Chapter Text
Enid Sinclair sat cross-legged on her dorm room floor, a blank canvas mocking her from the other side of the room. She twirled a paintbrush between her fingers, its bristles dry and useless. CalArts, her dream school, had one final requirement:
Describe your happiest moment.
Easy, right?
Wrong.
Enid stared at the blank canvas, her frustration mounting. She could practically hear it taunting her. Some artist you are, Sinclair. Can’t even paint your happiest moment?
With a groan, she threw her head back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Maybe she was overthinking this. Maybe she just needed to start. Any moment of happiness would do, right?
She had considered the obvious choices—her art, her friends, the first time she destroyed Yoko at Mario Kart (her sulky little pout had been adorable). But none of them felt right. They were happy memories, sure, but happiest?
Her gaze drifted to her sketchbook on the nightstand. Flipping it open, she thumbed through the pages—quick doodles, half-finished portraits, messy sketches of her friends. There were plenty of Ajax, his easy grin captured in charcoal, his beanie barely holding back his unruly curls.
For years, she had crushed on Ajax—the way his presence makes everyone comfortable, the effortless confidence in every step he took. Ajax was gentle, even though he's kind of airheaded. He was supposed to be Enid’s happiest moment.
So why did the idea of painting him suddenly feel... off? She frowned, flipping through the sketchbook again, as if the answer was buried somewhere in the graphite lines. Her fingers hesitated before turning the next page—like she already knew what she’d find.
Instead, her fingers itched to turn the page.
She did.
And there, between her usual doodles of wolves and fantasy creatures, was a face she hadn’t meant to sketch. Dark braids framed a sharp, elegant profile. Those familiar, piercing eyes glared back at her, as if judging her from the page.
Wednesday Addams.
Enid’s stomach twisted.
No. That was ridiculous.
Shoving the sketchbook shut, she scrambled off the bed and stalked over to her mini-fridge, yanking it open. Maybe she just needed sugar. Or a distraction. Or both.
She popped open a soda, staring at the canvas like it had personally wronged her. Maybe she should just force it—get something, anything, down before the deadline suffocated her.
Her phone buzzed on the bed.
Nevermore Student Forum: Blood Moon strikes again! "Lich Please" now proudly displayed on Thornhill’s office door.
Enid snorted mid-sip, nearly choking. Okay, that was funny. Whoever Blood Moon was, they had a serious style.
Unfortunately, most of Nevermore thought it was her.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with an incoming call. Yoko.
Enid debated ignoring it, but the knocking at her door made the decision for her, followed by the unmistakable voice of Yoko Tanaka.
“Sinclair, I know you’re in there!"
Enid groaned, flopping onto her back. "Go away, Yoko."
"Nope." A pause. "Weems is on the warpath. You might wanna come up with an alibi, like, yesterday."
Enid frowned. "What are you talking about?" Then, as Yoko’s words sank in, her stomach dropped. "Wait—what? Why?”
Yoko sighed dramatically. “I don’t know, maybe because your name is trending in the forum again?”
"That wasn’t me!” Enid protested.
“Uh-huh. And Thornhill totally won’t assume it was you, either.”
Before Enid could argue, the door swung open, and Yoko strolled in, looking way too pleased with herself. Behind her, Eugene hovered nervously, adjusting his bug-themed glasses.
“I didn’t do it,” Enid said immediately.
“Uh-huh. And I didn’t drink an entire case of blood bags last week,” Yoko shot back. “Look, we all know it’s not you, but Weems doesn’t care about logic, she cares about results.”
Eugene piped up, “You should probably—”
The intercom crackled to life.
"Enid Sinclair, my office. Now."
Enid sighed. "—go see Weems," she finished for him.
Yoko winced. “R.I.P. That’s your problem now.”
Enid grabbed her jacket, muttering under her breath as she trudged toward the door. “This night just keeps getting worse.”
Enid trudged toward Principal Weems’ office, her sneakers barely making a sound against the polished floors. The halls of Nevermore were eerily quiet at this hour—most students were either in their dorms or sneaking around, probably trying to avoid getting called to the office.
She, unfortunately, wasn’t that lucky.
As she neared the towering double doors, she caught sight of Wednesday Addams standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching her like a hawk.
Great. Just what she needed.
“What, come to watch me get executed?” Enid muttered.
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. “If Weems were capable of execution, I suspect your trial would have been public. Much more entertaining that way.”
Enid rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smirk tugging at her lips. Classic Wednesday.
Before she could respond, the door swung open.
“Weems is waiting,” Yoko whispered, appearing beside her. “Try not to look too guilty.”
“Not helping,” Enid hissed back before stepping inside.
Principal Weems sat at her desk, her sharp blue gaze landing on Enid the moment she entered. Thornhill was there, too. Arms crossed. Unamused.
Enid swallowed.
“Miss Sinclair,” Weems began, her voice calm but firm. “I assume you know why you’re here?”
Enid forced a nervous laugh. “Uh, because people think I’m Blood Moon, and you want to confirm I’m not?”
Weems arched a brow. Thornhill, however, didn’t look amused.
“This is the third time in two months that some rather creative graffiti has appeared on staff property,” Thornhill said. “Coincidentally, you’re always nearby when it happens.”
“Okay, but that’s just bad timing,” Enid argued. “I promise, I didn’t do it.”
Weems leaned forward. “Then who did?”
Enid hesitated.
She had no clue who Blood Moon actually was. She wished she did. But whoever they were, they were smart—leaving no trail, never getting caught.
“I—”
Before she could dig her grave any deeper, a knock interrupted them.
The door cracked open, revealing Wednesday.
Weems sighed. “Miss Addams, I don’t recall summoning you.”
Wednesday stepped inside anyway, her face unreadable. “I came to provide an alibi.”
Enid blinked. “Wait. What?”
Wednesday didn’t look at her. “Enid was with me. In our dorm. For the past hour.”
Weems’ gaze flickered between them. “And what exactly were you doing?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Wednesday said, “Cuddling.”
Enid choked. “EXCUSE ME?!”
Weems blinked. Thornhill’s expression twisted in pure confusion.
But Wednesday, of course, remained completely unfazed.
“Yes,” she continued. “Enid was having an emotional crisis regarding her CalArts application, so I stayed to provide comfort. It was unfortunate, but necessary.”
Enid’s brain short-circuited. What the hell was happening?
“Uh—” she started, but Weems held up her hand.
“Fine,” she said, massaging her temples. “If Miss Addams is vouching for you, I’ll let you off with a warning.”
Relief flooded Enid so fast she nearly collapsed.
“However,” Weems continued, “if I so much as hear a whisper of your involvement in another Blood Moon incident, you will be the one scrubbing every inch of Nevermore’s walls. Am I clear?”
Enid nodded furiously. “Crystal.”
Weems waved toward the door. “Then go.”
Enid didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted, practically dragging Wednesday out with her.
The second they were in the hallway, Enid whirled around.
“What. The actual. Hell.”
Wednesday blinked at her. “You were struggling to form an alibi. I created one for you.”
“By saying we were cuddling?!”
“It was the most efficient lie. No one would dare question me.”
Enid opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted to argue. She really did.
But the worst part?
It actually worked.