Chapter Text
Wednesday didn’t dare look back. Her boots pounded against the damp earth, each step kicking up mud that clung to her heels. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and her right hand pressed tightly against the gash in her arm, blood seeping through her pale fingers. How had it come to this? When had she lost control so utterly? Had she pushed too far, ignored too many warnings?
The forest closed in around her, the dense canopy filtering what little moonlight there was. Her sharp eyes scanned the shadows, searching desperately for any semblance of safety, but there was none. Just the oppressive weight of the trees and the distant howling of the wind—or was that something else?
Her thoughts were cut short when a force collided with her from behind, knocking her into the wet, cold mud. The impact left her dazed, her black jacket smeared with dirt, leaves, and small, sharp rocks digging into her skin. She barely had time to shield her face before she looked up—and froze.
Shining blue eyes met hers, eyes she knew all too well, eyes she had grown to adore. But tonight, they held no warmth, no kindness. They were raw, fierce, and brimming with an almost feral intensity that sent a shiver through her. In any other situation, she might have been unnerved—but intrigued enough to suppress a wry smile. Now, though, there was no amusement to be found.
The werewolf above her was no longer her ally.
“Enid,” Wednesday said, her voice sharp and steady, betraying none of the fear clawing at her chest.
The beast responded with a guttural growl, her massive paws pinning Wednesday to the ground. Thick strands of saliva dripped from her foaming snout, mingling with the blood splattered across her fur. Her entire body trembled with each labored breath, every muscle coiled, every movement wild and unpredictable.
“Enid…” Wednesday tried again, her voice faltering now. The stoic mask she wore so well began to crack under the weight of the moment. “Please…”
The growling didn’t stop.
Wednesday’s throat tightened, and her heart raced in a way that no calculated plan could control. She had faced death before—had danced with it, even—but this felt different. This was Enid.
“Enid, I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice breaking. For the first time in a long while, Wednesday felt powerless.
— — —
January 10th. The Addams family found themselves basking in the cold, eerie stillness of the manor. The halls, usually alive with peculiar commotion, were unusually quiet. Uncle Fester and Debbie were off on their fourth honeymoon in the Bahamas, though their return was expected sooner rather than later—Fester’s recent creation of an electric current in the resort pool had undoubtedly expedited their departure.
In the solitude, Wednesday, now fourteen, had grown even more introspective. Her once mischievous streak had refined into a sharp, brooding intellect. She spent endless hours buried in the manor’s extensive library, devouring every book on the shelves. Lately, one subject consumed her curiosity: werewolves.
To Gomez and Morticia, life had grown quieter. Too quiet. That’s why the sound from the forest beyond the manor piqued their attention—a noise so familiar it tugged at old memories. It echoed of days when Wednesday and Pugsley dashed through the woods, her crossbow slung over her shoulder, Pugsley gleefully volunteering as target practice.
“Wonderful, isn’t it, Cara Mia?” Gomez mused, striding toward the couch where Morticia sat, her pale hand delicately holding a book as she gazed out the window into the forest.
Morticia’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “The children playing in the garden again after all these years. How nostalgic.”
Outside, the forest stirred unnaturally. Birds scattered in wild, erratic swarms, their silhouettes darting against the bleak sky. The sight gave Morticia pause, her dark eyes narrowing. Then, breaking the stillness, came the unmistakable crack of gunfire.
Morticia turned to Gomez, her expression calm but pointed. “Gomez, we haven’t given the children firearms, have we?”
“Not to my recollection, Cara Mia,” Gomez replied, stroking his mustache. “Neither has expressed much interest. Crossbows, yes. Dynamite, occasionally. But firearms? Hardly their style.”
With that, they exchanged a glance of mutual understanding and set off into the forest to investigate.
The trees bore grim evidence of the chaos. Bullet holes riddled the trunks, bark stripped away in jagged chunks. Morticia traced her fingers along one splintered scar, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Such a lack of precision,” she murmured. “This wasn’t the work of our children.”
“Indeed,” Gomez agreed, his tone darkening as he surveyed the damage to their beloved property. “Whoever did this lacks artistry—and respect for another’s forest.”
They moved deeper into the woods, the chill in the air no longer one of quiet tranquility, but of something far more sinister.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, the bullet holes in the trees grew more frequent and erratic. Each step revealed more signs of chaos—bark splintered in jagged tears, the marks of a frantic and unskilled assailant. Then, amidst the debris of violence, they saw it: a bundle of fur, matted and tangled, its blonde strands streaked faintly with remnants of blue and pink. The creature shifted slightly, emitting a low, guttural growl that sent a ripple of curiosity through Gomez.
“Cara Mia,” he murmured, his tone equal parts intrigue and delight, “are you seeing this?”
Morticia, a few graceful steps behind him, tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing in focus. “I see it, Mon Cher. How fascinating.”
Gomez stepped closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. The bundle stirred, as if sensing his approach. What followed was both mesmerizing and grotesque—the unmistakable sound of bones rearranging, each crack and snap reverberating through the stillness of the forest.
The fur began to shift, peeling back to reveal a human form—a teenager, her body trembling as it emerged from its primal state. She lay bare on the cold ground, her pale skin marred by countless wounds, some fresh and oozing, others deep and angry red.
Morticia’s expression flickered, a rare touch of concern breaking through her composed exterior. “Oh, dear,” she murmured, her voice soft as a shadow.
Without hesitation, Gomez shrugged off his jacket, stepping forward to drape it gently over the girl’s fragile frame. His movements were uncharacteristically tender, his usual flourish replaced by a quiet urgency.
“She’s quite the spectacle, isn’t she?” Gomez remarked, his tone subdued but tinged with admiration. “Whoever—or whatever—she is, Cara Mia, she seems to have had quite the adventure.”
Morticia stepped closer, her gaze sweeping over the girl with an almost clinical precision. “Indeed. But the question remains, Gomez—what brought her here? And who left her in such a state?”
The girl stirred faintly under the weight of the jacket, her breathing shallow but steady. The forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting for whatever would come next.
As the girl stirred, her body tensed, and her gaze snapped toward the figures standing before her. Her eyes, sharp and vibrant, burned with an angry, almost murderous intensity. Yet beneath the fury lay something far more striking—fear.
Neither Gomez nor Morticia flinched under her glare. If anything, they seemed more intrigued than alarmed.
“Are you all right, little one?” Gomez asked, his tone gentle but edged with curiosity. He gestured to his jacket draped over her shoulders. “You seem to have had quite the ordeal. And, might I add, you’re looking a touch disheveled.”
The girl hesitated, her hands clutching the fabric tightly as though it were the only thing tethering her to safety. Slowly, she nodded, her movements stiff and cautious. With visible effort, she shifted to a sitting position, her piercing blue eyes darting between Gomez and Morticia.
Morticia crouched slightly, her posture elegant even amidst the mud and chaos. “What’s your name, dear?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk, her dark gaze steady and unyielding.
The teenager’s lips parted, her breath shallow as she struggled to form the words. Finally, she managed, her voice hoarse and cracked, “Enid… Enid Sinclair.”
The name hung in the air, a whisper carried by the cold wind. Gomez and Morticia exchanged a glance, subtle but significant, their curiosity deepening.
— — —
Wednesday sat in her room, completely absorbed in her reading. The book in her hands was ancient, its brittle pages whispering secrets only she could decipher. The quiet was interrupted as her door swung open with an unceremonious creak, and Pugsley bounded inside.
“Wednesday, you won’t believe it—”
Before he could finish, a dagger flew past him, embedding itself in the doorframe with a solid thunk, mere millimeters from his face.
“Knock,” Wednesday said coolly, not bothering to look up from her book. “What’s all the commotion downstairs?”
Pugsley, unfazed, grinned as if near-death experiences were a daily delight—which, in the Addams household, they often were. “Mother and Father…” He trailed off, his grin widening. “They’ve brought someone.”
Wednesday’s expression shifted, though only slightly—a fleeting twitch of her brow. It was a subtle betrayal of the emotions she prided herself on suppressing: confusion, apprehension, and the faintest hint of irritation.
“Someone?” she repeated, her tone sharp as the blade still quivering in the doorframe.
“Yes, someone,” Pugsley replied, rocking on his heels with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“And they’re alive, I think.”
Wednesday snapped her book shut, the sound echoing like a judge’s gavel. Her mind churned with possibilities, none of which she found remotely appealing.
“Of course they have,” she muttered under her breath, rising from her chair. “This house hasn’t been strange enough already.”
Wednesday descended the stairs as silently as a shadow, her movements deliberate and precise. She had no intention of indulging in whatever ridiculous scheme her parents had concocted, but curiosity—an emotion she loathed to admit—had crept in. She paused near the top of the staircase, peering through the gaps in the railing.
There she was. The girl.
Blonde hair, though wild and unkempt, shimmered faintly under the dim chandelier light. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, clutching a mug Gomez had likely thrust into her hands, her gaze shifting nervously around the room. Her skin bore faint bruises, and her frame seemed smaller, almost fragile, dwarfed by the manor’s imposing furniture.
Wednesday felt it then—a pang, sharp and unwelcome, in the pit of her chest. It wasn’t pity. She despised pity. No, it was something else, something entirely foreign and unwelcome. Whatever it was, she resolved to ignore it.
As she turned to retreat back to her room, Morticia’s voice, warm and melodic, rang out.
“Wednesday, darling. Don’t be rude. Come meet our guest.”
Her escape thwarted, Wednesday exhaled sharply, her expression tightening. Reluctantly, she descended the stairs, each step deliberate, as though the weight of the situation increased with every movement.
When she reached the parlor, Morticia extended a graceful hand toward the girl. “This is Enid Sinclair. We found her in the woods. She’s been through quite an ordeal.”
Enid looked up, her vibrant blue eyes meeting Wednesday’s. There was a faint flicker of hope—or perhaps unease—in them. Wednesday felt that pang again, sharper this time. She buried it beneath layers of indifference.
“Hello,” Enid said hesitantly, her voice still hoarse.
Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. “Fascinating,” she said flatly, her tone dripping with disinterest. “Another stray. I assume we’re keeping her?”
“Wednesday,” Morticia chided softly, though her smile remained serene.
Enid’s cheeks flushed, and she fidgeted with the edge of her borrowed jacket—Gomez’s, Wednesday noted. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude,” Enid stammered. “Your parents—”
“My parents,” Wednesday interrupted, her voice like ice, “are prone to collecting oddities. Don’t mistake their hospitality for a warm welcome.”
Enid’s expression faltered, and she looked down, her fingers curling tighter around the jacket.
“Wednesday,” Gomez interjected, his voice carrying a rare note of firmness. “That’s no way to treat a guest.”
Wednesday tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Forgive me for not jumping to embrace the newest addition to our macabre menagerie.” She turned sharply, her braids swinging behind her as she made for the stairs.
“Wednesday,” Morticia called, her voice carrying a quiet warning.
Pausing at the base of the staircase, Wednesday glanced back briefly, her gaze flitting to Enid. For a moment, something almost softened in her expression—but only for a moment.
“I’ll be in my room,” she said curtly, disappearing up the stairs without another word.
Enid watched her go, her shoulders slumping slightly. Morticia offered a reassuring smile, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t mind her, dear,” Morticia said. “She has a… unique way of processing new people. You’ll grow on her.”
Enid nodded faintly, though her eyes lingered on the staircase, as if trying to unravel the enigma that had just walked away.
— — —
The days dragged by in an eerie silence. Wednesday had withdrawn further into herself, a feat even by her own standards. She spent hours in her room, her only companions the books she barely skimmed, her cello gathering dust in the corner. Meals with the family were brief and punctuated by her curt responses, and her glances at Enid—when she dared to look—were fleeting, unreadable.
Morticia and Gomez exchanged knowing looks but allowed their daughter her space. They knew Wednesday well enough to understand she would come to them when she was ready—or not at all.
It was Fester and Debbie who finally decided to intervene.
They cornered her in the library one afternoon, where Wednesday sat brooding over an ancient tome. Fester, as always, approached with his signature giddy energy.
“Hey, kiddo!” he boomed, plopping down beside her with a thud that made the entire couch shudder. “You’ve been a bit of a grump lately—even for you. What gives?”
Wednesday didn’t look up. “I’m contemplating the existence of emotions and the futility of their expression. Your intrusion is unwelcome.”
Debbie, standing behind Fester, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, come on, Wednesday. Even I can see you’re out of sorts. And I married into this chaos.”
Fester grinned, unfazed. “That’s why we’re here. To help! I’m like a big, bald vault of wisdom, and Debbie—well, she’s got that whole femme fatale thing going for her. Together, we’re unstoppable.”
“Fester, dear,” Debbie interrupted sweetly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you give us girls a moment? You know how delicate these matters can be.”
Fester’s grin widened. “Sure thing! Good luck, Wednesday.” With a playful pat on her head, he lumbered out of the room, humming a cheery tune.
Once he was gone, Debbie took his spot on the couch, crossing her legs elegantly. She studied Wednesday for a moment, her crimson nails tapping rhythmically against her knee.
“You’re smitten, aren’t you?” Debbie asked, her tone teasing but laced with confidence.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, her gaze finally lifting from her book. “Smitten? Hardly. That implies a loss of control. I am Addams. We do not succumb to such trivialities.”
Debbie smirked. “Oh, please. I’ve seen the way you look at her. That Enid girl has gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?”
Wednesday stiffened, her hands curling into fists on her lap. “What I feel is irrelevant. She is… distracting.”
“Distracting, huh?” Debbie leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Listen, Wednesday, let me give you a little advice. You want her attention? Her devotion? Then you need to take charge. Be the dominant force in the relationship.”
“Dominant?” Wednesday echoed, her tone skeptical but intrigued.
Debbie nodded, her smile sharp as a blade. “Exactly. Make her see that she belongs to you. Show her that you’re the one in control. You have to make her submit to your will. That’s how you get what you want.”
Wednesday’s mind churned with Debbie’s words, her expression as still as stone. Slowly, she tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing. “You suggest… enslaving her?”
Debbie hesitated for a fraction of a second, then laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that. But sure, if that’s how you interpret it.”
Wednesday leaned back, her fingers steepling beneath her chin as her thoughts coalesced into a plan. “Interesting. Perhaps you’re not as useless as I once believed, Debbie.”
“Happy to help,” Debbie replied, her grin triumphant.
As Debbie stood to leave, Wednesday’s gaze remained fixed on the wall, her mind racing.
Dominance. Submission. Control. If this was the path to ensuring Enid’s loyalty, she would pursue it relentlessly.
And as always, Wednesday Addams would do so in her own dark, peculiar way.
— — —
The afternoon sun barely penetrated the thick canopy of trees surrounding the Addams estate, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor. Wednesday walked briskly ahead, her black boots crunching against the leaf-strewn ground. Enid trailed behind, clutching the oversized jacket Morticia had given her, her steps hesitant but eager.
“Where are we going?” Enid finally asked, her voice soft but tinged with curiosity.
“You’ll see,” Wednesday replied curtly, not bothering to glance back. Her tone was as flat as ever, but her mind churned with anticipation. This was a test—one that would determine the usefulness of this peculiar newcomer.
When they reached a small clearing surrounded by gnarled, ancient trees, Wednesday stopped abruptly. She turned to Enid, her dark eyes appraising her from head to toe.
“I brought you here for a reason,” Wednesday began, her voice low and deliberate. “You’re a werewolf. A creature of primal instincts and raw power. I want to see it.”
Enid blinked, taken aback. “You want to see me… what?”
“Shift,” Wednesday said simply. “Transform into your wolf form. Prove you’re capable of living up to your reputation.”
Enid hesitated, her hands fidgeting nervously. “I-I can’t always control it. And I don’t usually shift unless it’s a full moon.”
Wednesday’s gaze sharpened. “Excuses are the refuge of the weak. If you’re to be of any use to me, you’ll need to master your abilities. Now, try.”
Enid swallowed hard but nodded, determined not to disappoint. She closed her eyes, concentrating as best she could. Her breathing deepened, and her fingers curled, her nails extending into sharp claws. Though she didn’t fully shift, her features began to sharpen, her eyes glowing faintly with a predatory light.
Wednesday’s stoic façade faltered, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Impressive,” she admitted after a moment, though her tone remained even. “Not entirely what I expected, but you’ve shown potential. That will suffice for now.”
Enid exhaled, her partial transformation receding as she looked at Wednesday with a hopeful smile. “Did I do okay?”
“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” Wednesday replied, which, in her world, was practically a compliment.
She turned and began walking back toward the edge of the forest. Enid hurried to catch up, her heart racing from both exertion and excitement.
“Enid,” Wednesday said abruptly, stopping again and turning to face her.
“Yes?” Enid asked, wide-eyed and expectant.
“I’ve decided we can be… friends,” Wednesday said, her words slow and deliberate, as though testing how they felt leaving her mouth.
Enid’s face lit up, but before she could respond, Wednesday continued.
“However, there will be conditions. Friendship with me requires loyalty and obedience. You’ll follow my instructions without question. In essence, you’ll do exactly as I say, when I say it. Do you agree?”
Enid paused, considering the proposition for only a moment before nodding eagerly. “Of course! I mean, I’ve never really had a friend before, so… yeah! Whatever you want, Wednesday.”
Wednesday tilted her head, studying the werewolf with a mixture of satisfaction and intrigue. “Good. Then our arrangement is settled. Do not disappoint me.”
Enid beamed, oblivious to the darker implications of Wednesday’s proposal. To her, this was the beginning of a meaningful friendship.
As they made their way back to the manor, Wednesday’s mind swirled with possibilities. Enid Sinclair was a curious enigma—one she intended to unravel piece by piece.
And if this so-called friendship proved useful, all the better.
— — —
The sharp knock on Enid’s door startled her awake, her heart leaping into her throat. Groggily, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. The clock on the bedside table read 5:03 AM.
Before she could process anything, the door creaked open, revealing Wednesday in her usual dark attire, looking eerily composed for such an ungodly hour.
“Get dressed,” Wednesday commanded, her voice low but firm. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
Enid blinked at her, still half-asleep. “Huh? Leaving? Where?”
“Do you always ask this many questions before sunrise?” Wednesday asked, raising a dark eyebrow. “You agreed to do what I say. Consider this your first test. Wear something practical. We’re going to the forest.”
With that, she turned and left, leaving Enid scrambling out of bed to pull on a pair of jeans and a hoodie.
— — —
The forest was shrouded in early-morning mist, the air crisp and biting against Enid’s skin. She shivered, clutching her arms as she followed Wednesday deeper into the woods. The Addams seemed unaffected by the chill, her steps confident and deliberate.
“This is what you call a bonding activity?” Enid asked, stifling a yawn.
“Precisely,” Wednesday replied, her tone devoid of humor. “You’re a werewolf. Your senses should be unparalleled. Today, we hone them.”
“Hone them… how?”
“Hunting,” Wednesday said simply.
Enid froze in her tracks. “H-Hunting? Like, actual hunting? I’m not sure I’m cut out for that…”
Wednesday turned to face her, her gaze cold and unyielding. “Do not doubt yourself, Enid. You’re a predator by nature. This will come to you as easily as breathing—if you stop clinging to the shackles of civility.”
Enid bit her lip, unsure, but the intensity of Wednesday’s stare left little room for argument.
“Fine,” she mumbled, though every instinct in her body screamed that this was a terrible idea.
— — —
For the next hour, Wednesday led Enid through a series of exercises meant to sharpen her senses: listening for the faint rustle of leaves, sniffing out animal trails, and observing the subtle movements in the underbrush.
Enid struggled at first, her nerves getting the better of her. But Wednesday’s relentless encouragement—or rather, pressure—drove her forward.
“Focus, Enid,” Wednesday said as they crouched behind a cluster of bushes. “Your prey is nearby. Use your instincts.”
Enid took a deep breath, her ears twitching as she strained to pick up any sound. Suddenly, a faint rustle caught her attention. She turned her head sharply, her glowing blue eyes zeroing in on a small rabbit nibbling on a patch of grass a few feet away.
“Go,” Wednesday whispered, her tone commanding.
Enid hesitated, her heart pounding. Hunting wasn’t something she’d ever done willingly—it felt wrong, unnatural. But the weight of Wednesday’s gaze bore down on her, and she couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her.
With a deep breath, she leaped forward, her claws extending as she grabbed the rabbit. The creature let out a brief squeal before going still.
Enid stood there, holding the lifeless animal, her hands trembling. Her stomach churned with a mix of guilt and unease, but when she looked up at Wednesday, she saw something that made her pause: approval.
“Well done,” Wednesday said, a rare hint of pride in her voice. “Perhaps you’re not as hopeless as I feared.”
Enid’s unease lingered, but the sight of Wednesday’s faint smirk made something inside her shift. Maybe this isn’t so bad, she thought, trying to convince herself. If it means getting closer to her… maybe it’s worth it.
As they walked back toward the manor, Wednesday spoke again, her voice as even as ever.
“We’ll repeat this tomorrow. Improvement requires consistency.”
Enid nodded, clutching the jacket tighter around herself. She wasn’t sure what she was becoming, but if it meant having Wednesday’s approval, she’d keep going—no matter how much it creeped her out.
The first rays of dawn broke through the trees as Wednesday and Enid returned from their morning hunt. Enid’s heart was still racing from the adrenaline, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the guilt gnawing at her.
“Wednesday,” she said hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes?”
“Do you think… We could keep doing this? The training, I mean.”
Wednesday stopped mid-step and turned to face Enid. Her dark eyes studied the werewolf intently, and for a moment, Enid thought she might have said something wrong. But then, to her astonishment, Wednesday’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
“Of course,” Wednesday said. “You’re proving to be quite capable… for someone with your disposition.”
The backhanded compliment didn’t faze Enid—she was too fixated on the smile, small as it was.
— — —
They continued their ‘training,’ Wednesday setting increasingly difficult challenges to sharpen Enid’s senses and reflexes. By 7:30 AM, the forest was alive with the sounds of waking wildlife, and Wednesday decided it was time for the ultimate test.
“We’re going after something larger,” Wednesday announced, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Enid swallowed hard, her unease bubbling to the surface. “Larger? Like what?”
“A deer,” Wednesday said simply.
Enid’s stomach turned. Hunting a rabbit had been bad enough, but a deer? She wasn’t sure she could handle it.
“Wednesday, I don’t—”
“Focus, Enid,” Wednesday interrupted sharply. “You’re stronger than you think. Prove it.”
The pressure in Wednesday’s gaze was suffocating, and Enid felt her resolve cracking under the weight of it. Her heightened senses picked up the faint rustling of hooves nearby, and before she could stop herself, her instincts took over.
Her body shifted in a blur of fur and muscle, her clothes tearing as her wolf form emerged. A low growl escaped her lips as she bolted into the underbrush, following the scent of the deer.
Wednesday watched, her expression unreadable, as Enid disappeared into the trees. Moments later, there was a distant crash, followed by silence.
When Enid returned, she was back in her human form, trembling and clutching the lifeless body of a deer. Her hands were streaked with blood, and her eyes were wide with shock.
“I… I didn’t mean to…” she stammered, tears streaming down her face.
“You exceeded my expectations,” Wednesday said, her voice calm and even. “This is progress, Enid. You should be proud.”
But Enid didn’t feel proud. She felt hollow. The weight of the deer in her arms mirrored the heaviness in her chest as they made their way back to the manor. She walked behind Wednesday, her tears falling silently, unnoticed by anyone but the forest around her.
— — —
When they arrived at the manor, Wednesday was greeted by her family, who immediately noticed the deer.
“How splendid!” Gomez exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Our Enid has brought home the spoils of a hunt!”
“She insisted on proving herself,” Wednesday said, her tone as measured as ever. “I simply guided her.”
Morticia’s dark eyes softened as she approached Enid. “What an admirable display of initiative, my dear. You’re truly becoming one of us.”
Enid forced a smile, her heart aching at the irony. She didn’t feel like she belonged—she felt like a stranger in her own skin.
Across the room, Debbie stood by the doorway, watching the scene unfold. She caught Wednesday’s eye and gave her a subtle nod, a glimmer of pride and approval in her gaze.
Enid said nothing as the family continued to heap praise on her. She felt her tears threatening to spill again but blinked them back, unwilling to let anyone see her weakness.
“Dinner will be especially lively tonight,” Morticia remarked, turning to Gomez. “Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”
“Indeed, Cara Mia,” Gomez replied with a grin.
As the Addamses dispersed, Enid lingered in the entryway, still clutching the deer. Wednesday stood beside her, her expression unreadable.
“You did well,” Wednesday said quietly. “I expect the same level of commitment tomorrow.”
Enid nodded, unable to find the words to respond.
And as Wednesday walked away, leaving her alone in the foyer, Enid wondered how much of herself she was willing to lose just to feel like she belonged.