Chapter Text
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Chapter 1: “Love & Lycanthropes”
It was an otherwise quiet afternoon in the dorm room Enid Sinclair and Wednesday Addams shared at Nevermore Academy. Enid, as usual, was distracted—this time by her laptop, engrossed in one of those obnoxiously cheerful romance games she loved. Her fingers tapped quickly, pausing occasionally so she could giggle at the screen. Then, without warning, she stood up and headed to the door.
“Want anything from the vending machines, roomie?” Enid called back.
Wednesday didn’t look up from her typing. “I’d rather drink cyanide than that pink liquid you call nourishment.”
Enid rolled her eyes and left.
Wednesday's curiosity had gotten the better of her. She hadn’t intended to snoop, but the laptop—open, glowing, and unlocked—beckoned. Careless. Reckless. Distractingly adorable.
She glanced over again, then finally rose, approaching the device like a predator stalking its prey. The screen glowed with an overly saturated, anime-style title: Love & Lycanthropes. A werewolf with glowing eyes held a bouquet of roses on the home screen.
Absurd. Saccharine. Emotionally manipulative.…Why does he have flowers? She clicked. The game was mid-date. Dialogue options flashed on screen:
“A) Compliment his eyes”
“B) Take his hand”
“C) Whisper a secret”
Wednesday scoffed, then clicked B, the game dialogue continued.
“You take his hand. His claws are sharp, but his grip is gentle. He smiles like he’s just been told he’s not a monster.”
“Clearly Enid’s type. Violent but affectionate,” Wednesday muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Then something else caught her eye—a flashing window in the corner. She minimized the game. Discord. An open conversation between Enid and Yoko. She hesitated, then clicked.
Yoko’s messages were teasing, sisterly. But there was something else—something dangerously revealing. Enid had been hiding something. Something... personal.
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Yoko: sooo… u gonna tell her?
Enid: tell who what??
Yoko: ugh don’t do that Enid, u talk about her 24/7
Yoko: “her eyes are like murder and moonlight” ??? who even says that
Enid: …i was being poetic!!
Enid: and shut up u know it’s true
Enid: but idk… she’s just. not the romance type y’know?
Yoko: not YET. but she watches u like she wants to dissect u and write poetry about ur bones soooo
Enid: okay now that’s romantic.
***********************************
“Murder and moonlight…” Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
She straightened, glanced back at the door, then to the game.
A new scene appeared: The werewolf invites the player to a starlit picnic in a graveyard. Wednesday tilted her head, considering.
“Graveyard. Classic… Replace wine with wolfsbane tea. Add a violinist. Yes. Acceptable.”
She scribbled notes into her ominous black journal just as the door handle jiggled. Her head snapped up.
“Damn it.”
The door creaked open—but it wasn’t Enid. It was Thing, skittering in with a dramatic flourish. He tapped twice on the desk.
“Not now, Thing. I’m conducting... emotional reconnaissance,” Wednesday muttered.
Thing tilted somehow, judging her, then pantomimed a heart with two fingers and stabbed it.
“Yes, I’m aware it’s pathetic. But it’s research, not sentimentality.”
Thing crawled onto the chair, peering nosily over her shoulder. Wednesday scrolled further back in the chat.
***********************************
Enid: do u think she notices though?
Enid: i wore that black lipstick the other day. total wednesday vibe. she didn’t say anything but she looked
Yoko: girl she always looks
Yoko: she prob wrote a murder sonnet about u after u left
Enid: STOP i’d die for a murder sonnet
Yoko: tell her that lol. she’ll be like “here lies Enid Sinclair, killed by metaphors”
Enid: kind of hot tho???
***********************************
“She wants a sonnet? …Amateur.” Wednesday flipped open her journal again.
Her smile—a canine flash of moonlit menace,
Her laughter—a contagion I dare not cure.
If affection is a virus, let her bite be fatal.
I’d rather rot with her than live in sterile silence.
Thing mimed being stabbed in the chest and collapsed dramatically.
“Don’t be so dramatic. She likes it,” Wednesday said, almost smiling.
She clicked back into Love & Lycanthropes, selecting the “Confess Feelings” route. The werewolf leaned in. A glowing dialogue bubble appeared:
“Say it. Even if you’re scared.”
She hesitated—just a beat longer than usual—then clicked.
“I think about you all the time. Even when I don’t want to. Especially when I don’t want to.”
The silence hung thick. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard... until a ping interrupted.
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Yoko:
u still alive or did u finally throw yourself into her coffin?
***********************************
Wednesday read it twice. Then whispered, “If I’m going to impersonate Enid… I must channel chaos and exclamation points. A true test of restraint.”
She typed:
***********************************
“Enid” (Wednesday):
lol close. might have accidentally read her notes and now I’m spiraling
she wrote something about my bite???
why is that kind of hot
***********************************
Thing slapped the desk in stunned glee. Wednesday glared.
“Silence. I’m entering the mind of the wolf-girl.”
Another ping:
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Yoko:
WAIT WHAT
WHAT NOTES
girl are u saying she wrote about u???
PLS SEND
***********************************
Wednesday jotted something quickly in her journal, then typed again:
***********************************
“Enid” (Wednesday):
ok ok ok don’t freak
it was something like
“Her laughter—a contagion I dare not cure”
and
“If affection is a virus, let her bite be fatal”
tell me that’s not a love poem
LIKE WHAT ELSE COULD IT BE
***********************************
A beat passed. Then:
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Yoko:
SHUT UP
WEDNESDAY WROTE YOU A GOTH LOVE LETTER
THIS IS NOT A DRILL
DO NOT WASTE THIS POWER
***********************************
“Power. Hm. Is that what this is?” Wednesday murmured.
Another message.
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Yoko:
you HAVE to make a move
get her to take u on one of her creepy cemetery dates
make her read you more murder poems
SOMETHING
strike while the corpse is warm!!
***********************************
Wednesday clicked a scene: “Full Moon Confession.” A heart meter pulsed on screen.
“So this is what she wants. Dramatic lighting. Risk. Vulnerability wrapped in fangs. …I can do that.”
She began drafting a plan: Cemetery. 11 PM. One lantern. Quote Poe. Then—
Ping.
***********************************
Yoko:
...lol
Enid’s been with me the whole time.
Nice try tho, Addams.
***********************************
Wednesday froze. Eyes narrowing. Thing slid off the desk, fleeing the fallout.
***********************************
Yoko:
you’re cute when you’re creepy.
she’s on her way.
might wanna close her romance sim before she finds out you were learning how to flirt from a pixel werewolf.
***********************************
Wednesday hissed a curse in Latin and slammed the laptop shut. She stashed her journal under the mattress, hid the game file in a system folder and placed herself at the window casually.
Enid rushed in, panting. Flushed. Angry? Embarrassed? She wasn’t sure. She scanned the room—and Wednesday’s too-casual stance at the window.
“Watcha doin’, roomie?” Enid asked, voice light, eyes narrowed.
Wednesday kept her gaze fixed out the window, the faintest flicker of tension passing through her shoulders when she hears the door click shut. Her posture is rigidly calm—too calm. The kind of calm that usually comes right before an autopsy.
“Contemplating how long it would take to dig a six-foot hole with a teaspoon. For... research,” Wednesday replied evenly. She turns slowly, finally facing Enid.
“You seem breathless. I assume Yoko’s mouth moved faster than her brain again,” Wednesday remarks. She takes a single, deliberate step forward, arms still crossed behind her back like a Victorian schoolgirl hiding a switchblade.
“For the record… I didn't read all the messages. Just the ones where you said my writing was hot,” Wednesday adds.
“Remember when I said that this kitty has claws? Don’t snoop in my personal stuff, Wednesday. Kay?” Enid growled, folding her arms.
“If I looked through your stuff, you’d skin me and make me into a rug. If you’ve got something to say—say it.” Enid added with a grunt.
Wednesday didn’t flinch. If anything, she looked intrigued.
“Point made,” she said softly. “If you had gone through my things, I wouldn’t turn you into a rug. I’d... be impressed you bypassed my tripwires.” A smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth.
A breath. Two.
“You’re right. I violated your privacy. And I won’t apologize for it because I’m not sorry I read those words. Because now I know you see me—not just the macabre, but me.” Her voice dropped.
“I’m terrible at this, Enid. I study death, not dating sims. I played that ridiculous game trying to figure out how to say something without losing control. But I think I’d rather just ask. Would you accompany me to the graveyard tonight? Not for an autopsy. For a date.”
Enid lit up like sunrise. “Oh em gee, Wens! Are you sure? No takebacks though—yes. YES!”
She squealed, then cleared her throat, trying to play it cool.
“I mean… I’d love to accompany you. For a date. That’s… cool. So cooooool. What time?”
Wednesday watched her, fascinated. A match struck into a bonfire.
“Your enthusiasm is… alarmingly endearing. I’ll allow it.” She adjusted her collar like nothing had happened.
“Meet me at the cemetery gates. Eleven sharp. Bring a jacket. The dead are generous with chills. And… maybe wear that black lipstick.” She paused beside Enid, voice soft.
“You wore it for me, didn’t you?”
And just like that, she walked to her desk and flipped open her journal.
“Now go. I have to rewrite a poem. One that ends… less fatally.” She didn’t look up. But the ghost of a smirk haunted her lips.
“Are you bringing flowers, or should I?” Wednesday added.
Enid wasn’t easily stunned, but she tried to form words—and utterly failed. She took a deep breath, attempting to collect herself.
“Oh! Okay! You noticed! Great! I’ll wear it, promise! I just need to—uh, get dressed, and...grab something. And flowers, yeah! No, wait—wait, a lady never tells! It’s a surprise, you’ll see!” She rushed around the room, grabbing clothes, lipstick, and her makeup bag, before hurrying to Yoko for advice on what to wear.
Moments later, she bolted out the door with Lycan-speed. But not before planting a quick kiss on Wednesday’s cheek.
“Can’t wait, see you soon!” Enid said, darting out the door before Wednesday could even think to murder her for invading her space with such unexpected affection.
The kiss hit Wednesday like a thunderclap. A flash. A spark in a cathedral full of dry parchment. She went perfectly still—shoulders tight, spine unyielding—as if struck by lightning but determined not to admit it stung. Her fingers tightened just slightly around the pen. Then, they loosened. She stared at the door for what felt like an eternity after Enid vanished in a whirl of perfume, excitement, and chaos. The room felt… disturbingly empty without her.
“She kissed me, like it was nothing… Like it was everything.” Wednesday muttered, quietly to the air. Thing, who had been hiding behind a stack of books since Enid barged in, cautiously peeked out. He tapped the desk twice and gave a shaky thumbs-up.
“Say a word, and I’ll lock you in a jar,” Wednesday deadpanned, her gaze unblinking.
Thing immediately retreated.
Wednesday set her journal on the desk and opened it to a fresh page. Her pen hovered for only a moment before she began writing—not a poem this time, but a list. At the top, in bold, looping script, it read:
DATE PREPARATION – Enid Edition
- Candle lantern – lit, flickering (but not scented)
- Poison garden bouquet – nothing lethal. Mostly.
- Quote from Poe – “Deep into that darkness peering…”
- Dress code: black velvet, lace collar
- Prepare second poem – make it hurt, just a little
- Do not let her see you smile like a lunatic
She paused at the last one, staring at it for a moment before very carefully circling it.
“Eleven can’t come soon enough,” Wednesday said softly to herself.
Chapter 2: My neighbour Yoko.
The room was dimly lit, a haze of purple shadows cast across the walls, each one covered in posters of Bauhaus and Siouxsie and the Banshees. The air smelled faintly of nail polish and incense. Yoko lay on her bed, lazily painting her nails black for what had to be the hundredth time, her dark hair spilling over the pillow in waves. She barely glanced up as Enid burst in, her energy a jarring contrast to the calm, dark sanctuary of Yoko’s room. Enid’s arms were full of clothes, lipstick, and wild excitement, her eyes wide and her breath shallow from running—or maybe from nerves. The glitter storm that was Enid Sinclair flailed into the space, disrupting the stillness like a tornado made of neon colours and chaos.
Yoko sat up, raising an eyebrow.
“Whoa. Enid, babe, you look like Dracula just proposed to you. Spill. Now.”
Enid barely contained herself, practically hopping in place.
“So, you know how Wednesday was pretending to be me when I was with you, like, half an hour ago?? Well, she asked me out! At the cemetery, tonight!” Her eyes grew wide as her words tumbled out in rapid-fire bursts of excitement.
“Oh my god, Yoko, I need help! I need to wear something that screams, ‘Wednesday will love me.’ Do you have anything super goth? I can’t look like me—I gotta look cooler than me. And—ugh—flowers?? Poisonous ones! You know, to impress her!” Enid panicked, grabbing at her face and rubbing her temples as she began pacing in tight circles.
Yoko’s eyes gleamed with morbid amusement as she watched Enid unravel in the middle of her sanctuary. She slapped the nail polish closed with a flick of her wrist, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Yoko slid off the bed, moving with the grace of someone who knew exactly how to ruin someone’s day—or make it legendary.
“Okay, wait. You’re telling me that Wednesday Addams faked being you, read your messages, and then used a werewolf dating sim to get you to go out with her?”
Yoko’s grin stretched into something a little too pleased for comfort, her eyes glittering with wicked delight.
“God, I love this timeline,” she added, grinning at Enid as if she’d just won the lottery.
“Right. Focus,” Yoko snapped, snapping back to business.
She walked over to her wardrobe, already rifling through the dark clothes like a bat in a flea market. “Let’s make you irresistible. We’re going for the ‘tragic romance’ vibe. You know, the kind of girl who’ll make Wednesday sit down and write poetry about you.”
She grabbed Enid by the shoulders, gently but firmly sitting her down in front of the vanity. Yoko muttered aloud as she flipped through the clothes.
“Okay, goth but with Enid. Something that says, ‘I love death, but I also like brunch.’” She confirmed, pulling out a black, off-the-shoulder dress with a lace bodice and corset-laced waist, holding it up with a flourish.
“This. You’ll look like a Victorian werewolf bride. Perfect.” She added.
She turned to a shelf and grabbed a spiked choker, holding it up like a sacrificial offering.
“And don’t forget the wolf necklace. Black lipstick, too. Trust me, Wednesday will combust,” Yoko smirked, her eyes lighting up as a mischievous idea crossed her mind.
“Poisonous flowers? Greenhouse behind Thornhill’s office. Don’t worry—I know which ones won’t kill her. Probably.”
Enid bounced on her heels; her excitement palpable.
“Oh my gosh, thank you, thank you! You’re the best, Yoko!” She grinned, placing the spiked choker around her neck. “I’ll make this up to you, I swear. Maybe even by getting you Tay Tay tickets.”
Enid didn’t give Yoko a chance to respond before she darted to the vanity, hurriedly applying a smoky eye with silver flicks to accentuate her blue eyes. She smirked, her lips curling up as she swiped on black lipstick. The whole process was frantic, but with a certain chaotic grace. She quickly slipped into the black, off-the-shoulder dress, pulling it on with a flourish, and then grabbed the bottle of perfume she and Yoko shared—the one that Enid always described as smelling like a goth shop. With a final spritz of the perfume, she dashed out of the room to catch up with Yoko.
Meanwhile, Yoko was standing in the hallway, arms crossed, waiting with all the calm of a vampire about to break into a crypt. When she saw Enid dart around the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening slightly.
“Damn, Sinclair,” Yoko grinned. “You look like you’re about to seduce the Grim Reaper.”
She bumped her shoulder playfully against Enid’s, a teasing gleam in her eye.
“Wednesday’s not ready.”
Yoko pulled up her hood and lowered her voice, her tone suddenly serious.
“C’mon, greenhouse time. Let’s get you a bouquet that says ‘I might kill you, but like… romantically.’”
The back of the greenhouse was cloaked in a suffocating stillness, the air heavy with the earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves. The place felt like it had been forgotten by time, tucked away in the shadows, the dim light filtering in from the cracked glass windows above. Vines crept along rusted frames, wrapping them like forgotten dreams, and the shelves were crowded with strange, rare plants—plants that thrived on the edge of danger and darkness. It was the kind of place where secrets were kept, where strange thoughts were allowed to grow.
Yoko stepped inside like she owned the place, the creak of the old door barely making a sound as she pushed it open with one fluid motion. She moved with the grace of someone who had spent far too many hours here, surrounded by plants that were both beautiful and dangerous. The greenhouse felt like a sanctuary, a refuge from the mundane world, and tonight, it was where Enid’s fate would be sealed—at least, for this particular date.
“Alright, time for a poison crash course,” Yoko murmured, her voice low but confident, like a doctor giving a diagnosis. “Belladonna’s too obvious. Hemlock? Too shaky. But night-blooming cereus and black hellebore? Now we’re talking. Deadly to look at, but mostly harmless. Mostly.”
She moved through the aisles, scanning the plants with a practiced eye. Each one had a personality, a deadly charm, but she was here for something specific. With a wicked grin, she took out the shears and began snipping stems, her hands quick and precise, collecting the perfect flowers for the bouquet that would put Wednesday Addams in her place.
She started snipping stems with a pair of wicked-looking shears, passing them to Enid as she went. The flowers had rich purple petals and dark, velvety leaves, and some looked like they might whisper in Latin if you stared at them long enough.
“This bouquet is giving: ‘I’ll haunt you if you dump me,’” Yoko added, finishing the final snip with a flourish. She tied it all together with a black velvet ribbon—because of course she had one on hand.
Handing it to Enid, Yoko smirked.
“There. You’re armed, dangerous, and smell like a haunted thrift store. Go melt her cold dead heart.” She grinned, flashing a fang.
“And if she kisses you before midnight, I get Taylor Swift pit seats. Deal?” She added.
Enid smiled wide, inspecting the bouquet with a critical eye. “Something’s missing, though… the deadlier the better.” She scanned the greenhouse, spotting some man-eating plants that hadn’t quite opened their mouths yet. She snipped a few and added them to the bouquet, then picked up some twine and wrapped it all together.
“Still… needs… aha!” Her eyes landed on a small glass bottle with seeds inside. With a wicked grin, she tipped it out, slicing her finger with her sharp claw and letting the blood drip into the tiny vial. She added some water to make it look fuller, then corked it. Tying some twine around the lip, she attached the bottle to the bouquet.
“There! Victorian murder bouquet, with a blood vial to seal the deal. That’s gotta be romantic, right? Angelina Jolie had one once or something?” Enid shrugged, looking to Yoko for approval.
“Wish me luck!”
Yoko stood there, eyes wide in a mix of awe and amusement, watching Enid complete her masterpiece. As the blood dripped elegantly into the tiny glass vial, she let out a low whistle.
“Okay, okay,” Yoko grinned, eyes gleaming with approval. “You just out-gothed me, Sinclair. This bouquet’s got a body count. I’m living for it.”
She reached out to adjust one of the man-eating buds, showcasing it at the perfect angle.
“It’s giving, ‘Till death do us part… and even then, don’t test me,’” Yoko said, her voice dripping with dark humour. “Angelina would be so proud. And if Wednesday doesn’t lose what’s left of her pulse tonight, she might actually come back as a ghost.”
Yoko pulled Enid into a fierce side-hug before stepping back to admire the bouquet one last time.
“Go, my little pastel banshee,” Yoko said with a dramatic flourish, her voice like she was sending Enid off to war. “Seduce the darkness. Make her write sonnets about your bite strength.”
She placed her hand over her chest, as if invoking some ancient curse.
“May your eyeliner stay sharp, and your date even sharper,” Yoko added with an exaggerated wink.
Enid walked briskly through the dark, clutching the bouquet tight to her chest like it might fly away if she didn’t. Her boots tapped softly on the stone path, heartbeat fluttering somewhere in her throat. The greenhouse smell still clung to her—earthy, sharp, a little chaotic. Kind of like her.
She rounded the corner of the dark corridor and stopped short. There—just ahead, across the courtyard from the graveyard gate—was a figure. Still. Tall. Wednesday-shaped. Enid froze. Yep. That was definitely her. The silhouette stood with perfect posture, the way she always did, like she was sculpted out of something colder than stone. Her black coat barely moved in the breeze. Her hair caught the faint lamplight like strands of spilled ink. Of course she was early. Wednesday was never late.
Enid hugged the bouquet tighter, the prickly stems pressing into her palms. Her steps slowed. Her breath hitched—not from the cold, but from something deeper. Heavier. Was this a mistake? Her stomach twisted. Was she too much? Again? Too bright. Too bubbly. Too everything.
She thought of past partners who flinched when she laughed too loud or backed away when she got excited about something dumb. Even her pack had pulled away after she’d finally wolfed out—like proving herself just confirmed she was more than they could handle. Even her own mom had said it. Not outright, but soft and mean, like poison in a teacup: “Maybe if you toned it down a little, sweetie…” Enid swallowed hard. Her eyes stung. Is Wednesday even ready for this? For me?
Then, like a flicker of warmth in her chest, came a memory—Yoko's teasing grin, the perfume that smelled like haunted velvet, the bouquet she’d helped build, dangerous and beautiful. Her fingers curled tighter around the stems. So, what if she was a little too much? Too much had gotten her here. She stared at the figure ahead—the girl who read her messages, who tried to be her just to figure her out—and something steadied inside her. She drew a breath. Let it out. One step. Then another. Her boots crunched on the gravel path.
And then, soft as a promise: “I am enough.”
Enid walked briskly through the courtyard, clutching the bouquet like it might vanish if she loosened her grip. The scent of crushed herbs and damp stone lingered in the air, the mist curling around her ankles as if trying to hold her back. She spotted Wednesday standing still in the moonless dark—because of course there was no moon tonight; even the sky knew it was a werewolf thing. The Addams girl looked like a gothic oil painting, framed in shadow, all dark silk and deadly quiet. Just standing there. Waiting.
Enid paused a few feet away, took a deep breath, and mentally shoved every last insecurity into a big, metaphorical pink box. Locked it. Sat on it. Then she smiled.
“Wednesday!” she called out, putting on her best brave, bubbly tone—even though her voice shook just a little.
She stepped forward, holding out the bouquet like a peace offering. Or maybe a challenge. Her cheeks were flushed with colour she definitely hadn’t blushed on purpose.
“You look beautiful, as always. Or—wait, lemme try again. You look… dreadfully horrible. But like, in the best way.” She grinned, bashful and sincere all at once.
Wednesday’s head tilted, as if analysing a particularly perplexing line of poetry. She studied the bouquet—black hellebore, vicious little blooms, and the blood vial tied with twine—then slowly, reverently, took it from Enid’s hands.
“This is…” she began, her voice low and measured. “Macabre. Elegant. Disturbingly thoughtful.” She glanced back up, eyes unreadable. “You didn’t have to go this far.”
Enid’s smile brightened, despite her heartbeat going full drum solo in her chest.
“I know. But only the best for my bestie. That’s a Lycan promise.”
She dug around in her bag, producing a small deck of tarot cards wrapped in silk. “Okay, last present. Swear. I know you’re technically a seer, but your visions can be… um, kinda rude about timing? I thought maybe with this, you could, y'know, pick the when and how yourself. Something you control. If that makes sense?”
She offered the deck. “Also the artwork is, like, totally dark academia—made me think of you.”
Wednesday took the deck with a faint breath. Not quite a sigh.
“You remembered,” she said, almost to herself.
She traced the box’s edge with a thumb, not opening it, just holding it close. Then looked at Enid again—more fully this time, like she was recalibrating something deep behind her eyes.
“No one’s ever tried to… soften my darkness before. Most people just run from it.”
Enid’s expression softened, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “I’m not trying to soften you, Wens. I love how you are. Murderous tendencies, weird poetry, and all. You’re weird as hell, but you’re my weirdo.”
Wednesday stared. Then, very deliberately, slipped the deck into the inner pocket of her coat—right over her heart—and extended a gloved hand.
“Come walk with me,” she said. “Let’s see if the dead are as jealous of the living as I suspect.”
Enid hesitated for half a heartbeat, then reached out and took her hand—warm against Wednesday’s chill.
“I don’t want to overstep,” she murmured, gaze flicking to the side.
“You’re not,” Wednesday replied, her grip grounding. “You’re the only one who ever stepped toward me.”
Their footsteps echoed over cobbled stone as they crossed into the heart of the graveyard. Statues watched from their moss-covered perches, and wind whispered between tombstones.
Wednesday’s voice broke the hush again, soft but sharp.
“Everyone else treats me like the edge of a knife. Useful. Dangerous. Something to fear.” Her gaze cut sideways. “You treat me like I’m something to be held.”
Enid looked up at her, struck silent by the vulnerability under those words. She wasn’t good with words—not fancy ones. Half of what Wednesday said would require a dictionary, or a dark little poetry book she kept under her bed. But she was good at other things. Like kissing.
So she lifted a hand to Wednesday’s cheek, her claw gently brushing the curve of her smile. Then she leaned in and kissed her—soft at first, reverent. Then deeper, threading her fingers into Wednesday’s braids, nails grazing her scalp. It was messy. Fierce. Real. She kissed like she meant it, like it said everything she didn’t have the words for. When she finally pulled back, she was breathless and blushing.
Wednesday’s eyes fluttered open slowly. Her lipstick was smudged. Her silence was heavy—and then: “I may never recover from that,” she whispered.
Then, dry as ever, “I can’t decide if I want to stitch that moment into a poem… or demand you do it again until I forget how to breathe.” She leaned in close, noses brushing. “You are chaos, Sinclair. And I think I’ve stopped fearing it.”
Enid’s lips curled into a smirk. “Let’s see how long you can hold your breath then.”
She gently took the bouquet from Wednesday’s arms and set it down. Then she pushed her—firmly but playfully—back against the cold stone wall of the mausoleum. Their bodies close, Enid looked up at her with bright, hungry eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“You owe me a sonnet, Addams.”
Then she kissed her again—this time not to say something, but to claim it.
Wednesday’s back hit the cold mausoleum stone with a dull thud, but she didn’t flinch. Her breath caught sharply as Enid pressed in—heat against frost, teeth just behind the kiss. Her hands, usually tucked away and controlled, slid to Enid’s waist—tentative at first, then more confident, as if claiming their place there.
The moment Enid’s lips trailed along her throat; Wednesday’s eyes fluttered shut again—this time with something like surrender. Her pulse, usually quiet and methodical, stumbled. She parted her lips when they met again, letting the kiss devour everything quiet left inside her.
Wednesday’s eyes opened, dark and full of something dangerous and new.
“I’ll give you a dozen,” she whispered, her voice ragged but composed. “Each obscener than the last.”
She shifted, fluid and deliberate, reversing their positions in a blink. Enid’s back pressed against the ancient stone now as Wednesday stepped into her space, arms braced on either side of her. Her lips hovered a breath away—teasing, inviting.
“But tonight…” she said, low and serious, “I want to write the first one with my hands.”
She kissed Enid again slower this time, deeper. Like a ritual. Like a memory in the making. Like she was memorizing the taste of rebellion wrapped in cherry chapstick. The kiss lingered like a spell—not just passion but promise. A communion beneath moonlight, sealed with ink-stained breath and the kind of devotion neither of them was used to admitting. Eventually, it slowed—not from lack of want, but from gravity. From the cold air finally seeping into flushed skin, or the distant toll of the school’s bell echoing from the tower, reminding them they still belonged to a world beyond this stolen moment. Wednesday was the one to pull back first—barely, reluctantly. Her lips hovered over Enid’s like punctuation at the end of a perfectly written line. Her voice came quiet, a little hoarse.
“We should walk,” she said. “Before the new Principal senses happiness occurring on campus and has us separated by exorcism.”
She didn’t let go of Enid’s hand as she stepped back, retrieving the bouquet and tucking it protectively into the crook of her arm. The tarot deck remained nestled close to her heart—forgotten but not forsaken. As they walked, the graveyard shifted from eerie to sacred—marble angels watching over them, shadows retreating like respectful attendants. The air smelled of night-blooming flowers and secrets.
“I used to think connection made people weak,” Wednesday said softly as they passed a crypt.
“But it doesn’t. It makes the consequences heavier. Which makes the choice more… impressive.” She looked over at Enid.
“I chose you,” she said. Then, arching a brow, she added dryly, “Try not to faint. Or worse… squeal.”
Enid chuckled softly, smoothing out her dress and running a hand through her hair. She traced her thumb over Wednesday’s hand, grounding herself in the moment, her excitement barely contained. “Does this mean we’re, like… girlfriends?” she asked, eyes wide. “I guess we should thank Yoko for her encouragement then, yeah?”
Wednesday paused mid-step, her brow lifting slightly. The word girlfriends seemed to toll in the air like a cathedral bell—loud, significant. Still, she didn’t flinch. She tilted her head, gaze sharp and deliberate. “I don’t believe in labels,” she said. “Unless they’re etched into toe tags or case files.”
She gave Enid’s hand the faintest squeeze, her voice dipping just enough to betray the truth beneath it.
“But… yes,” she said. “I suppose if I had to wear one… girlfriend would be tolerable. Only yours, obviously.” It sounded like a threat. But her lips twitched with the beginning of a smirk.
“And yes. Yoko,” she added, glancing skyward. “A rare example of vampiric meddling with a net positive result.” She paused.
“We’ll owe her some kind of gratitude ritual,” Wednesday said. “…Bloodless, preferably.”
-
Chapter 3: Shakespeare in corpse-paint
The following morning, Nevermore awakens in soft light. Enid is off in fencing class, radiant even behind a mask. Meanwhile, Wednesday sits alone in the quad beneath a dead tree, reading one of her newly acquired tarot cards, studying it like it might whisper something forbidden to her.
Enter: Yoko. Cloaked in black, sunglasses on despite the clouds, sipping from a very suspicious thermos as she approaches.
“So,” Yoko said coolly. “You finally crawled out of the emotional crypt. How's undeath treating you, Addams?”
Wednesday didn’t look up from the card, her tone calm and measured. “You're annoyingly observant.”
“Please,” Yoko said, easing onto the bench beside her. “I'm the patron saint of lesbian disasters. You and Enid have been circling each other like doomed planets for months. What finally cracked your icy resolve?”
Wednesday slipped the card back into the deck with a quiet snap. She looked up now, eyes dark and piercing.
“I found her joy intoxicating,” Wednesday said. “So I drank.”
Yoko blinked, then slowly grinned. “That’s… horrifyingly romantic. God. She’s gonna melt when she hears that.”
“I’d prefer you not tell her,” Wednesday said flatly. “I already tolerate one squeal per day. Two might fracture my skull.”
Yoko raised her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. My lips are sealed. But you are taking her on another date, right?”
Wednesday glanced sideways, then quietly tucked the tarot deck deeper into her coat pocket as she stood. “She left me a poem in the form of a kiss. I plan to answer.”
Yoko watched her go, eyebrows raised. “Okay, Shakespeare in corpse-paint… maybe you do deserve her.”
The halls of Nevermore echoed with the soft shuffle of students transitioning between classes, but Enid’s boots struck a little faster against the floor—light, rhythmic, buzzing with post-fencing energy. Her cheeks were flushed from movement, golden hair a little damp at the nape from her mask, and she was humming something vaguely Taylor Swift under her breath.
She turned a corner; her rapier still strapped to her back and saw Wednesday beneath the dead tree in the quad. The sight stopped her for half a heartbeat. Just Wednesday. Waiting. The deck of tarot cards nowhere visible, but Enid could feel their presence—like a secret kept safe between them.
“Hey, spooky,” Enid said, grinning as she bounced over. “Didn’t stab anyone while I was gone, did you?”
Her hair caught the light, the padded fencing jacket only halfway unzipped, revealing the black tank beneath. She looked radiant. Dangerous in a way Wednesday now recognized as hers.
“You look like you’re brooding about something poetic,” Enid added, tilting her head. “Should I be worried? Or flattered?”
She flopped down beside Wednesday, close enough for their arms to brush, but careful not to get too clingy unless invited.
“Yoko gave me a look when I passed her,” Enid said. “Like a smug vampire who just solved a mystery novel. Did you two… talk?”
Wednesday didn’t look up right away. She watched the snowfall catch on Enid’s sleeve like ash. Her fingers twitched slightly on her lap, as if resisting the urge to brush it off herself.
“Yoko cornered me,” Wednesday said dryly. “Insisted on conducting a postmortem autopsy of our evening.”
She turned to Enid now, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in annoyance, but something far more focused.
“She asked what changed,” Wednesday continued. “I told her the truth. That I drank your joy and found myself addicted.”
“She said it was… horrifyingly romantic.” A pause. Then she lifted a brow.
“I neither confirm nor deny that you have corrupted me beyond repair,” Wednesday said. “But I no longer consider that a tragedy.”
There was a faint twitch of her lips. Almost a smile. Almost.
Then, from the pocket of her coat, she produced something. A carefully folded piece of thick, black stationery—sealed with deep red wax, pressed with the symbol of a raven. She held it out to Enid without a word.
Inside, written in elegant, spidery ink, was a sonnet. Not overly flowery—each word deliberate, surgical. It read like it was written with a scalpel instead of a pen. But it was beautiful. The final lines were handwritten again in the margin, bolder, darker:
If night must end, let it end beside her breath—
For I would gladly trade cold for color, and silence for her laugh.
“A first attempt,” Wednesday said quietly. “A second may require bloodletting.”
She watched Enid, carefully—almost nervously, if one could imagine such a thing from Wednesday Addams.
Enid stared down at the sonnet like it might bite her—but not in fear. She looked at it the way a girl might look at something sacred. Her fingers trailed along the pressed ink, eyes rereading those final lines again… and again. Her heart was no longer beating at a normal pace—it was sprinting like it was racing the moon.
“Ohmygosh… you actually wrote me a sonnet,” Enid said softly, her voice full. She laughed, breath catching with emotion, and very carefully folded it back up—treating it like a pressed flower—and tucked it into the inside pocket of her fencing jacket, right over her heart.
“You’re getting a second date,” Enid said. “And a third. And probably a matching tattoo by spring formal.”
She laughed again, sheepishly. “I mean—not that I’m rushing, obviously. But, like... also maybe?”
She leaned in, pushing her forehead gently to Wednesday’s, fingers sliding across the backs of Wednesday’s knuckles—cool skin against warm. She stayed there a beat, then tilted her head, placing a gentle kiss at the corner of Wednesday’s mouth.
“You can keep your bloodletting,” Enid said softly. “But this? This wrecked me in the best way. You make it so hard to stay cool.” She pulled back, just enough to grin again—eyes still misty.
“Okay. Spill,” Enid said brightly. “Are we doing something weirdly romantic next? Like grave robbing? Or are you gonna show me that haunted piano room you won’t let anyone near?”
Wednesday didn’t shift under the kiss—not physically, at least. But something behind her eyes changed, softening. When Enid leaned back and grinned at her, Wednesday held her gaze.
“You’re impossible to intimidate,” Wednesday said flatly, but the faintest ghost of a smirk followed. “It’s deeply unsettling. I’m… intrigued.”
She slowly rose to her feet, brushing imaginary dust from her coat, then extended her gloved hand with the dramatic elegance of a gothic heroine in a Brontë novel.
“Tomorrow. Midnight,” Wednesday said. “Meet me at the large tree a few yards from the archery grounds. If you’re late, I’ll lock you out of our dorm room.”
She let the silence linger just long enough to be concerning—then finally added, deadpan
“You wanted weirdly romantic,” Wednesday said. “Don’t say I don’t spoil you.”
-
Chapter 4: Adopted Puppy.
The following day Enid sat on the stone steps, legs crossed, nose buried in her phone with a giddy little smile playing on her lips. She wore one of her pastel cardigans again—soft contrast to the growing bite in the autumn air.
Yoko approached, sunglasses perched in her hair, a blood-colored smoothie in hand.
“You look like someone who either just got laid or just adopted a puppy,” Yoko said. She sipped. “Wait—don’t tell me. It was Wednesday, wasn’t it?”
“Oh my god, how did you know?!” Enid whisper-shouted, practically sparkling. She waved Yoko closer, barely holding back a squeal.
“She kissed me. Like, kissed kissed,” Enid explained. “And then we walked through the graveyard and held hands and she said I was her girlfriend. HER GIRLFRIEND, Yoko—do you realize how huge this is?!” Enid practically vibrates.
“I realize you just broke several laws of physics by making Wednesday Addams emotionally available,” Yoko said deadpan. “Congratulations. You’re the apocalypse.”
She sat beside Enid, legs stretched out.
“Not that I’m surprised,” Yoko continued. “I did tell you she had that look every time you walked in—like she was planning a murder, and you were the weapon.”
“That is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Enid said, clutching her chest.
Across the courtyard, Wednesday approached—flawless posture, unreadable face, her black coat billowing like a storm cloud.
“Speak of the devil and she doth strut,” Yoko murmured, nudging Enid.
Wednesday stopped just in front of them, gaze flicking between the two.
“Are you gossiping about me?” Wednesday asked flatly.
“Always,” Yoko said with a grin. “But only out of admiration.”
“Let me make this clear,” Wednesday said. “Your meddling has resulted in a measurable shift in my emotional state. I should despise you for it.”
Yoko raised her smoothie in a mock toast. “And yet, here we are. You’re not stabbing me, so I’m calling it a win.”
“I’ve decided not to stab you,” Wednesday said. “For now.”
She turned to Enid, who was already grinning at her like the sun had just arrived early.
“Come,” Wednesday said softly. “I’ve acquired tea. And tolerance for human interaction—temporarily.”
Enid hopped up eagerly and slid her hand into Wednesdays without hesitation.
“She likes me,” Enid beamed.
“I endure you,” Wednesday replied as they walked off. “With increasing fondness.”
Yoko watched them go, smiling behind her drink.
“Damn,” she muttered to herself. “I should charge for matchmaking.”
Later that evening, pulling on her jacket, Enid slips out of the dorm quietly, weaving through the soft shadows of Nevermore’s halls. The night air hits her like a cool whisper, her feet light on the grass as she makes her way past the archery grounds, to the tree—the one they’ve passed a hundred times. The one that somehow already feels like their place. She leans against the trunk, looking up at the stars.
"Don’t be late, Addams," Enid says quietly, almost to herself.
"An Addams is never late, Sinclair," Wednesday remarks, moving out from the back of the tree. She looks around, scanning the area. Without a word, she grabs Enid’s hand, pulling her from the trunk, leading her towards a cluster of trees a few yards from them. Wednesday doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at Enid, doesn’t pull away. Her hand remains clasped in Enid’s tightly, like she’s scared Enid will slip away in the darkness, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Enid follows without hesitation. Her fingers tighten around Wednesday’s, anchoring them both. The silence between them hums—not awkward, not empty, but charged. Every unspoken word lingers in the still air, thick with pine and moonlight and something neither of them has dared to name until now. She doesn’t ask where they’re going. Not yet.
"Kidnapping me, Addams? You could’ve at least asked me to bring snacks," Enid says softly, just to see if she’ll speak. But there’s no real bite in her words—just breathlessness, like she knows whatever comes next will change everything. She glances at Wednesday’s profile, the sharp lines of her face set with purpose, but there's something softer there too—something scared, maybe. And that’s what makes Enid tread even more carefully.
"You don’t have to say anything yet. I just… I’m here. I’m with you," Enid says gently.
They reach the clearing—a tight circle of trees, isolated, wrapped in darkness and stars. Enid watches Wednesday now, letting the moment hang.
"Why here?" Enid asks.
"If I was kidnapping you, I’d have brought rope and preferably a muzzle," Wednesday remarks, finally looking at Enid, a twitch of a smirk lingering across her cold, dead lips. Finally, she stops and points. In the centre of the clearing, a large patch of flowers bloomed next to a tree with an old, weathered-looking swing.
"Wolfsbane. Poisonous and deadly. However, in the poem Metamorphoses, Ovid tells of the herb coming from the slavering mouth of Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guarded the gates of Hades. In mysticism, wolfsbane is used as an analogy for the power of divine communion," she pauses, glancing at the small cluster, and adds, "Belonging to the family Ranunculaceae. These herbaceous perennial plants are chiefly native to the mountainous parts of the Northern Hemisphere. It’s been… irritatingly hard to grow here at Nevermore."
She looks over at Enid, finally glancing at her lips once more.
"In romantic contexts, it can symbolize a love that is… both passionate and perilous," she says.
Enid stares at the flowers for a moment, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. The clearing feels sacred now, heavy with meaning. It’s the kind of place you only show someone once—and only if you're ready for something to be broken or born. She turns her gaze back to Wednesday, studying her like she might disappear into the night if she blinks too long.
"You… grew these? For me?" Enid asks quietly.
She doesn’t wait for a yes. She knows. Knows from the tension in Wednesday’s shoulders, the way she can’t quite keep eye contact now that the truth is laid bare between them, thorned and blooming.
"Wednesday, that’s—that’s the most terrifyingly beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me," Enid says, a little stunned, a little breathless. She laughs, soft and unsteady, stepping closer. The light from the moon spills across her face, highlighting the shimmer in her eyes.
"And here I thought you didn’t do romance. Turns out you just do it like everything else—deadly, dramatic, and full of ancient poetry," she adds.
She reaches out, brushing Wednesday’s hand again—this time slowly, deliberately, fingers tangling.
Wednesday’s hand squeezes Enid’s, brushing her thumb gently over her warm skin. She sighs in frustration at her sickening display of romance.
"I’d been so scared of becoming my mother and trying to live up to her legacy. It seems that I’ve become my father instead," she scoffs dramatically.
She takes one more glance at the clearing, then turns, stepping further into Enid’s space. Her hand pauses, then reaches out to place her hand on Enid’s waist.
"I find it… hard, to express myself. To deal with emotions, Enid. I thought of them as a weakness. But, since the night you fought for me with the Hyde, I find myself becoming disgustingly obsessed with you. Your brightness. Your colour. Your laughter. You are the sunshine, and I have stubbornly bloomed. How unfortunate."
She brings her other hand up to place on Enid’s cheek, brow furrowed in something between reverence and fear. Wednesday smiles softly and leans in, placing a chaste kiss on Enid’s lips, lingering for a second.
Enid barely breathes. The kiss is soft, unexpected only in how gentle Wednesday can be when she lets herself. It's not fiery, not desperate—but deliberate. Like a secret. Like a spell. When Wednesday pulls back, Enid’s eyes are wide, glassy, and her lips part as if to ask if that really happened—but she doesn’t need to. It did. And for once, Wednesday didn’t run.
"You’re such a weirdo," Enid says, voice trembling but lit with wonder.
She lets out a shaky laugh, and then—because it’s Enid—she leans in and kisses Wednesday again. Just a little longer this time. A little bolder. When they part again, Enid rests her forehead against Wednesday’s.
"If this is what unfortunate feels like… I think I’ll take it," Enid murmurs, threading her fingers through Wednesday’s, not letting go.
"But I swear, if you lock that window tonight, I’ll break it," she adds.
-
Chapter 5 Cara Mia.
The day after their second date, the sun filters down through the trees, dappling the stone benches and ivy-covered paths of the courtyard. Birds are chirping obnoxiously, and students meander about—some nursing hangovers from illicit blood-orange punch, others just trying to avoid the new principal’s death glare.
Enid sits cross-legged on a bench beside Yoko, her smoothie untouched in her hands. Her eyes are distant, lips twitching into a stunned grin she keeps trying—and failing—to suppress.
"Okay, you’ve been making that face for ten minutes, and I swear if you don’t start talking, I’m going to assume you were either possessed or had very weird lycanthrope dreams," Yoko said, deadpan, sipping from a black iced coffee.
"Okay, okay! But you have to promise not to scream," Enid said, snapping back to reality, nearly choking on a laugh.
"Girl, I’m literally undead. I don’t scream. I drain," Yoko said, arching an eyebrow.
"Fine, okay, so last night—after curfew—Wednesday took me out to that little grove near the south courtyard. You know, the creepy one with the weird swing that probably belonged to some long-dead Victorian ghost child?" Enid said, grinning, bouncing slightly.
"Romantic," Yoko said.
"That’s the thing! It was. Wednesday… she kissed me. And—Yoko—she GREW ME FLOWERS," Enid said.
"She what?" Yoko finally blinked in genuine surprise.
"Wolfsbane. Poisonous, deadly, poetic-as-hell wolfsbane. She quoted Ovid, held my hand like it was some sacred relic, and kissed me. Like, willingly. Like she meant it," Enid said, eyes wide.
"Okay, Addams just jumped from emotionally repressed to emotionally deranged. You’re either soulmates… or she’s gonna murder you in your sleep." Yoko said, slowly nodding and sipping.
"Honestly? I think I’d be okay with either," Enid said softly, half-dreaming.
Just then, there's a subtle shift in the courtyard's energy—an almost imperceptible cold breeze that rustles through the trees, and the faint click of black boots on stone.
Enid straightens.
Wednesday heads towards the bench, taking her seat next to Enid. She stares blankly at the floor, then turns, gingerly takes Enid’s hand, and kisses it lightly.
“Cara Mia,” Wednesday said, then looked at Yoko, deadpan.
“Yoko.” And she pulls her hand away, posture straight, almost robotically.
Yoko chokes on her iced coffee. It takes a solid two seconds for her undead cool to recover, eyes wide behind her sunglasses.
"...Okay, what in the Tim Burton fanfiction just happened," Yoko said, coughing, deadpan.
Enid, meanwhile, is blinking at Wednesday like she’s just witnessed a miracle in slow motion. Her cheeks bloom with warmth, her hand still tingling where Wednesday’s lips touched it.
"You can’t just drop a ‘Cara Mia’ like that in front of witnesses. That’s, like, Addams-level PDA," Enid said, trying not to beam.
"You are my girlfriend now. Public displays of affection are a contractually bound inconvenience I am willing to endure under controlled conditions," Wednesday said without missing a beat.
She glanced at Yoko again, her stare flat and unblinking.
"She is your confidante. You were going to tell her regardless. I am mitigating chaos," Wednesday said.
"Cool, cool. So, just so we’re clear—this isn’t a fever dream and I’m not hallucinating a goth confession in broad daylight?" Yoko said, slowly, mock-serious.
"Only if your dreams are as well-structured and emotionally repressed as mine," Wednesday said, dry.
Enid, glowing now, leans against Wednesday’s shoulder. And, shockingly, Wednesday doesn’t move away.
"I need holy water. Or, like, undead therapy," Yoko muttered, sipping again.
Enid laughs, a bright, melodic sound that makes a couple of students glance over before quickly deciding they want no part of whatever emotional oddity is occurring between Addams and Sinclair. She leans in a little closer, bumping her shoulder against Wednesday’s with gentle affection.
“Wow. So, I’m officially your girlfriend now? Do I get a certificate? A cursed locket? Matching daggers?” Enid said, teasing.
"I was planning to carve your name into a bone-handled scalpel. But if you prefer jewellery, I suppose I can bury sentiment under tacky symbolism," Wednesday said flatly.
"You two are terrifying. In, like, an oddly domestic way," Yoko said.
She gave them both a look, then actually sighed—a rare crack in her too-cool vampire demeanour.
"But seriously. I’m glad. You’ve been mooning over her like a lovesick werewolf for months. And Wednesday… I think you’re the only person on this continent who’d grow toxic flowers as a love language," Yoko said, softening slightly.
Wednesday turned her gaze to Yoko—level, calm, but edged with a rare trace of vulnerability.
"I have little patience for emotional display. But Enid... she is persistent. Her light reaches corners I had made peace with never illuminating. I didn’t expect to... require that," Wednesday said.
Enid’s smile falters—not out of doubt, but because she can feel the weight in Wednesday’s words. The rawness beneath her control. She squeezes her hand gently.
"I don’t need grand gestures. Just you. As you are," Enid said softly.
"That may be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever said to me," Wednesday said quietly after a beat.
"Okay, wow. Cool. My undead heart is actually feeling something. I’m leaving before you two start composing sonnets under blood moons," Yoko said, mocking but affectionate. She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"Text me if she stabs someone in your name. I wanna watch," Yoko added, strutting off without waiting for a response.
Enid watches her go, then turns back to Wednesday. The moment lingers, gentle and just a little electric.
"Do you really think I’ve changed you?" Enid asked quietly, with a smile.
"No. I think… you’re helping me become more of who I was always supposed to be," Wednesday said without hesitation.
The sun finally begins its slow descent, casting long, golden shadows through the forest lining the edge of Nevermore. The chatter of students fades behind them as Enid and Wednesday walk side by side along a narrow path, half-dirt, half-wildflower. The breeze is soft, the silence between them full—but not awkward. It’s the kind of silence that means something.
Enid swings their joined hands gently, glancing at Wednesday from the corner of her eye.
"So… what happens now? We just walk around holding hands like some tragic gothic rom-com? Are we officially doing the couple thing?" Enid asked softly, almost shyly.
"Technically, we walked away from a witness holding hands. That constitutes social confirmation of intimacy. Whether it devolves into hand-holding clichés or dismemberment remains to be seen," Wednesday said without looking at her.
She paused, then—surprisingly—added, "But… I don’t mind this." She lifted their joined hands slightly, inspecting the way Enid’s palm fit against hers like it’s a foreign object she’s learning to understand—and reluctantly… treasure.
"You don’t mind? That’s, like, practically a love confession from you," Enid said, grinning.
"Then I’m being dangerously sentimental. Someone should restrain me," Wednesday said dryly.
"Too late. You already gave me a garden of poisonous affection. Kinda hard to top that," Enid said, laughing.
She tugged Wednesday gently off the path, toward a small alcove near the base of a willow tree. The branches hang low like a veil, creating a hidden space just for them.
"Do you think we’re really going to work, Wednesday? I mean… I’m loud. I need affection. You write letters to the moon and threaten my shampoo bottles," Enid said, quieter now, sitting.
Wednesday sat beside her, perfectly straight-backed, and looked up through the canopy. Her voice was calm but heavy with something honest. Something rare.
"I don’t believe in inevitability. Or happy endings. But I do believe in... enduring things. Obsessions. The kind that crawl under your skin and refuse to leave," Wednesday said.
She turned to Enid, expression unreadable—but her eyes were clear. Focused.
"You are the only thing in this place that haunts me," Wednesday said.
Enid swallows, heart hammering in her chest, and reaches out to brush a strand of black hair behind Wednesday’s ear.
"Then I guess we’re doomed," Enid said.
"Deliciously," Wednesday replied.