Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The forest was quieter than she remembered. 
Not silent, but solemn, like a chapel of trees holding its breath.
Wednesday Addams stepped into the clearing with deliberate slowness.
Her boots crushed the undergrowth without apology, yet the sound felt muted beneath the dense canopy above.
Summer had ripened every leaf into a deep green, shadows dancing lazily across the forest floor.
A gentle breeze whispered through the branches, but even the birds kept their distance.

She said nothing.
She never did, not at first.

Thing followed, keeping pace on a low-hanging branch, his fingers tapping a rhythm she recognized but chose to ignore.
A fallen tree lay across the center of the glade, moss-covered and sun-bleached.
She sat on it, spine straight, as though ready to deliver a verdict to the wind.
Then, she closed her eyes.

“I know you’re here,” she said, barely louder than the rustling leaves. 
“I told you I’d hunt you down. You can run. I wouldn’t expect less.
 But I won’t leave without you.”

A low growl answered from somewhere among the trees.
Wednesday stood and left without turning her head.

She returned the next day.
 Same hour. Same tree.
This time, she brought a book.
 She didn’t read aloud. Not at first.
 She simply sat, pages rustling between her fingers, eyes occasionally lifting toward the treeline.
No werewolf.
Only the wind.

She came again.
And again.
Every day, like clockwork.
Always the same spot.
Always alone (except for Thing, who seemed to understand the ritual and never interrupted)

Sometimes she’d speak.
Sometimes she wouldn’t.
Sometimes she brought a new book.
Sometimes she whispered lines of poetry, her voice so low the forest seemed to lean in to listen.
And then, one day...a sound, a rustle.

Wednesday didn’t lift her head, not immediately, but her fingers paused on the page.
Across the clearing, in the shadow of the ferns, two bright blue eyes watched her.
A large pale werewolf, almost luminous, with fur so light it shimmered silver in the sun.

Enid.

Not Enid as she had known her.
Not entirely.
But the creature she had become, perhaps the creature she had always been.
The werewolf didn’t move closer.
Neither did Wednesday.
They simply looked at each other.
Then it was gone.

The next day, the werewolf returned.
 Closer this time.

The days blurred into each other.
The forest no longer felt threatening. 
It wasn’t a mystery to be solved, but a silent sanctuary, a space between two worlds: the one she had left behind, and the one she hoped to rebuild.

Thing stayed close. 
Sometimes he tapped against bark or the cover of a book, as if trying to fill the silence neither of them dared name.
Each day brought a difference.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.

One morning, Wednesday found a smooth white stone on the log where she usually sat.
She said nothing. 
She slipped it into her pocket.

Another day, a pale feather. Almost transparent. 
She stared at it for a long time before sliding it between the pages of her book.
The werewolf was watching.
Always at a distance.
Always silent.
But never absent.

Wednesday began reading aloud more often.
Poetry, Tragedies.
 Sometimes, she murmured lines from her own journals, never admitting they were hers.
She offered them to the forest like secrets tossed into a well.
But she knew who was listening.
Sometimes the wolf’s ears would twitch.
Sometimes her breath would shift, just slightly.

Then came the storm.
A summer thunderstorm tore across the sky one afternoon.
 Rain fell in thick sheets.
Wednesday didn’t move. 
Soaked to the bone, she remained seated on the log.
Thing, more cautious, took shelter under a root.
And the werewolf returned.
Closer this time.
A low growl rumbled through the air, wary, but not aggressive.
Then: the presence.
Warmth.
The massive body of the werewolf settled just a few steps behind her.
Wednesday didn’t react.
 But her fingers tightened slightly on the wet page.

The next morning, the sun returned.
The earth steamed under its renewed heat.
When Wednesday came back to the clearing, something was waiting for her.
A bracelet. 
Worn, frayed. But familiar.
She stared at it for a long time then sat, as always.
That day, she read only one sentence:
“You're still here. I know it.”
No answer.
But that night, her dreams were different.

The following day, she brought something with her.
A photo. 
Crumpled. A little faded.
Taken during their first year at Nevermore.
Enid smiling, eyes sparkling.
Wednesday, not smiling… but not frowning either.
She placed the photo on the log next to her book, without a word.
 Then she began to read.
Half an hour passed.
 Then the rustle.
The werewolf came closer. 
Not fully.
 But she looked at the photo.
 She looked at Wednesday.
Blue eyes still blue.
And it was enough.

The next day was stifling.
Absolute silence.
Wednesday didn’t read.
Didn’t move.
She just sat, eyes closed, listening.
Then she spoke, very softly.

“I’m not good at begging.”

Silence.

“I don’t believe in second chances.”

A growl, listening.

“But you gave me one. Every day.
And I think… I’m starting to understand.”

She opened her eyes.
The werewolf was there.
Very close, still.

And Wednesday, for the first time in days, reached out her hand, slowly, palm open.
The werewolf didn’t back away.
 She stepped forward, just slightly.
 A breath between skin and fur.

And then...

The world snapped.
Vision.

Enid.
Human.
Trapped.
Iron bars.
Her hands raw from clawing at the cage.
Her mouth opened in a scream but no sound came.
Only the silence of panic.
Another flash.
Enid, curled in a corner, her hair wild, her eyes dull.
Then slamming the cage.
Then sobbing into her knees.
Then...

Nothing.

Wednesday blinked.
The forest returned, still, quiet.
The werewolf was in front of her, watching, breathing, alive.
Wednesday’s hand dropped to her side, slowly, deliberately.

She didn’t smile.
She didn’t speak.
Not for a moment.
Then, calmly, her voice low:

“You’re not lost.
 Not to me.”

Chapter Text

The clearing was bathed in soft light, filtered through the thick canopy above. Wednesday was reading, as usual, seated on the familiar log.
Thing rested nearby, silent. The turning pages mingled with the gentle rustling of the wind through the leaves. Everything felt calm.

A sudden crack, heavy and sharp, broke the silence. Instinctively, Wednesday looked up. She expected the usual rustle, the silhouette with blue eyes among the trees… but this presence was different.

A rough breath.
A golden stare.
A puma.

Frozen on the path, the animal lowered its shoulders slightly, ready to pounce. Wednesday stood slowly, avoiding any sudden movements. Her heart pounded too fast. Her fingers trembled. She had no weapon, nothing to oppose the tense mass of muscle and sharpened claws.
Thing twitched, a useless reflex.

The predator advanced.

In a blur of pale fur, a roar split the air. The werewolf burst through the trees. She leapt between Wednesday and the beast, fangs bared, a deep growl rumbling in her chest.

The clash was brutal.

The two animals tumbled across the ground, claws against teeth, snarls against growls.
Wednesday backed away, stunned, frozen in place. The werewolf had the upper hand. She forced the puma to flee, wounded, terrified.
And then, she turned.

Her fur was streaked with dirt and sweat, her breath ragged. She advanced slowly, threateningly. Her blue eyes were haunted by something older. More primal. Wednesday didn’t move. She knew.

She whispered, her voice almost strangled:

— Enid…

A thunderclap would have made less noise.

The werewolf froze. A shiver ran down her spine. Her pupils widened.
And, in a flash, she disappeared into the forest.
Thing jumped from the log and ran after her, but she was already gone.

Wednesday didn’t see her the next day.
Nor the one after.

The clearing felt empty, abandoned.
The books remained closed.
Silence swallowed everything.
Wednesday relived the scene again and again. She had been afraid.
She had called her by name.
And Enid had left.

So she waited.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The full moon of August was drawing near.
And this time, Wednesday was afraid she wouldn’t make it in time.

The forest was bathed in spectral light. Every leaf, every trunk seemed veiled in silver. The full moon loomed, massive and silent, above the treetops, like a wide-open eye that missed nothing. Everything felt suspended in a tense calm. The shadows no longer danced. They watched.

Wednesday knew what it meant. She also knew it was madness to return here, especially that night.

But she was here.
Seated on the same log, straight as a blade.
No weapon, no book, no plan. Just her, her silence, and Thing by her side, taut as a string about to snap.
He tapped nervously against the bark.

Three taps.
Silence.
Three taps.
Silence.
A kind of substitute heartbeat.

Wednesday watched the trees, the bushes, every corner. She wasn’t really searching. She was waiting.

In the distance, howls. Long, powerful. Calls.
But not the one she needed.

And then… a rustle.
Light. Rhythmic.
Something was approaching.
No.
Someone…

She stood slowly. She wanted to believe.

The figure emerged painfully from the gloom.
The pale fur was speckled with mud and leaves.
Her steps were shaky. Her breathing short, ragged, almost wheezing.

The werewolf.

Wednesday felt a knot form in her throat. A raw emotion, scratching, burning.

She saw the wound before anything else… a fresh gash on the left flank, stained with blood and dirt.
The fur was matted, sticky. The werewolf staggered but stood tall.
Proud.
Her eyes locked on her.
Blue, still blue, alive but tired.

Wednesday stepped forward without a word. Not one.
The werewolf didn’t move away, not this time.
She knelt gently, just a few inches away.

— You could have chosen not to come back.

No response. Just that uneven breath, that warmth, that scent of forest and blood. She turned her head toward Thing, who had already understood. He dashed toward the nearby bag, bringing back supplies to treat her friend.

— Thank you, she said simply.

She tore a piece from her shirt, moistened the fabric, cleaned the wound without flinching. Her movements were precise, steady. But her mind wavered. Because beneath her fingers, it wasn’t just an injury to tend to. It was a presence to mend, a bond to stitch back together.

Thing handed her a bandage. The werewolf didn’t move. Perhaps too exhausted. Perhaps because she trusted her. Or maybe both.

Once the wound was dressed, Wednesday sat down again. A few steps away… not too close, not too far. She let the silence return. Then, after long minutes, she closed her eyes. And spoke.

— I don’t know how to do this. Not really.

A sigh. A breath.

— I’ve spent my life running from this kind of bond. Analyzing everything, dissecting everything… But you…

She hesitated. She hadn’t planned to talk. Even less to admit.

— You break down my walls, Enid.

The name hung in the night. It trembled through the leaves. It stayed, suspended between them.

— I need to find my pack again. My real pack.

She said nothing more.
Her body leaned slightly against the log.
Fatigue.
Tension.
Days without sleep.
It all took its toll.

She fell asleep.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Morning took its time piercing the mist. A pale sun cast soft shadows on the damp ground. The trees seemed less hostile. The world was slowly catching its breath again.

Wednesday awoke with a jolt. Her arm was numb. Moss clung to her cheek. She looked around… but the werewolf was gone.

Nothing. No sign. Even Thing seemed uncertain. He climbed onto the log, wiggled his fingers, worried.

She remained still. The emptiness was brutal.
But different this time.

Something had changed.
She knew it.
She felt it.

Then, a rustle.
Soft.
Human.

She turned her head as a figure emerged, slowly stepping out from the shadows of the trees.
Staggering. Frail. Hair disheveled. Skin slick with sweat, dust, maybe tears. And in her eyes, the blue she would recognize anywhere.

Enid.

She took two more steps.
And collapsed.
Wednesday ran.

For the first time in a long while.

Chapter Text

The forest had held its breath since dawn. Wednesday, too, barely breathed.

She had run. Without thinking. Without hesitation.
When she saw Enid collapse, she didn’t scream, didn’t panic.

She simply caught her. And, in one fluid, near-mechanical motion, she pulled the blanket she always kept in her bag, a reflex since the beginning of this patient hunt, and wrapped it around her friend’s trembling body.

Naked. Fragile. Finally human.

Thing had gone ahead, guiding Wednesday through the woods to the old cabin Uncle Fester had found weeks ago.

Isolated, tucked into a natural fold in the terrain, it offered a semblance of shelter.

Fester was already there. As if he had known.
He said nothing. He simply took Enid into his arms with an unexpected gentleness and carried her to the makeshift bed in the main room.

Wednesday followed in silence, eyes locked on the sleeping, shivering figure despite the warmth.

Fester lit an oil lamp, adjusted the blanket, checked the locks. He placed a hand on his niece’s shoulder.

— I won’t be far, he whispered.

Then he left. To give them space. To give her the choice.

Calm returned.

Thing perched on the edge of the bed, keeping watch.
Wednesday knelt down. She checked the bandages she had placed before. They had held, but the wound had reopened.
Slowly, methodically, she cleaned and disinfected.

A tear slid down her cheek, discreet.
She wiped it away with a sharp gesture.
Not now.

Hours passed.
Enid still slept.
Her face, softened by rest, twitched with irregular spasms.
A nightmare?
A memory?
A remnant of instinct?

Wednesday didn’t sleep. Barely moved.

When Enid finally opened her eyes, the light had changed.
She blinked, trying to understand.
Then her gaze landed on the black silhouette sitting beside her.

And she tensed.

Wednesday made no sudden move. She slowly raised her hand, palm open.

— It’s just me.

Enid didn’t speak. But her eyes did.
Fear, raw and primal.
Painful confusion. She wanted to flee, to shrink away.

Wednesday pulled back slightly.

— You’re safe, she murmured. No one’s locking you away. Not here.

Silence fell again. Heavier. Denser.

— I can leave, if you prefer, she added.

Enid turned her head. Didn’t move. But didn’t leave either.

Thing stayed motionless, frozen in quiet tension. After a while, Wednesday stepped out of the cabin.

The dusk air was thick with humidity.
She leaned against the rotting wood of the railing.

And cracked, silently.

Her mask split. Just for a moment.

All the restraint she’d clung to—gone.
The rage of the hunt.
The desperation of the wait.
The helplessness of every failed day.
But above all… the fear.
The one that never left.
The fear of losing her.

Of never seeing her again.

Of arriving too late.

Then...
Tires over dry leaves.
A car.

She straightened up, alert.
But the figure stepping out of the vehicle took her breath away.
Lursh.
Gomez.
Then Pugsley.
And finally, Morticia.

Wednesday said nothing.
Fester had warned them, of course.
She should’ve known.
But they said nothing either. They just came to her.

Her father hugged her tight, her mother brushed her cheek without a word, and Pugsley smiled quietly.

— We’ll camp nearby, said Gomez. Just in case. To watch the woods… and you.

Morticia, however, stayed. She entered the cabin with the grace of someone who understands silence. She asked no questions. She watched over them.

-----------------------------------

Evening fell.

Enid had slowly sat up. Her movements were stiff, tentative. Like something waking up in a world that no longer made sense.

She scanned the room, not out of curiosity, but out of instinct.
Her eyes darted to the corners, the door, the shadows on the walls.
Then downward.
To her.

Wednesday sat on the floor, back against the wooden frame of the bed. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, arms wrapped loosely around them.
Not out of cold.
But out of something quieter, more difficult to name.
A shield, maybe.
Or a confession she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

She didn’t notice Enid right away. Or perhaps she did. and simply refused to look.

Enid stayed still at first.
Frozen.
Breathing shallow.
Then, slowly, almost instinctively, she slid down.
One leg over the edge of the mattress.
Then the other.
Her feet met the floor with a whisper.

She didn’t stand.
She crouched.
Watched Wednesday’s profile. Her stillness. Her silence.

Then she sat.
Beside her.
Just close enough that their shoulders might have touched—if either of them had dared to move.

She didn’t say a word.
Didn’t reach out.
She just… existed there.
Tense. Raw. Present.

Wednesday didn’t flinch.
Didn’t speak.
But her arms loosened just slightly around her knees.

And for the first time in days, the room no longer felt like it might shatter under the weight of unspoken things.

-----------------------------------

Wednesday hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

She had stayed by the fire longer than she should have, eyes open, back straight, watching the flames rather than the time.
But her body was exhausted, and her thoughts had looped in on themselves for too long.

So, without realizing, she had dozed off, still seated on the rug near the hearth, arms crossed over her knees, head lowered slightly.

Thing kept watch from the windowsill, his fingers drumming quietly.

Inside the room, shadows shifted softly with the firelight.
And Enid, seated again on the edge of the bed, stared into the flickering glow in silence.

Morticia, ever graceful, joined her quietly.
She didn’t sit too close.
Didn’t speak immediately.
Just… existed with her. As if she understood that words, in the wrong moment, could weigh more than wounds.

Then, gently,

“Thank you,” she said.

Enid blinked.
Her shoulders tensed.
She didn’t look at her.

Morticia continued, voice low. Calm. Honest.

“Thank you for saving my daughter. Again.”

Still no answer.

“I know it wasn’t easy. Two months without a voice, without warmth, without control…
That kind of silence doesn’t fade just because you survive it.”

Enid’s jaw tightened.
Her hands gripped the edge of the blanket.
Her eyes stayed locked on the fire.

“And I’m sorry,” Morticia added. “For what you had to endure. You were never meant to face it alone.”

A pause.

“You still don’t have to.”

Enid didn’t speak.
But her shoulders dropped a fraction.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed something, grief, maybe. Or relief.

Tears rose.
Slowly.
Silently.

And on the other side of the room, Wednesday stirred.

Not visibly.
Not noticeably.
Just enough to sharpen her breath, enough to register the words, the emotion in them.

But she kept her eyes closed.

She didn’t want her mother to know she was listening.

Because something about this moment, about hearing the pain in Enid’s silence, and the gentleness in Morticia’s voice, felt sacred.
Fragile.
Like the kind of truth that couldn’t survive being witnessed.

So she remained still.

Quiet.
Present.
Listening to a conversation she’d never be part of, but couldn’t bear to miss.

-----------------------------------

Days passed.
Wednesday resumed her reading by the fire.
Back straight. Focused.

One evening, without a word, Enid got up.
She walked over.
And sat beside her.

Not against her. Not across from her.
Just… there.
Within reach of the silence.

She didn’t look at Wednesday.
She kept her eyes on the flames.
Her breath came unevenly—held, then released. Held again.
Like she was negotiating with her own lungs.

For a long time, there was only the sound of fire.
The faint pop of sap.
The ticking of Thing’s fingers somewhere behind them.

Then...

A breath.

A tremble.

Her lips parted, then closed again.
Once. Twice.

And in a voice so soft it barely existed:

“…thank you.”

It wasn’t steady.
It cracked in the middle.
It sounded like a word pulled from the wreckage of something broken.
Like a sound not used in months,
resurfacing through rawness.

Wednesday turned her head. Slowly.
But didn’t speak.

Enid’s shoulders were tense. Her hands clenched.
She wasn’t even sure she’d spoken out loud.
She was bracing for a reaction, any reaction.
And yet she still sat there.
Still stayed.

Wednesday didn’t move closer.
She didn’t reach out.
She simply looked at her.

Present.
Open.

And something inside Enid… unclenched.

Not much.
Just enough to breathe again.

-----------------------------------

The next night was different.

Enid woke up with a jolt.
Her breathing shallow.
Her eyes wide.
Her hands trembling.

She didn’t recognize the room.
Her heart pounded.
Every sound was too loud.
Every shape too foreign.

Then she caught the scent of firewood.
The soft pop of embers.
Wednesday, asleep in a nearby chair.
Morticia, quiet in the corner, reading, wrapped in a shawl.
She raised her eyes immediately.

But the instinct surged.
Sudden.
Violent.
Primal.

Something inside Enid snapped.
Her back arched. Her jaw clenched.
Her nails, no, her claws, dug into the blanket.

She screamed.

A raw, animal cry.
Not a sound. A fracture.

Thing leapt in alarm.
Wednesday stood instantly, awake before her eyes even opened.
Morticia rose in the same second, the book sliding from her lap.

Enid thrashed. Her body fought itself.
The room melted into memory.
The chains.
The voices.
The bite of cold steel.
The blood.
The hunger.
The forest closing in.
Her own breath turning to growls.
Hands that struck her.
Eyes that watched her.

She wasn’t here.
She wasn’t safe.

Her hand slashed across Wednesday’s arm.
The fabric tore.
Skin split.
Blood rose, quick and red.

Wednesday froze.
Just for a second.
Every instinct screamed at her to step back.

"Wednesday, don’t!" Morticia’s voice was sharp, maternal, protective.

But Wednesday didn’t listen.

Instead, she stepped closer.
She knelt.
Right in front of the wild thing shaking before her.
Her voice was steady. Soft.

“Enid.”

The name cut through the noise.
A tether thrown into the chaos.

Enid’s breath caught.
Her body shook.
Tears.
Real.
Violent.
Endless.

She collapsed into her.

Chest to shoulder. Breathing broken.

“I’m sorry… I’m not… me yet.”

A long silence.
Then, almost a whisper:

“Neither am I,” Wednesday said.

Eventually, Enid fell asleep against her shoulder.
And Wednesday, too, drifted off.

Morticia didn’t move right away.

She stood there.
One hand still pressed against her heart, the other gripping the back of the chair.
A tremble had passed through her, but not from fear.
From understanding.
And something deeper.
Older.

She crossed the room slowly.
And laid a blanket over them both.

Then, after a long moment, she stepped out onto the porch.

The air was cold.
Sharp.
It burned a little in her lungs.
She stood there in silence, watching the line of trees disappear into darkness.

She didn’t hear Gomez approach, but she felt him.
His warmth. His hand slipping into hers.

"I heard screams, he said.

— She was lost in it, Morticia answered, her voice was calm now, soft. But Wednesday brought her back."

A silence.

" I almost stepped in, she admitted. I wanted to protect her. I still want to. But she didn’t need me."

She turned to him, her eyes shining.

Then, her voice dropped, almost reverent:

"It’s not light that saves, It’s loyalty in the dark."

She looked back at the door.
At the girl who bore her name, and the one curled against her.

"And they found each other in the dark."

Gomez said nothing.
He simply squeezed her hand.
And held her, as the woods around them slowly exhaled.

Chapter Text

The morning bore the pallor of sunless days. Inside the cabin, the air smelled of burnt wood and damp night.
Enid was still asleep, curled against Wednesday, her breathing short but steady. Her fingers clutched at the dark fabric beneath her, as if that single touch kept her from slipping away.

Wednesday did not sleep.
She rarely did anymore.
Her legs were stretched out on the bed, her eyes fixed on the fragile weight pressed against her.
Every rise and fall of Enid’s chest was noted, measured, guarded.

Outside, Gomez and Pugsley were already at work, chopping wood and feeding the fire.
Lursh lingered in the shadows of the forest. Morticia sat at the half-open door, her gaze lost among the trees.

The sound reached them all at once. 

A low growl of an engine, muffled by mist. Then the crunch of tires on wet gravel.

Gomez straightened, his tall silhouette cutting a sharp line against the pale light. Pugsley dropped the log he was carrying and narrowed his eyes toward the path.

The car stopped. The engine died. Two doors slammed, loud as gunshots.

Silence followed. Heavier than the noise.

Wednesday lifted her head. She did not move, but she already knew.

Footsteps drew closer. Firm. Decisive. 
Then Esther appeared, rigid, unbending, her eyes sharp as a blade. Murray followed, massive but hesitant, his gaze sliding away from the cabin.

Gomez greeted them without a smile, but with grave courtesy.

"Sinclair."

Esther did not answer the greeting. Her voice rose, lower than expected, carrying a weight long restrained.

"Is Enid here?"

The silence that followed was already an answer. Morticia half-rose, her dark gaze fixed on Esther, calm, unreadable.

"She is here."

Esther drew in a breath, almost imperceptible. Murray lowered his head slightly, relief and worry crossing his face at once.

Esther pressed on, her lips tight, her voice harder but still measured:

"Then… I want to see her.
— She sleeps." Morticia’s reply was not refusal, but truth spoken plain. 

Esther’s eyes darkened. She turned toward Gomez, as if for support, but he remained unmoved.

Her voice shifted then.
Less contained. More bitter.

"She should never have ended up like this", she said, her tone cutting cold.

Murray exhaled, almost guilty. Esther did not blink.

"And yet, Gomez replied, she survived.
— She lost herself to protect your daughter…"

A silence fell, glacial. Pugsley clenched his fists but said nothing.
Morticia stood tall, her gaze locked with Esther’s.
And then, the cabin door creaked open.

Wednesday.

She stepped outside, her movements measured, her slight frame straight as a blade. Her eyes never left Esther’s.
No anger.
No defiance.
Only calm, opaque, unyielding.

She did not speak.
She simply stood there. 
And it was enough.

Because behind her, another shadow stirred.

Enid.

Barefoot, trembling, she stepped into the pale light, drawn out by the tension thickening the air.
Her face was pale, her features sharpened by exhaustion, but her blue eyes were clear, fixed on the scene.

Esther and Murray froze. 
Their daughter. Their blood. 
Thinner, weaker, but standing.

They said nothing.
Not a word.

Enid didn’t speak either.
She walked forward slowly, each step dragging across the wooden threshold, until she stood beside Wednesday.
Without looking at her parents, she slid her hand into Wednesday’s.

A simple gesture. But the air shifted with it.

Wednesday felt the fragile warmth cling to her.
She did not move.
She let it be. 
And in the silence, everything was said.

------------------------------------


The cabin sank back into a silence that pressed on their chests like stone.

Enid sank again onto the bed, her fingers still locked with Wednesday’s.
Her head rested against her shoulder, her breath unsteady, trembling through her companion’s frame.

Wednesday did not move.
She let her, every nerve anchored to that fragile contact.

For a long while, there was nothing. 
Then Enid’s voice, hesitant, almost foreign to her own lips:

"You won’t let them take me away?"

Wednesday turned her head slowly. Her black eyes never wavered. Her hand tightened.

"Never."

The word fell like a vow.

Enid’s breath caught. She pulled in more air, her lips shaking.

"Even if I fall again? Even if I go back… to that other side?
— Then I’ll come find you." Wednesday’s voice stayed level, steady.

A pause. The silence weighed heavier on Enid this time. Her gaze blurred, a sob nearly breaking free. She clutched Wednesday’s hand tighter.

"And if you get lost?
— You’ll find me."

And it stopped there. 
The turmoil outside, the shadows: all of it faded before that simple promise.

------------------------------------


The rest of the day unfolded in uneasy stillness. 
Outside, the Sinclairs did not leave. Their car stayed parked at the forest’s edge, dark as an unmoving threat.
Esther barely moved from it, her hand always on the door, her body rigid as if daring the cabin to yield.
Murray eventually sat on a mossy trunk, arms crossed, eyes downcast.

The Addams dispersed as silent guardians.
Gomez tended the fire, Pugsley chopped wood with restless energy, Morticia stayed near the door, seated, impassive.
None spoke loudly. Their presence alone was answer enough.

Inside, Wednesday never let go of Enid’s hand.
She drew her closer, wrapping her in her other arm as if shielding her from what loomed outside.
Enid yielded to it.
Her breath remained shallow, uneven, but warmth and stillness slowly quieted her trembling.
At last, her eyes closed, her head sinking deeper against Wednesday’s shoulder.

The hours stretched, smothered by silence. 
Every sound of the forest seemed sharper: a branch snapping, a crow’s cry above, the rustle of unseen steps.
Each noise struck the wooden walls like a warning.

When night came, the air grew heavier.
The fire outside cast vast shadows against the trunks, twisted, swaying, like specters keeping vigil.
Mist rose thick, and the smell of damp earth mingled with smoke.

At last Morticia rose.
She stepped inside, her eyes passing over the two figures on the bed: Enid half-asleep, curled into Wednesday, whose back stayed rigid against the wall.
Her daughter’s dark eyes did not close.

Morticia approached, adjusted a blanket.
Then, gently, she laid a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder.

"You are not alone", she said softly.

She left just as quietly, leaving behind the warmth of those rare words.

The night passed without incident, but without true rest. 
Outside, Esther never left her post, rigid as a statue, eyes locked on the closed door.
Murray dozed for a few hours, his head bowed, but his jaw never eased.

Inside, Wednesday did not sleep. She kept her arm tight around Enid, as if to release her even for a moment would mean losing her.

And when the first pale light of dawn filtered through the planks, the tension had not lifted. 
Nothing had changed. 
And yet, everything had grown heavier.

Chapter Text

The morning rose without color. A thick fog lay over weighing down the air with silence.
The cabin walls let in only a gray, cold light.

Enid stirred first. Her breath caught for a moment, as if she feared waking up alone.
But the pressure of a hand, firm and unmoving, anchored her.
Wednesday had not shifted. Her eyes were still open, fixed on some point in the shadows, keeping vigil.

“You didn’t sleep,” Enid murmured, her voice still hoarse.

Wednesday gave only a blink in answer, as though the question itself had no meaning.

Enid shifted upright, her muscles aching. Fatigue clung to her bones.
Still, she leaned closer, seeking warmth she knew she’d find there.
Wednesday allowed it, the smallest, imperceptible movement giving her space.

Outside, footsteps pressed through the dew. Pugsley carried wood, his breath ragged in the damp air.
The fire crackled again, fed by Gomez. Morticia remained where she had been the night before — seated at the door,
her black eyes locked on the car waiting at the forest’s edge.

The Sinclairs had not moved either. Esther, upright as stone, had not once abandoned her post.
Murray stood beside her, less rigid but no less silent.
The waiting itself had become unbearable, stretching into something almost unreal.
Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind seemed to herald a decision that refused to come.

Inside, Enid let her head fall back against Wednesday’s shoulder.

“They’re waiting,” she breathed.

Wednesday tightened her hand around hers.

“Then let them wait.”

And nothing more was needed.


------------------------------------------

The silence stretched too long. Wednesday rose at last.
Without haste, without words, she slid her hand free of Enid’s and walked to the door.
Enid followed her with her eyes, but said nothing.

The cold struck as soon as Wednesday stepped outside.
She took only a few paces into the wet grass, fog clinging to her clothes and hair as though the forest sought to claim her.
She drew in a deep breath, as if to cut through the weight of dawn.

That was when Esther moved. She tore herself from the side of the car,
rigid, each step deliberate, like a verdict carried across the moss.

“You kept her,” she said, her voice low, vibrating with restrained anger.

“She stayed,” Wednesday replied, her eyes unblinking. “That’s not the same.”

Esther halted too close, her features hardening.

“You don’t understand. You’ve pulled her away from her own. From her pack. She followed you, and she’s lost herself.”

Wednesday stood motionless, her back straight, hands folded before her, her face unreadable.

“She isn’t lost.”

For a fraction of a second, Esther faltered.
Then her hand shot out, gripping Wednesday’s shoulder, her fingers tight, as though she could break her resolve by force.

Everything shifted in an instant.

A growl, deep and raw, shattered the silence.
The cabin door slammed open.

Enid.

Her bare feet struck the wood, her body trembling as if under a current.
Her eyes, burning blue, fixed on the sight of her mother’s hand gripping Wednesday.

The growl deepened, rolling through the earth itself.
Her muscles knotted, her breath tore ragged.
Every inhale was a wound, every exhale a push toward the inevitable.

The change came slowly, inexorably.
Her spine arched, shoulders widened, nails gouging the doorframe.
The wolf claimed her flesh, not in a burst but in a steady surge, sovereign, undeniable.

Esther dropped her hand from Wednesday’s shoulder in reflex.

Enid stepped forward, massive now, trembling with fury and pain.
In the same motion, she put herself between them, head low, shoulders taut, her very stance enough to draw the line Esther could not cross.

Wednesday remained behind her, calm, unmoving.
She raised a hand and pressed it against the hot, quivering flank.

“Enid,” she whispered.

The growl shifted, deeper but steadier.
The blue eyes never left Esther.

Murray took a step but stopped, his fists slowly loosening.

By the fire, Morticia said nothing, though her dark gaze blazed with an ache no one else could name.

Esther did not move.
She stared at what stood before her, no longer just her daughter, but the Alpha.
A truth she could neither deny nor accept without breaking herself.

The growl lingered, rumbling in the fog.
Then, with one last raw sound, Enid turned away.
Her blue eyes cut toward her mother one last time, a wild, incomprehensible gleam.

And she ran.

Her body blurred into the trees, branches shattering in her wake.

Wednesday stood frozen only a moment. Then her eyes, black and sharp, met Esther’s.
The look was a blade. A sentence without words.
And she followed.

Thing scuttled across the moss, frantic, while Lursh moved like a shadow behind them.

------------------------------------------

The clearing opened ahead.
A wide circle of bare ground, washed in dim gray light.

Enid was already there.
She circled herself, trapped in her own orbit.
Her fur bristled, her claws ripped the damp soil, guttural sounds breaking her ragged breaths.
Every movement was a battle against herself.

Wednesday entered the ring.
Lursh waited at the edge, offering a blanket heavy with dew.
She took it, then stepped forward.

Slow, deliberate. She did not try to stop the circles. She only waited.

The blue eyes locked on her.
The growl deepened, shaking the air.

Wednesday raised her hand, palm open.

“Enid…”

The wolf trembled, shoulders convulsing, on the edge of striking or surrender.

Wednesday closed the distance.
Her hand pressed against the trembling fur, sliding along the tense neck.
She leaned her forehead against the beast’s.

“You won’t lose me.”

The words fell like stones into still water, rippling outward.

A broken sound tore from Enid’s throat, part howl, part sob.
Her body shuddered, claws retracting, flashing out, retracting again.
Her breath stuttered, near breaking.

Wednesday stayed, her voice lower still:

“Even if everything falls apart… I’ll be here.”

And the wolf yielded.
Slowly, the fur receded.
Shoulders narrowed.
Hands returned.
The ragged breaths softened into something fragile, human.

Enid collapsed to her knees.
Wednesday was already there, catching her, wrapping the blanket around her bare form, holding her tight.

Her lips brushed her ear.

“I’ll be here.”

Enid’s shaking hands clutched at the fabric, at Wednesday, at the one thing that never let go.

The clearing stilled.

------------------------------------------

By the cabin, the fire was sinking, flames swallowed into embers.
The mist clung thick to the trees, as though the forest held its breath.

They gathered around the circle. Gomez crouched low, poking faint sparks with a stick.
Morticia sat, her hands folded, eyes sharp on the glow.
Pugsley hugged his knees, staring at the shifting light.
Across from them, Murray and Esther had finally sat, faces carved by exhaustion.
Esther stared into the fire, her eyes shadowed, as if afraid of what they reflected.

The silence thickened until Pugsley’s voice cut through, low, unsure:

“Why… why could she change like that? In daylight?”

The words hung. Murray breathed deep, his hands clamped to his knees.

“Because she’s an Alpha.”

The fire cracked. Esther flinched. Gomez lifted his eyes but stayed silent.

Murray’s voice roughened.

“I always knew, somehow. Since she was small. Her eyes… her way of holding herself.
She never followed, even when she tried. Everything in her said she would not bend.
But I looked away. Because I knew what it meant.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“An Alpha doesn’t wait for the moon. They aren’t bound by cycles. They choose.
And the cost is heavier: more solitude, more weight to carry.”

His fists clenched.

“I told myself she’d never have to bear it. So I pretended. And now…”

His words died in the mist.

Esther lifted her head at last. Her gaze flicked to her husband, then faltered toward Morticia,
as if drawn there against her will. Her voice cracked, raw:

“So it wasn’t the moon. Not me. Not anger. It was her.”

Her fingers twisted her dress.

“For the first time, she stood against me. She changed because she had a reason. And it wasn’t me.”

The silence deepened.

“It was Wednesday.”

The name struck the air like truth long denied.

Esther’s shoulders shook faintly, her voice breaking.

“I was always afraid for her. That she’d be left out. That no pack would hold her. That she’d stay small, weak, cast aside.
So I pushed. I forced her to bend. I thought that was how to love her.”

Her lips quivered.

“But I was wrong. She isn’t weak. She isn’t alone. She never was. Because she had Wednesday.”

She could not say more.

Gomez finally placed his stick down, his voice steady, calm:

“And you saw it. That wasn’t weakness. That was strength waiting to rise.”

Esther shut her eyes, the weight of it all pressing in.
When she opened them again, there was no anger left. Only loss... and the faintest shadow of understanding.

Morticia spoke at last, low but certain:

“You thought she had to find her pack. But she already has.”

Esther lowered her head. She didn’t deny it.
The truth had already settled.

The fire hissed, throwing sparks into the mist.
Pugsley hugged his knees tighter, silent.

And then footsteps came through the fog.

Wednesday appeared first, tall, steady, her hand clasped firmly with Enid’s.
The girl leaned into her, draped in the blanket, her hair damp, her face pale, but her blue eyes clearer than they had been in weeks.
Thing darted ahead of them, restless, while Lursh closed the path behind like a sentinel.

No one spoke.
But in that silence, everyone knew something irreversible had shifted.

Chapter Text

The circle froze when Wednesday and Enid reappeared between the trees. The young wolf, still trembling, moved forward beneath the oversized blanket. Her hair clung to her face, her eyes, veiled with exhaustion, seemed to lose themselves somewhere between two worlds. Wednesday never let go. Her fingers were firmly knotted with hers, like a chain no force could break. Thing bounced nervously at their side, while Lursh brought up the rear, imposing and silent, like a protective shadow.

Around the fire, silence grew heavy, dense as the mist that smothered the clearing. The pale light of late morning filtered through the trees, accentuating Enid’s spectral pallor. Gomez lifted his chin slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with a restrained, almost menacing glint. Pugsley, mid-motion, let his knife freeze, the piece of wood forgotten in his hand. Murray drew in a deep breath, as though air had been missing for hours. Even Esther, stiff as stone, faltered for a fraction of a second: it was no longer the beast. It was her daughter.

Enid stopped at the edge of the circle. Her fingers tightened further around Wednesday’s, as if she knew this contact would be the last for a long time. That was when Wednesday felt another gaze pressing on her, sharper even than Enid’s. Morticia. Black met black. No words. Only a mute certainty, a silent pact. Wednesday understood.

She slowly loosened her grip. And it felt as if something tore out of her, a vital piece ripped away raw. The warmth of that hand slipped from hers, and with it a breath, a pulse, a certainty. She had already left Enid once, the day before, to step outside. But this was different. This time, she was entrusting her. To someone else. And each step that pulled them apart struck like a muffled blow against her ribcage.

Esther, who had risen and approached quietly, adjusted the blanket over her daughter’s shoulders, brushed back a lock of hair, then guided her toward the cabin. Before crossing the threshold, Enid turned. Her blue eyes locked on Wednesday’s, heavy with a silence louder than all the words they had never dared to speak. Then the door closed.

The emptiness was immediate. Brutal. Wednesday remained standing, unmoving, staring at the dark wood as if she could pierce it by sheer will. Every muscle in her body was clenched, taut toward that place where Enid no longer was. Behind that door, a part of herself had vanished. Torn away.

At last, she sat by the fire. Straight, rigid, her hands clenched on her knees, her gaze never leaving the cabin. Thing scrambled up against her, drumming nervously on her boot as if trying to replace that severed link.

Gomez, seated nearby, watched her in silence. His face remained grave, motionless. But he said nothing. He knew.

Pugsley finally lowered his eyes to the motionless knife in his hand, then lifted them back to his sister. He had always believed her invulnerable, untouchable. But now he saw. She wasn’t cold. She was broken by absence. And for the first time, he understood how deeply Enid had fractured her armor.

An even denser silence settled around the fire, until Murray spoke. He hadn’t moved, sitting heavily, elbows braced on his knees. His voice was low, grave, direct.

"You brought her back."

Wednesday turned her head. Their eyes met.

"Thank you."

A simple word. But heavy. As heavy as the one another mother had already murmured days before.

------------------------------------------------

Inside the cabin, the gray light of late morning filtered through the ill-joined planks. The air still carried the scent of fire and damp earth. Esther had guided her daughter to the bed and helped her sit. Then she remained close, her hands gripping the wood of the frame, unable to truly step back.

Enid pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as if she could vanish inside it. Then, hesitantly, she reached for the bag Thing had left by the wall. Her fingers drew out a dark shirt, pants too large, and a T-shirt she recognized instantly. The one she had given Wednesday, back when they returned to Nevermore.

A breath escaped her. She pressed the fabric to her face. It still carried that scent: Wednesday’s, a mix of rain, ash, and something more elusive. Pulling it over her head, she felt as if she regained a fragment of the anchor she had lost, as if the cotton gave her weight again in this world.

Esther watched in silence. Too close to ignore her every move, too clumsy to know what to say. Her fingers tangled, restless, as if holding back from reaching out.

"It… it suits you" she finally whispered, awkward.

Enid lowered her eyes. The T-shirt fit perfectly, as if it had always been hers. Her hand brushed slowly over the cotton, lingering on the familiar scent clinging to it. It wasn’t just clothing. It was presence.

Esther inhaled, her gaze wavering between pride and fear.

"You’ve changed."

It wasn’t reproach. Not an accusation. A fragile observation, one that overwhelmed her.

Enid lifted her tired blue eyes for a moment.

"Maybe. But I’m still me."

The silence thickened, almost tangible. Esther opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it again. Her hands trembled faintly against the wood of the bed. At last, she spoke again, softer:

"I don’t understand."

Enid turned her head.

"What?
— Everything. You. This strength. What you’ve become."

Her tone wasn’t sharp. Not cutting. Almost a confession.

Enid lowered her eyes to her hands. Her fingers loosened slightly on the black fabric.

"I haven’t understood everything either. But… I wasn’t alone."

Esther held her breath, as if that single word awakened a truth too painful.

"Wednesday."

Not a question. A statement.

Enid lifted her eyes, blue and clear despite her fatigue.

"Yes."

Silence fell again. But it wasn’t the same. Less cutting. Heavier with the unsaid. Esther finally met her daughter’s gaze and found no defiance there. Only quiet certainty.

She brushed a hand across her forehead, clumsy, as if the old gesture could erase years of doubt.

"I’ve been afraid for you, she said. All your life. That you’d always remain apart. That no one would…" She faltered, searching for words. "That no one would truly see you."

Enid drew in a slow breath, as if each word weighed on her chest. Then she answered, calm, firm:

"She did." Her fingers clenched on the T-shirt. "She saw me."

Esther froze, unable to look away. A long silence stretched before she whispered, her voice breaking:

"You love her, don’t you?"

Enid didn’t blink.

"I loved her the moment I met her." Her fingers gripped the cotton tighter. "I just hid the truth. Because… I thought it wasn’t possible. Not for me. Not for what I was."

She inhaled again, harder, but her words stayed clear.

"It’s not just… friendship. Not a roommate, not even a sister of heart. It’s… deeper. As if everything I had searched for without knowing had taken shape the day I met her." Her lips trembled.
"She challenges me. She sees my weaknesses, my flaws, my instincts. And she never looks away. She accepts me. She keeps me standing when I collapse."

Her voice cracked, but she pressed on, almost in a whisper:

"I thought I was nothing. A shadow in a pack that never wanted me. And then… she said my name. Just that. And for the first time, I existed."

Tears slid down her cheeks, unchecked.

"She’s everything, Mom. I’d give my life for her, without hesitation."

Esther remained motionless. Then, slowly, she shook her head. Her voice softened, tipping finally into admission:

"That she’s a girl… it never mattered, Enid. It never will."

Her eyes lifted, glinting despite themselves.

"All I ever wanted was for you to be strong. To find your place. I thought it had to be with our pack, that it was the only way. But I was wrong." Her hands trembled faintly, her lips tightening.

"I’m sorry... So sorry."

A gentler silence filled the air, weighted with everything they had never managed to say. Enid froze for a moment, her shoulders shaking with barely-stifled sobs. Then, finally, she gave in.

And when Esther opened her arms, awkward, hesitant, Enid slid into them. She buried her face against her mother’s shoulder, finding a refuge she hadn’t sought in a long time.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled faintly, swallowed by the mist. Each dying ember spat out a spark only to be smothered at once, as if even the light itself refused to survive. The clearing seemed suspended out of time. Gomez, Pugsley, and Murray had vanished into the woods with Lursh and Thing. Only Morticia and her daughter remained.

Wednesday paced before the hearth. Her boots carved a line into the damp grass, returning again and again to the same point, like an obstinate pendulum. Her arms, first clasped behind her back, sometimes folded against her chest, as if trying to contain a shiver she refused to admit. At regular intervals, her gaze slipped toward the shut cabin.

Morticia sat still, impassive. She didn’t speak yet. She waited.

At last, Wednesday stopped short. Her voice fell, brief, sharp:

"I can’t bear her absence."

She drew a breath, as if to smother what had just escaped her. But the dam was already cracked. Her throat tightened, and the words spilled despite her:

"When she’s here… every breath, every gesture hooks me. It’s suffocating. But when she’s not… it’s worse. It’s a void. As if a part of me had been torn away."

She clenched her fists, resumed her pacing, quicker now, more restless.

Morticia tilted her head slightly. Her voice, soft and implacable at once, split the silence:

"What frightens you?"

Wednesday froze. Her black eyes fixed on the dying embers. Her shoulders flinched just barely, as if the question had struck deeper than she allowed.

A long silence stretched. Then her voice rose, low:

"She isn’t herself anymore. She’s… extinguished. Silent. As if everything that kept her standing had vanished. And I should be able to walk away. But I can’t. I stay. Because even reduced to this… she holds me."

Her hands, clasped behind her back, loosened for an instant. Then snapped shut again, like traps.

Morticia said nothing. Her dark, steady gaze followed each fracture opening in her daughter’s voice.

Wednesday went on, lower still, each word torn like a splinter:

"I built walls. My whole life. Nothing got through. Not even you. It was… necessary. My way to survive." Her breath grew heavier. Her eyes slid toward the closed cabin. "And she… she walked in. Without asking. Without knocking. She broke all of it."

Her lips pressed tight, as if the admission burned as it left her. After a pause, the words dropped, stiff:

"I tried to push her away. To mend it. But I couldn’t."

Her voice cracked. Her shoulders straightened at once, as if her body still struggled to hold against a truth it could no longer deny.

Morticia finally spoke. Her low voice did not tremble:

"What broke your armor?"

Wednesday blinked. Her lips parted, but no sound came at first. Then, barely more than a breath:

"Her light."

Morticia remained still, but her black eyes never left her daughter’s.

Wednesday resumed her pacing, slower now, as if each step weighed her down further. Her fingers opened and closed, grasping at an invisible thread.

"Before… she overflowed, she said at last. Too much laughter, too many colors, too much faith in everything that exasperated me. She filled the air. And I thought… I could endure it. Bear her. Without letting her touch me." Her breath faltered. Her eyes closed for an instant.
"But she saved me. Not once. Not twice. She gave everything she had. Until she broke."

The fire cracked sharply, and Wednesday turned her head for a second toward the hearth. Her words lingered in the air, heavier than the smoke.

"When she left… it wasn’t only the absence. It was as if… everything went dark around me. I knew I could survive without her. But I didn’t want to."

She stopped cold. Her back straight, her neck stiff. Her lips trembled faintly.

"I thought I’d find her dead. And I was ready to die with her."

Her black eyes lifted, gleaming with a rare, fevered light.

"So when she came back… even reduced to the shadow of herself… I understood I would never be able to let go."

A deep silence fell, heavier than the mist. Wednesday stood frozen, fists clenched, her gaze pinned to the cabin.

She turned sharply, resumed her pacing, but her steps no longer had the same firmness. They echoed like stifled confessions.

Morticia only followed her with her eyes. Then, without softening:

"And now?"

Wednesday stopped. Her fists uncurled. Her arms dropped to her sides. She drew a breath, turned her head toward the closed door.

"I won’t let go anymore. I’ll stay where she breathes."

A long, suspended beat. Morticia already knew. She didn’t need to push her daughter further.

"I lo…"

The cabin door opened.

Gray light spilled outside like a cold blade. Esther appeared, supporting Enid by the arm. The young wolf had regained a little strength, enough to stand, and wore the black T-shirt Wednesday knew by heart. The one Enid had once given her.

Wednesday froze. The words shattered in her throat. Her black eyes met Enid’s, veiled with fatigue but fixed on her, unwavering.

In that silence cut short, everything unsaid still vibrated, suspended.

Chapter Text

The afternoon stretched into a strange torpor. The sun filtered in bursts through the mist, never quite warming the damp air. Exhausted, Enid had returned to the bed in the cabin. She hadn’t said anything, simply reached out a hand when Wednesday entered. Wednesday hadn’t spoken either. She had removed her cardigan, lain down beside her, and their bodies had adjusted as though the place had always been reserved.

They had fallen asleep like that, without resistance, their breaths mingled. Wednesday still felt the fatigue weighing on every muscle of Enid’s body, and Enid, for her part, heard under her ear the obstinate rhythm of that heart beating too fast. Neither of them had broken the quiet. There was nothing to say. The world could wait outside. The afternoon belonged to them entirely, and all they did was sleep, curled in each other’s arms, as if in a single gesture reclaiming what the days of fear had stolen.

Night settled without struggle, laying its veil of mist over the clearing. The fire, still bright, diffused the acrid warmth of roasted venison. Voices circled around the ring, peaceful for the first time in a long while: Gomez, theatrical, launched into an implausible anecdote, Pugsley replied with his usual antics, Murray added a word or two, and even Esther allowed a discreet smile. Morticia, straight and immovable, observed the scene with an attentive eye, as if nothing could escape her.

Enid, dressed in Wednesday’s dark clothes, ate in silence. The flames reflected in her blue eyes, still clouded with fatigue, and her silhouette seemed to anchor itself closer to Wednesday’s. The scent of charred wood clung to her hair, the warmth of the flames brushed her cheeks, and for the first time in days she felt a fleeting echo of safety. The young Addams, rigid and unmoving at her side, said nothing, but her presence alone thickened the hush.

When the plates were emptied and the fire reduced to a bed of glowing embers, Gomez spoke. His warm voice rose, solemn:

"Tomorrow, we will leave these woods."

At those words, Wednesday felt a breath escape her. Her neck stiffened, her fingers clenched around the edges of her cardigan. The idea of departure echoed like a threat: after weeks of living in these woods, after bringing Enid back from the clearing and opening her eyes thanks to her mother, the possibility of separation carved a brutal gulf within her.

The flames cracked in the cool air. Esther lifted her head slightly. Her eyes settled on Enid, soft but firm.

"Enid… you are not bound to follow us. The choice is yours."

At her side, Morticia added, her voice low and clear:

"You may return with your own… or remain with us."

The two voices, different but harmonized, answered one another like one.

Enid remained still, surprised. Her fingers instinctively sought Wednesday’s. She looked for her mother’s gaze, then Morticia’s, before turning her eyes to Wednesday. The black eyes fixed on her did not move. But they burned, and Enid felt that burn like a summons.

Her throat tight, she inhaled. Her voice emerged low, hesitant but steady:

"I… I’ll think about it."

Not yet an answer. But already a promise: that she would not run from the choice.

Around the fire, no one added anything. Voices resumed, lighter, floating above the embers as if nothing had been said. But beneath the surface, the words of Esther and Morticia lingered, heavy and searing... and Wednesday, immovable, breathed faster than she wished.

Outside, the fire was already dying when they returned to the cabin. The wood smelled of cold ash and damp air. The planks creaked beneath their weight.

The bed barely groaned as they slid into it. Since the nightmare, they had taken the habit: Enid curled against Wednesday, and Wednesday enclosed her. This night, Wednesday’s body truly relaxed. Her shoulders no longer sliced the air, her neck no longer sought an angle of escape. She breathed, simply, following Enid’s rhythm, as though their chests traded air at the same pace.

A long stillness filled the room. Only the wind’s breath, the wood’s shifting, and in that small space, Wednesday’s heart, too loud for Enid to ignore. The wolf said nothing at first. She let her fingers linger on the hem of Wednesday’s dark pajama top, smoothing the cotton as one soothes a pulse beneath the palm.

"You okay?" murmured Wednesday, very low.

Her voice carried none of its former hardness. It was a soft inflection, almost awkward, as though she feared breaking the night with words too sharp. Enid nodded against her, a movement brushing Wednesday’s collarbone.

"Yes… Here, yes."

Wednesday nodded without speaking. Her hand, until then immobile, settled, at last, into the hollow of Enid’s back. A simple caress, without insistence, a mute promise to remain. Enid sighed, sinking deeper into the cradle of her shoulder.

Time slid by. They did not try to fill it. A plank creaked, enough to vibrate through Wednesday’s palm against the bedframe. Outside, a branch scraped against the canvas of a tent, then nothing. Enid shivered; Wednesday, in a practiced gesture, pulled the sheet higher across her hips, then tilted her head slightly, just enough to see Enid’s profile in the dark. Her nose, her cheekbone, a blond strand crushed against her skin. She held back the impulse, to brush that strand away, and did nothing. Enid, however, felt it all the same.

"Since when has your heart been beating like that? murmured Enid, scarcely amused.

— Like what?

— Faster."

A pause. Then, very softly, Wednesday replied:

"Since you came back."

The phrase hung between them, unbroken. Enid closed her eyes, and against her chest, she heard the cadence quicken again, as though sealing the confession.

"Sorry, she whispered.

— For what?

— For… doing this to your heart."

Once, a sharp retort might have come. It didn’t. Wednesday searched for words, and when they came, they were simple:

"It’s not… unpleasant."

Enid’s smile was felt more than seen. She lifted her shoulder the slightest bit, rubbing her cheek against Wednesday’s warm skin. The dark fabric stirred between them like a second breath.

"You’re quiet tonight, Enid remarked after a while.

— I keep watch" Wednesday answered.

Nothing more. Enid received the word like one closes a hand around something fragile. She stayed silent a long time, then resumed, on the same quiet thread:

"When I fall asleep… it’s like falling. But when you’re here, I… I fall less.

At last, Wednesday moved. Her thumb, until now lost at the sheet’s edge, traced slowly up Enid’s side in a gesture tiny, almost absent. She had wanted to say she would stay, she wouldn’t let go, that she didn’t care about tents, manors, or places, that geography mattered less than this point where their bodies touched. The words remained trapped. Her thumb made the path a second time, slower.

"Wake me if it comes back, she said instead.

— I’ll wake you" Enid promised.

Outside, the fire remembered itself, cracked one last time. Inside, the darkness seemed softer, as if it had grown accustomed to circling them without biting. Enid shifted slightly to better see Wednesday. She had to lift her head. Wednesday, for her part, lowered her gaze at last; their eyes met.

A long moment passed without anything passing — nothing but a shared breath, a suspended instant. Wednesday’s black irises fixed on Enid’s blue with a new intensity: no defiance, no resistance, but total attention, as though every micro-movement under Enid’s skin was a text to read. Enid blinked, but did not break the line.

"I was afraid, she said very softly… that you’d leave me.

— I couldn’t have.

— I know… But I was afraid anyway."

Wednesday drew in a breath too high, one Enid felt more than heard. Her hand at Enid’s back grew firmer. She searched for the right phrase; she found only one, almost bare:

'Stay'

She had wanted to add with me, but didn’t.

Enid lifted her eyes, her lips trembling, but her voice was clear:

"I won’t leave."

Their gazes remained suspended, long, burning. Black against blue. The hush thickened. Their faces drew closer, their breaths mingled, hesitant.

And this time, there was no detour.

Enid’s lips found Wednesday’s in a kiss fragile, trembling, but true.
A bare contact, held for a breath, enough to shake everything they had never said.
Wednesday stayed frozen for a second, then yielded, unable to pull back.

When they parted, their foreheads remained pressed together. Silence still vibrated between them.
Wednesday, eyes closed for a moment, tightened her embrace, harder, as if their bodies could melt into one.
Enid let herself be taken, without resistance, her eyelids half-closed, breathing this closeness that seemed endless.

They remained like that, motionless, wrapped in the sound of rain against the wood, in their mingled breaths.

Nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

The Packard purred up the shadowed drive.
The gate closed behind them with a lingering groan, like a cage latching shut.
The manor rose out of the night, wide, bristling with gargoyles, stained glass spilling shaky colors across wet stone.

Lurch climbed down from the driver’s seat. A towering silhouette, unflinching, he circled the car and opened each door in turn. Morticia emerged first, a dark blade of silk. Gomez followed, vitality spilling into the damp air. Pugsley tumbled out with his bag dragging, eyes alight at the thought of reacquainting himself with the basement. Thing leapt from the trunk and scuttled, fingers fizzing with excitement.

Wednesday stepped onto the gravel. Two steps, then she stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned back to Enid. She held out her hand.

It was such a simple gesture it filled the entire space. The others’ footsteps dimmed. There was only the two of them, suspended in it.

Enid hesitated, arms still crossed, body leaning away as if refusing to move. But her gaze slid toward that open hand. Her heart stuttered. She might have looked away; the hand remained, steady, offered—not an obligation, a certainty.

The shadow of the kiss surged back the instant their fingers touched. Heat. Surprise. Vertigo. A spark jumped from palm to palm; Enid gasped. Wednesday’s fingers closed, firm, not harsh, anchoring the shock in the present.

They climbed the stairs together and crossed the threshold hand in hand, with the weight of that kiss between them, undiminished.

—

The week did not so much pass as unfold, a ribbon of days tied loosely around them. The manor breathed its odd rituals: staircases that led briefly nowhere, portraits that watched back, a conservatory that smelled of damp earth and sleepy carnivores.

They learned the rhythm of dinners. Gomez made toasts that required a sword; Morticia approved with the lift of an eyebrow. Pugsley tested small explosions that rattled the silverware. Thing cheated at chess and lost magnificently. Enid ate without appetite at first, then better; no one said anything about it, which helped.

The nights were a steady return. They slept exactly as they had the first evening. Enid curled into Wednesday, Wednesday around her—because doing otherwise would have required an explanation neither of them could give. The space between them shrank without vanishing. Silence gathered there, alert and alive.

On the second morning, Lurch found Enid in the kitchen, elbows on the cold marble, hair tied badly. He slid a cup of thick coffee in front of her and a plate of blackened toast beside it. She smiled like someone discovering a new element.
“Thank you, she said.
- Uhhhhn,” he replied, which in Lurch-ese meant you're welcome.

On the third day, Pugsley offered Enid something that looked like a muffin and hissed faintly.

“It bites back, he warned, delighted.
- So do I,” Enid answered, delighted in return.

They reached an understanding.

On the fourth day, Wednesday played the cello in the music room. The house seemed to lean in to listen. Enid sank into an armchair that had opinions and let the sound wrap her. It was not a lullaby, exactly. More a spine, something to hold her upright from the inside. When Wednesday looked up and found her there, she did not smile, but the bow softened.

—

Morticia came upon Enid in the garden in the late afternoon, among roses that preferred moonlight to sun. The air was cool; the earth, dark and slightly wet. Morticia’s shears clicked with the patience of a metronome.

“You are walking the grounds like someone mapping an unfamiliar country, Morticia observed, without looking up.
- I’m making sure I don’t get eaten, Enid said, dry.
- A sensible priority.” Morticia trimmed a pale bloom whose thorns were an argument.

“How are you, Enid?”

Enid took a breath and let it out slow.

“Mostly… fine, she said. The house helps. The people help. The quiet helps. But nights are harder.
- The night is truthful, Morticia said. It removes the tablecloth and shows the wood for what it is.”

Enid’s mouth twitched.

“Wednesday said something similar.”
- Then we are two women with good taste.” Morticia finally turned, eyes soft behind the severity.
“No one here will laugh at your fear.”

Enid nodded, throat tight. “Thank you.”

Morticia inclined her head.

“If you wish the night to be kinder, the garden is fond of company. It keeps secrets well.” She resumed her cutting. “And if you need a hand… the house has several.”

Thing waved from a trellis, offended and flattered at once.

—

Two days later, Wednesday found Gomez in the armory polishing a rapier that probably had a résumé. He handed her a cloth without comment. They cleaned in companionable silence until Gomez spoke, voice bright but edged.

“You have that look, mi corazón. The one your mother had when she first learned the difference between a maze and a map.
-I don’t get lost,” Wednesday said.
- Exactly, Gomez said, delighted. And yet. Some paths are not to be solved. They are to be walked. Slowly. Even when one is an Addams.”

Wednesday’s jaw flexed.

“I dislike the implication that I am… predictable.
- Who said that? Gomez’s eyes warmed. You are a storm. But even storms must choose where to rain. he sobered, softer. Your heart...
—is mine to manage,” she cut in, but without her usual blades.

He bowed to that.

“Then I shall only say: when an Addams gives, we do not take it back. We do not bargain with it. We endure it. Joyfully.”

Wednesday looked down at her reflection in the steel, small and dark.

“I am trying not to be careless,” she said.

Gomez smiled, the kind that hurt a little.

“Care is not the enemy of passion. Cowardice is.”

He kissed her hair, very quick, very Gomez.

“Now, come. Pugsley is experimenting with soup.”

—

Time found its balance: a meal that exploded only once; a nap on a sofa that had teeth; mornings in which Enid helped Lurch in the kitchen, evenings when Wednesday played and did not ask who was listening. They orbited each other with impossible precision, never colliding, never straying far. The kiss hovered between them like a held note, accumulating gravity.

On the seventh night, as the family assembled for dinner and the chandelier hummed with a frequency only ghosts appreciated, Gomez raised a glass.

“Tomorrow, he announced with theatrical modesty, we return to Nevermore.”

The word settled in the room like ash. Enid’s hand found the back of Wednesday’s chair and stayed there. Wednesday did not move, but her breath leaned toward Enid. Morticia’s gaze touched them both, light as a fingertip, then moved on.

No one cheered. No one protested. The Addams simply accepted the turn in the road, as they always did. After all, the music would bring them back from death. It had before.

That night, the house was almost gentle. Doors did not slam. The stairs sighed rather than groaned. And in the room where the moon carved its tame rectangle on the floor, two girls lay awake longer than the night expected, waiting for a truth neither of them was quite ready to speak.

Chapter Text

The manor was holding its breath. In the bedroom, the moon carved a pale rectangle on the floorboards. The rest was nothing but night, sheets, warm skin, breath against breath.

They were lying against each other, as they had every night since *there*. Wednesday’s arm rested beneath Enid’s neck, her hand lying on the blanket just above her ribs. Not heavy. Present. Every time Enid closed her eyes, she felt that palm, and it kept her awake more surely than any nightmare.

“I don’t sleep anymore,” Enid whispered.

The faintest shift, a rustle. Wednesday’s eyes, dark and open in the shadows.

“Since when?” 
 - Since…
- Me neither.”

The answer fell without effort, so simple it twisted Enid’s heart. She swallowed, searching for a breath that wouldn’t stumble against Wednesday’s.

“During the day, it’s easier, she went on softly. I keep myself busy. I pretend. I listen to you play music. I laugh when your father makes speeches over the soup.
- You don’t need to pretend, said Wednesday. 
- Yes, I do. Enid breathed. Otherwise… there’s only the night.”

A silence,  just a breath.

“You breathe, and it’s as if every breath reminds me that… she stopped, her mouth dry. That it doesn’t fade.”

Wednesday didn’t move. Her face was still close, too close for Enid to hide anywhere but in those eyes.

“Do you want me to move away? asked Wednesday, so low it could have been a thought. 
- No, Enid said too quickly. No.”

Another beat. Wednesday gave the slightest nod.

“Then tell me where to put my hand.”

Enid’s gaze slid toward that still palm on the blanket. She wanted to seize it, to keep it there forever, to throw it as far away as possible. Nothing between those two desires seemed livable.

“I don’t know, she admitted. Nowhere. Everywhere. 
-It’s… new,  
- New, Enid echoed with a joyless laugh. I call it a fire.  
- It’s the same thing, said Wednesday. Just with other images.”

Enid stared, shaken by the naked honesty in that voice. Something rose to her throat, and she swallowed it wrong.

“You speak as if you could name what this is, she whispered. And you don’t.  
- If I name it, it becomes real, Wednesday answered. 
- It already is.”

Wednesday flinched. Her hand on the blanket tensed a fraction, then went still again. Enid followed the tiny gesture as if her life depended on it.

“And you? Wednesday pressed. Do you want to name it? 
- I can’t breathe when I try, Enid confessed. So no. Not yet.”

Their foreheads were so close Enid felt Wednesday’s breath graze her lips. She turned her head slightly, as if the moon had shifted the world by a single degree.

“I lie down against you, and I tell myself: tonight I’m strong. And then you move barely, you breathe, you sink into the pillow and… it all comes back. The cabin. The cold. Your hands. Your eyes. And then it’s worse, because I stay still and wait for it to pass. But…” 
- It doesn’t,Wednesday finished. 
You—
I feel it.”

The words poured out. Not long pauses, just waves carrying them closer to the edge.

“And you? Enid asked. What do you do with it at night?
- I count, said Wednesday. 
- Count what?” 
- Your breaths.”

Enid closed her eyes a second. It hurt more than everything else. She wanted to answer with something clever, light, sharp—anything to keep from being bare. Words refused to obey.

“I hear you even when you hold your voice back, Wednesday added.   
- And you say nothing.  
- Because if I speak, I’m afraid of saying…” The phrase stuck in her throat. 

“Saying what?  
- Too much.”

Silence brushed past them, a single breath, before the conversation resumed.

“Say something… even a little, Enid pleaded. Say… I don’t know. Say you haven’t forgotten. Say it wasn’t a dream… 
- I’m afraid, admitted Wednesday, so low Enid thought she misheard. 
- Of me?” 
- Of what I feel when I’m near you.”

There was no wall after that. The word hung between them like a glowing thread. Enid stared at it, both fascinated and terrified.

“I’m tired of being brave in silence, Enid whispered. 
- I’m tired of being careful,” Wednesday answered.

Something gave way. Not restraint, not yet, but an invisible point of balance. Enid breathed as if surfacing, turned her face toward the ceiling, then toward the window. She couldn’t stay in bed anymore. She gently pushed Wednesday’s arm aside and sat up, the sheets wrinkled around her waist.

“Stay,” said Wednesday without holding her back. Her voice wasn’t a command. Just a wish.

Enid’s bare feet touched the cold floor. The shock of the temperature caught her breath. She stood, took two steps, then three. The window, the wall, the window. She walked. Silent, or almost. Her hands searched for a place: before her, on her elbows, in her hair. None fit.

“Enid, Wednesday murmured behind her. 
- Talk to me, Enid answered without turning. Talk to me so I don’t have to… she stopped, the phrase too heavy. 
- I’m talking to you, said Wednesday. I’m here.  
- Say something other than I’m here.  
- I’m listening.  
- It’s not enough.  
- Tell me what to say.  
- If I have to tell you, it means nothing. 
- Then come back, said Wednesday. 
- I can’t. Not while… she bit her lip. Not while this is stuck in my chest.”

She froze before the window without looking outside. The moon cast a whitish halo over the frame. Her eyes burned, but the tears still clung stubbornly.

“I told myself it was adrenaline,” she whispered. “The cold. The fear. The urgency. I told myself it would fade with the manor’s warmth, with your parents talking too loud, with Pugsley blowing things up in the basement. I told myself: Enid, you’re ridiculous, breathe, it will be fine. 
- And?” 
- It gets worse.”

A strangled laugh escaped, nothing like a laugh. The tears broke, finally. They spilled silently, surprising even her own lips. She lifted a fist to hide her face, but the hand fell. It was useless.

“I see you everywhere in this house,” she breathed. “In your walls, in your music, in the hallways. And at night…” She inhaled too sharply. “At night it’s worse, because you’re really here.”

Behind her, Wednesday had sat up. She wasn’t standing yet. She watched. She felt, deep in her chest, the words Enid didn’t dare pronounce. They were there, exact, terrifying, ready to topple everything still standing.

“Don’t say anything you’ll regret tomorrow, whispered Wednesday. 
- I’ll regret saying nothing,” Enid shot back, her voice breaking.

Walking wasn’t enough anymore. She set her palm against the wall as if the stone could absorb the excess heat. The sobs came, dry at first, then deep. She didn’t try to hide them.

Wednesday closed her eyes a second, her breath finally faltering. She would have wanted to stand immediately. She stayed still one more beat, the exact time to understand that if she didn’t move now, Enid would fall without her. 
She stood.

Her feet slid across the floorboards. She didn’t speak as she approached. She didn’t search for the right words—there were none that wouldn’t explode between their hands. She came to her, simply, and laid her fingers on Enid’s shoulders.

“Don’t touch me if it’s just to stay silent, murmured Enid, her voice caught between anger and plea. 
- I touch you because I have no other way to…” Wednesday swallowed the end of her phrase, a faint tremor running through her.

Enid didn’t turn immediately. Wednesday slid her hands from her shoulders around her chest and pulled her back, slowly, like drawing someone away from the edge of a roof. The first contact was stiff, restrained, and then everything gave way.

Enid turned into her, all at once, clutching so hard it hurt. Wednesday held her tighter still. They trembled. Enid’s tears soaked through the black shirt, marking it with a widening circle. 
They stayed like that, upright, bound, without sitting, without retreat. Wednesday’s face was lost in Enid’s hair, her lips brushing a stray lock now and then like a forbidden promise. Enid kept her eyes shut, her fingers gripping the fabric, ready to anchor there until morning if she had to.

Then, slowly, Wednesday lifted a hand. She let it glide down Enid’s arm to her cheek. Her fingers brushed the warm skin, tracing the damp path of tears. Her thumb caressed softly, as if to dry what she couldn’t stop. Then she gently turned her face toward hers. 
Enid let her, her breath trembling. Her eyes blurred again. And in that vertigo, she found the strength to whisper: 

“This would be a mistake.”

Wednesday froze. Her breath caught against Enid’s ear. Then, low, firm, burning with truth: 

“I don’t make mistakes.”

Enid raised her head, their faces so close their lips grazed. And then, finally, the silence broke. 

They kissed. 

It was violent, desperate, salted with tears. Not a tender kiss: an explosion, a raw, irrepressible need. Their fingers tightened, their bodies pressed together, as if this contact could mend the fracture. 

But when their lips parted, panting, everything still burned, unresolved.
A reprieve.
A truth impossible to bury. 

In the manor’s gothic silence, they stayed bound, on the edge of the abyss, unable to step back, unable to step forward.

Chapter Text

The black Packard screeched to a halt on the stone before Nevermore’s gates. The portal opened with its customary slowness, and already a dozen students had gathered to watch. Lurch stepped down from the front seat, walked around, and opened the door with his usual solemnity.

The first steps belonged to Gomez, theatrical as ever, raising his arms like a conqueror returning from battle. Morticia, spectral, slid to his side with her customary grace. Pugsley leapt out of the car and darted toward the shadow of a tree, a stone already in his hand.

Then came Wednesday and Enid.

Side by side, yet more distant than they had ever been. Their gazes avoided the horizon as though even the air betrayed them. A murmur rose through the courtyard: whispers, hushes, heads bending close.

Ajax moved forward first. His eternal beanie trembled imperceptibly, the snakes beneath restless. He tried a fragile smile.

— Enid… glad you’re here.

But he froze when her eyes met his. No sparkle, no light... only a dull exhaustion. His smile collapsed, and the snakes, as if ashamed, recoiled beneath the wool.

Bianca, standing back, observed. Arms crossed, her sharp gaze slid from Wednesday to Enid as if deciphering an equation far too obvious. Agnes, more discreet, stopped at a distance, but her face carried the same concern.

Wednesday endured every look with her statuesque impassivity. At her side, Enid lowered her eyes, clutching the strap of her bag as if it could anchor her.

--------------------------


The walk across the courtyard to the building doors felt endless. And when they finally stepped inside, it was like passing through an invisible wall: the bubble of the Manor had shattered, and Nevermore reclaimed its hold.

The room awaited them.

Everything was exactly as before: the stained glass windows cast their colorful light on the floor, Wednesday’s side remained a gothic fortress of black walls and immaculate order, while Enid’s exploded with plush toys, garlands, and pastel cushions.

But nothing was the same.

Enid froze on the threshold, a stranger to her own colors. Her eyes slid over the pink blankets, the lined-up stuffed animals. Suddenly, everything seemed artificial, naïve. As if the room belonged to another girl — one who no longer existed.

Wednesday entered without a word, set her bag down by her desk, and settled in as though returning to normalcy was an exercise in discipline. But even she, casting a furtive glance toward Enid’s corner, felt the dissonance.

— You should… rest, she said at last, her voice lower than usual.

Enid nodded but did not move.

--------------------------


Ajax, Bianca, and Agnes had waited until Morticia and Gomez Addams were gone before intercepting Wednesday and pulling her aside.

They stopped beneath the shadow of an old oak. Its split trunk breathed damp moss, its black branches tangling so low they seemed to cage those standing beneath.

Ajax twisted his beanie nervously, the snakes beneath unsettled.

— Earlier… Enid looked… well, she’s not like before.

Wednesday met his gaze without blinking. Bianca folded her arms, her voice low.

— Neither are you, Wednesday. You think you’re hiding, but we can see.

Wednesday stiffened, her silence louder than any defense.

Ajax tried again, clumsy, words tumbling.

— You’ve got the same look as her. As if…

He stopped, unable to finish. Agnes completed softly:

— As if you’d both come back from somewhere no one should ever go.

Wednesday lowered her eyes for a moment, fingers gripping her sleeve.
— You worry for nothing, she murmured, her voice softer than the wind.

Bianca sighed, though her gaze stayed fixed on her, less harsh this time.

— You’re not alone, Wednesday.

Ajax nodded quickly, unable to meet her eyes any longer.

Wednesday didn’t answer. But her rigid shoulders slumped by a millimeter. Enough for her friends to know they had struck true.

--------------------------


Bianca and Agnes had managed to convince Enid to join them for supper, to spend the evening with her friends. Thing encouraged her too, tapping gently at her wrist as if to whisper that she could.

Around the table, conversation stumbled forward as best it could. Enid smiled at times, forced a laugh, answered with a few words. But everything rang hollow. Her gestures lacked ease, and everyone saw it without daring to say so.

Wednesday, silent at her side, observed without interfering. Her eyes followed every flinch, every sigh, every smile that didn’t reach the eyes.

When night fell, they returned to their room together. The halls of Nevermore echoed with muffled voices, hurried steps; they walked slowly, apart from it all. Not a word. Only that heavy silence, almost painful, filling more space between them than the air itself.

Inside, Enid paused again. Her gaze drifted to her bed covered in bright colors, smiling plush toys, twinkling lights. She turned away at once, as though blinded by a glare too sharp.

Without a word, she followed Wednesday to her narrow bed, dark, perfectly made. They drew back the blanket together and slipped beneath, their bodies forced to brush by lack of space.

It wasn’t the first time they had shared a bed. But it was the first here, at Nevermore, in the midst of a familiar room suddenly made foreign.

Enid felt Wednesday’s shoulder against hers, the warmth seeping through black cotton. Her own pink sheets were only steps away, yet the thought of returning to them made her sick. They belonged to another life. To another her.

The ceiling, darkened by shadows of stained glass, seemed to press down on them. Wednesday stared into the darkness, muscles taut. Enid, unmoving, felt every heartbeat hammer against her chest.

Their breaths eventually found each other, heavy, nervous. No words came. Until Enid, in a trembling whisper, let slip:

— The full moon is coming.

Not a complaint. Not a spoken fear. Just a bare truth, dropped into the air like a cold blade.

Wednesday didn’t answer. But Enid felt her arm stiffen slightly beneath the blanket, as though her own anxieties had just found their echo.

Silence fell again. Heavier still. And beneath the too-narrow blanket, neither found sleep.

Chapter Text

The room slept under a pallid glow, filtered by the stained glass. Wednesday lay still, breathing in a steady rhythm.

At her side, Enid stirred. Her breath broke into muffled growls, her fingers clawed at the sheets.

The bed vanished.

She opened her eyes onto four narrow walls, frozen.
The air reeked of rust and rotting stone.
Before her, massive black bars, unbreakable.

She struck.
The metallic shock burst through the cell.
Pain shot up her arms, but she struck again.
Her nails split, replaced by claws that sprang in a spasm.
They scraped the iron with a shrill screech.
Sparks flew.
The smell of blood mingled with rust.

Her heart pounded, ready to burst from her chest.
Every breath clanged like a chain dragged across the floor.
She screamed, but it was no longer a human voice.
It was a guttural roar that shook the walls.

The moon, tiny in the skylight, watched her. A white eye, cold, relentless.
It judged her.
It condemned her.

The bars trembled, closing in, suffocating the air.
She gasped.
She gripped the iron until her palms split, her claws digging into flesh.
Pain mixed with rage.
She would explode.

A leap.

Wednesday opened her eyes just in time to see Enid crash down on her. The weight pinned her to the mattress. The claws sprang, ready to tear her face.

Time froze.

Wednesday felt, despite herself, a raw fear cross her gaze.

And that was what Enid saw as she woke.

The cell collapsed, the bars vanished.
Only Wednesday remained beneath her.
Her breath short, her face impassive… except in her eyes, where fear still glimmered.

A silent cry tore from Enid’s throat.
She recoiled in a bound, her claws retracting in a spasm.
Her trembling hands covered her mouth.

Wednesday rose slowly.
Her mask already sliding back into place, but not fast enough.
Enid had seen the crack.
She had seen the fear.

And that memory lingered in the silence, heavier than the looming full moon.

------------------------------

Morning came without either of them truly sleeping. Wednesday sat up, rigid, and crossed the room without a glance. Enid, still on the edge of the bed, followed her back with her eyes but said nothing.

"Do you want me to close the window? asked Wednesday, her voice neutral.
— As you wish."

That was all. The rest drowned in silence, thick, as Enid pulled on dark clothes. Her corner still burst with colors, but she didn’t touch it: her plush toys stayed aligned, her lights off.

------------------------------

The day at Nevermore unfolded in strange torpor. Enid walked the halls like a shadow, lowering her eyes at every smile seeking hers. Ajax tried a word, a gesture; she answered with a hollow nod. Bianca watched in silence, a worried crease on her lips.

Wednesday never left her side, but never intervened. Her sharp steps echoed next to Enid’s, like an inexorable metronome. Between them, only the abyss.

------------------------------

At dinner, voices rose around them. Enid picked at her plate without really eating.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Agnes dared.

Enid looked up, dropped her gaze at once.

"Yes." 

A syllable, nothing more. Bianca fixed her for a moment with her sharp eyes, but held back. Wednesday, beside her, only clenched her fork tighter.

------------------------------

Evening approached. In their room, shadows stretched, and the stained glass threw patches of red and violet across the floor. Enid mechanically arranged her things, as if it meant something.

Wednesday broke the silence.

"It’s tonight."

Enid froze. Her hands barely trembled, but she turned her gaze aside.

"I know."

Two words, cold, thrown like a barrier. And in the gulf between them, the moon was already climbing.

------------------------------

The moon cut through the bars, bursting across damp stone, carving the cell into sharp shadows. The air stank of rust, sweat, and contained fear. Every sound warped against the walls — a step, a breath, a shiver.

Enid paced, panting. Her feet slapped the stone, too fast, too jagged. Her eyes gleamed with a wild, inhuman light. Her shoulders shook beneath the jolts of the moon. She was no longer just herself: it was the wolf that growled, the wolf that spoke.

Wednesday leaned against the back wall. Straight, rigid, arms crossed. Her heart hammered too high, too hard. But her face stayed closed. She watched. She endured.

A growl rose from Enid’s throat.

"You should have left."

Wednesday did not move.
A dry, strangled laugh spat out.

"You should have run."

Her steps quickened, scraping the stone. She circled, again, again. Her voice broke into a snarl:

"You should have let me die in the mud."

She stopped short, facing Wednesday. Her eyes gleamed like blades.

"But no… the great Wednesday Addams has to save me."

She spat the words like venom.

"Because she’s incapable of staying in her damn place!"

Wednesday inhaled too sharply. But stayed silent.

Enid growled, stepped hard. Her fist slammed the wall. The stone shook, her blood sprayed. She didn’t flinch.

"You should have fled…"

Silence. Their breaths collided in the heavy air.

Enid’s voice came sharper still:

"I’M NOT SOME DAMN ANIMAL YOU CAN TRAIN!"

Wednesday closed her eyes a fraction of a second. Her fingers whitened in her palm. But she didn’t answer.

Enid’s voice cracked into a growl.

"What did you think? That you’d really save me?!"

She lunged forward, so close her breath scorched Wednesday’s face. Lips curled, teeth clenched. Wednesday lowered her head, barely. No escape. No words.

Enid struck the wall again, harder, until it cracked under the blow. Blood ran from her fingers, dripping between her nails. She staggered back, shaken, trembling. Her blue eyes blazed with rage and fever.

"Why did you have to come? she snarled. WHY?!"

Silence shattered.

Wednesday opened her eyes. Her black pupils flared. Her chest rose, shaking. And at last, her mask split. The cry burst, raw, torn, brutal:

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

The word slashed the cell like a blade.

Enid froze.
A second.
Two.
Her eyes widened, panicked.

Then a scream burst from her throat. Not a word: a wild cry, guttural, that made the walls quake. She struck the bars, the stone, until her palms split, until blood splattered the rock.

"SHUT UP!"

She recoiled, crashed into a corner, trembling, her hands over her ears as if to smother that word. Her eyes burned with rage and fear tangled, fixed on Wednesday.

Silence did not last. Her body folded. A spasm jerked her shoulders, her bones cracked, shifting under skin. Her scream broke into an inhuman howl, rending, shaking every bar.

The moon burst in her eyes. The blue drowned, replaced by a savage, icy glow. Her claws lengthened, her fangs bared, her skin gave way to the wolf.

Wednesday stayed frozen against the wall. She had seen Enid transformed before, the one who had stood between her and Esther, the one who had saved her from the puma’s attack. But this wolf had nothing of the shield.

It was no longer the ally. 
It was the alpha. 
And this time, Wednesday was not protected. 
This time, she had become the prey.

Chapter Text

The late morning sun crushed the courtyard in a harsh light. Too white, too sharp, it struck the stone and carved cutting shadows onto the terrace of their room. The air vibrated with heat, but their bodies still carried the cold of the night, lodged deep in their flesh.

Sitting outside, rigid despite the fatigue, Wednesday held her cello. The bow slid in jerks, each note dying instantly, broken. It was no melody: it was a body refusing to yield, a muffled rage turned into dissonant sound. Her eyes fixed the void ahead, but her hollowed features spoke of the sleepless night she had endured.

The rose window turned, a warm draft entered. Enid appeared in the doorway.

Barefoot, a blanket on her shoulders, hair in disarray. She moved slowly, each step too heavy, as if the ground threatened to open. Her face bore fatigue, but her eyes shone with a taut, dangerous gleam. The wolf had not disappeared.

She stopped. The music vibrated between them, painful, almost unbearable.

"Wends…"

Her voice was low, hoarse. The bow continued, obstinate.

A pause. Then Enid inhaled, shaken.

"You shouldn’t have…"

The string screeched, false. Wednesday stopped, but did not lift her head.

"Not like that…"

Her fingers trembled on the bow. She tightened, knuckles whitening.

"Would you have preferred I lied?" she replied, eyes never leaving her instrument.

A short, bitter laugh escaped Enid.

"Do you think it was the moment? That I needed that, there, in that cage?"

Wednesday finally turned her head. Her black eyes, hollow, burned with exhaustion.

"I said what I could no longer keep inside.
— No. You spat what slipped out."

Their gazes clashed. The wind rushed in, lifting a flap of the blanket. Enid stepped forward. Her clenched jaw, closed fists, breath too fast. A growl rose from her throat, muffled. Her claws flickered out for a second, a fleeting gleam, before retracting.

Wednesday abruptly set the bow down. She stood, crossed the rose window, entered the room. The cello still vibrated a second before she leaned it against the wall. The sound resonated, heavy, like a knell.

The room closed around them. The voices of the courtyard faded.

Enid entered in turn. The blanket slid and fell onto the stone. She did not pick it up.

"Do you think we can keep going like before?" she asked, voice broken.

Wednesday shook her head, her eyes locked on her.

"It’s been a long time since anything was like before.
— You say that like it’s a reproach.
— No, it’s a fact," Wednesday replied.

Enid stepped forward, her fingers trembling. She opened them, closed them again. Her claws surfaced once more, longer this time. Her breathing hitched. Her eyes gleamed, half-blue, half-feral.

"I wasn’t ready. Not for this."

Wednesday shot back, sharp, as if shielding herself:

"And you think I was ready?"

Silence. The crack was there, gaping.

Enid clenched her fists, her claws emerging again, slicing her palm. Her voice dropped deeper, rougher, foreign:

"You chained me to something I don’t want."

The sentence fell, irrevocable.

Wednesday froze. Her eyes faltered, her chest rose too fast. She stepped back once, then again. Inside, everything shattered but no sound escaped.

She turned away. Her steps struck the stone. The door opened, a band of light split the room. She crossed the line and disappeared.

The door closed gently, like a swallowed breath.

Thing, hidden until now, crawled onto the bed. It approached Enid, hesitated, then pressed its fingers against her forearm. A tiny, stubborn pressure. I’m here.

Enid stood for a moment, her breath ragged. Then her legs gave way, she sank heavily to the floor. Her hands curled, her claws retracted.

Outside, the sun still crushed the courtyard. Inside, the room held on to the night. And between the two, there was nothing left but a gulf.

-------------------------------------

Wednesday stepped out.
The corridor swallowed her at once.
Her steps echoed on the stone, too sharp in the silence.
Every shadow stretched like a stare.
She crossed the wing without slowing, passed under arches, descended the stairs.
Her body marched straight, but inside, everything was cracking.
She reached Poe. The walls breathed. The Nightshades' library opened before her.

The library smelled of dust and cold stone. Wednesday had slid down against a wall, knees pulled tight, arms wrapped around them. Her breath hit the air, too high, too fast. Her eyes burned. She did not cry. She could not.

The door opened. Two silhouettes in the frame.

Ajax stopped dead. Bianca, behind him, froze.

Wednesday, on the floor. Broken.

The silence lasted, endless.

Ajax opened his mouth, closed it again. His throat tightened. Finally, he breathed:

"Wed..."

Not a call. A plea.

Bianca exchanged a glance with him. Her crossed arms slowly unfolded. She took a step, hesitated.

"What are you…"

The phrase died. Nothing to ask.

A silence. Thick.

Bianca drew breath, her eyes locked on the hunched figure. Her voice dropped, low, restrained, but trembling beneath:

"Last night… if we’d arrived a second later…"

The cage. The wolf howling, the bars bending. Wednesday, pinned against the stone, unable to move. Her eyes locked to hers. Frozen.

Ajax stepped back, fingers trembling in his hair. The memory of the night before was still too raw.

The clash of metal, claws striking, fear bursting everywhere. Wednesday, frozen, her back crushed to the cold wall.

She closed her eyes. Her forehead touched the library wall, softly.

Bianca crouched, not too close. Her voice dropped another notch, firm but cracked beneath:

"Why did you go into that cage…"

Hands grabbing her arms. Pulling her from the stone. She fought, nails scraping, searching to anchor. Her throat ripped by a hoarse “No!” The burn of blood clinging to the stone.

Ajax shook his head, unable to hold the silence longer.

"You could have died…" he whispered.

The cage door slamming. The metallic shriek. The wolf striking again, howling, claws tearing the iron. Wednesday held outside, her lungs on fire, her arms empty, ripped away.

In the library, silence resumed. Three ragged breaths. Wednesday lifted her eyes. Cracks gleamed in the dark. Her voice escaped only as a breath:

"I know."

Bianca held that gaze. No mask. No ice. Just bare eyes, too clear, too close.

"Don’t ever do that again."

Chapter Text

The morning opened on a harsh light, slipping through the classroom’s stained-glass windows like a dulled knife. It fell in uneven patches across the oak tables, worn down, carved with runes and claw marks left by generations of students. The cold stones still sweated with the night’s damp; the smell of wax mixed with dust gave the air a suffocating density.

Students took their seats in a muffled commotion: benches dragged, heavy books dropped with a thud, whispers drowned out by the echo beneath the vaulted ceiling.

Enid sat at the far left, against a dark column that swallowed the light. She hadn’t chosen shadow, but the blind spot, the place no one would naturally sit beside. She set her notebook on the wood, absentmindedly brushing her fingers over a claw mark left before her. Her hand lingered, hovering above the blank page.

At the opposite end, all the way in front, Wednesday. A perfect straight line, impassive, her notes aligned in ink as though every word had been pre-written. The light carved her pallor into a brutal contrast with the black of her clothes. She did not raise her eyes. She didn’t need to.

Bianca entered with measured steps, the steady clap of her boots resonating against the tiles. She swept the room with a single glance: Enid, isolated on one side; Wednesday, withdrawn on the other. Her expression didn’t shift, but she chose a central seat, an invisible junction between the two.

Ajax hesitated, then slid onto a bench behind Enid — not too close, but close enough to be there if needed. His fingers tapped nervously against the table’s edge, a rhythm he couldn’t control. Agnes climbed two rows higher, notebook still closed, her gaze already intent.

The professor’s voice cut the sudden silence. He spoke of founding myths, of standing stones and ancient curses, of how a legend could bind or break a community. Certain words hung in the air, heavy: fracture, loyalty, balance.

Enid lowered her eyes to her notebook. She drew a line that wavered.

----------------------------------------

When the bell rang, it was as if the light itself retreated a step. Students spilled into the hallway in a dense current, with the usual ripples of brushing past, catching, ignoring. Enid waited until almost everyone was gone. She knew the texture of the hallway after the bell: a river, with whirlpools along the edges.

The pack was waiting in one of those whirlpools. All that could be seen of them were shoulders, laughter that needed no joke, a way of filling space that was a decision in itself. They had aligned without seeming to. When Enid peeled off the wall, they did too, and the distance between them became a taut cord.

The shove wasn’t spectacular. It was precise. An elbow at notebook level, a bag against her hip, an unsurprised “oops.”
Enid half-turned to absorb the impact; her notebook slipped, splaying open on the floor, pages spread like wet wings.
Hollow laughter clicked into place. One of them muttered:

“You don’t stand straight, Sinclair. Need to work on your posture if you want to lead a pack.”

The word pack hit her ribs harder than the bag.

She bent to pick it up. Another hand reached it first, not one of theirs. Ajax. He lifted it without looking at her too long, handed it back as if it were fragile. His other hand, clenched on his strap, whitened at the knuckles.

“You okay, Enid?” he asked under his breath.

She nodded with mechanical precision. Her throat had the texture of paper.

Bianca cut the current with words that were anything but a whisper:

“Seriously? You need an audience to prove what, exactly?”

The group laughed again, but softer. Someone threw out:

“Relax, mermaid. We’re just playing.” Bianca stepped forward, her smile a blade.

“Then play somewhere else.”

The hallway’s mood shifted, not a wave, but a click of gazes adjusting.
The pack scattered without truly withdrawing, leaving just enough space for traffic to resume.

Enid tucked away her notebook. She wanted to thank them. The words jammed against her teeth and fell back. She met Bianca’s eyes for a heartbeat: neither pity nor fury, only a delicate calculation. Then Bianca blinked slowly, like placing a hand on a shoulder without touching.

Agnes hadn’t moved. She had only tilted her head, just slightly, as though listening for something that wasn’t noise. As Enid passed, Agnes caught the scent of rain before a storm — that precise fragrance some silences wear before breaking.

Wednesday hadn’t been there. Enid knew; she had known from the moment she stepped into the hall. It was another kind of pain: absence as proof. It didn’t change the fact that her name pounded behind Enid’s temples with the tenacity of a heartbeat.

----------------------------------------

Hours passed in Nevermore’s stone classrooms, narrow corridors, frigid chambers. The spaces seemed to tighten as Enid and Wednesday inhabited them separately. Sometimes they entered a room through opposite doors, and the air shrank by a notch. They did not speak. They did not brush past. And yet, each movement of one carried its echo in the other. It gave silence an almost physical weight.

By day’s end, the light had turned to copper. In the long ground-floor corridor, the stained glass cast pale rectangles across the dark tiles. Enid crossed one and froze. At the far end, motionless, Wednesday. They weren’t alone; traffic flowed around them like water around stone. For a fraction that warped time, the world lost its sound. Nothing happened. And that nothing cut sharp as a blade.

Enid felt the wolf stir behind her eyes, not to break free, only to watch. Wednesday inclined her head, barely. A fissure in stone widened a millimeter somewhere in her chest. Two paths that crossed without touching.

Agnes, posted at an intersection, observed the scene with the patience of a seismograph. She marked where the waves spread, how fast, how strong.

----------------------------------------

That evening, in one of Nevermore’s vast common rooms, the fireplace crackled falsely. Ajax fidgeted with a deck of cards he never opened. Bianca, leaned against the stone mantel, stared into the decorative flame. Agnes leafed through a blank notebook.

“They’re testing limits, Ajax said. They back off when we show up, but they push when we’re not there.
- They’re sniffing out the fault line, Bianca replied. That excites them." She turned her head toward Enid, who had just entered. “And they’ve found it.”

Enid froze. Eyes rolled her way for a moment. She had tucked in her shoulders, rearranged her breath, donned that mask one wears to cross a room too full. Bianca stepped forward:

“Sit.”

It wasn’t an invitation. It was a grounding stone. Enid obeyed. Ajax finally set down the cards, as though giving up a pretense. Agnes slid her notebook toward the table’s center.

“We can’t stop everything, she said. But we can map it. Hallways, staircases, after class. We can make ourselves… visible.
- I don’t want a war,” Enid murmured.

— “Nobody’s talking about war, Bianca replied. We’re talking about presence.”

Ajax added, gentler:

 “We’re talking about you.”

A silence settled, lighter than the others.

Then a burst of laughter rose from another table, unrelated to them, and the spell broke. Enid stood.

“Thank you, she whispered. I… I’m going to bed.”

They let her go. Bianca followed her silhouette with her eyes, then turned to Agnes.

“She holds herself straight so she won’t collapse.

- She holds herself straight for someone,” Agnes corrected.

Bianca didn’t answer. She already knew who.

----------------------------------------

Night came without gentleness. In their room, Enid lay awake, unable to find rest. Wednesday’s presence still hung in the air... not here, not now, but somewhere, within reach of one more heartbeat. The wolf stirred inside her, awake but restrained.

Chapter Text

The stone staircase echoed with hurried steps, but Enid climbed alone, pressed against the cold railing. Each step felt higher than the last. Two laughs echoed behind her, too measured to be innocent.

She quickened her pace. The silence grew suddenly heavier: at the turn of the landing, Wednesday appeared. Her eyes looked extinguished, yet something burned within them. She said nothing. She did not slow down. Her gaze swept over the scene, then fixed on Enid with an intensity that shattered the distance. Wednesday’s hand closed around the stone railing; her knuckles whitened, her fingers trembled for a second before regaining their marble mask. She turned her head away, as if the only way not to lunge forward was to tear herself away from herself.

One of the boys snickered, muffled:

"A wolf without a pack loses its way fast."

Wednesday remained motionless, impassive on the surface. But Enid felt her boiling. If she wasn’t already broken, she would have torn the pack apart with her bare hands.

The library held a silence too vast for them. Ajax dropped heavily onto a bench, a quill caught between his fingers. He spun it, let it fall, caught it again. Too nervous to stop.

"They’re going to strike, he whispered. I can feel it. They’re waiting for the moment, and it will be for her."

No one answered. The wood of the bench creaked under his weight. Bianca finally uncrossed her arms, but her voice stayed low:

"Enid takes it. As if she could absorb endlessly. But it shows."

Ajax clenched the quill until his knuckles turned white.

"And Wednesday…"

Bianca nodded, her eyes darkening.

"Yes. She’s boiling. Her hands tremble. We all see it. But nothing comes out. And that… that scares me more than the pack."

Ajax moved too sharply, dropped the quill, picked it up too quickly.

"Because if it comes out…"

He cut himself short, unable to go further.

Agnes, silent until then, closed her notebook with a slow motion. The sound cracked like a verdict. She said nothing.

Two sharp taps echoed on the leather cover. Thing raised its hand, hesitated for a long time, then traced, letter after letter, like a confession: don’t sleep together anymore.

Ajax’s eyes widened. A breath escaped him, almost a strangled laugh.

"Wait… they used to sleep together?"

Thing’s quick slap on his arm made him jump. Bianca skewered him with a glare. Agnes lowered her eyes. The fleeting levity died instantly, swallowed by the weight of what they now knew.

A silence harder than stone settled. Ajax finally resumed, voice low, almost ashamed:

"So… even in private…"

Bianca folded her arms tighter against herself.

"It means there’s no place left where they still hold."

Agnes said nothing. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if not to see.

Thing stayed frozen, its fingers rigid on the leather, unable to write more.

And in that shared muteness, they all understood the same thing: it wasn’t only the pack destroying Enid, nor the rage corroding Wednesday. It was this void, even in their room, that threatened to destroy them both.

The courtyard was slowly emptying. The last groups of students crossed the paved alley, their voices fading between the arches. The autumn chill seeped into the stone, carrying the scent of damp grass and fallen leaves. Under the lanterns that had begun to glow, the rough wooden tables looked darker, swollen with moisture.

Enid had sat with Ajax, Bianca, and Agnes around one of those tables. The worn planks creaked under Ajax’s movements as he spoke with too much energy for the hour.

"I swear, if I hadn’t pulled back, it would’ve blown up in my face!"

Bianca chuckled, amused but skeptical.

"You mismeasured it.
- Not at all! Ajax protested. It was Kent. He stirred like an idiot, I saw everything.
- Of course. Kent, again." replied Bianca rolling her eyes.

Agnes, upright on her bench, was already noting something down. She dropped without lifting her head:

"Unverified accusation. High probability you’re lying."

A light laugh rippled around the table. Even Enid sketched a faint smile, rare these days.

A gust lifted the dead leaves, pressing them against the cobbles before dying out. It was then that Wednesday appeared, a dark silhouette in the trembling glow of the lanterns.

Bianca looked up.

"Coming?" she asked simply.

Wednesday froze, for the length of a heartbeat. Her eyes brushed over Enid before sliding away.
She could have turned back, vanished. But she stepped forward.

She sat next to Bianca, with Agnes on the other side. Across, Ajax and Enid. The damp, cold bench groaned under her weight.

Ajax resumed his story at once, exaggerating the size of the cauldron. Bianca corrected him, Agnes added a sharp remark.
Voices and laughter returned. The lightness of an ordinary evening.

Enid raised her eyes.

Wednesday was already staring at her.

The gaze cut across the table like an invisible blade.
The noise of the others faded.
The air seemed to retract.
Enid felt her fingers stiffen against the wood, her breath lock in her chest.
Wednesday did not blink.
Her jaw tightened barely, but she held the line.

Around them, Ajax was still laughing, Bianca shook her head, Agnes turned a page.

Everything went on.

Except for them.

Chapter Text

The manor was bathed in its customary gloom. The heavy curtains allowed only a gray light to slip through, and the large oak table was filled with the ceremonial silence of an Addams breakfast: steaming tea, dark red jam, fruits with black reflections.

Lurch entered, imposing, holding a sealed envelope. He bowed slightly and handed it to Morticia.
Her eyes scanned the lines, her low voice sliding through the room like a thread of shadow.

Bianca was writing.

The words carried worry: Enid fading away, Wednesday destroying herself in turn, and above all... that night in the cage, when their daughter had brushed against death.

Morticia put down the letter, her slender fingers trembling just slightly.

"Our daughter is burning out," she whispered.

Gomez remained standing, his hand gripping the back of his chair. His dark gaze lingered for a moment on the portraits of their ancestors. Silence grew heavy, like a stone laid between them.

Morticia slipped her hand into her husband’s.

"We cannot leave her alone."

He squeezed her fingers. A simple sign, but it already sealed their decision.

---

The corridor filled with the red light of the stained glass, as if blood had spilled across the walls.
Enid moved forward, the bag pressed against her, her breath short in the suffocating silence.
Then a figure lunged.
The shoulder struck her full on, her back slammed against the stone.
A dull sound echoed.
She stifled a cry, her fingers clawed at the strap.
A burning pain shot up her arm, her cheek scraped against the cold stone.
The metallic taste of blood rose in her mouth.

Wednesday had already moved.
A sharp shadow, a sudden gesture.
She slipped between Enid and the assailant, her hand shot out and closed around the boy’s throat.
A sharp impact, then his back slammed against the wall. Wednesday’s fingers dug in, relentless, squeezing with icy strength.
His breath was cut off in an instant. His eyes rolled back, his hands clawed at the air.

"Wednesday!"

Ajax rushed forward, grabbed her arm, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear. Bianca appeared as well, her cold aura filling the corridor, her voice low but cutting:
"Let him go. We will settle this another way."

Wednesday did not move.
Her face remained impassive, but her black eyes burned with a rage Enid had never seen before.
The boy’s boots struck the stone, a guttural rattle came from his strangled throat, the veins in his neck bulged under the pressure.

Time stretched, suspended in unbearable tension.

Then, Enid moved.
Trembling, she raised her hand.
Her fingers hesitated, then came to rest, light, on Wednesday’s taut shoulder.

"Wends..."

A heartbeat.
Silence fell completely.
Then, slowly, the fingers loosened.
The boy collapsed to the floor, gasping, coughing as if his throat was tearing, before staggering to his feet and disappearing down the corridor without a word.

Wednesday turned.
Her shoulders were still stiff, her breath ragged, a shadow still burning in her pupils.
But her eyes never left Enid’s.
She seized her hand in a brusque gesture and pulled her out of the corridor at once, as if even the air had become... unbreathable.

---

The door slammed shut behind them.

Wednesday made Enid sit on her bed. She took a box from her desk, pulled out gauze and disinfectant. Her movements were sharp, precise, but her fingers still trembled. She gently pulled back Enid’s sleeve: the shoulder already bore a dark mark, the cheek a thin scratch. Wednesday dabbed the soaked cotton slowly.

"It stings, Enid whispered. 
- I know."

Silence returned. The stained glass threw red reflections on their faces. Wednesday, too close, could feel the heat of Enid’s breath.

"You shouldn’t have... Enid murmured. 
- I should have," Wednesday cut her off, without raising her eyes.

She lifted her head for a moment.
Their gazes collided.
Everything froze.

Wednesday dropped the gauze.
Her hands slipped, almost against her will, over Enid’s skin.
Their faces drew closer, pulled like broken magnets.
The kiss burst.
Not a brush.
A clash, abrupt, desperate.
Their lips met, pressed, burning.
Enid grabbed her by the shirt, pulled her closer.
Breath caught in both their throats.

Wednesday tore away, suddenly, as if burned.
She stepped back, her face shut, her black eyes gleaming with an untamed fire.

Without a word, she rose, opened the door and left.

Enid remained, alone, her heart hammering in her chest, her lips still trembling.
The room still vibrated with the kiss she had not had time to hold back.

---

Nevermore’s library slumbered in shadow. The tall shelves, standing like dark wooden walls, held the scent of dust and old leather. A few oil lamps scattered about cast trembling halos that did not reach the corners.

Ajax, Bianca and Agnes had gathered around a massive wooden table, hidden behind a row of grimoires. The Thing rested on the surface, its fingers tapping nervously, as if to fill the silence. None of them found the words.

Bianca finally broke the waiting.

"This is beyond us."

Ajax shifted under his beanie, his eyes avoiding the dark.

"She was going to kill him. I’ve never seen that in her eyes before. Even I was afraid."

Agnes, pale, wrapped her arms around herself.

"And Enid... We can’t just keep watching them fall."

A step echoed in the aisle.

Pugsley appeared between two rows of books. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his face bore nothing of the mocking boy they knew. He joined them without a word and dropped onto the bench. His eyes scanned their faces, then he whispered:

"The curse."

The silence thickened. Even the Thing stopped moving.

"In our family, he continued, it’s never said outright. But we all know it. Every Addams loves with absolute love. And that love always draws pain, loss... or danger. Not always death. But never peace." His gaze fixed on the flame of a lamp. "My father almost lost everything for my mother. And my sister... she is burning for Enid. You think this is just a crisis? No. In our family, to love is to save and to destroy at the same time."

Bianca remained still. Her eyes fixed on Pugsley, dark and hard.

"So that’s it... It’s not just fatigue, nor everything that happened with Enid. What is consuming her... 
- ... is her love for Enid," Agnes added in a whisper barely audible.

Pugsley nodded, his jaw clenched. The Thing resumed its tapping, slower now. Like a stubborn clock.

In the shadow of the shelves, the weight of the curse seemed to close in around them.

Chapter Text

The music room held a cold light. The stained glass windows cast pale bands across the floor.
Wednesday’s cello filled the air with notes cut short, never finished.

The door creaked. Enid entered, closing it behind her. She stood still for a heartbeat, then said, simply:

"You and I need to talk."

Wednesday stopped playing. She only lifted her eyes.

"You really think there is still something left to say?"

A brief silence. Enid stepped forward.

"Every time you kiss me, you run. As if I were poison. As if getting close to me was already too much."

Wednesday laid the bow down, straight.

"Because if I stay, you destroy me."

The word slapped through the room. Enid clenched her jaw but did not retreat.

"But when you run, it is me you destroy. Every time you pull away, it is me who falls further."

The cello still vibrated with an echo. Wednesday closed her eyes briefly, as if to absorb the blow.

"You think I run for pleasure? she said softly.
- I think you run because it is easier than staying, Enid shot back. You leave me talking to your walls. You leave me negotiating with your silence."

She came closer. Just one arm’s length away.

"I love you, Wends. And it kills me. It kills me because you look at me like a riddle you refuse to solve. It kills me because you give me one second of warmth and tear yourself away right after."

Wednesday’s fingers tightened. Her breath too short.

"You want a truth? she rasped. I stand upright second by second. And every second near you tears something out of me.
- Then stop kissing me, Enid replied sharply. Or stay after. Choose. But don’t leave me alone with what you trigger."

A hard silence. The stained glass groaned under a tepid air.

Wednesday stepped forward. She froze, burned by the closeness. Her voice fell, stripped bare:

"I love you."

It did not help. The word remained between them, heavy, irrevocable.

Enid gave a slight nod. No smile, no relief.

"Then stay this time."

A heartbeat. Wednesday stepped half a pace back, reflex of survival. Enid saw it. All her body noted it.

"You see? Enid whispered. You are already backing away."

Wednesday swallowed, eyes burning.

"I would not chain you to something you don't want."

The room fell back into metallic silence. Wednesday turned and left, the door slamming shut. The echo rolled long down the corridor.

Enid was left alone in the pale light of the stained glass. Her legs gave way and she sat on the floor. Her hands covered her face. A strangled sob shook her chest, then another. The cello, still upright in its corner, faintly vibrated, as if the strings remembered the aborted notes.

------------------------------------

The rumor had spread through Nevermore like a crack in stone.
They were not seen in the halls, nor in class, but everyone knew they were there.
The Addams had returned. Their very name was enough to silence conversations, turn eyes away, and press weight into an already tense air.

They had not entered the academy. Their presence settled apart, in the Rotwood's house at the edge of the grounds.
But that distance meant nothing: all of Nevermore felt it, like one senses the storm before it breaks.

That is where the small group faced them.
The house seemed to hold back the light.
Curtains filtered the day into dull bands, and the fire consumed was only a bed of embers.
Morticia and Gomez waited in the parlor, seated opposite.

"So you are the ones keeping watch," Gomez said.

No one answered at first. The word had sounded more like fact than question. Bianca broke the silence:

"Yes. But we are not enough."

Ajax nodded too quickly.

"We try, but they keep us at a distance."

Morticia leaned forward slightly, her eyes sliding across them.

"At what distance?
- Enough that they will break on their own if it keeps on."

Thing snapped its fingers, sharp. Agnes translated, calm:

"He says we do not have much time left."

A silence pressed, broken by a crack from the hearth. Bianca’s voice hardened:

"The pack is no longer content to whisper. They watch. They choose their moments.
- In stairwells, at doors… it looks like clumsiness. But it is deliberate. Ajax added, uneasy
- And no one can prove anything," Bianca finished. "That makes them more dangerous."

Pugsley lowered his eyes, his voice low:

"And every time, Enid takes a little less."

Thing slammed the armrest with a quick motion. Agnes echoed, her eyes on Morticia:

"She fades when she thinks no one is watching."

Another silence, heavier. Then Bianca, sharp:

"And Wednesday… does not take it. She exploded. You should have seen her eyes, when one came too close. We thought she would kill him."

Ajax lowered his voice, almost regretful:

"She would have. If Enid had not been there to stop her."

The silence thickened. Pugsley finally spoke, voice low but firm:

"Even when everything seems broken between them… she is the only one who can stop her."

No one answered. The fire cracked, shadows stretching on the walls like keepers of the secret just spoken.

--------------------------------------

The parlor had returned to calm after their departure.
One chair still shifted, dampness lingering in the air, but only Morticia and Gomez remained.
The fire sank low, dim light, nearly gone.

Gomez paced, unable to stand still. His hands moved behind his back, his face oscillating between shadow and exaltation.

"Querida, he said with fervor, what symphony of pain and loyalty we just heard! Our daughter painted as a creature ready to break bones with her bare hands… ah! what wonder! what tragedy!"

Morticia did not move. Her eyes traced a crack in the stone of the mantle, as if reading a truth he could not see.

"The tragedy is not that she is ready to kill, Gomez. It is that she no longer trembles at the thought of doing it."

He halted, his shoulders vibrating with contained energy.

"And Enid… Enid who holds her back! Cara mia, is it not an infernal dance? Two forces, two abysses holding to the edge and refusing to fall without each other!"

A thin smile crossed Morticia’s lips, without warmth.

"It is not a dance. It is a fracture. And each step brings them closer to the moment the ground will give way."

Gomez came closer, his eyes glittering in the dim.

"You think they will not survive this bond?
- It is not about survival. It is about choice. Love can save. But love can also kill."

Gomez gave a short, nervous laugh that died quickly.

"You and I, have we not built our whole life on this rope?"

Silence. The fire sank with a dull crack. Morticia tilted her head, her hair sliding like shadow on her shoulder.

"Perhaps," she said simply. "But we chose to fall together."

She said nothing more. And for the first time in long, Gomez stayed silent, standing in the dying light, watching her.

---------------------------------------

The bedroom was thick with shadow. Enid’s breathing broke with a start: a harsh sound came from the other bed.
Wednesday twisted in sleep, fingers clenched in the sheets, face contorted.
A word slipped from her lips, dragged from too dark a dream.

Enid sat up, heart racing. She stayed still, watching.
Then, driven by instinct, she left her bed.
Her bare steps brushed the floor until she reached the other side.

"Wends…" she whispered, leaning down.

No response.
Only a twitch, a breath quickening.
Enid stretched her hand and set her fingers on Wednesday’s arm.
Gentle, hesitant, as if the smallest touch could unleash the storm.

Wednesday’s eyes snapped open.
Instead of pushing away, she seized Enid’s wrist and pulled her down hard.
Enid fell onto the mattress, trapped in an embrace with nothing rational in it.

Silence returned, only their breaths mingled. Wednesday said nothing. Her forehead pressed to Enid’s shoulder, as if that were the only place where fear ceased.

Enid did not move. Her hand rested on her back, waiting for the breath to calm.

It came slowly: a shiver beneath her fingers, a breath breaking. Then the dam broke.
Wednesday’s body convulsed, a ragged sob tearing out, strangled as if she tried to swallow it.

Enid tightened her arms, holding against the storm.

Then the tears came, violent, unstoppable, long held behind stone.
Wednesday buried her face in Enid’s shoulder, stifling sound, but her grip clung with painful force. Each choked breath shook through Enid’s chest.

Her eyes burned, but she stayed silent. She wrapped her arms tighter, as if she could contain this pain that no word could ease.

Time disappeared. Only a heart breaking against her, drop after drop, sob after sob.
And in the dark, Enid understood it was the first time Wednesday allowed herself to fall.

Chapter Text

The Rotwood house was bathed in pale light. Daylight passed through the tall windows, drawing clear lines across the floorboards. In that silence, only the rustle of a raven’s wings could be heard outside, against the stone.

Wednesday sat in an armchair, rigid, her chin slightly lowered. Between her fingers, she held a broken feather, turning it over and over like a useless talisman.

Morticia approached without a sound, her gown gliding over the floor. She crouched slightly, seeking her daughter’s gaze.

“You say nothing, she murmured. But your silence resounds like a scream.”

Wednesday did not move.

Gomez paced behind them, his boots thudding against the wood. His gestures were too large, too sharp for the gravity of the room. At last he stopped, standing before his daughter.

“This muteness is not worthy of you, my child. You have always known how to spit out the truth, even when it cut. Why do you slice yourself from within today?”

Wednesday’s fingers tightened, the feather cracked further.

“Because I spoke the truth… and it destroyed me.”

Morticia tilted her head, her black gaze fixed on her daughter.

“What truth?”

Wednesday drew in a broken breath. The words came in fragments, torn from her.

“The night of the full moon… it forced me to say what I never say. To drag out what I had buried.” Her throat clenched, but she went on, her voice raw.
“And the next morning, she spoke words that shattered me. She rejected me with violence.”

She straightened a little, at last turning her face toward her parents.

“And yet… I love her. I could never stop loving her.”

Silence fell again. Gomez closed his eyes for a moment, striking his chest with his hand as if pierced through.

“To be rejected by the object of one’s love,” he whispered, “is to taste the most exquisite and most cruel poison.”

Morticia did not move. Her voice, low and grave, sank even deeper.

“She wounded you. But what you feel is not a fault. You stole nothing, forced nothing. You gave what you are, and it left you bare.”

Wednesday turned her gaze away, eyes bright but dry.

“She split apart everything that kept me standing. I have nothing left.”

Gomez stepped forward, resting a heavy hand on the back of the chair.

“That is not true, my poison. We will always be here for you… And even if you gather your shards one by one, we will be there to remind you that you still exist.”

Morticia reached out, placing her hand on the armrest, close to her daughter’s fingers.

“Love does not destroy you, Wednesday. Refusal, fear, misunderstanding those wound. But love… even in silence… takes nothing from you.”

Wednesday clenched her jaw, her breath uneven. The feather slipped from her grasp and fell onto the rug, mute.

Morticia brushed her daughter’s hand lightly, without taking hold of it.

“You have not lost. You are alive. And as long as you feel that, you can still choose.”

Wednesday lowered her eyes, unable to answer. But for the first time, her body ceased to tremble.

The bell had just faded in Nevermore’s corridors. Scarves, books, footsteps still echoed, then dissolved. Passing a half-open classroom door, Bianca slowed. She stopped short, touching Ajax’s arm.

“Wait.”

In the shadows, sitting against the wall, was Enid. Knees drawn up, back slid down, her face turned toward the door without seeing it. Her lip was split, a dark trace clinging there still. A swollen cheekbone. Dark marks scattered across her bare forearms. Her notebook was pressed tight against her chest, so tight its cover bent under her grip.

“Enid,” Ajax said, kneeling, his voice cracking. “Hey… hey, I’m here.”

Her reflex was to hide her cheek with her hand. Bianca was already kneeling too, laying two fingers gently on Enid’s wrist to draw her hand down without force.

“Look at me, she whispered. Just for a second.”

Enid obeyed, as if against her will. Her pupils flickered.

“I’m fine, she breathed. It’s nothing.
- It is not nothing, Bianca replied. And it doesn’t need to become everything. We’ll take care of you now.”

Ajax searched for a joke in his throat, found none.

“Would it be… would it be alright if we helped you up slowly? I promise, I won’t rush.”

She hesitated, then gave the smallest nod. They slid an arm each beneath her shoulders. Enid’s legs shook, buckled. Ajax tightened his hold, Bianca adjusted hers without a word.

“Breathe with us, Bianca said. Once. Again. There you go.”

When they were standing, Enid swayed, clutching at the fabric of Ajax’s jacket. He did not move.
“
You have nothing to prove,” he murmured. “Let us do this.”

They guided her toward the exit without saying where they were going.
 

The door of Rotwood House gave way under Ajax’s hand, and afternoon light entered with them. Morticia met them in the hall, upright, calm, her gaze falling on the scene without hardness.

“Here,” she said softly, pointing to the divan.

Enid sat down, too stiff. Bianca stayed behind her, one hand light on the backrest, the other free, a quiet sentinel. Ajax perched on the edge, too close, then shifted a little away, then back, unable to decide where to put his hands.

Gomez stepped into the salon and stopped short. He swallowed the rush rising in his throat and remained standing, lips pressed, hands clasped, like a duel he forbade himself.

“Lurch,” said Morticia without raising her voice.

The butler appeared almost at once, a small box in hand. Morticia took it, opened it. Compresses, brown bottle, bandage, scissors. She knelt before Enid, lifting the girl’s chin with two fingers.

“This may sting, she warned. If it’s too much, tell me at once.”

Enid drew breath, nodded without speaking. Morticia pressed the soaked compress to her split lip. Enid flinched, barely, then eased.

“There, said Morticia more to accompany her than to explain. We clean. We bind.”

Ajax, fingers twisting his sleeve, couldn’t stay still.

“Should we… I don’t know… call… someone… or… ice… I could run… I run fast.”

“You stay,” Bianca cut in, without looking at him.

Then, softer, in Enid’s ear:

“He panics better when we keep him close.”

A breath that might have been a laugh stirred in Enid’s throat, and died quickly. Morticia changed the compress, wiped the dark smear from her chin, studied the swollen cheek.

“Lurch, the narrow bandage.”

The fabric whispered. Morticia bound it, tightening just enough. Her movements were precise but slow, as if slowness itself was part of the care.

Bianca leaned closer.

“Do you want water, Enid? Or should I hold the notebook while she works?”

Enid’s fingers opened reluctantly. Bianca took the notebook, set it on the table within reach, without turning it over.

Morticia set the compresses aside, leaving the box open on her lap. She raised her eyes to Enid, without pressing.

“I will ask you a question, she said softly. You do not have to answer now. You can say no. You can say later.”

She waited. Enid barely nodded.

“Who did this to you, Enid?”

The silence that followed was not empty. A bird outside, a curtain stirring somewhere, Ajax’s breath failing to hide itself.

Enid closed her eyes. Her mouth trembled. When she spoke, it was so faint Bianca had to bend nearer to hear.

“The pack.”

Ajax jerked, smothering a curse in his sleeve. Bianca laid her free hand on Enid’s shoulder, without pressing.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Morticia made no comment. She checked the bandage, set the box aside, then held Enid’s hands in hers a second longer than needed.

“You are safe here, she said. You may stay as long as you wish. You may say nothing, you may say everything. We will take whatever you give, at your pace.”

Enid nodded once, her breathing a little steadier. She looked at the notebook on the table, then at Bianca’s fingers, then at Ajax’s shoes, worn at the tips as always.

“I’m sorry, she murmured. I didn’t…
- No,” Bianca said. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Ajax sniffed, wiping away something that wasn’t sweat.

“We’re here,” he repeated, as if trying the words for the first time.

Gomez stepped forward and inclined himself slightly, as one salutes a tragedienne at the heart of a scene too sacred to interrupt.
He said nothing.
He pressed nothing.
He remained.

Chapter Text

The hallway had emptied, swallowed by the bell. Only the scraping of stone remained, and three figures under an archway: Bianca, upright, arms crossed; Ajax, his hands too restless to stay still; Agnes, notebook closed against her chest.

Wednesday’s boots echoed long before she appeared. She stopped in front of them.

“Where is Enid?”

Bianca held her gaze, impassive. 

“She is safe.
- That is not what I asked.”

Ajax shifted, the weight of silence too heavy for him. 

“We… we did what we had to for her…”

Wednesday pivoted toward him, closing the space with a single step. Her hand seized his sleeve, dry, firm. 

“Where is she? 
- Let him go, Wednesday,” Bianca said, her voice low but sharp.

A beat. Wednesday’s eyes left Ajax to return to Bianca. Two straight forces measuring one another. 

Ajax’s voice cracked: 

“With your parents.” 

Wednesday released Ajax’s sleeve with a brusque gesture. She stayed still for a second, her gaze fixed on Bianca. Then she turned on her heels. Her steps hammered the stone, leaving like a storm that could not be stopped.

***

The door burst open so violently it rebounded against the wall. The impact made the windows tremble, a cold draft sweeping across the hall. 

Wednesday entered with sharp strides. Her coat flared around her, her boots struck the parquet at too harsh a rhythm. She did not slow, did not greet. 

In the living room, Gomez set down his newspaper, surprised, already on his feet. Morticia raised her head, unmoving, her eyes fixed on her daughter. 

Wednesday stopped in the center of the hall. Her short breath echoed before her words. 

“Where is Enid?”

Silence thickened. Gomez stepped forward. 

“Wednesday…” 

She advanced further into the house, shoulders tense, her voice even lower: 

“Answer me.” 

Morticia also stepped forward, her eyes locked into her daughter’s. She said nothing. 

“Where is she?” Wednesday repeated, each syllable sharper. 

A faint creak answered instead. 

In the warm halo spilling from the landing, a silhouette appeared. 

Enid stood motionless, her fingers clenched on the banister. Her loose hair framed her face, a strand stuck to her cheek. The oversized sweater she wore drowned her shoulders, sleeves sliding nearly to her hands. 

Her gaze brushed Morticia, Gomez, before fastening onto Wednesday. And the two of them did not let go. 

Below, Wednesday had frozen in the hall. Her breathing had stopped dead, her black eyes locked on Enid. 

Silence grew denser. 

Enid inhaled, released the railing with a hesitant gesture. She drew back, pivoted slowly, disappeared into the corridor. 

Wednesday stepped toward the staircase. Her hand found the wood of the banister, her fingers tightened. 

Gomez made a move to stop her. Morticia placed a hand on his arm and murmured simply: 

“Let her.” 

The first step bent under Wednesday’s weight. She continued, never breaking the taut thread between them.

***

The bedroom door closed behind them. The click resonated like a lock shutting out the world. 

Enid sat on the edge of the bed, heavy, drained. Her hands clasped on her knees, her shoulders slumped, her eyes fixed on the floor. 

Wednesday stayed near the door, immobile. Her eyes devoured her. 

“You weren’t there.” 

The words weren’t a reproach. Just a breath, fractured. 

Enid slowly raised her head. 

“I couldn’t anymore. 
— Couldn’t what? 
— Endure. Suffer. The pack… you… everything. I had to… breathe.” 

Wednesday took a step. 

“You made me believe you wouldn’t come back. 
— I just… had no strength left.” 

Wednesday inhaled, her hands trembling down the length of her dress. 

“I don’t have any left either.” 

Enid looked away. 

“Then why did you push me away?” 

Wednesday faltered, her lips parting, her pupils blazing. 

“Because I thought it was the only way to survive you.” 

Their gazes collided, violent. 

Wednesday drew closer, placing her hands on either side of Enid, trapping her in that closed space. Her breath struck her cheek. 

“And you see what it cost me.” 

Enid inhaled, her lips trembling, parted.
 
“Stop…
- I can’t.” 

Silence roared then imploded.

Wednesday yielded suddenly, as if all her restraint had shattered. 
Her lips crashed against Enid’s with desperate violence.
Not a caress, not a hesitation: a collision. 

Enid fell back under the impact, startled, but her hands shot up instantly, clutching Wednesday’s shoulders to keep her close, to prevent her from pulling away.
A whimper escaped her against her mouth, muffled, raw. 

Wednesday encircled her, her fingers digging into the fabric of the too‑large sweater, tugging to erase any space between them.
Their breaths collided, short, ragged, as if they lacked air yet refused to break apart. 

The kiss deepened, ravenous.
Their lips sought, found, seized again, as if every second of separation had carved an impossible void. 

Enid pulled her closer still, her fingers sliding to her nape, sinking into the dark strands. She responded with the same fever, the same despair. 

Wednesday trembled, her body taut against hers.
Her hands left the mattress to encircle her, to hold her as though the whole world wanted to tear her away. 

The kiss became almost painful, charged with all the fear, all the anger, all the love they had never spoken. 

They broke apart for a second to breathe, foreheads pressed together, gasping, but already their lips found each other again, unable to remain apart.

Chapter Text

A few days later, Enid had settled near one of the bay windows. The late afternoon sun warmed her fingers, but it did nothing to erase the feeling of being kept aside.
Nevermore went on without her.
Classes, rumors, hurried footsteps in the hallways... all of it now belonged to a world she only watched from afar.

The sharp sound of boots interrupted the calm.
The handle turned, and Wednesday entered. Her silhouette, outlined by the backlight, stopped near Enid, upright, motionless.

She said nothing. Her eyes slid toward the garden, never meeting hers. Time stretched, dense, until Wednesday finally spoke in a low voice: 

“You’re reading upside down.”

Enid looked down: the book was indeed turned the wrong way. A nervous smile escaped her despite herself. 

“You know, you could just say hello.”

Wednesday barely raised an eyebrow, as if caught off guard. She hesitated, then perched on the armrest of the chair, stiff as a post. Her clasped hands betrayed her tension.

Enid tilted her head slightly toward her, amused. 

“Are you here to check if I’m still standing… or if I dissolve without you?”

A silence. Wednesday clenched her jaw, then finally answered, low: 

“Both.”

Enid laughed softly, a sound that lightened the air. 

“You’re impossible.”

Wednesday did not reply. But her fingers relaxed, hesitant, before brushing against Enid’s. The contact was fragile at first, uncertain, then their fingers held on for good.

Silence thickened again, heavy with all they dared not say.
Enid felt Wednesday’s warmth against her, and her heart raced.
Slowly, Wednesday tilted her head, her forehead touching hers.
Their breaths mingled, suspended.

Enid lifted a timid hand and placed it on Wednesday’s cold cheek.
She searched for her eyes, then her lips, just a breath away from a kiss...

The door opened abruptly.

Enid startled and straightened instinctively, her fingers leaving Wednesday’s cheek.
Their hands parted too quickly.

Bianca entered, followed by Ajax. Her gaze swept the room and landed on them, still too close despite the regained distance. A smile curved her lips at once. 

“Looks like we’re interrupting.”

Ajax raised his hands in surrender, laughter barely held in. 

“Promise, we’re just passing through.
- Then pass quickly,” snapped Wednesday, icy, shooting daggers at the intruders.

Bianca rolled her eyes and approached the window. 

“Nice view. Though… in your place, I don't think you were watching at it.”

Ajax burst out laughing. 
Enid turned crimson and hid her face behind her book. 

“Stop…”

Bianca raised her hands, innocent. 

“We won’t say a word, Enid. Promise. We were just checking if you needed company… but clearly, you’re in good hands.”

Ajax chuckled again. 

“The best hands, even.”

Enid ended up letting out a small laugh despite herself, her shoulders relaxing. 

“You’re impossible…”

Bianca gave Enid a conspiratorial smile before backing toward the door. 

“We’ll go. But if you want us to keep the rest of the world away, just ask.”

Ajax winked as he slipped into the hall. 

“Good luck, Enid.”

The door closed softly behind them. Silence returned, but it had changed: lighter now, crossed by a breath Enid hadn’t felt in a long time.

She slowly lowered her book, a smile still clinging to her lips despite her burning cheeks. 

“You know… they were just teasing us.”

Wednesday turned toward her, impassive. 

“That was unnecessary.”

Yet her gaze stayed fixed on hers, softer than she would have admitted.

So Enid leaned in, without hesitation this time, and placed a tender kiss on her cheek.
A simple brush, nothing of a forbidden confession, but everything of an obvious truth.

Wednesday closed her eyes briefly, as if to hold on to the warmth of the gesture.
When she opened them again, her fingers still clasped Enid’s. She said nothing. She did not leave either.

Enid slid halfway out of her chair and leaned against her. Her head found its natural place against Wednesday’s shoulder.

For a moment, Wednesday remained stiff, straight as always.
Then her arms closed around her, at first a little rigid, before yielding to that familiar closeness.
Her shoulders softened, her breath fell into a calmer rhythm. 

“You still have that scent of dust and ink… Enid murmured with a smile. It suits you.  
- Of course, Wednesday replied simply. 
- I think I’ll end up associating it with you.”

A faint smirk brushed Wednesday’s lips. 

“As if you hadn’t already.” 

Enid laughed softly. 

“Touché.”

Silence returned for a while, gentle, almost reassuring. Then Wednesday spoke again, lower, without forcing it: 

“You smell like the forest. As if it refused to let you go.”

Enid nestled closer against her. 

“I prefer that to the cage.”

Wednesday didn’t answer right away. Her arm tightened further around her, her eyes fixed on the distance. Silence settled once more, but it was no longer empty: it vibrated with everything they had yet to say.

Silence lingered, filled only by their mingled breaths. Wednesday kept Enid against her, unmoving, as if the entire world had vanished beyond these walls.



Outside, however, it had not vanished. 

The forest lived.
Branches barely stirred, but beneath the canopy, other breaths moved.
Steps slid across the moss, measured, restrained, patient.
Shadows bent around them like a conspirator. 

They followed the scent, faint but stubborn.
Every bent blade of grass, every displaced stone became a marker.
The path traced itself through their senses, an invisible map always leading to the same point. 

The prey. 

They did not rush.
The hunt was not a race, but a slow embrace.
Turn after turn, they closed the distance, like an invisible net drawing tight.
Eyes gleamed in the half-light, fixed on what still slipped away. 

And hunger, with each step, became certainty.

Chapter Text

The path was waterlogged, puddles reflecting fragments of pale sky. The rain had stopped, but dampness still clung to clothes and hair. Their steps sank into the soft earth, and every root became a slippery obstacle.

Ajax was the first to break the silence, his branch swiping the air ahead like a weapon against invisible foes. 

“Did you see? She looked good today.”

Agnes turned to him, her light eyes enlarged by the wet gleam of the forest. 

“Yes. She spoke softly, but… it wasn’t forced.”

He drove his branch into the mud with a dull thud. 

“Exactly! And she even laughed when Thing did his little act with the cards. How long has it been since we heard her laugh?”

Bianca shrugged, arms crossed against her chest. Her voice carried no irony, only quiet gravity. 

“That doesn’t mean everything’s fixed.”

Ajax rolled his eyes. 

“Can’t you just… appreciate it?”

Agnes stepped in quickly, as if to defuse. 

“I think it matters. Even a smile, it means something.”

Bianca sighed, slowing to walk at their pace. 

“Of course it matters. But look at her closely: every smile is like she’s carrying it at arm’s length.”

Ajax was about to retort, but Pugsley’s calm voice rose behind them, cutting through. 

“Maybe that’s why it rings so true.”

They turned to him. He didn’t lift his gaze. His boots struck the ground with unyielding rhythm. 

Agnes frowned. 

“What do you mean?”

He gave a vague shrug. 

“It’s always like that. The calm before everything breaks.”

Silence fell, broken only by the wet echo of their steps. 

Ajax shook his head. 
“You talk like it’s written in advance.” 

Bianca, eyes fixed forward, murmured almost to herself: 
“And what if it is?”

Agnes stopped for a moment, her fingers clutching her notebook. 

“Stop… she’s better, I saw it. She’s better.”

Pugsley finally lifted his face, and his dark gaze cut the light between the trees. 

“The cur... he began. 
- No, no, enough with this curse talk, Ajax cut him off. 
- You may refuse to believe it but it’s there! Why do you think it’s been like this since they met!? Pugsley burst out. From the start. Enid saving my sister from the Hyde’s claws. Wednesday ending up in a coma trying to save Enid. Enid sacrificing her human condition to save Wednesday from certain death. It’s all there, Ajax!!”

Ajax froze, cheeks red. 

“No. That’s not a curse. That’s… that’s them. They do it because they love each other, because they’ll always save each other! 
- And that’s exactly it, Pugsley replied, his voice shaking. Saving is what’s killing them.”

Bianca raised a hand, trying to end the escalation. 

“Stop. You’re shouting into the void. We all know something weighs on them, but tearing each other apart won’t help.”

Agnes, a step behind, shook her head, her fingers tight around her notebook. 

“I don’t like when you talk like that… like it’s already lost.”

Ajax spun toward her, softer. 

“It’s not. Do you hear me? It’s not.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the soaked forest around them. Pugsley said no more, but his eyes stayed on the ground, dark, stubborn.
Moisture still clung to their clothes, but the air remained still, saturated with the scent of wet earth. No more words crossed their lips. The sodden path stretched before them, punctuated only by the dull sound of their steps in the mud.

Ajax marched quickly, face closed, hands tight on his branch. Bianca followed at a distance, gaze lost among the darkened trunks, as though searching for an answer she hadn’t found. 
Agnes, eyes on the ground, fought not to let her anxiety spill over. 
Pugsley brought up the rear. His silence was not one of peace, but of a certainty too heavy to share. 

When the first stones of Nevermore appeared between the branches, none of them dared break the muteness. Each carried their own thoughts, their own fears. And the air around them seemed to thicken, as if the forest itself was keeping their secret.

————————————

Wednesday had returned to her room. Pushing the door, she saw Enid’s bag, forgotten on the chair near the bed, a wool sleeve hanging like a trace left behind.
She approached, reached out her hand. 

The world tore away beneath her feet. 

The forest crashed down on her, suffocating, saturated with shadow.
The air reeked of rotten earth, of damp moss, and every step was sucked into spongy ground.
She ran.
She knew she did.
Her legs tore from the ground, but everything dragged, too slow, as though the mud itself wanted to hold her. 

Behind her, it began with a murmur.
Then bursts.
Laughter too long, stretching until it broke, almost inhuman.
It rolled between the trunks, hammered at her temples. 

A cry split the air. 

“Wednesday!” 

Enid’s voice.
Distant.
Torn. 

She turned.
Nothing.
Only silence collapsing at once.
And the laughter returned, closer. 

Then it emerged from the shadow. 

The wolf.
Enid.
But not Enid.
Lips curled back to the flesh, fangs dripping with dark saliva, eyes hard as coals.
Each breath shook its trembling chest, and the stench of hot blood clung to the air. 

Wednesday stepped back.
Behind her, the laughter swelled into a chorus.
Not human voices, but twisted echoes, ravenous, thickening in the night. 

The wolf advanced, slowly, claws ripping the ground.
Its growls shredded the air like blades. 

And there, amid the din, another voice slid through.
Deep.
Familiar. 

“There is no love without sacrifice…” 

Gomez’s voice. But warped, strangled, as if rising from the roots themselves. 

The wolf leapt. Its jaws snapped in the void, a breath from her face. 

“… there is no sacrifice without love.” 

The words multiplied, twisted, repeated by every trunk, every shadow.
They merged with the laughter, until they became a grotesque howl, a thunder without source. 

She tried to scream. Nothing came. Nothing. 

When she opened her eyes, the room was back. Enid’s bag, still on the chair. Her hand clutched the wool, trembling, knuckles white. But the echo of the phrase did not fade. 

There is no love without sacrifice… 
There is no sacrifice without love. 

The voice still floated in the air, muffled, like a murmur seeping from the walls themselves. 
She inhaled, too fast, too hard. A rustle behind her made her start. 

Bianca. 

She stood leaning against the doorway. Her eyes lingered on Wednesday’s clenched hand, then on her pale face. 

“What did you see?” she asked softly. 

Wednesday dropped the bag with a brusque gesture, as though burned. 

“Nothing. Nothing important.” 

Bianca held her gaze, unblinking. 

“Don’t lie to me. I know perfectly well it’s been forever since you last had a vision. So tell me what you saw.” 

Wednesday held her stare, icy. 

“An illusion. Nothing of consequence.  
- You were ashen, you trembled. That wasn’t nothing,” Bianca cut in. 

Wednesday turned away. 

“It changes nothing. 
- On the contrary, Bianca replied. It changes everything. she paused, her eyes fixed on her, relentless. You know it as well as I do, Wednesday. It’s the curse.” 

Wednesday gave a brief, cold laugh. 

“A curse… Seriously? It’s a legend. Nothing more.” 

Bianca said nothing, but her eyes clung to hers. 

“A story fed by generations of Addams obsessed with the tragic, Wednesday continued. Deaths, dramas, sacrifices… and each time, people preferred to say it was written. Easier than admitting life is simply… cruel.” 

She lifted her shoulders slightly, as if to close the subject. 

“There is no curse. Nothing to fear.” 

Bianca stepped closer, her tone lower, almost a whisper. 

“Then why were you so afraid?” 

Wednesday did not answer. She set the wool back down with calculated slowness, then turned her back. 

Bianca remained motionless for a moment, her gaze fixed on her nape. Then she backed toward the door. 

“If one day you’re ready to open your eyes… and stop running, we’ll be here,” she said softly. 

She left the room, leaving behind a silence heavier than words.

Chapter Text

Rotwood’s house held its breath. In the bedroom, the unlit lamp let a gray pallor slip through the curtains.
Enid slept sideways, a strand of hair stuck to her temple. The sheet pulled up to her chin trembled at first only slightly, then her fingers clutched it, tense, as if something pulled from the other side.

Her breath faltered. A muffled whimper caught in her throat, rose into a sob. Her legs contracted under the blanket, kicked, tangled. Her nails scraped at the fabric. A deeper sound grew in her throat, guttural, too low to be only human.

The door opened in silence. Morticia entered first, upright silhouette, supple shadow against the wall. She stopped a step from the bed, hand raised without touching. 

“Enid… breathe, my darling. Come back.”

Gomez appeared behind her, hair disheveled, shirt half-buttoned. He crouched but kept his distance. 

“Querida, you are safe. Listen to my voice.”

Enid heard nothing. Her eyelids trembled, her clenched teeth muffled a moan that turned into a growl. Her neck tensed, her heels struck the wooden frame.
The bed groaned.

Lurch filled the doorway, motionless, a mountain of shadow. His gaze dropped to Enid’s wrists, hesitated. Morticia gave him a brief sign — no.
Do not force. Do not break what might still unravel on its own.

Thing leapt onto the bed, its fingers tapping near Enid’s wrist to find a rhythm, an anchor. It patted, pressed, recoiled when a brutal spasm pushed everything away. The sheet tore beneath her nails, a thread snapped.

“Enid, breathe, Morticia repeated, lower still. You are not in a cage.”

The word slid off glass. Enid’s breath quickened, ragged, then strangled. From her throat rose a split sound, half-whimper half-roar, vibrating through the room’s warm air. Gomez stretched out a hand, withdrew it immediately, as if the heat radiating from her might burn him. 

“She doesn’t see us,” he said, nodding, voice low.

Lurch stepped forward, cautiously, palm open. Enid arched, her fingers clawing at the air. Morticia turned her gaze away for a second, swallowed something too hard to say, then returned to the convulsed face she refused to abandon.

Thing froze. Its fingers, all at once, ceased their drumming. It turned its palm toward Morticia, toward Gomez, toward the ceiling, as if the ceiling had become a sky to cross. Then it leapt. With a sharp bound, it reached the window ledge, slipped into the gap, disappeared. 

“Go,” Morticia whispered, without raising her voice.

Silence fell again... filled with ragged breath, with the sheet’s rasp, with a growl returning in waves. Lurch stepped back to clear the way. Gomez set his hand on Morticia’s shoulder. She did not move. 

Enid trembled entirely, as if something pushed from within, widening her ribs, searching for the breach. Her lips shaped a broken word no one understood. Yet the room heard it. 

They waited. Without weapon. Without cure. With, at their lips, that mute prayer never spoken aloud.

————————————

Wednesday’s room lay in disciplined shadow. A candle consumed its wax slowly, letting a thin thread of smoke climb toward the beams. She sat at her desk, straight, chin bent over a page. The quill scratched the paper in a sharp, steady rhythm, like a breath she could impose on silence.

Everything seemed frozen, outside of time. The rustling night beyond the windows, the cold stone of the walls, her inkwell stretching a long shadow.
Then the window slammed. Thing burst in, landing hard on the wooden desk. Its fingers tapped at once, frantic, disordered, as if gestures could not contain the urgency.

Wednesday looked up. A crease drew between her brows. 

“What are you doing here?”

Thing pointed at the door, the hall, then outside, repeating frenetically. It insisted, struck the table, mimed clawing at the air.
She understood. Her eyes darkened, but she said nothing. The quill rolled to the floor, forgotten. She stood abruptly, pulled her black coat around her shoulders.

A moment later, the door slammed behind her. Her steps struck the flagstones, echoed in the stairwell. The night awaited outside, vast, stifling.
The cold seized her the instant she crossed Nevermore’s threshold. The air was heavy, electric, as if the sky itself held back a storm. 

Wednesday ran without thinking. Her boots struck damp earth, blades of grass snapped beneath her, drops of water scattered. Each breath tore her throat, but she quickened. 
The grounds rushed past in deformed shadows: trees standing like black columns; the forest edge gaping like a dark maw; the academy’s windows far off, reflecting a pallid shard of moonlight. 

A howl split the air. 

A sound torn in two, half-human, half-animal. Not a cry, not a roar: a rift. It cleaved the air, shook Nevermore’s stones, rolled across the drenched lawn. Wednesday’s stomach clenched so sharply she stumbled. She caught herself, pushed forward. 
The howl went on, echoing between walls, ricocheting off the windows, until it became a chorus of twisted echoes. Each note cracked like a fracture. 

Wednesday ran faster, her legs devouring ground, her arms cutting the cold. Her hair whipped her neck. Her breath burned metallic in her chest. 
The Cottage finally loomed in the dark, massive, silent, its pale windows like dead eyes. 
She had not slowed when she wrenched the handle open.

————————————

The room was ravaged. Torn sheets, scratched wood, shadow pressed heavy against the walls. Enid trembled violently, curled tight, her ragged breath pounding like a war drum. Her fingers clawed the wood of the bed, nails searching for a hold they would never find. A growl rolled in her throat, harsh, inhuman. 

Wednesday crossed the threshold. Her steps made almost no sound, but tension preceded her. She stopped two meters away, gaze locked on the shaking figure. 

“Enid.” 

No reaction. As if the name itself had no meaning. 
Wednesday stepped forward, then crouched, hands open, palms turned toward her. 

“You are not in a cage. You are here. With me.” 

Enid’s head snapped up. Her half-closed eyes glowed with an alien gleam. A deeper growl rose from her throat. She recoiled sharply, her fingers raking the floor, her legs hitting the wood behind her. The bed creaked in protest. 

Wednesday repeated, lower still: 

“Look at me.” 

But Enid looked at nothing. Her gaze passed through everything, glassy, fixed on invisible bars. Her arms tensed, her hands beat the air as if to drive away an enemy no one else could see. 
A broken cry tore out, split in two. Then another, more guttural. The sound rang against the walls, made the lamp tremble on the table. 

Wednesday did not move. She waited for the cry to die, then spoke again, calm, cold: 

“You hear me. I am here.” 

Enid shook her head violently. Her sweat-matted hair whipped her cheeks. She clenched her teeth, tears mixed with panic. Her lips formed indistinct words: 

“Don’t come closer…” 

Her back struck the headboard so hard the wood cracked. Her legs thrashed, her ragged breath turned into a series of growls. 

Wednesday took another step, tiny, measured. 

“I will not leave.” 

Enid’s eyes widened. She let out a guttural scream, so brutal it made Thing flinch on the pillow. Her fingers scraped deeper, leaving pale trails on the wood. 
Another spasm shook her, so violent her nails slipped and scraped the wall’s paint behind her. Her body arched, her teeth bared, an animal hiss seeping through her lips. 
Wednesday stepped forward again. Just one step. Enough for the shadow of her coat to touch the bed. 
Enid jolted upright, arms flailing to drive the figure back. Her eyes fixed on her for a second — but it wasn’t recognition. It was raw instinct. The beast seeing prey. 

A howl burst out, so fierce it made Lurch shudder in his massive shoulders. Gomez gripped a chair’s back, his knuckles white with strain. Morticia, straight, hands folded before her, did not flinch, but her eyes followed every twitch of Enid’s face. Thing, perched on the pillow, stayed frozen, fingers clenched into a fist. 

Wednesday, impassive, waited for the cry to die on its own. Then she spoke again, each word laid down like a flat blade: 

“You are not alone. You never were.” 

Enid shook her head hard. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her hands clawed still, refusing to yield. Her breath hitched, caught, hitched again. As if two forces fought for her body. 
Enid trembled, wracked by convulsions that seemed to break her bones. Her fingers sought the wood again, but no longer had the strength to dig in. Her breathing raced, hammered her chest like a trapped animal. 

Wednesday stepped closer, within reach of her hands. She did not extend her arms. She waited. 

“Look at me, she said, slowly. Not the cage. Not the moon. Me.” 

Enid’s eyes flew wide, dilated with panic. They met hers. Not recognition. But a beat. A shiver. As if the voice had found a crack. 

Enid shook her head, her lips shaping broken words. 

“I’ll hurt you…” 

The voice was hoarse, strangled, but human. 
Wednesday moved a millimeter closer, her shadow merging with hers. 

“Then hurt me. But I will not leave.” 

Enid trembled harder, her arms flailing at emptiness, then collapsed against herself. Her fingers curled onto her own knees, her shoulders sank. A sob burst out, rough, tearing, shattering what remained of her resistance. 
Wednesday finally reached out, slowly, without force. She set her fingers on Enid’s shaking arms. Enid jolted, a start like a shock. Then she stopped fighting. 

She collapsed forward, her forehead hitting Wednesday’s shoulder. Her clenched hands found hold in the black coat. Her breath, still ragged, caught in her throat, then gave way to a series of short, hurried sobs. 
Wednesday held her tight, firm, unmoving. 

“I’ve got you, she murmured. I’ve got you.” 

Around them, Morticia closed her eyes, Gomez let out a breath he’d held too long. Lurch lowered his head almost imperceptibly. Thing finally loosened, its fingers finding a light rhythm on the pillow. 
Wednesday kept Enid tight against her, still, as if the slightest sudden move could break the fragile thread she had just caught. Enid cried silently into her shoulder, shaken by short, ragged sobs her will could no longer stifle. 

Between two gasps, a word escaped, almost inaudible: 

“A few days…” 

Wednesday lowered her head. 

“What?” 

Enid tightened her grip on her coat, her lips trembling against her collar. 

“The full moon… it’s back in a few days.” 

Her words fell like a sentence, broken but lucid. 

Wednesday did not answer at once. She drew in a deep breath, her fingers sliding into Enid’s hair to hold her tighter. 

“I know.” 

Morticia finally turned away, Gomez let his hands fall at his sides. Lurch stepped back, clearing his mass from the doorway. Thing shrank onto the pillow, fingers at last still. 

Outside, however, the night was not empty. 
Among the damp trees, a figure had stilled. Slim shoulders blended into the trunk she leaned on, but her eyes gleamed, two pale sparks in the dark.
They did not blink. They watched. 
A smile spread, slow, mocking, beneath that fixed stare.
The hunt was nearing its end.
Soon, they would strike.
Before the full moon.

Chapter Text

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, white and calm. Enid was sprawled across the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her hair spread in every direction. Wednesday, already sitting upright, had one leg bent, the other stretched out, her arm resting on Enid’s shoulders.

“You know you were snoring,” she said flatly.

Enid lifted her head, feigning indignation. 

“Me? Never in my life.
- I heard it. 
- Then it was you. 
- Impossible. I don’t snore. 
- Everybody snores. Even you, Addams.”

A fleeting smile crossed Wednesday’s lips. Enid saw it and seized it as a victory. She pushed herself closer and planted a quick, playful kiss. 

“There, that’s for supposedly snoring.” 

Wednesday arched a brow. 

“Your sense of guilt is very… peculiar.” 

Enid chuckled softly, then her eyes slid to the dark t-shirt she knew too well. The one she had given her. A tender smile escaped. 

“It suits you better than I imagined.” 

Wednesday met her gaze without answering. The silence still vibrated between them.
Enid’s fingers brushed the hem of the shirt, as if to make sure it was real, that it wouldn’t disappear. The fabric gave beneath her palm, warm, familiar. 
Wednesday didn’t move. Her black eyes stayed fixed on hers, still and burning. Enid tugged gently, not enough to command, just enough to draw them closer. 

Their faces brushed.
The air seemed too thin.
Enid felt her breath catch on Wednesday’s, and suddenly everything gave way.
They collided, too strong, too close, as if the whole night had led to this moment. 

Enid gripped the cotton, wrinkling it between her fingers, pulling as if to anchor Wednesday against her.
Wednesday’s hand slid firmly into her nape, holding her there with an intensity that left no escape. 

They lost themselves in the fever.
Their lips returned again and again, insatiable, each second rekindling the fire.
Breath tore free, ragged, short, swallowed by urgency.
Their bodies pulled closer, nearly clashing; Enid shifted and nearly dragged her with her.
Wednesday yielded just enough to follow, their chests pressed together, their hands clutching for anchors. 

When they finally broke apart, panting, their foreheads remained touching.
Their breathing still shook, disordered, as if they hadn’t managed to tear away completely.
Enid smiled despite herself, eyes shining, fingers still clinging to the shirt. 

“Are you planning to tear it off?” Wednesday murmured. 

Enid laughed softly, not loosening her grip. 

“Maybe… but not today.” 

A dark glint passed in Wednesday’s eyes. 

“Shame. I might have almost enjoyed the experience.” 

Enid raised her brows, half-surprised, half-amused. 

“You see, that’s the kind of line only you could say while wearing that t-shirt.” 

Wednesday stared, impassive. 

“That’s why you love me.” 

A silence beat between them, but it was alive, breathing, still burning with everything they’d just shared. Enid snuggled closer, unable to stop her smile. 
Time stretched before Wednesday finally pulled back. She rose reluctantly, then stood. Her coat waited on the chair; she took it and slipped it on without haste, every gesture measured, as if relearning distance. 

“I need to get back to class,” she said simply. 

Enid smirked, eyes still locked on hers. 

“Then hurry, before someone comes looking for you here.” 

Wednesday leaned down and kissed her. The touch rekindled some of the earlier heat, enough to raise the fever again. Enid yielded for a moment before pressing a hand to her shoulder and pushing her gently away with a laugh. 

“Go… or you’ll never leave.” 

A fleeting spark crossed Wednesday’s dark eyes. She straightened, crossed the doorway, then stopped to look back. Her gaze found Enid’s. 

“I love you.” 

Enid said nothing. She only smiled. 
Wednesday lingered a second longer, as if to carve the image into memory, then left the room. 

————————————

The door opened abruptly, without knocking. Pugsley barreled in, arms full of chip bags and a soda bottle tucked under his chin to free his hands. Ajax followed, headphones still around his neck, a distracted smile on his face. Agnes slipped in behind them, brushing the doorframe as she passed. Bianca, straighter than the others, closed the door with a controlled sigh. Thing leapt from Pugsley’s shoulder to snap onto the armrest of the couch. 

Enid looked up, startled at first, then pleased. She straightened, still cross-legged, hugging a pillow. 

“You could have warned, she teased. 
- Warned who?” Pugsley retorted, already sprawling as if the place belonged to him. 

Ajax dropped into a chair, arms dangling. Bianca scanned the room as though making sure nothing had blown up. Agnes gave Enid a small smile but stayed quiet. 
The atmosphere was familiar, almost cheerful. Bags crinkled open, Thing grabbed a chip and devoured it as Ajax stifled a laugh. 
It was in the middle of that normality that Enid said, almost absentmindedly: 

“By the way… Wednesday’s not with you?” 

She’d said it lightly, expecting the answer to be obvious. 
Ajax looked up, puzzled. 

“Uh… no. We thought she was here, with you.” 

Enid blinked, thrown. 

“What? No. She left for class this morning.” 

A pause. Not heavy yet, but enough for them all to sense something was wrong. 
Enid scanned their faces, searching, but none gave her the certainty she wanted. Pugsley munched a chip absently, brow furrowed. 

“Seriously… you haven’t seen her all day?” Enid asked, voice lower. 

Bianca shook her head. 

“No. I thought she’d skipped class to stay here.” 

Ajax shrugged carelessly. 

“She does that sometimes, right? Disappears to… I don’t know, investigate something.” 

The comment tried to reassure, but rang hollow. Enid didn’t answer, her eyes fixed on nothing, fingers tightening around the pillow. 
A sharp snap broke the air: Thing. It gestured briskly, then sprang to the window and disappeared outside. 
Ajax frowned. 

“Where’s it going?
- To search” Pugsley murmured, more serious now. 

No one replied. The silence lengthened, not yet heavy, but strange enough for them to know the day had shifted color. 

————————————

An hour passed. The living room light had softened, but nothing eased the air. Enid paced barefoot, feet brushing the floor. Her steps were too quick, as if standing still might suffocate her. 

Morticia, seated in the armchair, watched without speaking. Her only words came softly, almost a murmur: 

“Enid… breathe.” 

But Enid shook her head. She clutched the pillow she’d dragged with her, shoulders trembling too tightly. 

“It’s been an hour,she whispered. A whole hour.” 

She froze, eyes fixed on the window. 

“What if the pack went after her?” 

Silence. Too long. 

Bianca finally looked up, a nervous smile tugging her lips. 

“No… they wouldn’t. They’re too afraid of her.” 

Agnes laughed softly, trying to give the words weight, to ease the air. But Enid didn’t move. Her breath shook, her pupils blown wide. 

The door burst open.
Thing returned, fingers snapping frantically, almost in anger.
Enid rushed forward. 

“Well?” 

The answer was brief. No. 

Enid staggered back as if struck.
The pillow fell from her hands, forgotten. 

Seconds later, hurried footsteps in the hall. Ajax burst in, breathless. His fingers clenched around a small object he held out silently. 

Wednesday’s watch.

Chapter Text

The light flickered, thin and trembling, cast by a torch planted in the damp earth.
It carved shadows too tall on the trunks, distorted silhouettes stretching like claws.
The air smelled of wet moss, iron, and sweat.

A ragged, broken breath rose from the ground. The head fell back against the cold bark.
The tied wrists burned, the ropes digging into the skin like slow blades.
The world still swayed, shattered into fragments of sounds and glimmers.

Around, footsteps. Slow. Calculated. Too close.

A burst of laughter split the circle. White teeth in the gloom.
The torch tilted slightly, revealing an adolescent face, deformed by malicious joy.

“Get up, Addams. We prefer when you see who’s here.”

The silhouette stirred, black eyes finally opening.
The torch moved closer, and the glow caught her features.
Her eyes, narrowed in pain at first, opened into sharp slits.
Cold, determined, even at the edge of suffocation.

Her breath returned in jolts, each inhale jarring her bruised ribs.
She tried to move her wrists, but the ropes bit deeper, soaked with her blood.

“Well then, a voice said, filled with malicious pleasure. The ice princess isn’t so indestructible after all.”

The one who stepped out of the circle, she recognized.
Her hand clenched despite the pain.
The boy whose throat she had felt close under her fingers, the one she had released at the last second.
He leaned closer, a crooked smile twisting his lips.
With a sharp blow, his fist slammed into her ribs.
Wednesday’s breath was snuffed out instantly, extinguished like a candle.
She doubled over, but did not groan. A metallic taste rose in her throat.

“Enough, another voice cut in, deeper. Not yet.”

The boy stepped back reluctantly. A ripple moved through the circle.
The pack. They didn’t need to be named: everything in them reeked of contained menace.
One of the older ones stepped closer, torch in hand.
His eyes gleamed with a hard, calculating light.

“You’re just leverage. It’s her we want.”

The torch wavered, casting shadows on the sneering faces behind him.

***

The cottage seemed to hold its breath.
The fire crackled faintly, throwing sparks too pale to chase away the darkness.
Enid stood, fists clenched at her sides, eyes fixed on the door.

“I’m going,” she said.

Ajax jerked.

“What? No. Not alone, not like this.”
Bianca shook her head, her voice sharper than she intended.

“You have no idea where she is. If you go without a lead, you’ll just… get lost in the night.”

Pugsley, sitting on the edge of the armchair, finally lifted his eyes to her.

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

Enid’s jaw tightened.

“I’m looking for her.”

A heavy silence fell. Outside the windows, the night thickened like a living wall.
Morticia rose, tall, her silhouette casting a long shadow across the floorboards.
“Enid. You’re still too fragile. If you leave, you risk more than you save.”

The words dropped like a blade. Enid met her gaze without wavering.

“Stay if you want. But I’m going to find her.”

Morticia didn’t move, but her eyes stayed locked on Enid’s, as if to anchor her by force of will alone.
Enid had already made her decision. Her steps cracked against the floor, quick, determined.
In the shadows of the hallway, a mass loomed: Lurch.
His silhouette filled the passage like a wall, his low growl vibrating the air.
Not a word. Just a warning.

Enid did not slow. Her shining eyes locked onto his, and her voice came out low, implacable:

“If you want to stop me, you’ll have to break me.”

The growl faded. Lurch did not move as she slipped past him, hand already on the handle.
The door slammed behind her, and the cold night swallowed her whole.
No sooner had she crossed the threshold than something shifted between the trees.
A female silhouette tore itself out of the night.
Her eyes glowed with an animal gleam, her smile cut her face like a gash.

“Lose something, Sinclair?”

The voice rang, low, mocking. And without waiting, the girl bolted into the woods,
her steps devouring the damp earth.
Enid’s heart leapt in her chest. She didn’t hesitate.
Her legs propelled her forward, breath already too short, her steps pounding mud and roots.
She plunged, headlong, swallowed by the night.

The forest opened before her, devoured by her sprint.
Branches clawed her arms and legs, but Enid didn’t slow.
She raced, head low, breath breaking in the icy air.
With each stride, the echo of voices thickened around her.
Not just behind. Everywhere. They circled, slipped between trunks,
giggled in her ear as if the forest itself were closing in.

“You run fast, Sinclair…” a voice breathed to her left.

She spun, heart hammering, but the silhouette had already vanished.
To her right, another laugh rang out, bright, almost joyful.
Ahead, footsteps split the dead leaves—too light for escape, too precise for chance.

Enid pushed harder, lungs on fire, but every meter gained seemed instantly lost.
The voices wove an invisible web around her, thread by thread,
guiding her toward a center she could not yet see.

“You think you’ll find her?” another voice called, closer.

Something shot from a trunk, a shoulder, a hand, brushing her on purpose before vanishing.
She stumbled, caught herself, pushed on, eyes burning, throat tight with fear and rage.
A stone struck her calf. Then another, from the shadows.
Pain flared, she staggered, but didn’t stop.
The laughter doubled, higher, closer, everywhere at once.
Every breath dragged them nearer, every heartbeat called them in.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She thought she heard her name screamed behind her, different, clear, too familiar.
She froze, breath caught.

“Wednesday?!”

Silence.

A silence of one suspended second. 
Then laughter, so close she felt hot breath on her neck. 
A fist slammed into her ribs. 

Her breath shattered, she bent double, staggered onward.
The taste of iron filled her mouth. The trees spun.
Each turn brought more steps, more voices, more jeers. 
She was trapped in an invisible circle. 

And suddenly, everything stopped. 
No laughter. No footsteps. 
Just her ragged breath. 

Ahead, a clearing opened. 
In the middle… Wednesday. 
Bound, motionless, her face lifted toward her.

Chapter Text

Enid didn’t wait. She leapt forward, the clearing swallowed in one stride,
each step torn from the ground as if distance itself were an insult.
She threw herself onto her, hands searching face, shoulders, skin still warm under the marks.
And without thinking further, her lips found Wednesday’s.
The kiss was abrupt, desperate, as if she had to rip from the moment proof that she still existed.

When she pulled back, her forehead stayed pressed against hers.

“I found you…”

The words escaped in short breaths.
Her fingers held on tight, clinging to the fabric, as if the slightest release could make her vanish.

Wednesday opened her eyes with difficulty. Her voice was a hoarse, broken whisper:

“Go…”

Enid shook her head, an immediate refusal.

“No way.”

Laughter burst from the shadows. Then another, closer.
Footsteps began circling them, muffled by damp earth.
Enid tightened her hold, as if to shield her from what she could not yet see.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

Wednesday forced a breath, shaking her head weakly.

“You don’t understand…”

A crack of branches vibrated the air behind them.
A shadow passed too quickly for Enid to see.
She rose, body shielding Wednesday’s, ready to take the blow.
Her pupils gleamed with an almost feral light, a growl rising in her throat she barely stifled.

New laughter burst from the darkness, multiplying, swirling around the clearing
like an invisible pack tightening its fangs.
Enid froze. Between the trunks, they appeared.
Dark silhouettes barely visible, shoulders low, fangs gleaming in the gloom.
They no longer hid.

One of the boys stepped forward, a twisted smile on his face.

“We were wondering when you’d come.”

Behind him, more snickers rolled.
A stone struck the ground, so close Enid felt the shards against her ankle.
She instantly placed herself in front of Wednesday, claws ready to spring.

“What have I ever done to you?!”

A crude laugh answered, followed by a hissing voice:

“You breathe, Sinclair. That’s already too much.”

Another, more venomous:

“You think we forgot? You shame your kind.”

Enid clenched her fists, pupils blown wide, throat vibrating with a growl she could barely contain.

“But why Wednesday?! She never did anything to you!!”

Silence held for a beat, broken by a crueler laugh.

“She reeks of your scent… and you of hers.”

Approving hisses rolled through the circle.
Another voice, deep, added:

“All it takes is to separate you, and one of you dies.”

Laughter returned, sharper, circling them like a starving pack.

***

Mist swallowed their lanterns, each step dragged too heavy from the ground.
Silence had dragged too long when Ajax finally broke it.

“Who did this?”

His voice cracked louder than he meant.
Bianca, ahead, didn’t slow.

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

Pugsley growled, fingers clenched around the machete he held too high.

“No need to figure out. We need to find her.
- Wait, Ajax protested, already winded.
- We’re talking about Wednesday! We can’t just charge without knowing where, or against who.”

Bianca turned her head, eyes hard on him.

“And what do you suggest? We sit down and wait for them to bring back a corpse?”

Ajax paled, shook his head.

“That’s not what I’m saying…”

Agnes, trailing behind, finally whispered:

“Why her?”

This time, even Bianca had no answer.
Silence weighed for a few seconds, just footsteps and lanterns scraping.
Pugsley finally spat, sharp:

“Because it’s her. Wednesday. It’s always her.”

He said no more, but his shoulders had gone rigid,
as if already carrying a certainty too heavy to name.
Morticia, silent until then, finally spoke. Her voice calm, without detour:

“The only thing we know is that she’s in danger.”

Gomez tightened his grip on the lantern he carried.

“And that we won’t be fast enough.”

Bianca frowned, irritated.

“We don’t know that.
- Yes we do,” Gomez replied, his voice grave. Because when it’s about her, time always turns against us.”

No one answered.
The group marched on, more tense than before, the mist swallowing them step by step.

***

One of the boys lunged, slamming Enid to her knees in the wet earth, breath cut off.
Snickers burst louder, bolder.
She snapped upright, teeth clenched, palms already scored by her own claws.

“Bastard!” she spat.

Another came at her instantly, charging straight.
Enid pivoted, her arm sliced the air: her claws tore his forearm.
A sharp cry split the clearing, cutting the laughter short.
The smell of blood rose, heavy, metallic.
The circle hesitated a moment, surprised she struck back.
Then wicked smiles returned, wider.

Two of them darted almost at once.
Enid blocked the first with a shoulder slam, but the second drove her hard into the ground.
She rolled in the mud, breath ripped away, then staggered back up,
hair plastered to her face, body trembling but still ready.
A blow smashed into her ribs. She folded, a rough growl tearing out,
but her claws raked a torso, leaving three dark gashes that forced him back.
The others laughed, thrilled by blood, by resistance.
They circled, striking in flashes, vanishing at the edges, returning from new angles.
Each time, Enid hit back.
Her claws cracked, her breath tore in ragged bursts.
Her legs buckled but held, her gaze burned with an unrecognizable fire.

A fist slammed her jaw, vision flickered.
She spat on the ground, a red streak at her lip.
Her fingers shook, but claws stayed out.
She had no choice. She advanced again, every hit endured feeding the rage under her skin.
Wednesday, bound, followed her with her eyes,
fighting to stay conscious, unable to speak but clinging to her.

A final strike threw Enid down, arms sinking into mud.
She rose again, gasping, body vibrating with pain and rage.
Sweat and blood streaked her skin.
Her legs threatened to give, her jagged breath filled the clearing.
And still, she set her stance.
Her arm trembled, her legs buckled, but she held, claws out, eyes locked on the first to approach.

They sized her up, laughter low, guttural.
The blood she’d spilled only sharpened their cruelty.
One spat on the ground, another cracked his knuckles, heralding the next charge.
A figure stepped forward, carnivorous smile stretched wide.
“You’ve got fight in you, Sinclair. But it won’t last.”
He lunged. Enid caught him, bodies colliding. Her shoulder buckled,
but her claws ripped his flank, leaving a deep slash.
The boy screamed, half-collapsed.
Tense silence fell for a moment. Then two more came at once.
Enid blocked the first with an elbow, but the second slammed her back.
She muffled a cry, fell to her knees, got back up at once,
mud clinging to her clothes, breath whistling.
Her whole body trembled. Pain wracked her ribs, arms, jaw.
But her eyes burned, incandescent.

Wednesday still watched, bound, unable to help but present,
her black eyes glowing in the shadows.
The silhouettes tightened the circle, step by step.
Each breath from Enid rang heavy in the clearing, harsher, ragged.
Her claws dripped blood, her legs shook.
Still, she stood.

Chapter Text

A movement broke the circle. Two figures lunged at once, forcing Enid to pivot to block.
The impact knocked her sideways, claws slashing at empty air.
A third took advantage of the opening. He slipped behind her, reached Wednesday still bound,
and roughly seized her chin to lift her head.

“Wonder what your girlfriend’s worth.”

Wednesday clenched her teeth, eyes shut tight against the pain.
The sneer that followed shattered something inside Enid.

“Don’t touch her!” she screamed, her voice ripped raw with rage.

She stepped forward, but her body trembled, unable to contain the surge rising inside.
Her breath turned ragged, claws digging into her palms until they pierced flesh.
Her pupils burned with an animal gleam, her growl sank lower, deeper, too heavy to stay human.
The laughter around her doubled, certain she was about to collapse.

Then everything gave way. Bones cracked under skin, her back arched.
The howl tore through the clearing, drowning the voices and laughter.
The wolf burst out, entire, filling the space with a fury none of them had foreseen.
The howl ripped across the clearing, so loud the trees themselves seemed to recoil.
Laughter ceased. Figures froze, no longer seeing prey but a monster risen before them.

Enid’s body was no longer that of a girl. Pale fur bristled under the moon, almost white in places,
cutting sharp against the night. Gleaming fangs carved the dark.
Her eyes, yellow and incandescent, locked on each of theirs, freezing them.
The boy holding Wednesday let go, stepping back, lips parted in fear.

“This isn’t… possible…”

The pack wavered, glancing at each other, panic whispering through their ranks.
Some backed away, others grinned wider, thrilled by the impossible.
At the edge, movement broke the shadows. Thing appeared first, fingers drumming frantically on the ground.
Behind, Gomez, Morticia, Pugsley, Ajax, Bianca, and Agnes emerged from the mist,
breathless, slowing as they saw the scene.

They froze. Enid, the wolf towering at the center, stared down the attackers,
every muscle vibrating with uncontrollable fury.
Wednesday, bound, breath shallow, lifted her gaze toward her, unable to look away.
Gomez, throat tight, whispered hoarsely, almost in disbelief:

“Dios mío…”

No one moved. No sound, except Enid’s rumbling breath, steady, terrible.
Thing slipped along the shadows, circling the clearing unseen.
His nimble fingers worked at the ropes binding Wednesday. Quick, precise, searching for the weak point.
One knot gave, then another. The frayed fibers creaked under strain.
Wednesday’s shoulders sagged as the pressure eased.

Ahead, Enid advanced a step, her growl filling the air, holding the pack at bay.
They laughed less, eyes shifting between the pale wolf and their injured comrades,
hesitating to strike again.
One last tug, and the ropes unraveled, falling heavy to the ground.
Freed of support, Wednesday collapsed at once.
Her knees struck earth, palms scraping against wet dirt and stone.
Her battered body gave out, shoulders shaking with shallow breaths.
Her wrists were marked deep red where ropes had chewed her skin.
Every inhale dragged pain through her chest, as if air itself refused her.

The wolf turned slowly, ears flat, fangs bared.
Her bright blue eyes locked on the fallen body.
She sniffed once, twice. The scent of blood reached her, sharp, irresistible.
Her muscles rippled with a new tension.

The pack shivered together. A wave passed through them, shoulders rising, chests swelling.
Laughter returned, lower, crueler, sliding like blades through the thick air.

“Look at her… one whispered, eyes gleaming.
- She’ll tear her apart,” another jeered.

Their voices overlapped, drunk on spectacle.
The youngest stomped their feet, marking rhythm, eager for the inevitable.

Bianca stepped forward, arm outstretched, voice breaking her usual control:

“Enid! Stop!”

Ajax lunged blindly, crashing into the circle. Two figures seized him, dragging him back.
He fought like a madman, striking, pushing, nearly biting, but they forced him down,
boots gouging earth.

“Let me go!” he roared, voice cracking.

Pugsley tried next, fists clenched, face set in rage unfamiliar to him.
He charged, striking with everything he had, but a larger boy slammed him to the ground.
He writhed, spat, tried to bite the arm pinning him, but another hand crushed his chest, pinning him.

“Enid!” he howled, voice guttural, closer to beast than boy.

Gomez thundered commands, his voice rolling in fiery Spanish, powerless against the human wall.
Morticia extended her arm, tall and dark against the mist,
but even her icy authority found no hold. Everything drowned in chaos.
And above it, Enid’s growl crushed all.
It rumbled like thunder in her throat, trembled the earth, shook bones of any who faced her.
Nothing existed but that sound.

Then she struck. Her pale body exploded forward.
Her jaws snapped inches from Wednesday’s throat.
Her paws clamped her, brutal, lifting her from the ground.
Wednesday jerked back, torn up like she weighed nothing, suspended in her claws.
Her feet scrambled, slipping in mud. Her hands clutched desperately at pale fur she knew,
yet now threatened her.

Enid’s breath scorched her skin, hot, terrible, ready to rip.
Fangs brushed her throat, each breath a suspended torture.
Around them, the pack roared with laughter, exalted.
Hands clapped, voices urged, all drunk on reversal.
This was more than they had hoped: Enid would kill what she loved.

Bianca fought harder, Ajax bellowed, Pugsley screamed her name.
Gomez tore his voice raw, Spanish cries tangled of love and death.
Morticia, still, her black eyes fixed, was the only one who seemed to understand... no one could stop her.
No one…
except Wednesday.

Suspended, hands clawing air, Wednesday dragged breath into her lungs.
Her pale lips parted faintly. Her voice broke, hoarse, barely audible.

“Come back…”

A whisper. A thread of life.

Her fingers slipped, her gaze faltered.
And then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Morticia’s scream split the night. Brutal, atrocious, torn from her very entrails, it had nothing of the icy elegance she usually imposed. It echoed for a long time, ricocheting between the trunks, as if the forest itself swallowed it only to spit it back out.

A tense silence followed, suspended, almost suffocating.

Then the pack burst into laughter. Not a clear laugh, but a dissonant, vulgar cascade that spread like a disease. Some clapped their hands, others howled with joy, shoving each other like spectators drunk on cruelty. This grotesque uproar drowned out everything: the scream, the fall, even the desperate cries of Pugsley and Ajax were lost in it.

And suddenly, another cry rang out. Sharp, cutting, slicing the clamor in two.

"Enough!"

The leader’s voice cracked like a whip. It rolled through the clearing, imposing, authoritative, and the laughter choked off at once. Silence returned, brutal, heavier than ever.

The entire circle stepped back, shoulders suddenly lowered, as if that single word had crushed their frenzy. Even the most excited lowered their heads, unable to meet his gaze.

He, however, remained still. His eyes were locked on the pale wolf, on the bristling fur, on those blue eyes that did not waver. His clenched jaws betrayed a tension he could not control. His breath caught one second too long in his throat.

He had understood.

This was not a Sinclair transformed like the others. This was not a frenzied wolf losing control. It was vaster, older, more dangerous.

An alpha.

A discreet movement disturbed the shadows. Thing had slipped to Wednesday, its fingers pressing against her cheek, tapping gently against her temple. A faint shock, repeated, obstinate, like a distant drum. 
A hoarse breath escaped her lips. Her eyelids lifted with difficulty. The world returned in fragments: the icy bite of the earth beneath her skull, the metallic scent of blood, the mist clinging to her skin. Then, above her, that breath. Hot, saturated with beast, washing over her throat. 
She forced her eyes open wider. 
The fangs appeared first, gleaming, only a few centimeters from her face. Then the pale mass of the wolf, its chest heaving with a growl that vibrated down to her bones. Finally, the eyes. Blue. Locked on hers with glacial intensity. 
She did not look away. 
Around them, the entire clearing held its breath. The pack had stopped laughing. Their faces, usually twisted by cruelty, were frozen in uneasy stupor. No one understood what they were seeing. Not a gesture, not a word. 
Facing them, her own were tense like drawn bows. Pugsley trembled with rage, his hands gripping the arms that restrained him. Bianca and Ajax had stepped forward, stopped dead. Agnes, pale, stared without blinking. But Gomez and Morticia held their line, one blazing with restraint, the other glacial, unmoving. They knew that to step forward was to lose everything. The only one who could reach Enid was her. 
The muzzle lowered. The hot breath swept across her skin. 
Wednesday opened her mouth. Her voice was hoarse, but her words sliced the air. 

"I'm not scared of you"

The growl swelled. The fangs snapped shut in the void, so close she felt the vibration through her chest. 
She inhaled, her lungs protesting. This time her voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, but every syllable vibrated with relentless precision. 

"Enid." 
A tremor flickered in the blue eyes. Small. But real. Even the pack seemed to flinch at that name. 
Wednesday clenched her jaw. Her voice tore through the silence again, hard, glacial: 

"Look at me." 

The wolf growled louder, its whole body trembling. Its paw slammed onto her shoulder, brutal, pinning her to the ground. Pain exploded through her nerves, shooting up her neck. 
And that was the spark. 
The weight, the imminent bite, the certainty of the moment tipping over. She gathered her strength, her pain, her rage, and spat her cry into the night: 

"What are you waiting for?! Kill me!!" 

The scream erupted like a detonation. Brutal, atrocious, it made the trees themselves recoil. The clearing froze in stunned silence. Not a sound answered it. 
The wolf remained motionless. Its fangs trembled a few centimeters from her throat. Its ragged breath tore at the air. Its blue eyes, blazing, burned with a fury no longer purely animal. 

"Kill me…" 

----------------------------------------

Wednesday’s cry faded, but its echo still seemed to vibrate in the ground. The entire clearing remained frozen, suspended on that word that had torn everything apart. 
The wolf did not move. Its fangs hung above her, its jaws open. Its breath, once roaring, broke into ragged gasps. The blue eyes, burning, faltered, wavering like a flame battered by the wind. 
A tremor ran along its flank. Then another. Its paws clawed at the earth, talons digging into the mud to hold on. The growl swelled, guttural, but died in a strangled rasp. 
Wednesday, still pinned to the ground, did not look away. She clenched her teeth against the pain in her shoulder, refusing to yield, refusing to close her eyes. She looked at it, called to it again in silence. 
The fur bristled, quivered, then began to dissolve, as if every hair melted back beneath the skin. The fangs retracted in a convulsive movement, the jaws snapping at nothing. The body staggered, convulsed, then collapsed heavily, striking the ground with a dull thud. 
And in place of the wolf—Enid. Naked, curled in on herself, breath ragged, her skin smeared with dirt and blood. Her blonde hair stuck to her neck, damp with sweat. Her blue eyes fluttered, searching for air, then closed for a moment under exhaustion. 
A terrible silence weighed on the clearing. The pack, frozen, did not understand what they had just witnessed. Her own, held back by Gomez and Morticia, did not dare break the moment. 
Wednesday, her face turned toward her, inhaled painfully. Every muscle in her body screamed, but her gaze clung to Enid, unable to look away. 
Then, slowly, the pack’s leader advanced. His steps seemed to echo in the mud. He did not laugh, did not sneer. His features were closed, grave. 
He bent down, unfastened his thick coat, and with a measured gesture, almost solemn, draped it over the trembling shoulders of the young girl. No brutality. No mockery. Just a mute recognition of what had taken place. 

Wednesday inhaled, painfully, every nerve screaming under the pressure she had just endured. Her chest rose in jerks, but her eyes remained locked on Enid. No distance, no escape: she had held, and she was still holding her. 
Enid, beneath the coat, trembled. Her breath, short and ragged, broke on each inhalation. Her fingers clutched at the rough wool like an anchor. She had regained human form, but the beast still vibrated under her skin, ready to tear her apart from within. 
The clearing remained mute. The pack withdrew slowly, faces blanched by what they had seen. No laughter, no words. Confusion lingered in every gaze, but none dared cross the invisible circle around the two girls. 
The leader stayed crouched beside Enid, his tall silhouette bent, his hands still resting on the coat he had draped over her shoulders. His eyes did not leave her. 
His voice, deep, resonated without aggression: 

"She’s an alpha?" 

Half-question, half-certainty. 
Wednesday held his gaze. A breath trembled in her throat, but she simply nodded. 
The leader inhaled, slowly, as if weighing the weight of his own words. Then he spoke again, lower: 

"And… she chose you." 

His gaze darkened, almost resigned. 

"You are… her pack."

A murmur swept through the ranks behind him, as if those words sealed a pact. No one spoke. No one dared. 
Then he straightened, and his final words fell, slow, heavy: 

"We will leave you alone now. You have nothing more to fear from us. And if one day you need help… we will be there. We will answer to the Alpha." 

A long silence followed the leader’s words. Then he signaled. The pack withdrew without a sound, silhouettes slipping into the mist as if they had never been there. No crash, no cries: only the rustle of footsteps fading into the depths of the forest. 
When the shadow of the last vanished, the invisible circle broke. 
Pugsley nearly lunged forward, caught by Gomez’s firm hand on his shoulder to hold him back. Bianca and Ajax rushed forward in turn, hesitating at every step, as if still fearing a trap. Agnes followed, pale but determined. Morticia, meanwhile, advanced with slow, measured steps, her gaze fixed straight ahead. 
At the center, Wednesday had not moved. She trembled with pain, her body emptied, but her arms were already around Enid. The young girl had collapsed against her, head buried in her shoulder, breath ragged. The dark coat slipped from her shoulders, but Wednesday’s hands held her tightly, as if nothing in the world could tear that precious weight from her. 
Their mingled breaths filled the air. The rest seemed to have vanished.

Chapter Text

The forest had closed behind them. The silence of the trees was far from reassuring, but the cottage finally rose before them, solid, familiar, a shelter at the heart of the darkness. 
The door opened with a breath of wood. The living room welcomed them with its warmth: the fire left smoldering cast flickering glows across the walls. The smell of ash and resin filled the air. 
Wednesday and Enid were helped onto the rug, right beside the hearth. Cushions were pulled hastily, a dark blanket spread over them. Enid lay still, wrapped in the pack’s coat. Her blond hair, plastered with sweat, shone in the firelight. Wednesday slid close against her, her arms already clutching the trembling body of the wolf. 

Morticia knelt at their side. Her hand, fine and icy, brushed her daughter’s cheek, then adjusted the blanket over Enid’s shoulders with unexpected gentleness. Her gestures were precise, almost ceremonial, yet all of her still vibrated with the fear she had just endured. Gomez, standing behind her, never took his eyes off them, his blazing concern tempered only by his wife’s glacial elegance. 

Further away, Lurch was already moving. His tall silhouette shifted slowly between the fire and the table, adding a log, adjusting the flame, preparing a teapot. He served steaming cups, setting them silently before those who hadn’t found sleep: Bianca, still frozen against the wall; Ajax, his face undone; Agnes, curled in a corner. To each he offered a hot drink, a simple but unfailing ritual, a mute way of watching over them. 

Thing had crept closer to the rug, its nervous fingers tapping the floor, sometimes pausing to brush Wednesday’s arm, as if to make sure she was truly there. 

No one spoke. The silence was not a constraint, but an evidence. They all knew what they had nearly lost. They could have lost Enid. They could have lost Wednesday. The thought alone was enough to tighten every throat. 

The fire crackled in the hearth, a spray of sparks rising. No one moved. The silence weighed like a shroud, and each of them sank into it still. 

Bianca finally breathed, almost to herself: 

"She didn’t let go."

Ajax lifted his head, his hair in disarray, his hands still clenched. His voice stumbled, too low, too fast: 

"Me, I would have… no. I never could have held on." 

No one replied. Silence returned, thick. 

Pugsley, sitting on the floor, had his knees drawn up. He stayed still a long time, then his words fell, blunt: 

"I’ve never been so scared." 

Gomez placed a hand on his shoulder. His blazing eyes sought his son’s, and his voice, low, vibrated with a crack they had never heard from him: 

"Neither have I, hijo." 

Morticia, still kneeling, gently tightened the blanket over the two girls. Her fingers smoothed a strand stuck to her daughter’s forehead. She murmured, loud enough for all to hear: 

"But she’s still breathing." 


A silence stretched. Gomez sighed, dramatic, lifting his eyes to the ceiling: 

"The curse… always the curse." 

Wednesday raised her eyes toward him. Her voice, low, barely a breath: 

"It’s only a legend." 

The fire crackled, and in that silence a muffled whimper escaped beneath the blanket. Enid stirred, her fingers tightening, her lips releasing an indistinct sound. 
She bolted upright, gasping, eyes wide, as if waking from a nightmare. Her hands trembled, grasping for purchase, her broken breath clawing at the air too fast. 

"No… I… I have…" 

Wednesday caught her instantly. Her arms closed around her, drawing her back against her chest. Her voice slipped, low, almost tender despite her exhaustion: 

"Look at me." 

Her fingers touched her face, with a precision that was nothing like brutality. She gently forced her gaze. 
A long breath passed, and their foreheads touched, a point of balance found again. Black eyes plunged into blue, suspended in silence. 

Wednesday whispered: 

"I love you." 

Enid closed her eyes. Her body, strung tight as a bow for hours, finally loosened against her. Her breath remained jagged, but she clung to those words like to a plank in a storm. 

The fire cracked softly, lighting their too-pale faces. In the room, no one dared break the moment. 

Ajax eventually cleared his throat. His voice came out too loud: 

"Well… you could say that was… quite a night." 

Bianca turned her head toward him, eyebrows raised. 

"A night where you almost fell flat on your face running. 
- I wasn’t running! Ajax protested, hands raised. I… I was looking for a strategic position." 

Pugsley let out a brief snort. 

"In our house, we call that fleeing." 

Gomez burst into laughter, theatrical, clapping his hands. 

"What a family, my friends! Even on the brink, we still find something to laugh at." 

Agnes, quiet, breathed to herself, but loud enough for all to hear: 

"Maybe that’s why you endure." 

Morticia, kneeling, allowed herself a faint smile at the corner of her lips, almost imperceptible. But it was there. 

And in Wednesday’s arms, Enid raised her head slightly. Exhausted, she let out a breath that sounded like a muffled laugh. 

The fire kept up its calm dance. Lurch, silent by the hearth, stood tall like a familiar shadow. 
For the first time in hours, they all breathed together.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had passed.

Nevermore had returned to its rhythm. The bells rang, footsteps echoed in the corridors, shutters slammed in the morning wind. Posters for clubs already layered themselves hesitantly, laughter drifted down the staircases, and the windows still opened onto the same dark forest. Nothing had changed, in appearance. And yet, everything seemed tuned half a note lower, as if the place itself spoke less loudly.

Enid crossed the courtyard, hands in her pockets. Eyes slid over her, then extinguished immediately. No hurried whispers. No frightened recoil, no challenge either. Two silhouettes from the pack, leaning against the wall, saw her approach and straightened without a word, stepping aside to clear the way. A third simply lowered his eyes. Nothing theatrical. Just that space left, as if the courtyard had redrawn its lines without warning.

She did not turn her head. She had learned not to feed shadows anymore. The silence they gave her was enough. No explanations were needed.

The day was already fraying when Enid climbed back toward her wing, the steps of the porch still warm from the sun, the air heavy with humus. Bianca waited, leaning against the stone, arms crossed, chin raised. No long speech; she just nodded: 

"You coming with us tonight?" 

The tone was calm, simple. Enid answered with a quiet yes. Bianca gave the hint of a smile and stepped aside to let her in.

In the hall, Ajax skirted a pile of boxes stacked precariously. He raised his hand, hesitated, then finally pressed it against his chest as if swearing something no one asked of him. 

"Just in case… he said, a little too loudly, before lowering his tone. I watched videos about… breathing. Doesn’t work."
 
He laughed awkwardly. Enid nudged his shoulder as she passed, gently.

On the stairs, Agnes came down, arms full of books. Their eyes met briefly, nothing more.

Thing tumbled at the end of the corridor when Enid reached the door to the room, scaling the handle like a conquered flag, then dropping roundly onto the desk, triumphant. It looked as though she supervised a masterpiece: everything was neat, tidy, in her own way. Two desks. Two wardrobes. Two rugs. And, in the center, a single bed. Wide. It hadn’t been “added”; it had imposed itself, as if this room had always waited for this form.

Enid stopped, a corner of a smile already curling at her lips. 

"You outdid yourself", she told Thing. 

The fingers rose, demanding tribute. Wednesday placed her hand on them in sober acknowledgment, then removed her coat to hang it. Thing pretended to catch the hanger in her place, and Wednesday did not protest. It was, now, their way of being fine.

The window was ajar. Cool air barely stirred the curtains. The bed had a slight curve in the middle, the one you carve together without realizing. Enid dropped onto it on her back, arms open, then rolled onto her side to better see Wednesday. The simple gestures took their place again: setting down a book, removing rings, tidying a pen that didn’t need it. Nothing rushed. Nothing threatened.

"Classes tolerable? Enid asked, because some phrase was needed to break the air. 
- Yes. A few interesting essays. Boring students. 
- Making friends, I see. 
- Unfortunately." 

She smiled. Wednesday shut the door soundlessly. Thing climbed onto the shelf, settling against a pile of notebooks like a makeshift throne, then made a sweeping gesture: “Go on, I’ll leave you.” One could almost hear the satisfied sigh of a maître d’ dismissing the guests.

Evening came faster than expected. The light softened. Somewhere a window slammed, a laugh echoed and vanished in the staircase, the forest breathed beyond the walls. Wednesday sat against the pillow, her book open on her knees. Enid approached, leaned against her without asking. The warmth of a living body, that was all. No other science needed.

" You know, Enid said after a long moment, Bianca asked me to join them tonight. 
- You can go, Wednesday answered. You don’t need permission. 
- I know. That’s not it. It’s just… different now. 
- Yes. 
- And you’re coming with me? 
- Only if you want me to..."  

The phrase hung there, simple, without needless weight. Enid nodded, laid her cheek against the taut shoulder, felt the steady breath beneath the skin. Everything was held in that. She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. She didn’t want to miss what came next.

They talked of nothings after. A too-loud teacher. The cafeteria soup too salty. A crooked painting in a corridor. Conversation regained its almost domestic flow one thought lost: no suspicion between words, no edge ready to bite. Just phrases that ran, because the ground no longer shifted beneath their feet.

When the evening bell rang in the distance, silhouettes passed under the window. Two members of the pack brought up the rear. They didn’t lift their heads. Their steps didn’t slow. They no longer sought to be seen. No one spoke of it. That was enough.

Thing, seized by an energy all her own, scrambled down to rummage in a drawer. She pulled out two objects, laying them like trophies on the desk: Wednesday’s watch, repaired, the bracelet adjusted, and a hair clip Enid thought lost for days. Enid burst out laughing, bright, surprised by her own lightness. 

"You’re insufferable", she told the hand.  

The fingers mimed a deep bow, then pointed at the watch, then Wednesday, then their tiny heart carved into the wood. Message received.

"Tell me the worst moment, Enid asked, back against the pillow. 
- No. 
- Wends… 
- No… 
- And if I need it? 
- You don’t…" 

Enid didn’t answer right away. She only anchored her blue eyes in Wednesday’s calm darkness. No fever now. No challenge. Just presence. Her fingers, by reflex, sought hers, found them. Her breath slowed.

------

Later, they went down to the common room. Pugsley, Ajax, Bianca, and Agnes occupied a table, paper cups and cards spread as if a grand battle strategy replayed there. Bianca raised an eyebrow when they approached. 

"Ajax is trying to convince us he can count."

Ajax threw his hands in the air, already laughing at his own defense: 

"I can count! I just have a complicated relationship with numbers. 
- And with chairs, Pugsley added without lifting his eyes from the cards. You just tripped over one. 
- Not true, Ajax protested. I was testing their stability. 
-They failed", Agnes concluded, dead serious. 

A beat, then everyone burst out laughing. It was short, a little chaotic, but it filled the room with fresh breath. Wednesday didn’t laugh, but the line of her mouth softened. Enid smiled without holding back. 

They stayed a while. Not for much. Bianca announced two decisions, Ajax commented three too many, Agnes cut off a tangent with a single word, Pugsley snatched cards while barely cheating. Wednesday intervened only once: 

"Don’t plan for victory. Organize so you don’t lose." 

Bianca nodded, sincere: 

"We’ll do that." 

On the way back up, they crossed two pack silhouettes again. Shoulders low, neck bared, a step marked to avoid collision. One hesitated at three meters, as if an old habit tried to resurface, then gave up. Enid didn’t even need to quicken her pace. It was over.

The room welcomed them in the same glow. Wednesday’s book waited, and the window too. Thing had vanished—its trace guessed in a few pens lined up too straight. The bed awaited, wide, harmless. 

Under the covers, warmth enveloped them. Enid had found her place against Wednesday, nestled in her neck, her fingers playing with hers. She pressed a light kiss, then whispered softly, almost laughing: 

"You never told me… since when you’ve loved me." 

Wednesday kept silent a moment, then turned slightly toward her. Her dark eyes shone in the dimness. 

"Since the day I walked through that door with my suitcase. That’s when I knew you wouldn’t be just another encounter." 

A tender smile lit Enid’s face. She lifted her head to kiss her softly, lips lingering for a moment. 

"And you kept that to yourself all this time? 
- I didn’t know how to say it", Wednesday admitted. 

Enid laughed softly, shaking her head before stealing another kiss, longer. 

"You’re incredible… even at complicating love." 

Wednesday slid her fingers through her blonde hair. 

"And you’re incredible for waiting for me." 

Enid pressed closer, her lips brushing hers again. 

"It was worth it." 

Silence returned, punctuated only by small kisses, shared breaths, simple gestures that asked for nothing more. 

The lamp dimmed. The window let in a cooler draft. The bed cradled their weight and mingled breath. Nevermore remained Nevermore—cold stone, corridors too long, windows too high—but the balance had shifted. 

When the night finally settled for good, it found nothing left to undo. They would sleep. Or not. It didn’t matter. There was nothing to fear. And no one outside would think to disturb this place. 

The lamp went out. The window stayed ajar. The forest, far off, kept breathing, but its murmur no longer had teeth. In the darkness, their fingers remained entwined, like a phrase you never need to pronounce twice.

Chapter Text

As some of you pointed out, the reasons behind the pack’s attack on Enid and Wednesday may seem unclear, as well as the consequences.
So here are a few clarifications:

Reasons
The pack didn’t attack Enid because she was an Alpha, but because she left them after breaking up with Bruno. That made her a lone wolf — easy prey.
And for them, Enid was still an Omega: the bottom of the hierarchy. A target to bully, even eliminate.

Consequences
I deliberately chose not to involve the Nevermore staff in this story, which explains the absence of any official punishment.
And remember: we are talking about a wolf pack, ruled by its own codes and laws.

Of course, I could have written another version:

• Ajax petrifying his enemies in the forest,

• Bianca stopping the harassment with her siren song…
  But that was not the story I wanted to tell.

Because in the end, the pack is not the true enemy.
Enid herself, in her wolf form, is.

The story is called The Pack because of everything this word represents — both the threat outside, and what Wednesday and Enid choose to build together.

Take care! 
See you soon!