor, but she can’t bring herself to mind.

For a moment she feels like she’s six years old again, wrapped in Gomez’s warm embrace, being comforted after the brutal assassination of her beloved Nero.

His hugs now are as woefully comforting as they were then.

After another few moments, Gomez sets her down and pulls away, sniffling and pulling out a handkerchief to cry into.

“If everyone doesn’t mind, I’d like to speak to Wednesday privately for a moment.” Morticia says, smiling when everyone nods their agreement.

Everyone shuffles out the door, an almost wailing Gomez- “Did you see that? My little storm cloud hugged me! She hugged me!”- being comforted by Uncle Fester and Pugsley, Lurch trailing behind them. 

Thing clambers up onto his shoulder and signs and taps at her.

“It’ll be okay; don’t give up, remember? We’ll figure this out; you’ll see.”

Lurch closes the door behind them, and suddenly it’s just Mortica and Wednesday.

An unknown feeling explodes in Wednesday’s chest.

She launches herself into Morticia’s arms so fast it almost knocks her over, but Morticia quickly regains her balance and wraps tight arms around Wednesday, and now Wednesday’s crying all over again.

The familiar scent of dying rose petals and belladonna wraps around Wednesday, simultaneously comforting her and somehow making her tears turn to sobs.

“ Je ne sais pas quoi faire, maman. ” She sobs into Morticia’s shoulder. “ Je ne sais pas quoi faire et ça me tue. ”

“ Oh, ma chérie, tu n'as pas à t'inquiéter. Tout ira bien. ” Morticia says soothingly, running a gentle hand over Wednesday’s hair and holding her close.

Wednesday hates how comforting it is.

“How can you say that?” She asks, still clinging to Morticia like a child after having a nightmare. 

Honestly, after witnessing the caladrius’s feathers falling off as Enid approached it, that’s exactly how she feels; like she’s trapped in a terrible, all-consuming nightmare.

“How can you say that when mon plus cher amour is going to die? I will gladly follow her into the great beyond, but I cannot willingly die knowing that mon soleil bien-aimé is going to die too young, not when she has so much light left in her to blind, so many more full moons to enjoy, so much more chaos to whirlwind into the lives of others. Je ne peux pas laisser ça se terminer comme ça. Je ne laisserai pas ça finir comme ça !”

“Chut maintenant, ma chérie, chut.” Morticia says gently. “Pleurez aussi longtemps que vous en avez besoin, mais écoutez-moi maintenant. Tout ira bien. Votre destin n'est pas encore scellé.”

Wednesday pulls away until she can look Morticia in the face, frowning doubtfully.

“ Et comment pourriez-vous le savoir? Vous semblez plus sûr de vous que vous ne devriez l'être. ”

“While you were-” Morticia hesitates. “While you were otherwise preoccupied, I had Thing check to see where the caladrius went. It hasn’t gone far. It’s still circling the house, ma chère vipère . This is an extremely good sign!” 

“How so?” Wednesday asks, letting Morticia wipe the tears from her cheeks before taking a few steps back to reestablish her equilibrium.

Morticia’s smile is brighter than any Wednesday’s seen on her face.

Morticia steps forward and takes Wednesday’s hands in her own, which Wednesday allows despite having mostly regained control of herself.

Enid is rubbing off on her much more than she realized.

“Normally, when a caladrius portends the fate of someone’s life or death, it will leave and fly far away, but in some rare cases it doesn’t. In those instances, it means the fate determined for those visited by the caladrius isn’t set in stone. It means your and Enid’s fates can still be changed!”

Despite herself, a grating hope starts building inside of Wednesday.

“You’re certain?” She asks.

Morticia nods, letting go of Wednesday’s hands to brush a lock of hair behind her ear before stepping back.

“I wouldn’t have said so if I wasn’t. The caladrius is still here because you can both still survive this; if anything, the fact it hasn’t left is proof that you both will survive this. We will unlock A. Vidal’s final secrets and find the grave. We’ll save Enid, my little moon.” She leans forward and gives Wednesday a gentle kiss on the forehead, the same way she used to do every night as she tucked Wednesday into bed.

She leans back with a loving smile. 

“ Nous vous sauverons tous les deux. Je promets. ”

“Merci mère.”

“Of course, anything for my darling sun and moon. Now-” Morticia claps her hands together decisively.

“Drive this from your mind. We’ll have plenty of time to worry about it tomorrow. Today, we have far more important things to worry about. Let our preparations begin.”

Enid stands over the bestiary with clenched fists on either side of it, eyes staring blankly at the page.

She knew something was off with how the others were acting around the caladrius.

She could tell Wednesday was lying about its purpose in the house and why its feathers fell off. 

But she didn’t expect it to be this bad.

She reads through the page.

Then she reads through it again.

And again.

And again.

After the fifth time, she has to concede defeat that the words aren’t going to change no matter how many times she reads them.

Be wary those whose home bears the weight of the caladrius.

Life dances in its feathers. 

Death sleeps in its shadow.

It only enters the home of those whose soul teeters between life and death.

If the caladrius looks at the one whose fate is unknown and keeps both its gaze and its feathers, the soul will live.

If the caladrius looks at the one whose fate is unknown and turns its gaze away and discards its feathers, the soul will soon die.

Once this harbinger has given its message, it will fly away, never to be seen by those who suffered its ill company again.

However, on the rare occasion this skeletal mockery of all things living remains nearby, it means the soul’s fate still hangs in the balance, swinging like a pendulum between life and death.

If the caladrius remains, the one whose fate would be decided may yet have their fate be altered, whether by their own hand or by the hand of another.

But once the caladrius leaves, the fate is made certain, and the creature will never return to haunt those it burdened with the knowledge of fate.

Be wary those whose home bears the weight of the caladrius, for its presence is never a kindness.

Carefully and guiltily, Enid tears the page out of the bestiary, tucking it into her pocket and returning the book to its shelf.

House groans in a reproaching way.

“It’s just in case.” Enid says defensively, walking towards the door. “I think it might have something to do with the mystery; don’t you think it’s odd that the caladrius showed up here of all places, when there’s millions more places it could be? I just want to examine the page further and see if I can find anything. If I don’t, I’ll put it back. Pinkie promise.”

House groans again, completing the pinkie promise using one of the standing suits of armor, and opens the door for her.

Good thing House isn’t as good at spotting lies as Wednesday is.

“Thank you!” Enid chirps, skipping out and down the hallway.

She keeps up her cheery facade even when she gets to her room, intending to practice playing her violin while keeping an eye out her window to see if the caladrius might be circling the house.

It turns out she doesn’t need to.

There, in the tree closest to her window, she can see the skeletal body of the caladrius, gleaming bright even against the background of white branches and fog.

Her mouth quirks up in a smile.

She hides the page along with the one she stole from Grandmama’s workshop underneath the loose floorboard.

Feeling more cheerful than she has in weeks, she picks up her violin and starts playing a random, short melody of her own devising, played to the rhythm of a short verse.

If the caladrius remains, the one whose fate would be decided may yet have their fate be altered, whether by their own hand or by the hand of another.

She ignores the eerie call whistling from outside her window, its tune echoing in her mind even as she does her best to drown it out.

She’ll change the tune of fate.

No matter what.

Night approaches too quickly.

Enid is fiddling nervously with her fingernails, painted a dark gold to match her dress at Thing’s insistence, and keeps glancing at herself in the mirror.

Morticia and Thing insisted on helping her get ready before her dinner with Wednesday, Morticia doing her hair while Thing did the majority of her makeup. 

Morticia wove Enid’s hair back into a simple, formal updo, interwoven with small braids, leaving a few curled locks of hair down to frame Enid’s face in an admittedly flattering way.

Thing did her makeup in the same way she usually does it, with the exception of adding a subtle glittering gold eyeshadow that fades into a rosy color.

The elaborate hairdo, the whimsical makeup, the beautiful dress-

She feels like a princess.

She feels like an imposter.

She feels like a traitor.

The guilt and anxiety is about to eat her alive when there’s finally a knock at her door.

She stands up and takes a deep breath.

When she releases it, her nerves are shoved down into a deep cavern and her cheerful facade is back in place.

She walks to the door and opens it with a wide grin, only growing wider when she sees Gomez on the other side, wearing a snazzy black suit and holding a bottle of dark red wine.

“Good evening, mi hermosa nuera ! You look absolutely radiant.”

“Thank you!” Enid flushes and looks down, trying to hide her anxiety behind a flattered smile.

“I’m here to escort you to your dinner.” He holds out his arm, grin positively ecstatic. 

She wonders wistfully what state he’d be in if she and Wednesday ever did get married before setting the useless thought aside.

As if it matters now.

He waits for her to shut her bedroom door and slip her arm through his before he sets off at a leisurely pace.

“Ah, but what’s this?” He asks, looking down at the small bottle gripped firmly in Enid’s other hand.

Enid forces her face to remain the same.

“Well, I know I wasn’t supposed to bring anything, but the invitation mentioned wine, so I thought I’d bring something to add a bit of kick to Wednesday’s.” She shows him the label. 

Cyanide.

Gomez roars with laughter, luckily covering Enid’s own anxious giggles.

Because it’s not cyanide at all.

“Ah, I knew you were the one for her, and this only proves it even more. Come, lets get you to your table.”

He pulls her along a little faster, and she tries to keep her breaths even and calm.

Just a little longer.

Just a little longer and this will all be over.

She just hopes she can last that long.

For the third time, Wednesday adjusts the candelabra sitting at the center of the small table to make sure it’s perfectly centered.

After doing so, she clasps her hands together and goes back to staring at the door. 

She entered the room exactly five minutes before 8:00pm. 

Surely it’s been longer than five minutes by now?

Did Enid change her mind at the last minute? 

Did she forget and fall asleep?

No, Gomez and Morticia wouldn’t have let that happen.

Morticia promised she’d both help Enid get ready and steal the rose from Enid’s room right after Gomez retrieved her to escort her to dinner.

Since Morticia handed her the rose moments ago with a wink before disappearing again, surely that meant Gomez and Enid would be here any minute?

Wednesday’s seconds away from jumping out of her chair and storming down the hallway to find Gomez and Enid, since surely Gomez has been struck over the head somehow and they’ve gotten lost somewhere in the house, when the door finally creaks open.

Enid is the first thing Wednesday sees.

Enid is the only thing Wednesday sees.

Somewhere in the back of Wednesday’s mind, she’s cursing her mother ferociously.

When she asked after what kind of dress Enid picked out, mostly to double-check that Morticia ensured it would be one that’d match well, Morticia only said that the shopping trip went well with a wink.

She should’ve warned her.

She should’ve prepared her.

Because Enid is absolutely radiant.

Stunning.

Gorgeous.

Exquisite.

No words could ever possibly describe how beautiful the sun is when it takes human form, because surely that’s what Enid is.

Wednesday can’t look away.

She must stare for too long, long enough for Enid to blush a flattering pink and look down to the floor.

It helps snap Wednesday out of her trance.

Gomez is grinning at her like a loon, arm still wrapped tightly around Enid’s and hand still holding the wine.

Wednesday glares at him until he unfolds himself from Enid, quickly sets the bottle on their table, and leaves with a wink, shutting the doors behind him.

Satisfied, Wednesday approaches and holds out her hand.

When Enid takes it, Wednesday raises Enid’s hand to her mouth and brushes a kiss across her knuckles.

Enid sucks in a breath and Wednesday just barely holds back a smirk.

Her sun is so wonderfully easy to fluster.

“You look beautiful, mio sole . I simply couldn’t help but stare at you, bellissima ; you’re absolutely breath-taking.”

“I could say the same about you, Wednesday.” Enid rakes her eyes up and down Wednesday’s body and meets her eyes again with an even deeper blush. “You look incredible.”

Wednesday almost scoffs.

As if she could ever compare to Enid, especially tonight.

She’s wearing a simple black dress matched with a lacy shawl, the lace depicting black roses surrounded by leaves and thorns (very fitting for the night’s events, all things considered), and subtly sparkling from the small diamonds stitched throughout it.

The neckline is lower on the dress than on anything else she’s ever owned- ending just below her collarbone and making her throat feel far too exposed- but it’s immediately worth it by the way Enid’s eyes keep flitting down to her neck.

She allows herself a small smirk as she leads Enid to the table, pulling her chair out for her and waiting for Enid to sit before gently pushing it back in.

Wednesday returns to her own seat, just to the right of Enid’s rather than across from her.

“Your hair is different.”

Wednesday decided to forgo her usual twin braids in honor of this special occasion, choosing instead to leave it down and let it curl loosely over one shoulder.

“Astute observation.” Wednesday teases.

Enid blushes and looks away with a smile.

“Well, I think it looks nice. You look nice.”

Despite herself, something warm and satisfied lights up in Wednesday’s chest.

Clearing her throat, she looks at Enid once again.

“We’ll be eating a five course meal: hors d'oeuvres, an appetizer followed by a salad, the main entrée, and finally, dessert, many of which will be your favorites since you’ve arrived. The wine,” Wednesday picks up the bottle, examining the label with satisfaction, “will be served after dessert.”

“Your parents do realize that we’re too young to be drinking, right?” Enid laughs.

“My parents also have excellent taste when it comes to wine, and believe this to be a special enough occasion to forgo trivial legalities.”

Enid shakes her head and laughs again.

Wednesday sets the bottle down and smiles slightly.

Enid settles down and grins at her.

“Well? On with the meal.”

The meal goes excellently.

Lurch comes and goes to bring them each course, taking away the empty dishes as he goes, always bringing the next course just as they finish the previous one.

Although Enid’s hesitant to try the entrails on crackers served for the hors d’oeuvres initially, she quickly shows her appreciation for their flavor once she does. 

Wednesday’s always amused by how tentative Enid is about trying new foods despite inevitably loving nearly everything she eats.

The appetizer is a small bowl of Grandmama’s mystery soup (which Enid also loves), followed by the main entrée- calmar volant japonais , paired with peryton steak, Enid’s favorite.

She eats it with gusto, and when they’re both finished, it’s finally time for dessert. 

The dessert is a simple slice of blueberry cake with a thin layer of vanilla frosting and a healthy drizzle of raspberry sauce over the top in a pleasing design to finish it off.

Not quite to Wednesday’s taste, but certainly something Enid will love.

And she does. 

After Enid takes her first bite she moans in appreciation, and the sound does things to Wednesday that fills her body with heat and her mind with Italian.

She quickly starts eating her own cake to distract herself, pleased when she finds that Grandmama added belladonna juice to the sauce and bitter lemon to the frosting, making the cake much more palatable.

Once they finish, Enid leans back in her chair, holding her stomach with a smile on her face.

“Oh wow. If I take another bite I think I’ll burst.”

Wednesday smiles, nodding appreciatively at Lurch as he clears the table of everything but the wine and two glasses.

He nods back and silently sulks out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

Wednesday pours them each a glass of the dark red wine, one of Gomez’s best bottles, but before she can sip hers, Enid leans forward with a mischievous grin.

“Hold on. I know you said that I didn’t need to bring anything, but-” She pulls out a small bottle labeled “Cyanide”. “I thought you might appreciate adding a little kick to yours.”

“My instructions were very specific, Enid.” Wednesday says sternly.

Then she lets her mouth quirk up into a small smile.

 “But I suppose I can allow an exception in this case.” She holds her glass forward and lets Enid add the small bottle’s contents into her wine.

She swirls it around to ensure they mix well before taking a sip.

The wine tastes incredible, especially mixed with the burning bitterness she associates with cyanide, though it tastes a little different than it normally does.

She attributes the odd taste to the richness of the wine and takes a deeper swallow.

Enid is watching her anxiously, apparently without having taken even a sip.

A sensation similar to rats nibbling at her skin writhes in Wednesday’s stomach, and she can barely suppress a grin.

“It tastes good, Enid. Go ahead and try it; I promise you’ll like it.”

Enid nods, quickly taking a sip, followed by several long swallows, nearly emptying her glass in one go.

“Careful, mio tesoro , pace yourself. I won’t be helping you back to your bed if you let yourself get drunk.” Wednesday lies.

Enid nods and sets her glass down, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

Her light pink lipstick is almost gone, leaving only wine-stained lips behind.

The feeling in Wednesday’s stomach worsens, and she relishes in it.

After another glass of wine and some light conversation, Wednesday’s stomach tightens and sweat starts dotting her brow.

She gathers her resolve.

The time is now.

Wednesday firmly squashes down the moths flapping around in her stomach and wipes the sweat from her forehead when Enid isn’t looking.

She will not let something so unbecoming as anxiety get in the way of this moment.

She clears her throat and looks at Enid, who’s already staring back at her.

“Enid, I have something for you.”

Enid immediately straightens in her chair, clearly putting the puzzle pieces together enough to understand what’s about to happen.

Wednesday rises from her seat and approaches Enid, hands behind her back, before dropping down onto her knees in front of her beloved sun.

Enid’s eyes are wide and so excruciatingly blue.

Wednesday pulls her hands out from behind her back and presents the black rose to Enid.

Under the ambient light, the black rose is made up of dark shadows, the edge of each petal crisply outlined with the flickering glow offered by the candles lit around the room.

Their blood still stains the thorns and stem, turned a pale brown after weeks without nourishment.

Wednesday fully intends to make them red again.

“Enid, you are the ray of light that further darkens the world around me, the only person whose touch I’ve ever craved, the creature I would rip my heart out for and present to if I was able to do so. Will you do me the honor of accepting my courtship?”

Enid seems to stop breathing for a moment, staring intently at the rose with some foreign emotion that Wednesday doesn’t recognize.

For a moment the anxiety starts to rise up in Wednesday again, but then Enid’s trembling hand reaches up to accept the rose, and she gives Wednesday a soft smile.

“Of course, Wednesday. Of course I’ll accept your courtship.” Her smile turns teasing. “I’ve been badgering you for weeks to get on with it already, haven’t I?”

Wednesday smiles lightly in return and stands up.

“I do have one more thing for you.”

“Really? What?” Enid asks, half her face hidden as she sniffs the rose once again.

Wednesday adores the sight. A single stroke of darkness against the blinding sun.

From beside her chair, hidden in shadow, she pulls out a black box tied with a blood-red ribbon and sets it on the table in front of Enid.

Enid examines the box with a smile.

“What is it?” She asks.

Wednesday raises an eyebrow.

“Alas, if only there was a way to find out.

Enid sticks her tongue out at Wednesday, a completely childish (cute) thing to do, before she unravels the ribbon.

Wednesday resents her heart for escaping her iron grasp for a moment and stuttering as Enid opens the box.

Enid freezes and stares at what’s inside.

“According to tradition,” Wednesday says, stepping closer to Enid until she’s just behind her. Wednesday bends down to murmur in her ear. “Three gifts are presented from the suitor to the one they’re courting. The first one is meant to signify both the courter’s devotion towards their intended and their ability to provide for their intended.”

Wednesday reaches around Enid to pick up the circlet lying on black velvet.

The circlet is a delicate wreath of rose-gold laurel leaves, small silvery, five-petaled flowers dotted throughout it, each with a glowing light blue topaz gemstone in the center, reflecting blue light onto the silver petals and making them look blue in turn.

“In Greek mythology,” Wednesday says, keeping her voice despite feeling Enid’s pounding heartbeat against Wednesday’s chest, pressed against Enid’s back as she is. Her heart desperately wants to match the rhythm of Enid’s heartbeat. 

For once, she lets it. 

“There’s a story about the god Apollo falling in love with a nymph named Daphne. She was a daughter of the river Peneus, and had long ago decided to follow the path of Artemis, choosing a life of hunting and perpetual virginity. She spurned all suitors who became entranced by her incredible beauty. 

“When Apollo attempted to woo her, she refused to become his lover. He pursued her through the forest despite her refusal, begging and pleading that she change her mind.

“She ran from him, but when she grew tired and Apollo was almost in reach, she begged her father to help her escape Apollo and the endless others so enamored by her beauty. Her father complied and turned her into a laurel tree on the banks of his river. At last she was safe from Apollo. 

“Heartbroken to lose his love, Apollo decided to honor her by wearing a crown of her laurel leaves on his head, a crown he used his godly power to keep from ever decaying.”

Enid reaches forward and lightly traces the edge of the laurel leaves.

“So are you implying one of us is going to be turning into a tree at some point?” Enid asks shakily. 

Wednesday barely avoids laughing.

“No. In this case, it’s meant to signify everlasting devotion.”

“And the flowers?” She asks, gently tracing the edge of a silvery-blue petal. “What morbid story do you have behind those?”

“Well, according to an old German legend, they supposedly got their name when a knight died attempting to get the flowers for his lover, and with his dying breath said “Forget me not!” But that’s not why I picked them out for you.” Wednesday kisses the side of Enid’s head, breathing in the scent of her lavender shampoo. 

“I chose them because they symbolize true love, faithfulness, and because they represent the promise to always remember someone and keep them in your thoughts. The blue topaz gemstones in the center of each one I chose because they symbolize true love, loyalty, and trust.” 

She presses a kiss against Enid’s hair and smirks briefly.

“But mostly because they match your eyes so well.”

Enid squeaks and the pink of her skin darkens to red.

With a gentle hand on Enid’s chin, Wednesday turns Enid’s head to face hers.

“May I?” Wednesday asks, holding up the circlet, satisfied by the way the light reflecting off it glints in Enid’s eyes.

Enid nods weakly, her face completely flushed.

With a hushed reverence, Wednesday carefully places the circlet on top of Enid’s head, tucking the ends of the circlet beneath locks of her hair.

She leans back slightly, and if she thought Enid looked beautiful before, the sight of her wearing Wednesday’s first courting gift is nothing short of divine.

The vision before her makes something possessive and hungry coil in her belly, a heat sizzling in her blood like nothing she’s ever felt before.

In a feverish haze, she cups Enid’s cheek with one hand, tracing the scars there lightly with her thumb before letting it rest under Enid’s lower lip, relishing in the heat against her palm when Enid flushes a darker red.

Oh, noapte mizerabilă , Enid is a creature too beautiful for this world, let alone one Wednesday should be allowed to touch, and yet Enid welcomes her to,

Wednesday gladly burns in her fire.

“Enid.” Wednesday says quietly, staring deeply into beautifully dilated pupils surrounded by a thin ring of blue. “May I kiss you?”

Enid looks beautiful.

Enid looks frenzied.

Enid looks terrified.

“Yes.” Enid breathes, and almost before she even finishes the word, Wednesday’s lips are on hers.

This kiss is nothing like the one Wednesday shared with Tyler.

The kiss is deep, passionate; it sets explosions off inside Wednesday and immediately makes her pull Enid closer, desperate for the sweet taste of pomegranate seeds on Enid's lips now that she has it. 

She’ll never recover from this, never, especially when Enid whimpers and something low and deep inside Wednesday burns and thunders at the sound. Desperate fingers grab hold of Wednesday’s hair to pull her in even further, and Wednesday groans at the sensation that’s just shy of painful.

Enid pulls Wednesday into her lap, and the new angle makes it all the better.

Wednesday loses track of how long they kiss, the unfamiliar and addictive fire in her chest fueling her to touch every part of Enid she can reach, a hand pressed tightly against her back, an arm wrapped around her waist.

Enid keeps her hands tangled in Wednesday’s hair, tightening to the point it feels like Enid’s about to pull it out, and Wednesday can’t repress a heated moan.

Her thoughts are becoming hazy, focused only on sensation and heat and Enid Enid Enid.

Eventually Enid has to pull back to suck in heavy breaths, but Wednesday can’t stop.

She kisses and lightly bites her way down Enid’s jaw, pressing desperate, heavy kisses to Enid’s neck, hating how Enid’s neckline blocks her from biting at Enid’s collarbone.

Enid’s breathing heavily, interrupted by occasional whimpers and odd hiccups in her chest.

A distant part of Wednesday’s mind can’t help but think that this is odd, that even kissing Enid shouldn’t be causing this kind of heat in her blood, this mindless frenzy engulfing her, but it’s easy enough to ignore when surrounded by Enid’s smell and skin and heat.

Wednesday would be content to lie in this embrace forever, engulfed by Enid’s warmth and drowning in her scent, but then one of her hands carelessly swipes across the table, intending to knock everything off it to lay Enid down on top of it so Wednesday can worship her properly.

It turns out that her first kiss (kisses) with Enid aren’t as different from her kiss with Tyler after all.

Wednesday’s hand touches a glass bottle and her vision whites out, her spine bends backwards, and she’s thrown headfirst into a vision.

This vision is nothing like the ones she’s had in the past- a simple series of images and sensations rather than memories or encounters with spirits from a long-dead past.

But what she sees is more than enough to tell her what she needs to know.

Enid stealing a page from one of Grandmama’s books.

Enid sneaking out in the dead of night and heading straight for the forest.

Enid crouching over a small, battered cauldron in a clearing surrounded by dead trees, adding ingredients and stirring them into the bubbling liquid, tears in her eyes as she adds a few strands of her own hair to the concoction. 

Enid carefully pouring the potion into a glass bottle labeled with “Cyanide” in clean, precise letters, pouring it into Wednesday’s wine glass the very next night.

Enid holding back tears as she watches Wednesday drink the potion she’s poisoned her with.

When Wednesday snaps out of the vision, she remains completely still, gaze turned inward as she catalogues her symptoms to deduct exactly what Enid slipped her.

• Over-heating.
• Feverish sweat.
• Tightness in the stomach.
• Burning in the chest.
• Haziness and disorientation.
• An overwhelming urge to surrender to baser, more primal instincts.
• The lingering aftertaste of sweet pomegranate seeds.

Wednesday barely registers standing up and backing away a few steps, the sudden chill breaking through her haze and helping her think more clearly.

The last symptom is the oddest.

It niggles at something in her brain, an old memory she’d nearly forgotten.

“Wednesday.” Her eyes snap back to Enid at the sound of her broken voice. Tears are streaming down her face. She looks seconds away from sobbing.

Wednesday realizes exactly what she drank.

She immediately attempts to induce herself to vomit, only for Enid to tackle her to the ground.

They tussle for a moment, but there’s nothing Wednesday can ultimately do to win against Enid’s werewolf strength.

(She doesn’t even have a single knife on her; she didn’t think she’d need one).

Enid ends up behind her in a disgusting facsimile of a hug, arms and legs wrapped tightly around Wednesday to pin her arms and keep her body weighed down to the floor, head buried in Wednesday’s shoulder to avoid a headbutt.

None of this stops Wednesday from thrashing to escape.

“Let me go, Enid, let me go!” She shouts, clawing at Enid’s arms and kicking out her legs in an attempt to loosen Enid’s hold.

“I’m sorry Wednesday, I can’t.” Enid sobs, holding on all the more tightly.

Tears build in Wednesday’s eyes as she thrashes even harder, forcing herself to scratch and bite and tear at Enid, knowing that hurting her tesoro is the only way she’ll be able to keep her.

“You can’t do this to me, Enid, you can’t fucking do this!”

“I have to! I can’t let you die!”

Wednesday’s body is starting to get sluggish, her vision getting hazy and darkening at the edges.

“Enid…” She says weakly. “Please…”

“I’m so sorry.” Enid whispers, her voice choked with tears.

Wednesday’s eyelids grow too heavy to keep open, gravity pushing her body down as if to pull her through the floor.

“Please…” She whispers. “ Mio sole …”

Wednesday vaguely registers the feeling of lips pressed against her forehead.

“Έκανα αυτό που έπρεπε να κάνω, αγάπη μου, μη με μισείς γι' αυτό. Απλώς δεν άντεχα να σε αφήσω να πεθάνεις μαζί μου. Ελπίζω να με συγχωρέσεις, ακόμα κι αν δεν έχει σημασία τώρα. Είσαι το φεγγάρι μου και σε αγαπώ περισσότερο από όλες τις μέρες που δεν θα μπορέσουμε να ζήσουμε μαζί. Συγχώρεσέ με, και αν με αγάπησες αρκετά για να ζήσεις για μένα πριν, ζήσε για μένα τώρα.” 

Wednesday tries to cling to the words, to the beautiful Greek that always makes her cold heart beat just that bit faster, but it’s useless.

Everything gives way beneath her.

Enid slips from her arms.

Wednesday falls to darkness.

Enid carries Wednesday back up to her room in a haze.

She remembers nothing of the journey there, only that she was picking Wednesday up gently one moment and standing in front of Wednesday’s door the next.

She enters and lays Wednesday down on her bed, startled at how much she looks like a porcelain doll in the dim moonlight coming through the open window, a light breeze playing with the locks of Wednesday’s hair that are draped off the bed.

Tears fill Enid’s eyes.

This might be the first time Enid’s ever seen Wednesday not wearing her hair up or in her customary braids outside of when she has to undo them to brush out any tangles before quickly plaiting them once again, and now Wednesday’s hair is left a mess.

Wednesday would hate that.

An almost hysterical chuckle bursts out of Enid at the thought.

The despair and grief in her chest quickly quiets her though.

She’s not sure how long she stands there, staring off in the distance and completely unmoving, when a caw breaks her out of her trance.

Enid looks up.

The caladrius is sitting on Wednesday’s windowsill, its bones nearly glowing in the moonlight, watching her intently with the empty black sockets that used to be eyes.

Enid quickly backs away from the bed, gesturing towards Wednesday.

“Will she be okay?” Enid asks, tears forming in her eyes, terrified to find out its answer.

The skeletal bird waits a moment before hopping inside, perched on the metal bars making up the foot of Wednesday’s bed.

It stares at Enid for a moment before switching its heavy gaze to survey Wednesday, cocking its head to the side as it studies her.

Enid holds her breath.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting, it caws once, and instead of losing the few white feathers still remaining on its body, a flurry of white feathers blossom over its skeletal structure, hiding the bones from view, until an almost normal-looking bird is left gripping the metal bar.

A weight lifts itself from Enid’s chest.

She collapses to the ground, tears finally spilling over as she gasps in relief.

“Thank God.” She whispers, burying her face into the bedspread and clutching one of Wednesday’s hands tightly in her own. “It worked. Thank God, it worked!”

A second caw steals her attention from her relief.

She looks back up at the caladrius.

The bird is staring at her, glittering black eyes inspecting her with something entirely far too intelligent and knowing for her comfort.

For some reason, it feels like the bird is disappointed in her, but she can’t fathom the reason why.

Before she can say anything, before she can defend her actions, before she can explain why she was right to do what she did, it looks away from her.

The caladrius’s eyes disappear back into empty black sockets, and all the glowing white feathers covering it slip away, covering the floor with a cascade of glowing white, not even the tiniest bit of fluff left clinging to its skeletal frame.

It caws one final time before spreading its boney wings and flying back out of the window, quickly disappearing into the forest of white, dead trees.

Enid sits there amongst the pile of white feathers, Wednesday’s hand in her own, the waxing moon shining against the cloud of white around them.

But once the caladrius leaves, the fate is made certain, and the creature will never return to haunt those it burdened with the knowledge of fate.

She stares at the moon she’s stared at all her life, the moon she loved and hoped for and despaired over for as long as she can remember, the moon that will soon be her demise.

But only hers.

Enid stares at it.

She smiles.

Enid feels nothing as she does.

Morticia knows something’s wrong.

She doesn’t know how she knows, only that she does, and that it has something to do with Enid and Wednesday.

A mixture of worry and dread roils in her gut, telling her that something terrible is going to happen. 

(That something terrible has already happened).

She has to get to her girls as soon as possible.

When she does, bursting into Wednesday’s room first, the sight that greets her is like something out of her darkest nightmares, one of the few she would give anything to escape.

Wednesday is lying on her bed, still wearing the dress she took so much time to pick out, but her blood-red lipstick is smeared, her perfectly curled hair in disarray, draped messily over the pillow.

She’s even paler than usual, as still as a corpse but for the minute movements of her chest signifying that she’s still breathing.

Enid’s kneeling in front of the bed, head down, her dress torn, the circlet placed carefully on the floor beside her, red welts and scratches and even bite marks all along her arms.

She’s clutching one of Wednesday’s lifeless hands in her own.

Surrounding them both are hundreds of familiar, snow-white feathers.

“Enid, what happened?” Morticia whispers, afraid to disturb the weighted hush draped over the room like a mourning shroud.

Enid turns to look at her, and Morticia quietly gasps at the dead look in Enid’s eyes, made all the worse by the dried tears on her face.

Morticia can’t breathe.

“Is Wednesday alright?” Morticia asks, her hands trembling for perhaps the first time in her entire life.

Enid gives Morticia a ghost of a smile.

“She will be now.”

Be wary those whose home bears the weight of the caladrius, for its presence is never a kindness.

(One week and three days since the Second Full Moon - Two weeks and four days until the Third Full Moon)

Translations:

Micul meu lup - “My little wolf” (Romanian)

Draga mea - “My dear” (Romanian)

Diaboli Celia - “Devil’s Brew” (Latin)

Jur, aceste fete vor fi moartea mea. - “I swear, these girls will be the death of me.” (Romanian)

Micul meu corb - “My little raven” (Romanian)

Mon petit chou-fleur - Literally: “My little cauliflower”; used as a way to say “My little darling”. (Probably one of my favorite pet names of all time). (French)

Día de los Muertos - “Day of the Dead”, a Mexican holiday often compared to Halloween.

Si no dejas de despertarme tan temprano todas las mañanas, voy a empezar a arrastrarte a mi cama y besarte hasta que estés demasiado sin aliento para permanecer despierto. - “If you don't stop waking me up so early every morning, I'm going to start dragging you into my bed and kissing you until you're too breathless to stay awake.” (Spanish)

¡Entonces te tendré como rehén en mis brazos, te susurraré las cosas más sucias al oído si tratas de irte y dormiré mientras te ahogas en una excitación humillada! -  “Then I'll hold you hostage in my arms, whisper the dirtiest things in your ear if you try to leave, and sleep while you drown in humiliated arousal!” (Spanish)

Mio sole - “My sun” (Italian)

È il linguaggio più romantico per me, quindi ha senso parlarti del mio amore per te solo con esso. - “It's the most romantic language for me, so it makes sense to tell you about my love for you with it alone.” (Italian)

-Καταλαβαίνω μόνο ένα μέρος αυτού που λες, και με στεναχωρεί τρομερά που δεν θα μάθω ποτέ τι είναι. Αλλά υπόσχομαι ότι σήμερα, την τελευταία μας μέρα μαζί, δεν θα σας βρέξω με τίποτα άλλο παρά τη λατρεία και την αφοσίωση που νιώθω για εσάς.- “I only understand part of what you're saying, and it makes me terribly sad that I'll never know what it is. But I promise that today, our last day together, I will shower you with nothing but the adoration and devotion I feel for you.” (Greek)

Ω, πόσο βαθιά νιώθω για σένα, αγαπητό μου φεγγάρι. - “Oh, how deeply I feel for you, my dear moon.” (Greek)

Γιατί πρέπει να τελειώσει έτσι; Γιατί πρέπει η αγάπη μας να τελειώνει με δάκρυα; Δεν μπορώ να φανταστώ χειρότερο τέλος για εμάς, και το μισώ, περισσότερο από όσο νόμιζα ότι θα μπορούσα να μισήσω οτιδήποτε. Το περιφρονώ με όλη μου την καρδιά και την ψυχή. - “Why does it have to end like this? Why must our love end in tears? I can't imagine a worse ending for us, and I hate it, more than I thought I could hate anything. I despise it with all my heart and soul.” (Greek)

Αλλά θα κάνω ό,τι περνάει από το χέρι μου για να σε σώσω από αυτό. Υπόσχομαι. - “But I will do everything in my power to save you from this. I promise.” (Greek)

Certo che lo è, mia luna. In quale altro modo dirti ti amo? - “Of course it is, my moon. How else to tell you I love you?” (Italian)

Merda. - “Shit.” (Italian)

¡Eres un pedazo de mierda inútil, sin espinas y sin cerebro ! - “You useless, spineless, brainless piece of shit! (Spanish)

Hijo de puta - “Son of a bitch” (Spanish)

Cariño - “Darling” (Spanish)

Padre - “Father” (Spanish)

Je ne sais pas quoi faire, maman. Je ne sais pas quoi faire et ça me tue. - “I don’t know what to do, Mother. I don’t know what to do and it’s killing me.” (French)

Oh, ma chérie, tu n'as pas à t'inquiéter. Tout ira bien. - “Oh, darling, you don't have to worry. Everything will be alright.” (French)

Mon plus cher amour - “My dearest love” (French)

Mon soleil bien-aimé - “My beloved sun” (French)

Je ne peux pas laisser ça se terminer comme ça. Je ne laisserai pas ça finir comme ça! - “I can’t let it end like this. I won’t let it end like this!” (French)

Chut maintenant, ma chérie, chut. Pleurez aussi longtemps que vous en avez besoin, mais écoutez-moi maintenant. Tout ira bien. Votre destin n'est pas encore scellé. - “Hush now, darling, hush. Cry as long as you need to, but listen to me now. Everything will be alright. Your fate is not yet sealed.” (French)

Et comment pourriez-vous le savoir ? Vous semblez plus sûr de vous que vous ne devriez l'être. - “And how could you know that? You seem more sure of yourself than you should be.” (French)

Ma chère vipère - “My dear viper” (French)

Nous vous sauverons tous les deux. Je promets. - “We will save you both. I promise.” (French)

Merci mère. - “Thank you, Mother.” (French)

Mi hermosa nuera - “My beautiful daughter-in-law” (Spanish)

Mio sole - “My sun” (Italian)

Bellissima - “Gorgeous” (Italian)

Calmar volant japonais - “Japanese flying squid” (French)

Mio tesoro - “My treasure” (Italian)

Oh, noapte mizerabilă - “Oh, miserable night” (Romanian)

Έκανα αυτό που έπρεπε να κάνω, αγάπη μου, μη με μισείς γι' αυτό. Απλώς δεν άντεχα να σε αφήσω να πεθάνεις μαζί μου. Ελπίζω να με συγχωρέσεις, ακόμα κι αν δεν έχει σημασία τώρα. Είσαι το φεγγάρι μου και σε αγαπώ περισσότερο από όλες τις μέρες που δεν θα μπορέσουμε να ζήσουμε μαζί. Συγχώρεσέ με, και αν με αγάπησες αρκετά για να ζήσεις για μένα πριν, ζήσε για μένα τώρα. - “I did what I had to do, my love, don't hate me for it. I just couldn't bear to let you die with me. I hope you forgive me, even if it doesn't matter now. You are my moon and I love you more than all the days we won't be able to live together. Forgive me, and if you loved me enough to live for me before, live for me now.” (Greek)

Chapter Text

“Occasionally words must serve to veil the facts. But let this happen in such a way that no one become aware of it; or, if it should be noticed, excuses must be at hand to be produced immediately.”
- Machiavelli

Wednesday wakes up and immediately knows that something’s wrong.

And not in a way she would typically enjoy.

She’s staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom. 

Not her dorm room, but the room she’s grown up in for her entire life.

Her last memory is of stumbling away from her battle with Thornhill and Crackstone, bloody but victorious.

After that is… nothing.

Wednesday’s memory is perfect. Not a detail escapes her grasp, her mind a well-organized and sharp-toothed steel trap.

Yet, somehow, from the moment she arrived at Nevermore to waking up now, there are huge, gaping holes in her memory with only brief flashes of moments between them.

Millions of questions swirl through her mind, but as she examines them and catalogues them from the most pressing to the least, seven come to the forefront as the most important ones she needs answers to.

1. Why is she missing so many memories from presumably recent events?

2. How did this strange form of amnesia happen?

3. What happened between the time she succeeded in saving Nevermore to when she apparently arrived home?

4. How long has she been home? (She’s evidently fully healed from her battle, signifying at least a decent amount of time has passed since she arrived home).

5. How did she survive her final confrontation with Tyler in his Hyde form?

6. Where did many of the leads and clues in her investigation come from?

7. What was Nevermore even like? She surely spent a lot of time there, yet she can barely remember anything about it. Not the classes she took there, barely anything about the few of the many people she must've been forced to interact with there, not even what her own dorm room looked like. (Except, apparently, its ceiling).

The lack of knowledge is irritating to say the least. 

Clearly, there’s only one way to remedy this.

She must investigate.

Or rather, she intends to investigate, but almost the moment she sits up and sets her feet on the ground, Thing is in front of her, scuttling back and forth in an almost frantic attempt to get her attention.

Without pause she snatches him up.

“What’s happened, Thing? Why are there so many gaps in my memory? Did someone do this to me? If so, where can I track them down so as to properly dispose of them?”

Thing hesitates.

Wednesday narrows her eyes infinitesimally.

Keeping a firm grip on his palm, she uses the other to tightly pinch the top knuckle of his pinkie finger.

“You know, with how much slimmer your pinkie finger is than the rest of your phalanges, I’m sure breaking it would be akin to breaking the brittle stem of a dead flower.” Thing trembles in her grip. As he should. “I suggest you explain exactly what’s going on before I test my theory.”

Using the fingers not in immediate danger, Thing tells her that her family is gathered in the sitting room to give her the full explanation, as it’s evidently too long and too complex for him to explain it by himself.

“Hm.” She drops Thing to the floor and steps over him.

He narrowly avoids her stomping on the very pinkie she held hostage moments before, collapsing to the ground as she walks away. 

Cold satisfaction coils in her chest, wrapping around her slowly-beating heart.

Reminding her family that they’re never safe, especially in their own home, is always an experience that fills her with gratification. Nearly as much as when she terrorizes those outside of the family, since those fools have no idea what’s coming when they slight Wednesday.

Wednesday loves nothing more than a good ambush.

When she starts to look up from the floor, she pauses at her state of dress.

She’s wearing pajamas she seldom uses, paired with a hoodie that isn’t the one she always uses when sleeping.

Yes, something is very, very wrong about today.

Frowning slightly, she opens her wardrobe door, picks out a dress at random, and ignores when the door tries to slam itself down on her hands.

Honestly, after years of such attempts, one would expect the wardrobe to have learned by now that it will never succeed.

Some people (and things) just never know when to give up, do they?

Wednesday enters the sitting room, speaking before anyone even realizes she’s there.

“Tell me what’s happened. Now.”

All of them (besides Morticia and Uncle Fester) jump and turn to look at her.

Gomez is already a sweaty mess, and Pugsley seems to be hiding behind Morticia.

Wednesday stares blankly at him, knowing he’s somehow at fault from the way he’s trying to hide from her.

Well, this should prove to be interesting at the very least, even if it’s already and likely will continue to be extremely aggravating.

“Well?” She asks, looking each of her family members in the eye until they quickly glance away. Her intimidating stare ends with Morticia, who merely stands from her seat with an amicable smile. 

“Please, darling, sit. We’ll explain everything, but it might take some time.”

Wednesday stares at her for another moment before crossing the room and sitting primly in her usual armchair, the one against the corner that gives her the perfect vantage point for surveying the room.

Everyone who was standing quickly find seats as well, besides Uncle Fester and Lurch, who always prefer looming over people.

Oddly, the couch beside her armchair remains empty.

Unsurprising, since Wednesday is already well on her way to furious and everyone likely wants to stay out of range.

As if she doesn’t have several throwing knives on her already.

But the empty couch keeps stealing her attention out of the corner of her eye, like there’s something not quite right about it remaining unoccupied, like someone should be sitting there.

(A faint pressure presses against the inside of Wednesday’s skull. She ignores it).

“I won’t harm anyone until after this conversation is finished and I’ve been given some time to plan my revenge.” Wednesday says.

“We know, my protégé.” Uncle Fester says with a manic grin and a flourish of his hands. The movements are slightly off from his usual unique brand of lunacy. “After all, if you started throwing knives you wouldn’t be able to get the full story, now would you?”

Wednesday nods slightly, keeping careful mental notes of her family’s distinctly out-of-character behavior.

“Correct. Now explain, before my patience tires of your antics.”

“Very well.” Morticia smiles, her gaze unfathomable and far too heavy as it remains trained on Wednesday. “You see, Grandmama was showing Pugsley how to make a simple amnesia potion- Memoria Amissa - when he decided to test it on you. He only meant to take a few days from you, something you probably wouldn’t even notice initially, but-”

“Let me guess, the dunce messed up the potion so badly that it’s taken several months of my memory?” 

“Close to three and a half months, I’m afraid.”

Wednesday returns her stare to Pugsley, who looks significantly less scared than he normally would be in such a situation.

“I-I’m really sorry, sis. I really didn’t mean to-”

“Emotion is weakness, Pugsley.” She drones. “But rest assured that I’ll spend the rest of my break before returning to the tedium of school finding every possible way to beat them out of you.”

Pugsley whimpers slightly, knowing Wednesday doesn’t intend to torture him in the fun, loving way she usually does, and hides behind Morticia further.

Miserable little whelp.

“Now, mica mea viperă, don’t be so hard on your brother. It’s more my fault for not paying enough attention to make sure he was doing it right.” Grandmama says.

“Oh, don’t worry, Grandmama. I haven’t forgotten your role in this either, for which you’ll suffer greatly.”

Grandmama chuckles and shakes her head fondly.

“Oh, ai fost învățată așa de bine, copilul meu nascut la miez de noapte. Nimic nu ar putea resista lamei tale.”

“No amount of flattery will save you from my retribution, widerliche Hexe. ” Wednesday replies.

“I would expect nothing less from any granddaughter of mine.”

“Do not remind me that we are related; it sickens me even more now than it did before. What I want to be reminded of is what exactly I can’t remember. What happened while I was at Nevermore? What transpired after I defeated Crackstone?”

Morticia’s eyes widen.

“You remember Crackstone? And Nevermore?”

“Yes, but only pieces of it. I remember my visions and late-night escapades, but I remember almost nothing about my classes, daytime activities, or what my dorm room even looked like besides its ceiling. I remember a number of my peers, but only through scattered, disjointed memories. 

“I remember the majority of the leads and clues in my investigation, though not how I connected or found a number of them. I remember discovering Tyler was the Hyde and being attacked by him, though I don’t remember how I escaped him in order to get back to the school. I remember defeating Crackstone and Thornhill and walking away from the battle with Bianca and Eugene to the crowd of students and teachers waiting outside the gates, but after that, there’s nothing. The next thing I remember is waking up this morning.”

Wednesday switches her gaze between Pugsley and Grandmama.

“It’s truly fascinating how Pugsley mismanaged a simple Memoria Amissa potion so badly that it caused such severe and vastly different amnesiatic symptoms than that potion usually produces.”

Wednesday leans a bit closer to where Pugsley’s peeking around Morticia.

“And how exactly did you manage to slip it to me without my knowledge, Pugsley? Considering you haven’t been able to do so successfully since you were six?”

“Now, now, Wednesday, although you were the unintended first test subject, wherever Pugsley went wrong might’ve unlocked a brand new type of amnesiatic potion!” Grandmama says, just a little too quickly, her words sounding rehearsed. “Rest assured, he and I will figure out where he went wrong in the recipe so that we can recreate the one he slipped you. Then we should be able to concoct an antidote, if you haven’t already regained your memories by then.”

“Why wait for me to regain them?” Wednesday asks, nearing the end of her patience. “Simply explain to me how I escaped Tyler in his Hyde form and what’s occurred in the months since Crackstone was destroyed. I don’t care much about anything that might’ve transpired at Nevermore outside of my investigation and perhaps any writing I accomplished during that time, as I’m sure that the majority of it was inane teenage drama, classes that taught me things I’ve long-since learned from my own personal studies, and some obnoxious roommate I was forced to deal with.”

Wednesday doesn’t miss the slight flinch that goes around the room.

Interesting.

Morticia looks at her apologetically.

“I’m sorry my dear, that won’t be possible. Because we have no idea what exactly the potion did to you, we can’t risk telling you about the things you’ve forgotten. According to Grandmama, there’s a high likelihood that telling you and forcing you to remember the things you’ve forgotten could damage your mind forever, likely leaving you in a vegetative state for the rest of your days.”

Wednesday opens her mouth.

“You wouldn’t be able to write or play your cello ever again, mi querida araña .” Gomez says regretfully.

Wednesday closes her mouth again.

Accidenti .

Wednesday shakes off her disappointment and returns her attention to her family.

“So I simply live with these gaping holes in my memory forever?”

“Well,” Morticia and Grandmama exchange a look that Wednesday can’t decipher. “There’s a good chance they might come back on their own. If you walk around the house and search through the rooms, it may help jog your memory.” 

“If that works though,” Grandmama says, “we have no idea if the memories will come back slowly as each day passes or if something will trigger the memories to come back all at once. If that happens, it might turn you into a vegetative zombie even if we don’t tell you a thing.”

“We also have no idea if your visions might further complicate things, if you happen to have one before Grandmama and Pugsley find an antidote.” Morticia sighs unhappily.

“Well, since regaining my memories might cause me brain damage that would dampen my intelligence and reduce me to a walking husk, I simply won’t seek them out.”

Wednesday stands from her chair and heads for the door.

Before she leaves the room completely, she turns back to her family.

“I trust nothing of importance has happened during my two and a half months home?”

The entire family stares at her silently.

“No.” Morticia says. “Nothing of significance has happened since your return from Nevermore.”

Wednesday tilts her head ever-so-slightly, hands behind her back as she surveys her family.

Morticia’s always been hard to read, but that doesn’t hold true for the rest of the family.

All of them have their own unique tells, and those tells are suggesting to Wednesday that they’re all hiding something from her, something important enough to cause them a large amount of anxiety.

As much as she enjoys seeing her family in such a state, she doesn’t appreciate that it’s at her expense.

No matter.

She spins on her heels and exits the room, walking sedately down the hall as she ruminates over what memories she could’ve lost that would make her family so nervous.

Regardless, her mission now is to find them, no matter the risk to herself, because she never has been able to let a mystery go unsolved, especially ones involving her.

She’ll find whatever her family’s hiding from her, one way or another.

She’s the detective of this family, and as Grandmama always says: “Secrets are like zombies. They never truly die.”

And just like the undead, Wednesday fully intends to ensure these secrets won’t stay buried for long.

She’ll make sure of it.

After breakfast, Thing is a constant companion by her side.

Morticia and Gomez insist it’s in case her memories return and she needs help, but Wednesday knows it’s because they need someone to spy on her to make sure she doesn’t uncover their secrets. 

So she spends the morning working on a new novel (apparently she finished her previous one during her semester at Nevermore, and for the first time feels a pang of dissatisfaction that she can’t remember her time there).

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get much done during her writing hour. 

She’s oddly distracted, a strange feeling nagging at her that she’s supposed to be doing something else at this time, but when she tries to think of what that could be, a headache bulges in her brain like a tumor, so she lets it go to avoid unnecessary brain damage.

After some time spent wandering the halls, looking for memories and clues alike, Wednesday eventually takes a break for lunch, thoroughly pleased by the anxious energy her presence induces in the rest of the family.

It adds a pleasantly sour bite of flavor to her meal.

But of course, all good things must come to an end.

Wednesday receives an unexpected and unwelcome surprise as she polishes off her plate.

“Ah, wait a moment. I almost forgot to mention something, Wednesday.” Morticia says.

Curiously, it causes everyone in the room to still for a moment before continuing as if nothing of note happened. 

Wednesday doesn’t let her eyes narrow in suspicion, even though they want to. 

Morticia never forgets anything. 

By her family’s reactions, they know exactly what it is that Morticia’s “forgotten”.

“And what could that be, Mother?”

“We have a few guests who will be arriving tomorrow evening. You remember Frankie and Lowell, I trust?”

“Cousin Lovella’s and Cousin Nyx’s spouses, yes.” A very odd pair to visit their family; surely this has something to do with whatever her family isn’t telling her. “What is their purpose in coming?”

“Well, a third guest will be joining them. You see, there’s a younger werewolf they’ll be bringing with them- a girl about your age. She’ll be joining the Addams pack soon.”

“Don’t forget, mi corazón , she’s also been added to the family tree.” Gomez says, almost defensively.

Morticia pauses, teacup halfway to her mouth, before she gives Gomez a loving smile traced with something that’s almost wistful.

“Of course, mon amour . How easy it is to forget at times.”

Wednesday briefly considers rolling her eyes, but she’s sure her disdain will come across anyway.

“If you’re done jesting about Pugsley’s pitiful attempt at an amnesia potion and the effect it’s had on me,” Wednesday interjects, “then explain what their purpose is in coming here.”

Morticia and Gomez turn back to her with wide eyes.

“Oh no, my little death trap, we weren’t trying to tease you! We were just-”

“Explain.” Wednesday stares Gomez down, his brow beading with sweat. “Just who is this mutt we’ll be housing? How is she being added to the family? Is she being adopted? Kidnapped? Courted?”

Everyone is silent for a moment.

“I suppose the closest thing would be adoption.” Morticia says quietly. “The family pack has decided to add her to their pack. Her transformation and abilities are rather unusual, so her first pack will likely disown her for her abnormalities, and it’s been discovered that-” Morticia pauses for a second time, “-that she may already have familial ties to the Addams Clan. In addition to all of this, her name has already been added to the archives. She’s an Addams now, no matter what role she’ll ultimately play in our family.”

“What exactly do you mean by abnormal?” Wednesday asks.

“She’s only transformed recently, and only twice thus far, but she’s larger and has far stronger senses than most other werewolves. She’s having trouble adjusting to her newly heightened abilities and has some concerns about the next full moon. Her family is rather… difficult, and since Lovella’s home is prone to eating strangers and Nyx lives all the way in Greece, our home is the best option for Frankie and Lowell to help her. They’ll be with us until the next full moon, and the rest of the pack will be joining us on the full moon to assist her as well.”

“Why is it that Frankie and Lowell are the ones helping her?” Wednesday asks, very curious about what excuse Morticia will come up with. “Would it not make more sense for Margaret or Banshee and Kyousei to bring her here? They live much closer to us.”

“Well, Frankie and Lowell happened to be visiting near where she lives and saw her first transformation, as well as the uncomfortable reactions it elicited from the rest of her pack. They convinced her pack to allow them to escort her to a place where she could be properly trained to handle her new abilities, and she was happy to go with them.”

“Foolish.” Wednesday mutters to herself. 

“It wasn’t foolish at all.” Morticia says cuttingly. 

Wednesday would normally be surprised by the sharpness of Morticia’s tone over someone she’s never met before, but Wednesday doubts that’s truly the case. 

And it’s not the werewolf Wednesday’s calling foolish. 

Morticia of all people should’ve been able to come up with a much more believable lie. 

“The three of them stayed in a werewolf transformation camp during her second full moon, but her transformation didn’t go smoothly, and many of the other werewolves there became very hostile towards her.

“Once it was over, equally as difficult and abnormal as her first transformation, Frankie and Lowell reached out and asked if they could bring her here for her third transformation. They’re hoping the wide open spaces of our forest, swamps, and marshes will help them and the rest of the pack teach her how to better control herself while in wolf form without hostile werewolves there to distract and provoke her. After that, she’ll be officially invited to join the pack.”

“So, Frankie is the one adopting her into the pack, since I’m assuming she’s not planning to move to Greece with Lowell?”

“Correct.” Morticia nods. 

“And who exactly is this mystery guest? It hasn’t escaped my notice that you’ve not yet disclosed her name, Mother.” 

Another pause.

“Her name is Enid.” Morticia says quietly. “Enid Sinclair.”

The name settles itself in Wednesday’s mind, next to thoughts of silver and wolfsbane and, for whatever reason, the scent of lavender.

“Enid Sinclair.” She murmurs to herself.

(A light headache forms behind Wednesday’s eyes. She brushes it aside).

When Wednesday retreats to her bedroom that night, something about the closed door on the opposite side of the hall from her own draws her eye.

Frowning, she goes to open it, but it’s locked.

It remains locked even after she asks and threatens House to open it for her.

Shaking her head, she decides to investigate it later.

Knowing Morticia and her constant attempts to force Wednesday into trivial friendships, she’s probably planning to house this “Enid” across the hall from Wednesday and doesn’t want Wednesday to set any traps for her.

House is an accomplice and Wednesday promises to herself that she’ll make House regret being complicit in Morticia’s prevention of her plotting.

But it’s not like such things matter at the moment anyway.

Wednesday wants to know exactly what she’s dealing with before she enacts any plots or schemes, so she’ll wait until after she’s met Enid before deciding how best to torment her and slowly pry whatever information she might have out of her.

She savors the chance and the challenge to become a plague upon something like an unnatural and terrifyingly powerful werewolf.

After all, as Machiavelli once said: “ Mai nulla di grande è stato realizzato senza pericolo. ”

And danger is something Wednesday always chases.

(She falls asleep, and a gentle pain in her head follows her into oblivion).

The following night, everyone is gathered in the sitting room, waiting for the werewolves’ arrival.

Wednesday can admit to some anticipation in meeting a werewolf that is apparently so unusual that she practically became an Addams spontaneously.

As far as Wednesday knows, the last time someone became an Addams almost entirely on their own is when Grandmama was added to the family tree.

The building tension in the nearly silent room is broken by a loud knock at the front door.

Before Morticia even needs to ask, Lurch lumbers away to answer it.

Moments later, he returns with three werewolves in tow.

Wednesday naturally recognizes Frankie and Lowell, despite not having seen them for quite some time, but the girl between them is unfamiliar and nothing at all like what Wednesday was expecting.

She thought Enid would be huge, covered in hideously bulging muscles with wild eyes and brambles for hair.

Instead, she’s small and lean, only a few inches taller than Wednesday, with soft blonde hair dyed pink and blue at its ends, wearing a brightly-colored sweater over equally disturbing tie-dyed pants. Even her nails are painted a bright gold for Hades’ sake, as if the clothing and hair weren't bad enough.

The only tolerable thing about her is the clawed scars on her face, but it’s clear she’s trying to hide them with the way she’s styled her hair.

Shameful.

Worst of all though is that she practically radiates weakness.

Enid’s slumped, lifeless, her hands and knees trembling, looking like she'd shatter if it wasn’t for Lowell and Frankie’s firm grips on her shoulders.

This is supposed to be a monstrously unnatural werewolf?

This is supposed to become a member of their family?

This is supposed to be an Addams?

Impermissible.

Almost as if Enid can hear Wednesday's thoughts, she flinches away from her when Frankie and Lowell step closer. 

However, despite her lackluster appearance, Wednesday knows Enid has one thing to offer her; information. 

She’s clearly part of whatever Wednesday’s family is trying to keep secret, and may even be part of the memories Wednesday’s forgotten; the timing of her arrival at their home and the clearly false cover story for her purpose in coming is suspicious to say the least.

Perhaps Frankie and Lowell truly brought her here because Enid has some sort of ability that everyone hopes will either help Wednesday’s memories return, keep them locked away forever, or place new ones in their stead to keep her from ever uncovering the truth.

Wednesday’s not sure which option would be the most exciting.

Enid truly being a psychic instead of a werewolf would make much more sense, considering her frail appearance and timid mannerisms.

When Wednesday and Enid make eye contact, Enid looks away immediately, leaving Wednesday with nothing but an impression of blue.

Topaz blue specifically, though Wednesday’s not entirely sure where the thought comes from.

(A sharp headache spikes through Wednesday’s brain out of nowhere as she looks at Enid. She removes it with the same precision she uses when slicing open cadavers and ruthlessly crushes it until the pain stops. The cause for her sudden headache must be all the blinding color being shoved into her eyes like needles into a pin cushion).

“Enid, dear!” Morticia steps forward with a welcoming grin, but there’s something strange swirling in her eyes. “It’s lovely to meet you! My name is Morticia.” She places her hands on Enid’s shoulders and turns her to face Wednesday.

“And this is my daughter, Wednesday. I believe you two are about the same age, so I’m certain you’ll get along well.”

Wednesday’s certain they won’t.

“Hello.” Enid says quietly, keeping her eyes down and fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The blonde hair, the hideous clothes, the pathetic timidness-

All of it is absolutely unacceptable, and an insult to everything the Addams stand for.

Wednesday can barely tolerate the mere idea of being confined in such close quarters with such an intolerable and feeble creature.

How disappointing a guest for her parents to allow in their house, werewolf, psychic, or whatever else she might be.

Well, no matter.

Wednesday will be sure to nail how disappointing Enid is into the mind of this pathetic excuse for a potential Addams (after draining her of all possible information she might have on Wednesday’s missing memories) before Wednesday drives her away.

It should be laughably easy to do so.

Enid already looks like a delicate girl with a fragile state of mind, just like every other teenager Wednesday’s been forced to endure the presence of.

She’ll be easy enough to break, and Wednesday fully intends to be the one to break her.

If anything, she’s looking forward to it.

Perhaps Enid’s arrival to their home, despite her being nearly unbearable to look at with her nauseatingly bright colors, will give Wednesday a small bit of practice in interrogation and psychological torture rather than the physical kind she usually prefers.

A small and entertaining project to do on the side while Wednesday investigates her lost memories and whatever it is her family’s hiding from her.

Wednesday doesn’t say a word as everyone exchanges inane pleasantries and hellos, Enid the only other person remaining silent after introducing herself to the rest of the family.

Wednesday stares at Enid, examining her to look for early signs of her greatest weaknesses, who curls into herself more and more under Wednesday’s gaze and freezing silence.

If Wednesday were anyone else, she’d feel something like pity at the sight.

But emotions that come anywhere near sympathy or empathy are almost completely foreign to Wednesday, and that certainly doesn’t change when confronted with something like Enid.

“Wednesday, perhaps you could show Enid around? Give her a proper tour of the place?” Morticia interrupts Wednesday’s staredown of an increasingly uncomfortable Enid.

Wednesday doesn’t even pause to think about it.

“No.” She says.

Wednesday’s been forced to stand in close proximity to Enid for long enough, so she has no compunction about ignoring Morticia and leaving the room without another word, knowing Morticia will only keep attempting to drag Wednesday into some activity where she’ll be forced to interact with Enid if she remains.

She doesn’t even bother to acknowledge Lowell or Frankie.

(Frankie and Lowell may be obnoxious, but they’re still Addamses, which Wednesday normally recognizes with some small amount of respect. She’s happy to discard that in this case, considering what they’ve brought into her home).

As she leaves however, the perfect words to welcome their disappointing guest finally come to her.

“I hope you find your stay here as unpleasant as I find your appearance.” Wednesday says tonelessly as she brushes past Enid.

The brief touch of their shoulders makes spiders scuttle uncomfortably down her back, but it’s worth it for the shaky gasp Wednesday’s words earn her.

She allows herself a small smirk and continues forward without pause.

If that’s enough to make Enid cry, Enid won’t last a week in this house, and Wednesday will get whatever information Enid might have out of her within days.

Enid has no idea what’s coming.

Wednesday relishes in it.

(The headache returns, even worse than before. She bats it away easily).

There’s nothing Wednesday loves more than a good ambush, and Enid will be a perfect victim.

But she brushes that all aside for now; her investigation takes far greater precedence, and she doubts that the rainbow abomination brightening up Wednesday’s home like some kind of blinding sunshine slug leaving a trail of pink and blue slime in its wake will know anything of use.

(Wednesday will probably have to set fire to the walls and floors to properly eliminate any trace of Enid’s presence once she’s been chased off, preferably screaming and running away in the night when Wednesday finally “persuades” her to leave).

Wednesday’s investigation has to come first, and she luckily knows the first place to start looking. 

Her own bedroom.

The second Wednesday’s out of hearing range, (and Enid allows herself a moment to sag in relief that Wednesday didn’t seem to recognize her one bit), Enid straightens up, rips herself out of Lowell and Frankie’s grasp, and marches into the center of the room with a growl.

“Wolfsbane? Really?” She growls, unsheathing her claws.

“What else did you expect after running away like that?” Morticia asks cooly, folding her arms and staring Enid down.

“What were you thinking, du dummes Mädchen !” Grandmama hisses, getting right up in Enid’s face. “An amnesia potion? What is wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with you?” Enid shouts right back, already done with having to explain herself. She backs away and turns in a slow circle to look at all of them. “What’s wrong with all of you? Why the hell did you drag me back here? Don’t you get it? I saved Wednesday .” 

“At what cost?” Frankie growls. “There’s no fate an Addams would despair facing more than losing the one they love. What you’ve done is perhaps the one thing no Addams could ever even contemplate doing or wanting for themselves.”

“The love of an Addam’s is akin to a werewolf’s bond to their true mate.” Lowell says with a tightly-controlled calmness in his voice. “One cannot live without the other without losing the parts of themselves their love brought out of them, so to deprive Wednesday of that love is the worst thing you could ever do to her.”

Enid snarls at them.

They snarl right back.

“And what could I have possibly brought out in her? Before she met me, she would’ve known immediately that I was acting weird, would’ve been able to get out of my hold in seconds with a knife- hell, she wouldn’t have let her guard down around me at all! Not when she knows the things I’m capable of!”

“Wednesday only let her guard down around you because she trusted you, Enid!” Uncle Fester says angrily. Enid nearly flinches at his raised voice. She’s never seen him so much as frown, and now he’s nearly shouting at her.

“She didn’t even bring a knife to that dinner, and none of us so much as tried to spy on you after Lurch finished serving you both. That’s how much she trusted you. That’s how much we all trusted you. But you couldn’t even trust us enough to find a way to save you!” Gomez shouts, agitatedly pacing back and forth in front of the couch.

“But I did trust you!” Enid yells back, shocked at how angry she feels. “You all knew exactly what the caladrius was when it first got here, but did you tell me? No! You just let me stand there smiling like an oblivious idiot when it told us that Wednesday and I were going to die. I fucking helped clean up the goddamn feathers for fuck’s sake, but none of you said a thing! Instead, I had to find out from a bestiary in the library because I knew something was wrong and that none of you were going to tell me what it was, and I was fucking right!”

Everyone flinches away from her, but Grandmama only steps closer.

“We may have betrayed your trust, we may have hidden things from you, but you took Wednesday’s memories away, you took her love away.” Grandmama scowls at her. “Was it worth it?”

“ Yes. ” Enid snaps. “I would burn down the world for Wednesday if she asked me to, so of course I got rid of the weight dragging her down! She doesn’t need me, and all I’ve been doing since practically the moment I got here is hurt her; it only makes sense that I cut myself out of her life before I end up destroying it!”

Everyone falls silent and just stares at Enid, the heartbreak and disappointment in their eyes clear.

Enid’s more than familiar with the look.

Morticia’s is particularly hard to bear.

Enid can practically feel the sting of a slap across her face, even though Morticia doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Tell us exactly what you gave her.” Morticia says, her blank tone unsettlingly similar to Wednesday’s.

A vague thought filled with painful fondness drifts through Enid’s mind that Wednesday would hate the comparison.

But Enid can’t tell Wednesday things like that anymore.

If Enid has it her way, she’ll never speak to Wednesday again.

It hurts as much as it comforts her.

Enid doesn’t answer.

Morticia’s eyes narrow. She steps closer until she’s looming over Enid.

“We found most of the things from your room hidden in the crypts within an hour, everything except for the most important things. Tell me right now, Enid; where did you put the dress? The circlet? The rose? A. Vidal’s books? Wednesday’s notes? Where did you put the potion recipe , Enid? We know you hid everything that might remind Wednesday of you and tried to run away so that there’d be almost no chance she’d remember you, and you’re going to tell us where they are. Right. Now.”

When Enid remains silent, unblinking in a nearly three-minute long staredown, Morticia turns to Grandmama.

“Alright, we’ll do it your way. Bring out the Omnis Veritas Capta. ”

Enid might not know any Latin, but she understands enough Italian to recognize the word “truth” in there.

She immediately tries to run for the nearest window, knowing she won’t be able to get past Frankie and Lowell but certain she can get through the glass with minimal injury and outrun them, (this time she’ll take the forest instead of the road) only for every member of the family to raise perfume bottles filled with extract of wolfsbane.

(The exact same kind as what Frankie and Lowell used to knock her out and drag her back to the Addams house; she could run fast, but she couldn’t outrun a car).

Even Thing is holding one, sitting on the windowsill and trembling with rage.

She stops and backs up, eyes searching the room desperately for any escape, but there’s an Addams on every side and blocking every doorway.

She knows she has to leave, because the longer she stays, the more likely her plan will fail, and she can’t allow that.

But if they really use a truth serum on her, it won’t matter anyway.

Σκατά .

With threatening gestures of their perfume bottles, they force her into the corner until she collapses into Wednesday’s armchair.

The scent of graveyard soil, rosemary, and typewriter ink erupts around her, so potent and overwhelming it almost distracts her from the threatening uncorked vial shoves towards her face.

When Enid initially refuses to open her mouth, everyone glares at her.

“Either drink it willingly or we’ll spritz you with wolfsbane again and force you to drink it.” Frankie says. “Your choice, μικρός δραπέτης .”

Enid glares at him for a moment before reluctantly taking the bottle and downing its contents.

She nearly gags at the taste- rotten meat with a sour aftertaste- before angrily shoving the empty vial back to Grandmama.

“How long will it take to work?” Uncle Fester asks.

“Only about a minute or so. It’s fast-acting.” Grandmama replies, carelessly tossing the vial over her shoulder.

Enid hangs her head and closes her eyes in defeat.

So this is how it ends.

Her plan’s falling to pieces less than a day after she finally executed it.

Wednesday would be so disappointed, if she had the time to be anyway.

At least Enid doesn’t have to wait an agonizing two weeks before she dies as a ravenous monster.

Wednesday’s sure to kill her the minute they reverse the effects of the potion.

A minute later, once everyone agrees the potion’s effects have probably kicked in, Pugsley’s surprisingly the first one to jump in with a question.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks, staring at her with an intensity she didn’t know he was capable of.

“Because I need to save Wednesday.” Enid only barely stops herself from rolling her eyes at having to repeat herself over and over, both because Pugsley’s too sweet for that and because of the guilt simmering in her belly from her betrayal.

“No, I mean, why the amnesia potion?” He asks. “Sure, it worked, but there’s a lot of other things you could’ve tried.”

“Besides knowing it was the most likely thing to succeed? I chose it so that she wouldn’t care if I died. I didn’t want to cause her any pain. I love her too much.”

A moment of heavy silence drapes over them.

Morticia’s the first to break it.

“Enid, what did you give Wednesday, and where did you hide the potion recipe?”

Enid expects her mouth to open and for the truth to come spilling out, but instead, her mouth remains firmly shut.

She looks around nervously, admittedly confused.

Everyone else looks as confused as she does.

Morticia and Grandmama exchange glances before Morticia leans closer and repeats herself, making sure to enunciate the words.

“Enid. What did you give Wednesday? Where did you hide the potion recipe?”

Enid takes a chance. She opens her mouth.

“I don’t know.” She lies.

She breathes a sigh of relief as everyone else frowns in frustration and bewilderment.

“Evidently this one isn’t strong enough for a grimwolf.” Gomez says. He turns to Grandmama. “What do you have that’s stronger?”

“That one was my strongest.” She says, clearly seconds away from darting forward and shaking Enid around by the shoulders. “I figured we’d need it for her, but apparently nothing of mine is going to help get information out of her.”

While everyone else groans and curses in various languages, Enid can’t help but smile bitterly.

“Do you find this funny, Enid?” Morticia asks, her voice like a lash.

“Not at all.” Enid says. “I just find it ironic that the only good thing to come out of this stupid grimwolf stuff is that it’s helped me protect Wednesday, whether from a Hyde, from me, or from herself.”

Morticia’s eyes narrow.

Enid prepares herself for a slap, knowing exactly what happens when she doesn’t answer the way she’s supposed to.

Instead, Morticia backs away and rubs at her temple.

Enid almost feels disoriented by the slap that didn’t happen.

“This is not what Wednesday would want, Enid.” Morticia says. “Just tell us where you hid it.”

Enid opens her mouth to once again refuse, but-

“Wait!” Uncle Fester says.

Everyone turns to him, and his smile becomes even more manic.

“We can ask House where she hid it! If it’s anywhere in here, House will know where it is!” Enid tenses as everyone else’s eyes brighten.

“Excellent idea, mi niño brillante !” Gomez tugs Uncle Fester into a one-armed hug.

“Yes, well done, Uncle Fester.” Morticia says fondly. She looks up at the ceiling.

“House, do you know where Enid hid the items we seek?”

Everyone waits for a moment with bated breath, Enid’s heart pounding as she prepares to jump up and set her room on fire before any of them can get to the items that might spell out Wednesday’ doom.

But then, to Enid’s shock, House flaps the window shutters up and down, in the way it does when it’s saying “no”.

While everyone else deflates, Enid does her best to school her expression back to normal.

Does House really not know where she hid everything?

How could it not?

And if it does know, why is it helping Enid hide it?

Questions she’ll have to ask later, as everyone turns their attention back to her.

“Guess she hid them outside.” Lowell sighs.

“Frankie, Lowell, is there any chance you might be able to sniff out where she buried them?” Morticia asks tiredly.

Frankie shakes his head.

“With all that stench from the bog and the marsh clogging up our noses? No way. Wherever they’re buried, we’re not gonna find them unless she tells us.” 

“I’m not going to, and you know I’m not going to.” Enid says. “Just let me leave. Let me give Wednesday her best chance at surviving.”

“You well know that we’re not going to do that.” Morticia says. “Despite your incredibly rash and poorly-thought-out actions, we'll still help you, and I can understand why you did what you did. Hecate knows the things I’d be willing to do for Gomez. We know you’re going to continue being stubborn and refuse to help Wednesday regain her memories in your misguided attempt at chivalry, but we won’t lay down and let you die either. Please, at least give us the books so we can continue helping you, petit soleil .”

“Unless she decided to keep up her idiot streak and burned it all, including A. Vidal’s books.” Uncle Fester glares at her. 

“Of course I didn’t!” Enid stands up angrily, ignoring the perfume bottles all immediately pointed back in her direction. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at them. “Despite what you all might think, I don’t actually want to die. I’m still going to try and find A. Vidal’s grave and figure out what it is I need to find to survive the next full moon; I just wanted insurance to make sure Wednesday would survive it even if I don’t.”

Uncle Fester scoffs. 

“So what, kid, you’re going to solve the mystery all on your own?”

“No, she’s not, and she doesn’t expect to.” Morticia stares Enid down knowingly. 

Enid crosses her arms to hide how her hands are trembling.

Standing face-to-face with an angry mother has never ended well for Enid in the past, and she doesn’t expect it to now.

Enid takes in a deep, steadying breath.

WWWD?

What Would Wednesday Do?

“I’ll bring back the books on three conditions.” Enid says. “One, no one so much as mentions the name A. Vidal or looks at a single page of their books, journals, or Wednesday’s notes on any of them whenever Wednesday might be anywhere nearby.”

Enid carefully doesn’t mention that, although she found almost all of them, the few things related to A. Vidal that she couldn’t find anywhere in the house last night was the second journal, the two sets of the 19 coded pages, or Wednesday’s notes on them. That’s going to be a mystery for her to solve, and hopefully one she somehow manages to solve before Wednesday does. 

Unease bubbles in her stomach.

(She somehow doubts she will).

“Two,” she continues, “the books need to be hidden whenever someone isn’t looking through them, somewhere Wednesday won’t be able to find them.”

“That’ll be pretty hard, since there’s not a hiding place in this house that micul detectiv doesn’t already know about.” Grandmama mutters.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to find some.” Enid says coldly.

“And your third condition?” Morticia asks, no inflection in her voice. 

Enid glares at Frankie and Lowell.

“No one, and I mean no one , speaks a lick of Greek anywhere within Wednesday’s range, and everyone speaks as little Italian as possible.”

She looks each of them in the eye, pushing every bit of fiery stubbornness and cold determination she feels into her gaze.

“If any of these conditions are broken, I’ll know immediately. Let me remind you all that even if Lowell and Frankie have taught me how to block it out, I can still choose to hear and smell everything that goes on in this house. I’ll know everything you do, everything you say, and wherever you are at all times, especially when you’re within range of Wednesday. Any fishy behavior, any odd smells, any suspiciously-worded conversations, and I rip the books to shreds. Are we all clear?”

“Fine. But I have a condition of my own.” Morticia finally says. “After you retrieve the books, you are not to leave this house under any circumstances, something I’m sure House will be more than happy to help with.”

The entire House groans in agreement, punctuating it with the sound of every lock in the outer doors and windows clicking shut.

“Fine.” Enid says, angrily refusing to look at any of them.

They all sigh and finally set aside their perfume bottles.

Most of them won’t look at her, and the few who do are angry and disappointed.

Morticia stands beside the armchair closest to her, resting her elbow on top of it. She raises a hand to her forehead and rests the other on her hip, tears beading her eyelashes even though her eyes are closed.

Guilt and righteous anger fill up Enid’s chest, but a familiar despondency settles itself behind them, hiding in her heart.

Looks like no matter what she does, no matter where she is, no matter who she’s with, she’ll always be a disappointment.

It only hurts all the worse now because the Addams made her start to hope she wasn’t one.

That night, after everyone but Grandmama (who’s muttering angrily under her breath as she works on something that keeps making small explosions) has finally succumbed to sleep, Enid crouches down next to the loose floorboard but doesn’t open it quite yet.

Instead, she lays her hand down on top of it and closes her eyes.

“You know, don’t you? That it’s all here?” 

A light creak of the window shutter opening is all the answer she needs.

Tears spring to her eyes, but she keeps them firmly shut.

“Why did you keep it secret then? Why are you helping me hide it all?” 

She opens her eyes when the floorboard slowly lifts and slides aside on its own.

In the hidden space beneath lies the dress, the circlet, the rose, the empty bottle labeled “Cyanide”, the books, all their notes on the mystery of A. Vidal, the potion recipe, the page on the caladrius, as well as the song Wednesday wrote for her after her second transformation.

Enid was halfway-finished with her own part of the duet when she had to hide it, along with everything else that might remind Wednesday of everything Enid made her forget.

The night before is almost a haze now.

Morticia ran off for help, and the silence that followed hollowed out Enid’s ears as she changed out of her dress and into her warmest clothes, the ones that Wednesday always pestered her to throw away because of how obnoxiously-colorful they were, but always with a tiny smile that assured Enid she wasn’t serious.

Then it was a flurry of tearing down the few things in her room that she hadn’t yet thrown away, the things she had to leave up in order to avoid drawing suspicion while she prepared the potion, as well as the clothes Morticia bought for her that Enid couldn’t bear to throw away, shoving it all into the garbage bags she’d hidden in preparation and tossing them out the window before firmly shutting and latching it.

She took the books and notes she’d gathered and hidden in her room the day of her and Wednesday’s dinner, along with the few other things she knew couldn’t be found under any circumstances- the things too special and precious and specific to them- she hid it all beneath the floorboard along with the books.

She left a note underneath the hand carefully placed on Wednesday’s torso warning everyone about the amnesia potion and that telling Wednesday anything about what she’d forgotten or forcing her to remember would result in catastrophic and permanent damage to Wednesday’s mind (luckily a common enough symptom of amnesia potions that it would be difficult for even Grandmama to figure out which one it might be without the recipe itself to look at).

She used the secret passageway in the room next to her own to disappear just before the rest of the family arrived, and after a series of quick switches between hallways and secret passages (followed by increasingly-frantic calls of her name), she got outside, grabbed the garbage bags, hid them in the first crypt she passed, and started sprinting down the road.

She’s still furious that Lowell and Frankie managed to catch up to her just after dawn using Frankie’s car (cheating, in Enid’s opinion) and used a few spritzes of wolfsbane to knock her out. 

By the time she woke up, they were already back at the house, and Lowell and Frankie barely told her their cover story, warning her that the second Wednesday was out of sight, she’d be explaining herself to everyone in the family, before dragging her into the house to face the music.

Now, she stares down at the items hidden beneath her floor, feeling like she’s in a dream.

With careful iron nails, House lifts the potion recipe up from the rest of the pile. 

She takes it with shaking hands and inhales shakily.

“You… you think I’m right? You agree that Wednesday should get her best chance to live while I try to find my own?”

House flutters its shutters back-and-forth once again.

Enid smiles and starts crying.

At least one member of the family doesn’t hate her for what she did.

At least one of them doesn’t think she’s a disappointment, even though she knows she is.

She wipes the tears from her eyes and sniffles.

“So you’ll help me?” She asks.

House slowly opens the window to her bedroom, pushing the A. Vidal books up onto the floor beside her, an open invitation to leave and find the answers on her own.

She smiles and gets up.

She crosses to the window and closes it, firmly latching it shut. 

Closing the shutters, she leans against the old wood for a moment with shut eyes.

“Thank you, House.” She whispers.

The curtains gently wrap around her in House’s version of an embrace.

After a few moments they unwind and fall away, leaving cold shivers in their wake.

Enid opens her eyes and cracks the shutters open, staring up at the unforgiving light of the waxing moon.

Without the fear of being the cause of Wednesday’s untimely death clouding her thoughts, her mind feels remarkably clear.

She’ll find a way to save herself, and apparently the rest of the Addams are still going to help her do it, even if House might be the only one happy to do so.

She knows they’re her best chance at living, at solving A. Vidal’s mystery.

So she’ll stay until they do, or leave when it’s clear they won’t in time.

For now, she turns her back on the moon and returns to kneeling beside the loose floorboard.

She returns the books House pushed up onto the floor back into the hiding place.

Something inside briefly twinkles in the moonlight.

Picking it up with one hand, the potion recipe gripped in her other, she studies the circlet mournfully, tracing one of its silvery-blue flowers tenderly.

Forget-me-nots.

Wednesday couldn’t have picked a more bitterly ironic thing to decorate the golden laurel leaves with.

Enid’s heart aches, but she knows she deserves the pain of heartbreak.

She’s only glad she’s been able to save Wednesday from it.

With one last, bittersweet smile, Enid lays the circlet reverently atop the dress folded and tucked away inside, setting the page atop the caladrius paper and half-finished duet beside it.

As she sets the floorboard back down, the moonlight flickers over the page, highlighting the thing she’s kept so carefully hidden from everyone else.

Nunc Obliviscere Me .

After she makes sure the floorboard doesn’t look out of place, she slips into bed and closes her eyes.

She falls asleep to the sound of the incantation she repeated above a bubbling cauldron over and over again for what felt like hundreds of times.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget the sound of it, not if she lives for two more weeks or for two hundred years.

Vincula praecidi, qua nos ligamus; Libero te ab omni memoria mei. Nunc et in perpetuum obliviscere mei. Nunc et in perpetuum obliviscere mei. Nunc et in perpetuum obliviscere mei.

Deep in the night, when even Thing has succumbed to sleep on the foot of her bed, Wednesday is carefully and quietly searching the parts of her room she didn’t get the chance to check before Thing came crawling back from whatever little welcome party they threw for Enid.

She doesn’t find anything until she checks her desk for a second time.

When she opens the false bottom of her left drawer, an unfamiliar brown leather journal stacked atop a pile of paper greets her.

Wednesday smirks slightly.

A secret is locked away somewhere in her memories.

Looks like she’s just found the first piece of it.

(One week and four days since the Second Full Moon - Two weeks and three days until the Third Full Moon)

Translations:

Memoria Amissa - “Lost Memory” (Latin)

Mica mea viperă - “Little viper” (Romanian)

Oh, ai fost învățată așa de bine, copilul meu nascut la miez de noapte. Nimic nu ar putea resista lamei tale. - “Oh, you have been taught so well, my midnight born child. Nothing could withstand your blade.” (Romanian)

Widerliche Hexe - “Disgusting witch” (German)

Mi querida araña - “My dear spider” (Spanish)

Accidenti. - “Damn.” (Italian)

Mi corazón - “My heart” (Spanish)

Mon amour - “My love” (French)

Mai nulla di grande è stato realizzato senza pericolo. - “Never was anything great achieved without danger.” (Italian)

Du dummes Mädchen! - “You stupid girl!” (German)

Omnis Veritas Capta - “All Truth Captured” (Latin)

Σκατά. - “Shit.” (Greek)

Μικρός δραπέτης. - “Little runaway.” (Greek)

Mi niño brillante! - “My brilliant boy!” (Spanish)

Petit soleil - “Little sun” (Little sun)

Micul detectiv - “The little detective” (Romanian)

Nunc Obliviscere Me - “Forget Me Now” (Latin)

Vincula praecidi, qua nos ligamus; Libero te ab omni memoria mei. Nunc et in perpetuum obliviscere mei. Nunc et in perpetuum obliviscere mei. Nunc et in perpetuum obliviscere mei. - “I cut the ties that bind us; I release you from all memory of me. Forget me now and forever. Forget me now and forever. Forget me now and forever.” (Latin)

Chapter Text

“The moon has set and

the Pleiades. Middle

of the night, time spins

away and I lie alone.”

- Sappho

The morning after leaving and then being promptly dragged back to the house, Enid fully intends to sleep in for as long as physically possible, both out of exhaustion and because she wants to avoid interacting with everyone else for as long as she can, especially Wednesday.

This plan proves futile when she wakes up at dawn to quiet yet persistent knocking at her door.

Groaning (and a little teary-eyed), Enid gets up and heads to the door, fully prepared to be dragged downstairs and shoved outside to retrieve the books before being locked in the library with some of the others to start looking for anything they could’ve possibly missed, all while being surrounded by angry silence or disappointed rebukes.

She knows she deserves it, but that doesn’t mean she’s dreading it any less.

When she cracks open the door, expecting Morticia, Grandmama, or even Thing on the other side, she instead finds Pugsley of all people.

“Pugsley?” She asks, voice raspy with sleep. 

“Hi Enid. I’m sorry to wake you up so early.”

“It’s fine.” She says around a yawn, mostly just grateful that he at least sounds neutral instead of outright hostile like she’d been expecting everyone to be. “What’s up?”

“Well, um, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He says quietly, fidgeting with his fingers. 

Enid nods and opens her door wider.

He doesn’t enter. Glancing back at Wednesday’s door, he leans towards Enid.

“Somewhere more private. Where no one-” He points his thumb over his shoulder at Wednesday’s door. “-Will overhear us?”

Enid nods.

“Let me get dressed. Is the library okay for us to meet?”

Pugsley nods and heads back down the hallway quietly while Enid closes the door.

After a quick shower and getting dressed, Enid silently sneaks out of her room. 

Although Wednesday always sleeps until exactly 9:00am in the Addams house (besides when Enid wakes her up early), Enid doesn’t want to take any chances.

She creeps her way down to the library, sharp ears assuring her that she and Pugsley are the only ones awake, as she can’t even hear Thing scampering around the halls somewhere.

When she gets to the library, House silently opening and shutting the doors for her, for which she gives a silent “thank you” to House, Pugsley is sitting at one of the far ends, in a reading corner almost completely draped in shadow with two cushy armchairs tilted towards each other.

Sighing, Enid makes her way over.

At least the first volley of the day will be coming from Pugsley, who’s as sweet as Eugene and likely not going to be as difficult to endure as some of the angrier adults.

Actually, on second thought, that will probably make this all the harder, since she’s probably broken his heart. Anything coming from someone as sweet and loveable as Pugsley is going to hurt twice as much as it would coming from a pissed-off Frankie or furious Grandmama. 

Shit, this is going to suck. 

But Enid hardens her resolve and makes her way over to Pugsley’s quiet corner. 

She knows she deserves the shitstorm she’s going to get today, so she’ll do her best to endure it and hopefully make it through to the other side.

Gingerly, she sits down in the seat beside Pugsley, feeling stiff and awkward and entirely unprepared for whatever’s going to come next.

They sit in silence for a few moments.

Enid sighs slightly and turns to face Pugsley, who’s watching her with the same intense look he had when he was questioning her when they thought she was under the effects of a truth potion.

“Pugsley, I’m sorry-”

Pugsley’s intense facade cracks and he abruptly breaks down crying, darting forward to squeeze Enid into a hug.

She freezes.

Slowly, as he keeps crying into her shoulder, she wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a firmer hug when he only squeezes tighter.

“Pugsley?” She asks, confusion evident in her tone.

The tears she expected.

The hug she definitely didn’t.

“Thank you.” His voice quivers. 

Her body goes from slowly relaxing into the hug to freezing up again.

“What do you mean?” She asks carefully.

Pugsley, sniffling, pulls back to look her in the eye, his own eyes red and watery.

“I know everyone else is mad at you, and I tried to be mad at you too, but I just can’t. Wednesday’s my big sister, and even though death is cool and everything, I don’t want her to die. I don’t want either of you to die, but you made sure she won’t.” He sniffles again, more tears falling down his cheeks as his face scrunches up. “I know it’s selfish of me, but I’m so glad that you saved her, even if it means she lost you, and I’m sorry Enid, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey hey hey,” Enid pulls him back into a hug, making it much firmer and warmer than the last surprise attack one was. She strokes his hair as he trembles in her arms, an odd blend of relief and guilt churning in her gut. “It’s okay, Pugsley. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He nearly sobs. “I’m an Addams and the love between an Addams and the person they fall in love with is supposed to be the most important thing to us, but- but-”

“Hey, look at me.” Enid pulls back and puts her hands on Pugsley’s shoulders.

He sniffles at her, chest hiccuping with suppressed sobs.

She gives him a smile, surprised but not surprised when her own eyes start filling with tears.

“The Addams think love is more important than anything else, right?” 

Pugsley nods, wiping away his tears even as more spill down his face.

“So then that includes familial love, right? You have nothing to be ashamed of for loving your sister, Pugsley. You have nothing to be ashamed of for not wanting her to die.” She wipes at his tears and gentles her smile. “And you have nothing to be ashamed of for crying, no matter what Wednesday might say about how “emotion is weakness”, I promise.”

Pugsley eyes well up even more and they’re hugging all over again, Enid the one to pull him in this time. She squeezes her eyes shut when Pugsley buries his face into her shoulder yet again. 

“I know I disappointed everyone,” she murmurs into his hair. “I know I betrayed everyone’s trust, that I betrayed Wednesday’s trust. I know that even if we both survive this, your family will never be able to forgive me or trust me ever again. I know that if Wednesday ever remembers, she’ll never forgive me for it either, and I know that I deserve it. But I love Wednesday, and we’re all running out of time. 

“I told you that I chose the amnesia potion to make sure she would survive when we’re still not certain if I will, to make sure that she could still live without the burden of me if I die, but I did it for another reason too.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. We were all getting too desperate, too side-tracked, too scared to make any progress, especially Wednesday and I. We need to be able to think clearly if I’m going to have any chance, because regardless of what everyone might think, I don’t want to die anymore than I want Wednesday to, and I think cutting the bond between us was the best way to accomplish it. 

“Maybe I made the wrong choice, but at the end of the day, if at least Wednesday lives, it’ll have all been worth it for me. I know it’s selfish of me. If I survive past the next full moon, I just hope that you and your family will let me try to earn your forgiveness, even though I know I’ll probably never be able to earn your trust again.”

Pugsley sniffles and pulls back again, meeting her eyes with something entirely too warm in them.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you don’t need to earn my forgiveness. And I still trust you; that’s why I’m gonna help you.”

“Wait.” Enid shakes her head, because surely she heard wrong. “What?”

“I know the rest of my family doesn’t really see it the way I do, and it’s probably because they’re all grown-ups and everything, but for me, I think you did the right thing. So I’m going to try and help you prevent Wednesday from remembering.”

“Really?” Enid asks softly, her voice getting wobbly.

“Yeah.” Pugsley nods, but then he starts fidgeting with his hands nervously and glances away from her. “Everyone else is pretty divided on what to do about all of this- I think some of them are still going to try and help Wednesday remember, though I’m not sure how.” He takes a deep breath and meets her eyes again. “But even if I find out, I’m not going to tell you, because even if I don’t agree with them I don’t want to spy on my family even for this and I-”

“Pugsley.” Enid interrupts, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders. “I would never, never ask you to do that. And you don’t even have to help me-”

“No, I’m going to help you! I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

Pugsley nods, swiping at his eyes again, the tears drying up and steely determination taking their place.

“Alright.” Enid smiles, swiping at the tears in her own eyes. “Okay.”

She shakes herself off and claps her hands together decisively.

“So, where do we start?”

About an hour later, after she and Pugsley sneak outside (with Pugsley “assuring” House that he can handle it and will make sure Enid doesn’t try to book it), she pretends to unearth the books kept inside a large canvas sack from the “grave” Wednesday buried Enid with flowers in.

The night before, right before she fell asleep, she realized she still needed to hide the books somewhere outside so that the family wouldn’t suspect House of foul play, so she quickly shoved them all into a canvas bag House provided from… somewhere, and snuck outside to hide them.

She eventually chose the not-grave.

It just felt fitting.

(No one could hope to dig out all the flowers in time before Wednesday woke up, so instead they covered the last few feet in dirt and smoothed it over to look as undisturbed as possible).

Once she and Pugsley sneak back in, they take the books to Pugsley’s room to sort and decide what to do with.

“I have an idea about how we can hide the books. Or, at least one of them.” Pugsley says, reaching into the backpack lying next to a bookcase filled with books on bombs and explosives alongside actual grenades and dynamite.

The fact that she doesn’t bat an eye at the dangerous oddity of bombs in a boy’s bedroom further cements that hanging around the Addams for a prolonged period of time makes you forget what’s considered “normal”.

“What is it?”

He pulls out a large and oddly very modern looking book titled “Animals and Insects of Every Biome”.

Seeing Enid’s raised eyebrow, he gives her a sheepish grin.

“It’s a book I stole from my school’s library last year. I really like insects and weird frogs and stuff, and it’s not like anyone else at my school was using it, anyway.”

God, she HAS to introduce Pugsley to Eugene; they would get along like a house on fire, no doubt about it.

“Okay.” She says slowly. “How will that help us hide one of the books?”

Instead of explaining, Pugsley simply takes the paper cover off the book and slips it onto one of A. Vidal’s books. The cover is only barely larger than the book, making for an almost perfect camouflage.

Enid immediately grins.

“Pugsley, you’re a fucking genius.”

Pugsley grins right back at her.

“So,” he slips the cover back off the tome and sets it back with the others. “Which one do you want to be able to read out in the open?”

“Hm…” 

They both look around at the books, journals, and Wednesday’s notebooks piled up around them. Eventually, Enid’s eyes land on book 9. 

She picks it up and eyes it thoughtfully.

She always thought it was the odd one in the bunch.

Whereas the rest of the books A. Vidal wrote were about scientific pursuits mainly focused on the history, biology, and cultures of various types of outcasts, this book is instead a compilation of folk tales, legends, and fairy tales passed down for generations in an eclectic compendium of all outcast culture’s stories.

“Let’s do this one first.” She says. “There’s always been something weird about it; maybe we’ll be able to figure it out now.”

Pugsley nods and slips the cover over it before handing it back to her.

“So, what do we do with the rest of them, then?” Pugsley asks.

They study the pile of books.

“Pugsley, you told me that you trust me.”

“I do.” Pugsley nods so vigorously his head looks like it’ll fall off. 

Enid’s heart melts a little. 

If only one of her own brothers was half as endearing as Pugsley is.

“Well, I want to prove that I trust you too.” She stands up and starts picking up the books and journals and notebooks to put back in the canvas bag, Pugsley quickly following her lead.

When they finish, she picks up the bag with ease and grins at him.

“Come on; I have something to show you.”

They crawl and duck and weave through the secret passageways as much as possible, since Enid can hear the others starting to wake up and get prepared for the day and she doesn’t want to risk running into them. From the sounds of it, Grandmama will probably have breakfast ready soon, and they can’t be late for that without drawing suspicion, so they try to be as quick as possible too.

They manage to make it to the underground tunnels, or “catacombs”, as Wednesday likes to call them, without being detected.

“This won’t work.” Pugsley says for the fifth time, sounding more resigned than insistent by now.

“Just trust me.” Enid says as reassuringly as she can.

She looks down the long tunnel stretching before them on side, then turns to face the shorter tunnel leading to a fork on the other, an alcove in the stone pillar between the two paths.

Grinning, she walks up to the alcove and carefully places the canvas bag on the ground inside, the flickering torch above it casting it in shifting lights and shadows.

She backs up a few steps.

“House, can you hide these here, and only let Pugsley and I access them for the time being?”

For a moment there’s no response.

Then the alcove starts turning in place, plunging them into darkness for a moment once the books and the torch disappear from sight.

Satisfied, she starts to turn back to Pugsley, but to her surprise, the hidden alcove in the pillar doesn’t stop turning.

She’s growing concerned when the light of the torch becomes visible again, but then grins when it’s revealed that the books are nowhere in sight.

Perfect. Hiding the books in the catacombs without drawing suspicion to the one part of the tunnels that largely remains the same.

House is way better at hiding stuff than she is, thank God.

She turns to face Pugsley, who looks nothing short of gobsmacked.

“I- I don’t understand-”

“House is like you, Pugsley.” Enid says. “House thinks I did the right thing too, and is going to help me hide the truth from Wednesday as well as we can.”

She stands next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, squeezing tight.

“We’re in this together, Pugsley. You, me, and House, as long as you want to be.”

Pugsley breathes out a sigh and slumps.

“Thank Hecate I’m not the only one. I thought I was alone. I thought it meant I wasn’t as much of an Addams as everyone else, or that maybe I wasn’t an Addams at all.”

Enid barks out a laugh, turning him back towards the ladder.

“Trust me, Pugsley, you are every bit as much of an Addams as Wednesday is, and I think she might be the most “Addams” person who's ever lived.”

He looks up at Enid with doubtful, hopeful eyes.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.” Enid assures him, steering him towards their exit. “I spent a few months as her roommate and then another few months as her-” Enid has to swallow a lump. “Well, as her- you know. And as the only person around here who’s an outsider and has as close to an unbiased opinion as possible, I can 100% guarantee that you’re an Addams through and through, no doubt about it. And I’m sure House agrees with me.” 

The tunnels rumble and groan around them, part of the ladder swinging up and down in a facsimile of a nod.

Enid points at it.

“See? And House has seen generations of Addams living in and passing through its walls; it would know better than anyone!”

“Okay.” Pugsley gives her a much more assured smile. “Thanks Enid.”

“No problem.” She shrugs. “Stating the obvious is practically half of the things I say.” 

“I don’t know; I always thought you were smart, and I know Wednesday did too. She wouldn’t have fallen for you otherwise. And Enid,” He gives her another serious look, completely at odds with his boyish face that hasn’t entirely lost its baby fat. “You’re not an outsider. I know you might feel like one right now, but I promise you’re not. I agree with you, but as far as I know, the others don’t. Most of them think you made a stupid decision, but all of us do stupid things.” He gives her an awkward smile. “It doesn’t make any of us any less of an Addams, so why would it make you less of one either?”

She can’t bear to tell him, with his entirely too optimistic view of things and sweet smile, that the only thing that made her anything near an Addams was her burgeoning courtship with Wednesday and the trust and love that relationship offered her from the rest of the family, something she destroyed, something she’ll never have again.

So instead, she ruffles his hair affectionately to hide the way she’s tearing up, which only makes his smile widen instead of making him grumpy like it would Enid whenever her brothers did it to her. 

Then again, maybe that’s because she’s doing it out of affection while they always do it just to annoy her.

A loud gonging sound trembles through the air, vibrating through the dirt beneath their feet.

Shit. 

Breakfast.

Pugsley and Enid share a wide-eyed look before scrambling up the ladder.

If they run, Pugsley will get there last besides Enid, but still within an acceptable time frame, and Enid will follow him in a few minutes later with the excuse of getting lost to avoid Wednesday’s suspicion.

She’ll explain to everyone else later when they inevitably corner her that she was hiding the books she had Pugsley retrieve from outside (by himself after careful instructions from her) so that they won’t get too suspicious either.

All this lying and sneaking around-

She knows she wouldn’t have been able to manage it at all before she met Wednesday.

The thought brings the lump back to her throat and causes a suspicious burning behind her eyes even as she runs down the hall with Pugsley.

She always thought it was weird that the Addams family refer to their love as a curse when she could only see it as a blessing before, but now…

Loving an Addams truly is a curse, isn’t it?

At breakfast the morning after Enid’s failed escape attempt and her reintroduction to Wednesday, Morticia sits at the head of quite possibly the most stressful and uncomfortable family breakfast she’s ever witnessed, even including the first (and last) breakfast they shared with Cousin Bermilda, though this one is far from the light-hearted and amusing stress and discomfort that came from the breakfast with Cousin Bermilda.

Everyone in the family is subdued and hiding varying degrees of unhappiness, some flavored more with anger, some sadness, and some disappointment.

Her darling Gomez seems mere seconds from crying nearly the entire meal, especially when he looks at either Wednesday or Enid, and Morticia’s certain the only thing keeping him together is the lifeline of their hands entwined painfully tightly beneath the table. In many regards, it’s the only thing keeping her emotions in check as well.

Morticia’s not even entirely sure what she’s feeling, something that happens so rarely she can count the number of occasions of it on one hand.

When she looks at Wednesday, eating as usual but watching everyone else with intense, calculating eyes, clearly already deeply suspicious of the truth behind her amnesia and determined to get to the bottom of it, Morticia’s chest swells with pride at Wednesday’s brilliant mind even as her heart withers with an aching sadness.

When she looks at the rest of her family, filled with tumultuous emotions of their own but desperately trying to pretend that everything is as it should be, Morticia burns with a need to make things right, to replace this intolerable distress burdening her family with the type of distress that only brings laughter and satisfaction and love.

When she looks at Enid however, that’s when unfamiliar things swirl and clash inside her, a storm raging back and forth, her heart made a ceaseless pendulum.

She doesn’t know how to label the emotions she feels towards Enid at the moment.

Anger? Certainly.

Frustration? Absolutely.

Understanding? Of course.

Disappointment? Yes.

But there’s something lying beneath the surface of it all, something big and all-consuming that she has no name for, something that she may never find a name for.

Enid’s putting on a good show of appearing weak and feeble, apparently her chosen method of preventing Wednesday from remembering her (an admittedly good strategy, since Morticia knows the bones of steel Enid hides beneath the surface and that she’s never been one to back down from Wednesday’s frightening demeanor), but Morticia can see beneath the mask of meekness and the mask of determination underneath that Enid has up like shields, both from Wednesday and from the rest of the family.

Morticia knows Enid much better than Enid likely realizes. Morticia is a mother after all, and she’d been so looking forward to having Enid as her daughter-in-law someday.

(A small, forever-hopeful part of her, the part that makes her a Dove, silently hopes that will still be the case, even as the rest of herself flinches from the painful thought after so fresh a wound).

Enid is still sitting near Wednesday at Morticia’s insistence, much as she clearly doesn’t want to, and pretends to flinch everytime Wednesday so much as glances in her direction.

Though, considering the coldness in Wednesday’s eyes when compared to the warmth they held a mere day before, perhaps Enid’s flinches aren’t as fake as they might seem to everyone besides Wednesday.

Regardless, Morticia’s never been one to run from emotions. Rather, she embraces them fully, even the ones she finds no comfort or satisfaction in.

“Enid, dear.” She says as everyone starts to finish their meals. Enid flinches (clearly a real one this time), and slowly looks up towards Morticia, not quite meeting her eyes.

Morticia’s heart thumps with something that hurts.

She smiles. It feels hollow.

“Would you care to join me in the greenhouse? I have a lovely garden, and I would love some company as I tend to my plants.” A layer of ice is hidden beneath a thin veneer of genial hospitality, making it clear that this is not a request.

Enid slowly nods. 

“Sure, I’d be happy to.” Enid says, clearly anything but.

As they wrap up and Grandmama passes Morticia with an empty serving cauldron in hand, she murmurs to Morticia: “ Gib ihr die Hölle für mich, dunkle Matriarchin. ”

“ Natürlich werde ich das, Hexenmutter. ” Morticia replies, gently wiping her mouth with a napkin.

Grandmama is particularly upset with the entire situation. She’s angry at Enid for stealing from her workshop and doing something as reckless as slipping Wednesday an amnesia potion, yes. But she’s also angry at herself for not noticing the theft, not telling anyone else about the conversation she and Enid had before it was too late, and for being unable thus far to figure out which amnesia potion Enid gave Wednesday so as to find its cure.

Morticia’s stomach tightens once again with the need to reassure her family, to restore their equilibrium, to make things right again.

She shakes off the useless thought before standing up and gesturing for Enid to join her.

Enid (reluctantly) stands up from her seat and follows Morticia.

As they leave the dining room, Morticia can feel Wednesday’s sharp gaze digging into their backs like blades.

Despite herself, Morticia smiles.

Atta girl.

They walk to the greenhouse in a heavy silence, one Morticia has no intention of breaking until she’s good and ready to.

She’ll let Enid stew in it for a while.

Once they reach the greenhouse, Morticia closes the doors behind them and clicks the heavy lock shut to avoid anyone (especially Wednesday) from bothering them.

This conversation will be between her and Enid alone.

Morticia turns back around and is almost shocked to see Enid already close to tears, curled in on herself with her head bowing towards the floor in an extremely submissive manner.

Morticia knows Enid better than Enid likely thinks, so Morticia can tell this isn’t the timid act Enid’s been putting on for Wednesday.

This submission, these tears, they’re very real.

The instinct rises in her to tug Enid into her arms, to hold her gently and rock her back and forth as she cries, to stroke her hair and whisper comforting words to her until the tears have stopped and she’s ready to talk.

This same urge rears its head whenever Morticia can see that Wednesday’s in distress, but up until recently, she hasn’t been allowed the privilege to hold and comfort like she could when Wednesday was very young.

She knows Enid wouldn’t reject her touch or her comfort, that Enid would clutch onto Morticia for dear life instead of pushing her away like Wednesday now will. 

That knowledge makes it all the harder to reign in the instinct to pull Enid into a hug, especially with how eager she’d been to treat Enid as her own daughter, being that Enid was going to become her daughter-in-law someday.

The mother in Morticia is hard to beat down sometimes.

But she manages to do it now.

She sweeps past Enid towards the bin where she keeps the raw meat.

“I suggest you put on an apron and gloves, Enid.” Morticia says, allowing no emotion to leak through her tone. She opens the bin and starts spooning the meat into the bucket kept beside it. “It’s time for Cleopatra’s breakfast, and you’ll be assisting me.”

“What?” 

Morticia turns around. Enid’s brows are furrowed with confusion, her mouth trembling and hands twisting round and round each other.

“ Now , Enid.” Morticia says. “Do not make me repeat myself again.”

Enid nods and does as Morticia told her.

Almost before Enid even finishes tying her apron, Morticia thrusts a pair of tongs at her and gestures to the nearly full bucket.

“Get started. I’ll be checking on my other plants. Do your best not to lose an arm before I get back; Cleopatra is rather irritable this morning.” Enid slumps defeatedly and nods.

Morticia turns her back on Enid and beats down the traitorous organ in her chest.

She may hold quite a bit of fondness for Enid, but that will never excuse what she’s done, and will certainly never replace the precious thing Wednesday’s lost.

After Morticia checks on the other plants she typically feeds in the morning (ensuring she takes longer than usual with each one), she returns to Enid’s side, who looks much more nervous and jumpy than she did before, having to lunge back from Cleopatra with each ravenous bite Morticia’s prized plant takes from the offered tongs.

Morticia glances down.

The bucket is still half full.

Sighing, Morticia rolls up her sleeves.

“Step aside, Enid.” She says quietly.

Enid nearly trips over her own feet as she stumbles away, only saved from tumbling to the floor by Morticia’s arm wrapping around her back and pulling her upright.

Once Enid is settled on solid ground, Morticia releases her hold and steps forward, crouching down to pick up a sizeable chunk of the meat with her bare hand.

She stands and feeds it to Cleopatra, stroking her leaves as Cleopatra swallows it down with a satisfied rumble.

Enid removes her apron and gloves and washes up while Morticia keeps feeding Cleopatra, coming to stand a few steps away, just visible within Morticia’s peripheral vision.

Morticia gives Cleopatra a few more handfuls of meat, Enid standing silently behind her, before finally speaking.

“Do you think Wednesday would be happy with what you’ve done?” She asks.

Enid bows her head and starts fidgeting with her hands.

“No.”

“Are you happy that she’s forgotten you?”

“I would do anything to save-”

“That’s not what I asked, Enid. Putting aside everything to do with the Addams family curse, A. Vidal, and grimwolves, are you happy that Wednesday’s forgotten you?”

Enid starts trembling slightly.

“No.” Her voice is strained.

The bucket is empty, so Morticia stands and heads to the sink to wash her hands, all without looking at Enid but careful to keep her within her sight.

“Our family is angry with you. We don’t believe you made the right choice. All of us are hurt that you both lacked faith in us to save you and that you broke our trust, especially Wednesday’s trust, with the choice you made on your own without anyone else’s input, despite knowing it would affect and hurt us all. Do you believe we love you?”

“No.” Enid whispers, her voice choked with tears.

Morticia finishes drying her hands and turns to look at Enid, arms crossed, making sure her expression’s unreadable.

Enid’s crying silently, her body shaking with it, eyes glued to the tiled floor beneath them.

Morticia steps closer to Enid, taking careful note of the way Enid’s body tenses, as if in preparation for something.

Morticia’s stomach tightens.

She raises a hand to Enid’s face, ignoring the way her own heart flinches when Enid’s whole body does likewise.

As gently as she can, she grasps Enid’s chin and pulls it up until Enid’s face is level with hers. 

“Enid, look at me.” Morticia says quietly, like Enid’s a feral cat she’s trying not to spook.

It takes a few tries, but eventually Enid’s able to hold steady eye-contact with Morticia.

Her eyes are all the more blue with the red surrounding her irises. 

It breaks Morticia’s heart.

“I want to make one thing perfectly clear.” She says. “I’m angry with you. I’m hurt and unbearably sad because of what you’ve done. I’m very disappointed in you. We all are.”

Enid’s tears stream down her face, her breathing shaky, and her eyes dart away from Morticia’s yet again.

“No, Enid, look at me.” Enid does, clearly expecting some kind of finishing blow, despair and hopelessness shining in her eyes.

“You broke our trust. We are all angry and hurt and disappointed,” Morticia says, voice firm and unshakeable. She then lets her eyes soften, but says with no less certainty, “But that does not mean we’ve stopped loving you.”

Enid freezes. She’s even stopped breathing, but her eyes are wide and mouth parted, agape.

Morticia keeps her gaze and voice as hard and unbendable as steel.

“We are angry and heartbroken and hurt, but we will not be so forever. You’ve broken our trust, but in time, if you work at it, you can earn our trust back again. You’ve disappointed us, but that does not make you a disappointment. Do you understand me?” Enid’s started crying again, even harder than before. She shakes her head and tries to lower it, but Morticia won’t let her, keeping her grip firm but taking great care not to make it too tight.

“Look at me, Enid.”

“I-I c-can’t.” Enid almost sobs, her chest hiccuping with it.

“Look at me.” Morticia says sternly.

Enid does, so many emotions swimming through her eyes Morticia can’t name them.

“You are not a disappointment, and you never will be. We will keep loving you, just like we would Wednesday or Pugsley if they made a choice like this, no matter what, no matter how much it might hurt. Because in the Addams family, once we start loving someone- whether that love be romantic, platonic, or the love of a family for their child- we will love them forever. Do you understand me?”

It takes several moments, but eventually Enid slowly and shakily nods her head, clearly waiting for Morticia to take it all back, to tell her it was all just a cruel joke, to spit out disgusting words about disappointments and hatred and abandonment. 

When Morticia doesn’t, only keeping her gaze trained on Enid’s, Enid finally starts to believe it.

Morticia can tell by the way Enid only shakes harder, by the guilt and relief and hope and regret she can see in her eyes, by the way Enid’s barely able to keep her eyes open from how hard she’s crying, her gaze drifting back to the floor. 

“One more thing, Enid.” Morticia says softly, barely having to press her fingers against Enid’s chin to get her to raise her head, to encourage her to meet Morticia’s eyes once more. 

She makes sure Enid keeps her gaze for what she says next.

“I would never, never hit you.” She says in a harsh, unforgiving whisper, and this is what finally breaks the dam.

Enid falls apart sobbing, and Morticia finally allows herself to pull Enid into a hug.

Like she thought, Enid clutches her like a lifeline, like Morticia’s the only thing keeping her from drowning in sorrow, because Morticia knows Enid’s already being punished from the simple consequences of her actions, from being cut off from Wednesday without the debatable benefit of not remembering what she’s lost.

Morticia holds Enid tight, because even though she’s angry, even though she’s hurt, even though she’s disappointed, she’s still and forever a mother, and there’s still a part of her that hopes Enid will officially become her daughter one day.

For now, she’ll hold Enid and comfort her despite what she took from Wednesday, just as she did for Wednesday mere days before, despite what she almost did to Pugsley in a blind rage Morticia never thought Wednesday could be capable of.

How incredible and horrible it is how quickly and drastically things can change, yet still somehow remain exactly the same as they were before.

Morticia knows Enid better than Enid likely thinks…

So she holds Enid more tightly, soft tears burning in her eyes, and the two of them cry together.

The day passes oddly, in the same unpleasant way of the day prior, with Wednesday’s family either acting out-of-character, speaking little with her and doing their best to avoid her, or quite blatantly hiding something from her with little in the way of pretense.

Thing follows her constantly, so she can’t do much in the way of proper investigating other than to take careful mental note of every behavioral tell and every word that rings oddly in her ear amongst her own family.

Since she knows far less about Lowell, Frankie, and Enid than she does about her family, Wednesday also decides to spend the day studying them closely.

She’s looking to figure out their weak points and behavioral tics, the things that will help her break them down until they start coughing up answers.

She also fully intends to interrogate Pugsley the first chance she gets, knowing well that he’ll be the easiest of the family to break. 

Even if none of them can tell her anything directly without significant risk to her cognitive function, that doesn’t mean they can’t steer her towards something that will unlock what she’s lost or help her start unraveling the strange mystery they’re all tangled in.

She sees everyone in the family, including Frankie and Lowell, many times throughout the day, but she only sees Pugsley and Enid during the three main family meals before they somehow disappear entirely, no matter how many places she searches for them. 

House is no help, as every time it leads her somewhere where Enid or Pugsley supposedly are, she apparently arrives just after one or the other of them have left.

When she’s eventually able to shake off Thing, she decides the clearest course of action at this point is to search their guests’ and Pugsley’s rooms for anything odd or out-of-place.

She finds nothing unusual in either Frankie or Lowell’s rooms, other than the fact that they seem much more settled in than one would expect after a single day, and when she goes through Pugsley’s room, all she finds are his usual bombs, stolen school books, and clothes scattered all over the room in complete disarray. 

Disgusted and annoyed, she deactivates his bombs just out of principle before leaving.

When she tries to investigate Enid’s room however, House once again keeps the door firmly closed and locked, to the point where it breaks three of her lockpicks before she finally gives up.

House tells her through morse code knocks in the walls that it’s by Morticia’s orders that Wednesday not be allowed inside Enid’s room, in order to avoid distressing their fragile guest.

Yet another thing out of place; Morticia has never once prevented Wednesday from entering a guest’s room and planting booby traps to surprise them, preferably in the dead of night when they’ll be most unexpected and therefore most effective.

All of it makes her mind tingle with suspicion and dozens upon dozens of questions, all of which boil down to:

What happened before she lost her memories, and what’s happening now?

Frustration builds in her throughout the day as more questions rise without any answers or memories to replace them.

So that night, she’s determined to find something of use in her investigation, even the slightest clue or the smallest lead- anything she can sink her teeth into to begin solving this admittedly intriguing mystery. 

After Thing falls asleep, Wednesday slinks out of bed and returns to her desk.

She couldn’t study the things she found in her desk drawer the night before for long before Thing was roused and she had to hide them away again, pretending she was simply unable to sleep and decided to read through the novel she couldn’t remember finishing, luckily close at hand just for such an excuse.

Now, she can finally pull them out of the hidden compartment in her drawer: the soft covered brown leather journal that- judging from its yellowed, delicate pages, type of ink, and style of writing- seems to be at least a few hundred years old, the two sets of a seemingly random selection of nineteen pages from an unknown source, and her own unfortunately sparse collection of notes. 

The notes almost seem like afterthoughts jotted down, things written in shorthand that were probably meant to be added to a dedicated notebook in properly formatted sentences later on.

All Wednesday can find in them is a nearly unintelligible collection of thoughts and ruminations. 

First message solved - V’s grave closer than thought- not in Italy?

Why grim reaper and not grave? Why misfortune and not 13?

Three abnormalities unaccounted for- may indicate further coded message: Page 11, dash to the left of number 11. Page 4, tradimento used for “betrayal” - only non-English word in all of V’s books/journals outside of names/quotes. Page 17, forewarn spelled F-O-R-E-W-A-R-N.

May provide more information - unlikely? Look into if no other leads seem viable.