Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Time, Enid Addams had learned, did not move the way people insisted it did.
It did not arrive with ceremony or sharp edges. It did not announce itself with milestones or thunderous change. Instead, it settled in softly, accumulating in the corners of ordinary life. In mornings that began without alarms. In hands that reached for one another without thinking. In the way, a place slowly stopped feeling temporary.
Three years had passed like that.
The Boston apartment remained mostly the same. Tall windows that let in too much sun for Wednesday’s liking. Candles scattered everywhere, wax pooling in uneven halos on every available surface. The old desk by the window in the office Wednesday had claimed. But the people inside it had changed. Enid stood barefoot in the kitchen, sunlight warming the tiles beneath her feet, her phone glowing softly in her hand. Her hair had grown a bit longer now reaches a tad below the shoulders. It was still dyed as it always had been. An email sat open on the screen, reread for the third time despite the fact that it had not changed.

Fall Issue Final Approval Needed.

She smiled, slowly and a little disbelieving.
She had finished her bachelor’s degree the previous spring. Fashion Journalism, four long years of critique circles, trend forecasting, sleepless nights, and deadlines that never stopped chasing her. Somewhere between freshman icebreakers and senior portfolios, she had grown into herself.
The blog she had started halfway through college, meant at first to be nothing more than a creative outlet, had become something real. It had readers. A voice. People who returned, week after week, for her words. That alone still felt unreal.
The internship had turned into a job.

Not glamorous. Not famous. But steady. A small, independent fashion and beauty magazine that cared more about authenticity than algorithms. She wrote editorials, trend pieces, and essays about softness, self-expression, and finding joy after surviving things that tried to take it from you.
Her name in print no longer made her chest tighten with disbelief. It sat there comfortably now. Like it belonged.
And then there was TikTok.
She made a face at her phone.

She had resisted it for months. Then, finally caved to her excitement at the prospect. Outfit breakdowns. Behind-the-scenes moments. Cozy mornings. Chaotic laughter. It had gained traction slowly at first, then faster once people realized she was the same Enid Addams married to that Wednesday Addams.
The comments were relentless.
Wait, you are married to the author
No way this is the same, Wednesday Addams
This is the most aggressively domestic goth marriage I have ever seen
She had shown Wednesday exactly one comment thread before Wednesday stared at the screen for a long moment and said, calmly, "The internet is a failed social experiment," before returning to her manuscript.
As if summoned by thought alone, Wednesday spoke from the living room.
"You are smiling," she said. "Either you are being praised or someone has made a grievous error."
Enid laughed, setting her phone aside as she poured coffee into two mugs. "Little of both."
She carried one mug into the living room, placing it beside Wednesday’s elbow without comment. Wednesday accepted it immediately, fingers curling around the ceramic as if it had always been there.
"You received news," Wednesday said.

Enid blinked. "How do you always know?"
"You hum when you are pleased," Wednesday replied, not looking up from her pages.
"I do not hum."
"You were humming."
Enid grinned. "Okay, maybe I was."
She dropped onto the couch beside her wife, tucking her legs up beneath herself. Augustus lifted his head from the cushion with a displeased sound, then resettled when Enid scratched behind his ears. Across the room, their second cat, Octavian, watched with solemn intensity from the bookshelf. Sleek, grey, and perpetually judgmental, he had bonded with Augustus in a way that felt less like friendship and more like an alliance.
"Magazine approved my fall piece," Enid said. "No edits."
Wednesday’s pen paused. "As expected."

Enid nudged her shoulder. "You could sound proud."
"I am," Wednesday said. "I simply do not feel the need to announce the obvious."
That was new too, in its own way. Wednesday had always believed in her. But over the years, that belief had softened into something warmer, quieter, and deeply rooted.
Wednesday was twenty-two, now nearing twenty-three. She had published two more novels since the fiasco involving her visage. Each darker and more precise than the last. Critics adored and abhorred them. Readers devoured them. She pretended not to care and absolutely cared. She had done a few more tv interviews, book signings, and such. But she hated it, hated the attention. At the very least, however, she had become used to it a bit. It had become enough of a routine to settle into almost being tolerable.
The money was good. The schedule is flexible. The apartmentwas paid for without stress.
Life had settled. They had taken that second trip to Mexico last November. During Dia de los muertos. Enid adored every second of it.
Agnes drifted out of her room then, hair still damp from a shower, wearing one of Enid’s oversized sweaters. At nineteen, she was all sharp intelligence and quiet uncertainty, hovering on the edge of adulthood without quite knowing where to step.
"Morning," Agnes said.
"Afternoon," Enid replied, checking the clock. "You slept through breakfast again."
Agnes shrugged. "It was aggressive."

Wednesday raised her eyes briefly. "There are leftovers."
Agnes smiled, small and grateful, and disappeared into the kitchen.
She had lived with them full-time for a year now. After finishing her last two years at Nevermore, after Morticia stayed on as principal for one more year after her graduation, the manor had felt too empty. Too quiet. Agnes couldn't be in that huge palace alone, nor did she want to return to Jericho. She wanted her pack. SO she came to Boston and moved in full-time.
She worried, sometimes. About being in the way. About taking up space. She had voiced it once, late at night, sitting on the couch with her knees pulled to her chest.
"You are not a burden," Wednesday had said immediately.
"Ever," Enid had added, just as firmly.
They had meant it.
Morticia had stepped down at the end of the most recent school year, handing Nevermore over to a worthy successor before returning to the manor full-time with Gomez. Pugsley, after two years with Uncle Fester, had decided that a life of crime was not for him.
He now works as a professional stunt and test man, specializing in military vests and experimental weaponry.
He said it was fun.

Yoko and Divina had finally married the previous summer. The wedding had been dramatic, elegant, and exactly as unhinged as expected. Enid still had photos saved on her phone. Wednesday claimed she attended out of obligation. Enid had caught her smiling during the vows.
Everyone else had moved on. Graduate programs. New cities. New lives.
And here they were.
Late August. Boston is warm and heavy, sunlight slanting through the windows in lazy bands. Enid was twenty-three. The apartment breathed around them, full of life, of motion, of familiar sounds.
Too full, maybe.
The thought came without warning as Enid leaned back into the couch cushions and let her eyes wander. Shoes clustered by the door. Books stacked in precarious towers. Candles burning low. Augustus stretched across the armrest like he owned it. Octavian watching everything with quiet suspicion. Agnes was laughing softly in the kitchen. Wednesday beside her, solid and steady and constant.
Enid loved this place. She truly did.
But something in her shifted all the same.

The walls felt closer than they used to. Not suffocating. Just… finite. Like a space that had done its job well and was gently suggesting it might be time for the next one.
A house drifted into her thoughts. Not a fantasy. Not yet. Just the shape of an idea. More rooms. A door that opened onto something green. Space to grow into rather than around.
And then, just as suddenly, her mind wandered further.
Not deliberately. Not insistently.
Just for a heartbeat, she imagined small sounds where there were none now. Soft footsteps. Laughter pitched higher than Agnes’s. The quiet weight of something fragile and new cradled between her hands. A life made from her and Wednesday both. Pups. Babies. Children.
The thought startled her enough that she inhaled sharply and let it go at once.
She did not linger on it. Did not examine it too closely. But it left something warm behind, something steady and unexpected.
Perhaps she was closer to being ready for that than she thought.
Enid rested her head briefly against Wednesday’s shoulder, grounding herself in what was real and present. Wednesday did not look up, but her arm shifted instinctively, settling more securely around Enid’s back.
The future did not feel distant anymore.
It felt possible.

Chapter Text

Dinner was quiet in the way only familiar spaces could be.
The table was crowded but comfortable. Plates scraped softly against ceramic. Augustus lay beneath Enid’s chair, occasionally nudging her ankle in hopeful protest. Octavian sat on the windowsill, tail flicking with disapproval at the very concept of eating without him.
Agnes talked absently about a book she had started and not finished. Enid nodded along, smiling when appropriate, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Wednesday noticed it immediately.
"You have been distracted all day," Wednesday said, breaking the rhythm of the meal. "Are you unwell?"
Enid blinked, pulled back into the moment. "What. No. I am okay."
"You say that when you are not," Wednesday replied calmly.
Enid hesitated, then sighed. "I am okay. I promise. I have just been thinking."
Wednesday set her fork down. "About?"
"The future," Enid said. She glanced briefly at Agnes, then back to Wednesday. "About us. About maybe buying a home."
The words landed heavier than Enid expected. Not badly. Just solid.
Agnes’s head snapped up. "Like a house."
Enid smiled. "Yeah. Like a house."
Wednesday did not speak immediately. Her expression did not change, but something in her eyes sharpened, thoughtful rather than resistant.
"We have the means," Enid continued, warming to the idea now that it was spoken aloud. "We both have stable income. Savings. It would not be reckless. And I think I am ready."
Wednesday studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded once. "It is a reasonable progression."
Enid let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. "You are not opposed."
"I am not," Wednesday said. "I would prefer more space. The apartment has begun to feel strategically inefficient."
Agnes grinned, relief and excitement bubbling up at once. "That would be amazing. More rooms. Maybe a yard."
Enid laughed. "You are already planning."
Agnes’s smile lingered for a moment longer. Then something shifted. A quiet thought slipped in, unwelcome and sharp.
She pushed food around her plate, appetite fading.
Later that night, lying awake in the dark, Agnes stared at the ceiling and let the fear unfold.
A house meant change.
A house meant space.
A house meant a future that kept moving forward.
And maybe that meant it was time for her to go.
She was nineteen. She was not their child. Not really. She should be doing something. College. A plan. Moving back to the manor. Morticia and Gomez would welcome her without hesitation. It would not be bad. It would be easy.
But the thought made her chest ache.
This was her pack. She loved her mama Morticia and papa Gomez but, this is where she wanted to be. With Enid and Wednesday.
The next few days passed in a flurry of quiet excitement.
Enid researched neighborhoods and sent links with far too many exclamation points. Wednesday analyzed floor plans with ruthless efficiency. They discussed libraries and light and distance to cemeteries. They argued briefly over stairs. Agnes listened, smiled, and slowly began to withdraw.
She laughed less. She lingered in doorways. She flinched when the future came up too casually.
Wednesday noticed first.
Then Enid did.
They confronted her on the fourth evening, sitting together on the couch while rain tapped gently against the windows.
"You have been avoiding us," Wednesday said.
Agnes stiffened. "I have not."
"You have," Enid said gently. "And it is okay. But we want to know why."
Agnes swallowed. Her hands twisted together in her lap. "I just thought. With the house. With everything moving forward. Maybe this means it is time for me to leave."
The words came out rushed, brittle. "I mean, I am not your responsibility. I should go to college or do something. I could move back to the manor. Mama and Papa would love that."
Her voice wavered despite her best effort. "I just do not want to be in the way."
The room went very still.

Wednesday spoke first. "You are not a burden."
"Ever," Enid added immediately.
Agnes shook her head. "But you are building a future. And I am not part of that. Not really."
Enid moved closer without thinking, taking Agnes’s hands in hers. "Hey. No. That is not true."
"You are our pack," Wednesday said, her voice firm. "You always have been. The three musketeers, yes?”
Agnes looked between them, tears threatening. "Even if you have kids?"
Enid did not hesitate. "Especially then."
Wednesday nodded. "Your presence would not diminish that future. It would strengthen it."
Enid smiled softly. "We want you with us. For a while. For a long time. Forever if that is what you want."
She squeezed Agnes’s hands. "We are looking at houses because we want you to have more space. Not less."
Agnes’s breath hitched. "Really?"
"Really," Enid said.
Agnes broke then, leaning forward as Enid pulled her into a tight embrace. Wednesday’s hand settled on Agnes’s back, steady and certain.
"You belong here," Wednesday said quietly.
Agnes closed her eyes and let herself believe it.
The future felt less frightening after that.
It felt shared.

House hunting, Enid quickly learned, was an exercise in imagination as much as logistics.
The first place they visited was still firmly Boston. A narrow townhouse tucked between two brick buildings, all creaking stairs and thin walls. The realtor spoke brightly about charm and location. Enid smiled and nodded. Wednesday tested the floors by walking across them in slow, deliberate lines.
"It sounds like the building is breathing," Wednesday said.
"It is historic," the realtor replied.
"It is unstable," Wednesday said.
They did not make an offer.
The next was further out, still within the city but quieter. It had a small yard barely larger than a parking space. Enid could picture flowers there. Or maybe a chair. Or Agnes sitting on the steps reading while the cats watched birds with murderous intent.
Wednesday opened and closed doors, measuring spaces with her eyes. Agnes wandered ahead, peering into rooms as if she were afraid to want them too much.
"It is nice," Agnes said carefully.
"It is," Enid agreed.
But something tugged at her. Something intangible. The house felt like a pause rather than a future.
They thanked the realtor and left.
The days blurred together after that.
Listings pulled up on Enid’s phone late at night. Wednesday marking potential commute times in the margins of her notebook. Agnes asking quiet questions about room sizes and window light, trying not to sound hopeful.
They looked north. West. Coastal towns with salt in the air and houses that leaned toward the sea. Places that felt like postcards. Places that were tempting.
"I could write anywhere," Wednesday said one night, scrolling through photos of a weathered house overlooking the water.
"I could work remotely more often," Enid replied.
Agnes hesitated. "Would we be far."
"From Boston," Enid asked.
Agnes nodded.

Wednesday considered it. "Distance is relative."
They drove out one weekend, farther than planned. The road opened up. Trees replaced traffic. The house was beautiful. Old. Set back from the road with enough land to feel secluded.
Enid felt it then. The pull. The way the idea settled into her bones.
Too much, maybe.
The realtor talked about history. About quiet. About privacy.
Wednesday walked the perimeter, hands clasped behind her back. Agnes stood on the porch, staring out at the trees.
"It feels like leaving," Agnes said softly.
No one answered right away.
On the drive back, the car was quiet. The kind of quiet that asked questions without demanding answers.
They talked it through over the next few days.
About practicality. About careers. About access to publishers and studios and the magazine office. About logistics and snow and distance from hospitals.
"It makes sense to stay in Massachusetts," Enid said eventually, aloud and reasonable. "Even if we move outside the city."
"It is strategically sound," Wednesday agreed. "Proximity without congestion."
Agnes nodded. "I like it here."
And that was that.
But later, alone in the bathroom while brushing her teeth, Enid met her own gaze in the mirror and acknowledged the truth she had not said.
She wanted her future children close to Nevermore.
Close to the twisted iron gates and shadowed halls. Close to the Addams legacy that had shaped Wednesday into who she was. Close to Morticia’s steady grace and Gomez’s impossible devotion.
She wanted Sunday dinners that stretched too long. Summers where Agnes wandered the manor grounds like she belonged there. A childhood steeped in darkness and warmth in equal measure.
She wanted roots.

House hunting resumed with sharper focus after that.
They narrowed their search. Small towns just outside Boston. Older homes with character and space. Places where Agnes could have her own room without apology. Where Enid could imagine a nursery without startling herself with the thought.
They toured a house with a wraparound porch and crooked floors.
"It has potential," Enid said.
"It has ghosts," Agnes said hopefully.
"It has mold, and not the fun kind" Wednesday said.
They toured another with high ceilings and a fenced yard.
"I like the light," Enid said.
"I like the stairs," Agnes said.
"I like the silence," Wednesday said.
They lingered longer there.
Enid wandered into what could be an office. Or a studio. Or something else entirely. She stood in the doorway, heart humming.
Wednesday appeared beside her. "You are thinking again."
Enid smiled. "I do that."
"You are imagining a future that does not yet exist," Wednesday said.
"Is that bad."

"No," Wednesday replied. "It is preparatory."
Agnes called out from down the hall. "This room has good windows."
Wednesday looked between them. "We will continue our search. But we are closer."
Enid nodded, warmth spreading through her chest.
That night, back in the apartment, she lay awake listening to the familiar sounds. Agnes moving in her room. The cats settling in. Wednesday breathing steadily beside her.
She rested a hand over her stomach without realizing it.
Not now, she told herself.
But someday.
The thought did not frighten her anymore.
It felt like home.

Chapter Text

They found it after weeks of looking, almost by accident.
The town sat just outside Boston, quiet without being isolated. The neighborhood was there, but sparse. A series of streets with space in between each home. Far from a true suburb, but also not completely isolated. Old enough to have history, close enough to feel connected. Tree-lined streets. Stone walls half swallowed by ivy. A place that felt like it had always been there and would remain long after them.
The house stood at the edge of town, set back from the road as if it preferred observation to attention.
It was tall. Gothic in the truest sense of the word. Three full floors of dark wood and narrow windows, its bones unmistakably nineteenth century. The exterior was weathered but proud, stone softened by time rather than weakened by it.
Creepy, Agnes said immediately, eyes bright.
"Perfect," Wednesday replied.
Enid felt it before she stepped inside. The way her chest tightened, not with fear but recognition.
The front door groaned softly as it opened. The air smelled faintly of old books and rain soaked earth. Light filtered in through tall windows, catching dust motes that hung suspended like they were part of the structure itself.
It was old. Unapologetically so.

But there were pockets of warmth everywhere. Sunlight spilling across the floor in the afternoons. A fireplace framed by worn stone. A dining room that felt like it wanted long conversations and lingering meals.
The gardens out back were lush and slightly overgrown, flowers blooming where they pleased rather than where they were told. The yard sloped gently downward before dissolving into forest. Not manicured. Not fenced.
Wild.
Agnes stepped onto the back porch and stared. "It feels like it goes on forever."
"It does," Enid said softly.
Wednesday circled the house with quiet focus, fingers trailing along banisters and doorframes as if listening to what the walls had to say.
Then she found the staircase.
It spiraled upward from the second floor, narrow and steep, wood polished smooth by centuries of hands. It led to a small lofted space tucked beneath the roof, light pouring in through a single arched window.
"This would be suitable," Wednesday said. "An office. And a library."
Enid smiled. "You already picked your lair."
"I am efficient."
Agnes laughed, the sound echoing strangely and beautifully.
But it was the bedrooms that undid Enid.
Not just one. Several.

They were scattered across the second and third floors, each distinct. The walls bore signs of age, paint peeling back to reveal exposed brick beneath. Not ruined. Not neglected. Just honest. Lived in.
Enid stepped into one room and froze.
It was not large, but it felt right. The window overlooked the garden. Light pooled on the floor in soft patterns. The walls seemed to breathe.
And suddenly her mind betrayed her.
Laughter. Smaller voices. Bare feet racing down the hall. Toys forgotten in corners. Bedtime stories whispered in the dark. Children playing in the garden, disappearing briefly into the forest before being called back home.
Her throat tightened.
This was it.
This was the house she wanted her children to grow up in.
The realization struck so hard she had to steady herself against the doorframe.
No, she told herself quickly. That thought was too big. Too soon. Too dangerous.
She should not give it weight. It was supposed to be far away. Abstract. Something for another version of herself.
She inhaled, steadying her heartbeat.

"You found it," Wednesday said quietly from behind her.
Enid startled, turning. Wednesday stood beside her, gaze sweeping the room with clinical appreciation.
"It would be suitable," Wednesday continued calmly, as if commenting on weather or architecture. "For our offspring."
The world tilted.
Enid stared at her. "Our what?"
Wednesday did not react. Did not elaborate. Did not apologize. She simply continued examining the room, entirely unbothered.
"It has adequate space," Wednesday said. "Structural integrity. Proximity to forest. It would foster curiosity."
Enid’s heart hammered painfully in her chest. "Wednesday."
"Hm."
"You cannot just say that."
Wednesday turned then, eyebrow lifting slightly. "Why not?"
Enid opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "Because that is. A lot."
Wednesday studied her face with unsettling clarity. Then, seemingly satisfied, she nodded once. "We will discuss it later."
And then she left the room.
Enid stood there shaking, staring at the walls that had already betrayed her imagination.
That night, back in the apartment, the decision was made without ceremony.
"It is the house," Enid said, curled on the couch.
"It is," Wednesday agreed.
Agnes smiled, soft and relieved. "I felt it too."
Wednesday contacted the real estate agent before bed. The message was brief. Precise. Final.
In bed later, the room was dark and quiet, the familiar weight of the apartment pressing in around them for what Enid realized might be one of the last times.
She lay awake longer than usual.
"Wednesday," she said softly.
"Hm."

Enid swallowed. "Can I ask you something?"
"You already are."
She smiled faintly despite herself. Then the courage she had been hoarding finally gave way.
"Are you ready," Enid asked, voice barely above a whisper, "for kids."
Silence stretched between them.
They had not talked about it in years. Not since New Year’s 3 years ago. Not since everything still felt hypothetical and distant.
"I think I am," Enid admitted before she could retreat. "I know I am young. I know we have time. Lots of people swear to wait longer, but… But I want it. I want it so badly. I'm super chill if you aren't ready, just know that I really do think I am. No, I know I am.”
Wednesday shifted, turning to face her fully. In the dim light, her expression was soft in a way she reserved for very few moments.
"I am not opposed," Wednesday said. "But I would prefer intention over impulse."
Enid nodded, heart aching. "So not yet."
"Not yet," Wednesday agreed. Then she smiled. Small. Certain. "But soon."
Enid’s breath caught.

"Perhaps next year," Wednesday continued. "We could begin trying."
Tears welled in Enid’s eyes, relief and joy crashing together. She laughed quietly, pressing her forehead to Wednesday’s.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
Wednesday kissed her hair. "Sleep."
They fell asleep like that, wrapped around each other, the future no longer frightening. Just waiting.

Enid could work entirely from home if she wanted to.
Her job allowed it. Her editor encouraged it. Wednesday preferred it. But three days a week, Enid still drove into the city, coffee in hand, music blaring the familiar rhythm grounding her before the day truly began.
She liked having somewhere to go. Liked the people.
The magazine’s office was small and perpetually buzzing, tucked into the second floor of an old brick building that smelled faintly of ink and dust. Posters from past issues lined the walls. Fabric swatches and mood boards spilled across desks. Someone was always playing music too quietly for anyone to complain about.
Enid slipped into her chair, setting her bag down and opening her laptop. Emails first. Always email first. She answered questions from contributors, flagged edits for review, checked analytics on her latest piece, and made notes for an upcoming trend article she had been pitching for weeks.
By ten, the office had fully woken up.
"You are glowing," Maribel announced, leaning against Enid’s desk with a grin.
Maribel handled beauty features and somehow always looked like she had stepped out of a magazine spread, even on days she swore she had overslept. She had a sharp eye and a sharper tongue, softened only by the fact that she cared deeply about her work.
"I am not glowing," Enid said automatically.
"You are," Theo added from the next desk over without looking up from his screen. He had joined Enid at this place, had even gotten her the internship that led to the job. "Either that or you are hiding a secret."
Theo worked on layout and design, perpetually surrounded by mockups and half-empty coffee cups. Enid laughed. "Okay, fine. I have news."
Jess swivelled around in her chair from across the room, excitement immediate. Jess was the youngest on staff besides Enid, fresh out of school like her, all enthusiasm and bold opinions. "I love news."
Enid took a breath, then smiled. "Wednesday and I are buying a house."
For half a second, the room was silent.
Then chaos.

"Your first house," Jess gasped. "That is huge."
"That is terrifying," Maribel said. "Are you excited or panicking?"
"Both," Enid admitted. "Very much both."
Theo finally looked up, nodding once. "That tracks."
Maribel leaned closer. "Tell me everything. Where?”
"Outside Boston," Enid said. "Old. Very old. Kind of creepy."
Jess clapped her hands. "Of course it is."
"It has three floors," Enid continued, warming as she spoke. "And a garden. And a forest out back.
Theo smiled faintly. "You sound happy."
Enid paused. Then nodded. "I am. Just nervous. It feels big."
"It is big," Maribel said gently. "But good big."
The rest of the day settled into a familiar rhythm.
Writing. Editing. Meetings that ran long and accomplished very little. A late lunch eaten at her desk while she revised captions and double checked citations. A quick video call with a contributor who spoke too fast and apologized too much.
Enid thrived in the structure of it. The balance between creativity and routine. The way her thoughts flowed more easily when she was surrounded by motion and sound.
By the time she packed up to leave, her nerves had softened into something steadier.
On the drive home, while stuck in traffic that would not be moving for at least another 5 to 10 minutes, she texted Wednesday.
“I told my coworkers about the house.”
The reply came quickly.
"And."
"They are excited. And concerned. And very loud."
"As expected."
Enid smiled, leaning her head against the window as the city slid past.
Work was good. Life was good. Change was coming.
And for once, she did not feel the urge to brace herself against it.
She let herself look forward instead.
When Enid unlocked the apartment door, the first thing she heard was Morticia’s voice.
"It echoes now," Morticia was saying mournfully. "Every hallway weeps."
Enid paused, keys still in her hand.

"Mother," Wednesday replied calmly, "the walls are not sentient."
"They are lonely," Gomez insisted. "Even the knives miss you."
Enid stepped fully inside and followed the voices into the living room.
Wednesday and Agnes sat on the couch, facing the low table where the crystal ball rested between black candles. Morticia and Gomez’s faces shimmered within its depths, distorted slightly by the glass but unmistakably animated.
"We wander the manor like ghosts," Morticia continued, hand pressed dramatically to her chest. "Lost. Adrift. Surrounded by empty rooms."
"It is unbearable," Gomez agreed. "We trip over memories instead of children."
Agnes bit her lip, clearly fighting laughter.
Enid cleared her throat. "Hi."
Morticia’s expression brightened instantly. "Enid."
Gomez beamed. "Our sun has returned."
Wednesday glanced back at her. "You are home early."
"On time," Enid corrected, dropping her bag by the door. "What is going on."
"We were informing my parents," Wednesday said, gesturing toward the crystal ball, "of the house we intend to purchase."
"And how it is almost certainly haunted," Agnes added eagerly.
Morticia’s eyes gleamed. "Oh."
"Haunted," Gomez repeated reverently.
"It is from the nineteenth century," Wednesday continued. "Three floors. Gothic. Structural integrity remains sound."
"And the garden backs into a forest," Agnes said.
Morticia clasped her hands together. "A forest."
Gomez leaned closer to the crystal ball, voice dropping to an excited whisper. "Do you think the spirits are hostile?"
"Unknown," Wednesday replied. "But promising."
Morticia sighed happily. "I am so proud."
Enid laughed softly, leaning against the doorway.
Gomez nodded enthusiastically. "A home without hauntings is merely a building."
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. "That was my assessment as well."
Agnes grinned. "See. I told you they would love it."
Morticia’s gaze softened. "We miss you all terribly."
Gomez sighed. "The manor has never been so quiet."
"That is because Pugsley is no longer testing explosives in the east wing," Wednesday said.
"True," Gomez admitted. "But still."
Enid stepped closer to the table, warmth blooming in her chest. "We will visit. A lot."
"I know," Morticia said gently. "And we are thrilled for you. This house sounds perfect for the life you are building."
Wednesday’s hand found Enid’s without ceremony.
"We agree," Wednesday said.
The crystal ball shimmered as Morticia and Gomez leaned together, smiles soft and knowing.
"Bring us grandchildren, when you are ready," Gomez said lightly.
Enid choked on air.

Wednesday did not.
"Eventually," Wednesday replied evenly.
Morticia’s smile widened just a fraction.
Enid squeezed Wednesday’s hand, heart racing, and tried very hard not to think about how easily that word had been spoken.
The call ended shortly after, with dramatic farewells and exaggerated sighs. The crystal ball dimmed, the room settling back into its familiar quiet.
Enid exhaled. "They are impossible."
"They are enthusiastic," Wednesday corrected.
"And they like haunted houses," Agnes said proudly.
Wednesday stood, turning to Enid. "Your day."
Enid smiled. "I will tell you everything."
And for once, the future felt close enough to touch without fear.

Chapter Text

The offer was accepted on a Tuesday morning. Enid screamed so loudly that Augustus fled the room and Octavian knocked over a stack of books in protest.
"It is happening," Enid said breathlessly, pacing the living room with her phone still clutched in her hand. "We are actually doing this."
Agnes bounced on the couch. "We have a house."
"We have a house," Enid repeated, laughing. "A real one."
Wednesday watched them both with mild amusement. "Technically, we have entered escrow."
"You ruin everything," Agnes said affectionately.
The first few days were nothing but excitement.

Boxes appeared everywhere. Enid labeled them with colorful markers and far too many exclamation points. Agnes followed behind her, suggesting paint colors, furniture placement, and which room absolutely had to become a shared reading nook.
"We could hang plants," Agnes said, gesturing wildly. "And fairy lights."
"No fairy lights," Wednesday said from the doorway. "At least not externally visible ones."
Enid grinned. "What about inside."
Wednesday considered. "Negotiable."
Wednesday had her own plans.

While Enid and Agnes imagined warmth and softness, Wednesday focused on structure. Wiring. Soundproofing. Reinforcement. She spoke of renovations with alarming seriousness, explaining that certain changes were necessary before they moved in.
"It will delay occupancy," Wednesday said calmly.
Enid blinked. "Delay. As in. How much."
"Several weeks," Wednesday replied. "Possibly longer."
Agnes groaned. "Why."
"It is important," Wednesday said. "I will not compromise on this."
Enid hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
The boxes multiplied. The apartment slowly hollowed out.
Books disappeared from shelves. Art came down from walls. The closet emptied until hangers clinked against one another like wind chimes. Every day, the space felt less like home and more like a memory. Soon the weeks passed and the time to actual leave approached.
They had only a handful of days left when it hit her.
Enid sat on the floor of the bedroom, folding clothes into a box she had labeled bedroom miscellaneous, and suddenly her chest tightened.
This was it.

This was the place where they had learned how to live together. Truly live together. Of course they shared a dorm at Nevermore but here theyd id everything. They woke up together, cooked together, celebrated together and fell asleep together. Where they had argued and laughed and cried. Where Enid had finished college papers at the kitchen table and Wednesday had written entire novels at that desk by the window.
Their first place.
The beginning of their adult lives.
Enid pressed a shirt into the box and felt tears sting her eyes.
Wednesday appeared in the doorway without sound. "You are grieving."
Enid laughed weakly. "I diddnt think leaving would hurt so much.”
"This apartment is significant," Wednesday said. "It was our foundation."
Enid nodded, wiping at her face. "I know we are moving forward. I am happy. I just. I dont want to forget this place.”
"You will not," Wednesday said simply.

She stepped closer, kneeling beside Enid. "Memories are not location dependent."
Enid sniffed. "You say that like you have tested it."
"I have," Wednesday replied.
She reached out, brushing her thumb beneath Enid’s eye. "And besides. I have a surprise for you."
Enid blinked. "You do."
Wednesday nodded. "I am eager for you to see our new bedroom."
Enid’s heart skipped. "You planned it."
"Extensively," Wednesday said.

Enid laughed through her tears, leaning forward until her forehead rested against Wednesday’s shoulder. "Okay."
Wednesday wrapped an arm around her, steady and warm.
The apartment creaked softly around them, holding its final days with quiet grace.
And for the first time, Enid understood that leaving did not mean losing.
It meant carrying everything forward.
The last boxes were sealed by evening.
There was nothing left to pack after that, nothing left to decide. What remained fit into overnight bags and pockets. The apartment echoed in a way it never had before, each footstep too loud, each sound too sharp.
They ordered takeout and ate on the floor, backs against the wall, sharing bites and memories in equal measure. Agnes laughed about the time she had nearly set off the smoke alarm at three in the morning. Enid remembered her first night there, terrified and exhilarated in equal parts. Wednesday said very little, but her gaze lingered on the walls as if committing them to memory.
Morning came quietly.

They did one final sweep. Checked closets. Opened cabinets. Touched doorframes without comment. When everything was done, they stood in the center of the living room, keys resting heavy in Enid’s palm.
The landlord met them at the door, efficient and polite, unaware of the weight of what he was receiving back. Enid handed over the keys with a small, steady smile.
When the door closed behind him, they turned back.
The apartment was empty.
Bare floors. White walls. No candles. No books. No evidence of the life they had built inside it.
Enid swallowed.
She could still see it, though. The couch by the window. The desk where Wednesday wrote late into the night. Agnes curled up in the corner with a book. Cats draped over every surface like they owned the place.
Now it was hollow again.
Waiting.
She pressed her lips together, forcing the ache in her chest to settle. This place had been theirs. That mattered. It always would.
Wednesday slipped her hand into Enid’s. "Come."
They did not linger.

The hotel was quiet, anonymous in the way only places meant for passing through could be. One night. Just enough. The room was clean and nondescript, their bags placed neatly by the door.
Agnes flopped onto one of the beds and stared at the ceiling. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Enid echoed softly.

Wednesday stood by the window, city lights reflected faintly in the glass. "Tomorrow we begin."
Enid moved to her side, resting her head against Wednesday’s shoulder. The nervousness was there, humming beneath her excitement, but it was no longer sharp.
Tomorrow they would unlock a new door.
Tomorrow they would step into something built for the future.
Tonight, they slept knowing that everything they loved was already with them.
And in the morning, they would finally go home.

The house looked different when it was theirs.
The same gothic bones rose from the earth, tall and solemn and slightly judgmental, but now there were trucks parked out front. Movers carrying boxes through the doorway. The sound of life pressing inward instead of echoing out.
Enid stood on the front walk, overnight bag slung over her shoulder, eyes shining.
"We live here," she said, voice trembling with excitement. "Wednesday. We live here."
"I am aware," Wednesday replied, adjusting her coat. "I signed the documents."
Agnes bounced on her heels. "I love how haunted it feels."
"It smells old," Enid giggled happily.

One of the neighbors across the street lingered a little too long, pretending to water plants that were clearly artificial. Wednesday noticed immediately.
The woman waved awkwardly. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
Wednesday turned slowly and met her gaze.
The woman’s smile faltered.
"Good morning," Wednesday said calmly.
The neighbor swallowed. "It is. Yes. Very."
She retreated inside without another word.
Agnes stared. "How did you do that."
Wednesday blinked. "Do what."
Before either of them could answer, the movers began unloading boxes.
And Enid was gone.

She darted through the front door like a missile, shoes abandoned somewhere behind her, laughter echoing through the entryway.
"I am going to start with the bedroom," she called.
"No you are not," Wednesday said immediately.
Enid skidded to a halt halfway up the stairs, gripping the banister. "What."
"You will wait until the movers are finished," Wednesday replied evenly. "Then we will take a proper tour."
Enid stared at her. "I can unpack one box."
"No."
"Two."
"No."
Enid narrowed her eyes. "This is my house."

"It is our house," Wednesday corrected. "And the bedroom is currently off limits."
Enid crossed her arms. "You are being suspicious."
"I am being prepared."
For the next several hours, Enid attempted to circumvent the rule.
She tried slipping upstairs while pretending to look for the bathroom. Wednesday intercepted her at the second step.
She claimed she needed to open windows. Wednesday followed her room to room.
She enlisted Agnes as a distraction. Agnes failed spectacularly.
"She watches like a hawk," Agnes whispered at one point. "A very judgmental hawk."
Wednesday did not look up from supervising the movers. "I can hear you."
Enid groaned dramatically. "You are ruining the magic."
"The magic requires patience," Wednesday said.
By evening, the trucks were gone. Boxes filled every room. The house hummed with the quiet weight of everything they owned finally arriving.
Enid stood in the entryway, vibrating.
"Are we done," she asked sweetly.

Wednesday surveyed the house one final time, then nodded. "Yes."
Enid did not wait for permission this time. She sprinted up the stairs, laughter echoing wildly, and burst into the bedroom.
She stopped dead.
The room was beautiful. Warm. Old wood and soft light. But her eyes were immediately pulled to the far wall.
Where a normal window should have been, there was something else entirely.
A massive circular window dominated the space, intricate and breathtaking. It looked like a spider’s web frozen mid spin. One half was clear glass, practical and bright. The other half was stained glass, panes of pink and green and soft gold catching the dying light of the sun.
An exact replica.

Their window at Nevermore.
The one they had stood in front of. The one that had witnessed stolen glances, confessions, and the moment everything had changed.
Enid’s breath hitched.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
She turned slowly, tears already spilling over. Wednesday stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable.
"You knocked out a wall," Enid said faintly.
"It was necessary," Wednesday replied. "The original structure was compromised."
"It was a historic home."
"It still is."

Enid let out a broken sound and crossed the room in three strides, throwing herself into Wednesday’s arms. She sobbed openly, clutching her coat like an anchor.
"You did this for me," Enid cried.
"I did this for us," Wednesday said softly.
Enid pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes red and shining. "This is the window we fell in love in front of."
Wednesday nodded. "I remember."
Enid laughed through tears. "It is perfect."
Wednesday brushed her thumb beneath Enid’s eye. "I am glad."
They stood there together, wrapped in light and memory, the past carried gently into the future.
This was home.

And it was everything Enid had ever dreamed of.
The next morning arrived too quickly and not quickly enough.
Sunlight spilled through the house in unfamiliar patterns, catching on bare floors and unopened boxes. Enid padded downstairs in socks, coffee in hand, staring at the mountain of cardboard with a mix of determination and dread.
"This is going to take days," she said.
Wednesday adjusted her collar. "Possibly weeks."
Agnes groaned from the couch. "I am never finding my books again."
The doorbell rang.
They all froze.

Wednesday tilted her head. "That was not scheduled."
Enid opened the door.
Gomez stood on the porch, arms wide. Morticia beside him, elegant as ever. Lurch was looming behind them like a moving shadow. And at their feet, Thing waved cheerfully.
"Surprise," Gomez announced.
Morticia smiled serenely. "We sensed you might require assistance."
Lurch nodded once.
Thing scuttled inside immediately.
Enid stared. "How did you get here so fast."
Gomez beamed. "Love travels efficiently."

They descended upon the house like a beautifully organized storm.
Boxes were opened. Furniture placed with uncanny precision. Morticia directed flow and balance with a single raised finger. Lurch carried dressers as if they weighed nothing. Thing unpacked entire boxes on his own, sorting items with meticulous care.
Gomez clapped his hands together. "Now. For the antiques."
They had brought pieces from the manor. A side table. A mirror. A clock that ticked irregularly. Objects heavy with history and presence.
"A piece of home," Gomez said proudly.
Wednesday ran her fingers along the edge of a familiar cabinet, something soft settling in her chest. "Thank you."
Morticia kissed her cheek. "Of course my little rain cloud."
By midday, furniture deliveries arrived. By afternoon, they were shopping for finishing touches. Curtains. Lamps. Plants. Rugs that somehow tied everything together.
Enid blinked through it all. "This should not be possible."
"It is tradition," Morticia said simply.

Within just a few days the house was complete.
The outside remained tall and gothic, looming pleasantly at the forest’s edge. But now with Morticia and lurchs expert care the garden bloomed like something from a strange fairy tale. Flowers spilled where they pleased. Greenery wound along stone paths. Wild and beautiful and just a little dangerous.
Inside was a perfect contradiction.
Antique furniture sat comfortably beside bright throw pillows and fuzzy blankets. Pastels softened dark wood. A nineteenth-century candelabra now held modern cinnamon apple pie candles.
It worked.
Agnes’s room was fi
Finished first. Posters. Shelves. A reading nook by the window. The decorations were a mix. Some from Nevermore, some from the mansion and some from the apartment. She stood in the doorway afterward, quiet and smiling.
"It feels like mine," she said.
Wednesday’s office was exactly as imagined. Books everywhere. Artifacts. Curiosities. Shadows pooling comfortably in corners. It was unsettling and perfect. Around it, a massive library of books, mostly classics but some of Enid's new stuff had found its way. Seeing a copy of Heartstopper next to a classic first edition of Frankenstein was certainly an interesting sight.
Enid’s sewing and craft room glowed with light. Sun poured in during the day. Fairy lights twinkled when night fell. Fabric and tools, and inspiration filled every surface. It would serve as a desk for her work on the days she stayed home.
And then there was their bedroom.

At its center, directly before the massive circular window, stood the bed. A four-poster California king with a canopy that draped softly overhead. Velvet sheets caught the light, colors deep and rich. Mostly black but with subtle hints of bright colors on Enid's side. Enough to satiate her desire for all things bright and cheerful. The stained glass painted the room in shifting hues.
Enid sat on the edge of it, breathless.
"It is real," she whispered.
Wednesday stood behind her, hands resting on her shoulders. "It is finished."
Enid leaned back into her, overwhelmed and happy and confused all at once.
"I do not understand how this happened so fast."
Wednesday allowed herself a small smile. "Addams efficiency."
Enid laughed softly, looking around the room one last time. Their home was ready.And it felt exactly right.

Chapter Text

By Thursday, Enid was frustrated.
Not the overwhelmed, everything is a new kind of frustrated. Not the tired from unpacking kind either. This was sharper. Petty. Annoying in a way she could not quite shake.
She stared at her screen, cursor blinking in accusation, the words refusing to cooperate.
"Okay," Maribel said finally, rolling her chair closer. "You have rewritten that sentence six times."
Enid sighed and leaned back. "I know."
Theo glanced up from his layout proofs. "That usually means something is wrong."
Jess perked up immediately. "Is this house stress."
Enid groaned. "Yes. And no."
They all waited.

"I am happy," Enid said quickly. "We are moved in. The house is perfect. Agnes loves her room. Wednesday is thriving in her office like a little gothic cryptid."
Theo smiled faintly. "That tracks."
"But," Enid continued, "none of my neighbors will talk to me."
Maribel frowned. "Like. At all."
"At all," Enid confirmed. "I baked pies."
Jess gasped. "You baked pies."
"I baked six pies," Enid said. "Apple. Cherry. Blueberry. Two of each. I went door to door."
Theo winced. "Bold."
"I knocked," Enid continued. "I could hear people inside. TVs on. Footsteps. One lady looked through the curtain and still did not open the door."
Maribel crossed her arms. "That is rude."
"One guy did answer," Enid said. "And he told me he did not want anything to do with someone who bought that old creepy house."
Jess blinked. "Excuse me."

"Apparently," Enid said, making air quotes, "it is haunted and cursed and anyone who lives there is doomed or something.”
Theo paused. "That is not ideal, for you I mean.”
"It is ridiculous," Enid said. "I was being nice."
Maribel tilted her head. "Wait. Haunted how."
"I do not know," Enid said. "He just said people move in and bad things happen."
Jess’s eyes widened. "That is kind of cool."
"It is not cool," Enid insisted. "Its isolating and ridiculous. If there are ghosts in there im sure Wednesday has domesticated them by now.’
Maribel softened. "Okay. Yeah. That part sucks."
Enid sighed again, rubbing her temples. "I just wanted to meet them. Be friendly. We are going to live there for a long time."
Theo hesitated. "Does Wednesday know?"
Enid paused.

Then she smiled. Slowly.
"Oh," she said. "She knows."
Maribel raised an eyebrow. "And."
Enid’s smile widened. "She is thrilled."
Jess laughed. "Of course she is."
"She has been delighted ever since the neighbor across the street refused to make eye contact," Enid said. "She says the curse explains the structural anomalies."
Theo nodded thoughtfully. "Naturally."
Maribel shook her head, amused. "You married into a haunted house on purpose."
Enid laughed despite herself. "I did not know it was haunted."
"But you are not upset?" Jess said.
Enid thought about it.
The house. The forest. The garden. The window. Wednesday’s quiet satisfaction. Agnes curled up reading in her room. The way the house seemed to breathe around them.
"No," Enid said finally. "I am not."
She glanced down at her phone, where a message from Wednesday waited.
Any new supernatural developments.
Enid smiled and typed back.
Not here, you notice anything?
The reply came almost immediately.
No. But I am intrigued of our supposed curse.
Enid laughed, tension easing from her shoulders.
Maybe the neighbors would come around.
And if they did not.
Well.
She had always liked a little mystery.

Later, Enid drove home with the windows down.
The old powder blue Mustang rumbled beneath her hands, engine loud in a way that felt affectionate rather than aggressive. It was a seventies model, boxy and unapologetic, the kind of car that demanded to be loved loudly. Gomez had insisted on getting it for her the moment Enid laid eyes on it.
"You look like joy," he had said. "You must drive joy."
He had been right.
The driveway came into view as she turned onto their street, the house rising up at the end like something out of a storybook that could not decide if it wanted to be frightening or magical.
Wednesday’s vehicles were already there.
The black Jaguar XJ12 Series III sat perfectly aligned, polished and severe. Beside it, her black Honda CB250T motorcycle rested on its stand, sleek and purposeful.
Enid parked next to them and laughed softly.
Her powder blue Mustang looked ridiculous by comparison. Cheerful. Bright. Entirely out of place.
Perfect.

She shut off the engine and grabbed her bag, already smiling as she headed inside. Before sher eached the door she noticed people watching her through the windows, staring dead at ehr before quickly moving away when they noticed she noticed. She shook her head and sighed.
The door had barely closed behind her when she was tackled.
Augustus appeared first, winding around her ankles with dramatic insistence. Octavian followed more cautiously, tail high, eyes assessing as if she had been gone for weeks instead of hours.
"Hi," Enid laughed, crouching to scoop them both up. " Mama missed you too."
She straightened and took a deep breath.
"Honey, I am home," she called, voice echoing through the tall halls.
Her words bounced off walls and staircases, carried upward and outward, filling the house in a way that still felt new and thrilling.
Wednesday’s voice drifted down from somewhere above. "I heard you arrive two minutes ago."
Enid grinned. "Let me have my moment."
Agnes leaned over the railing on the second floor. "Did the neighbors finally speak to you."
"No," Enid replied cheerfully. “But they still look at me like im cursed so…”
Agnes’s eyes lit up. "Cool."
Enid kicked off her shoes and stepped further inside, the house settling around her like it recognized her presence. Candles flickered. Light shifted through the stained glass. The cats trotted ahead as if leading her deeper into their territory.
For all the rumors. For all the unease.
This place felt alive.
And it felt like hers.

That night, dinner was quieter than usual.
Not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.
Candles burned low along the old antique mahogany table, their light catching on antique silverware(not real silver) and the soft colors of Enid’s placemats. Agnes pushed food around her plate more than she ate, listening closely. Wednesday sat perfectly composed, hands folded, eyes attentive in a way that meant she was thinking several steps ahead.
Enid was the one who broke the silence.
"They really don’t want anything to do with us," she said, twirling her fork absently. "Apparently the house is cursed. Or haunted. Or both."
Agnes perked up. "Did they specify what kind of curse."
"No," Enid sighed. "Which is rude. If you are going to accuse someone of being cursed, you should at least provide details."
Wednesday hummed. "Fear is efficient. It keeps people distant."
"I know," Enid said quickly. "And I know you and Agnes don’t mind. Honestly, part of me doesn’t either. Peace and quiet. No surprise visits."
She hesitated, then added more softly, "But this is where we want to settle down. And I don’t want our neighbors to be afraid of us forever."
Wednesday’s gaze lifted.
Enid swallowed. "I don’t want our future kids to grow up in a place where people whisper about them. Or cross the street. Or decide they’re strange just because of where they live."
The word hung there.
Kids.

Wednesday froze for half a second.
Then, unmistakably, she blushed.
It was faint. Subtle. But Enid saw it.
Her fork paused mid air. "…Did I break you."
Wednesday cleared her throat. "No."
Agnes grinned. "Yes."
Wednesday shot her a look, then returned her attention to Enid. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier, but quieter.
"While I do believe being feared has its advantages," she said, "I am not ignorant of its cost."
Enid watched her carefully.
"Being judged for how you look," Wednesday continued. "Where you grew up. The stories people tell themselves about you before you ever speak."
She looked down at her plate. "It is… isolating."
Enid reached across the table without thinking, her fingers brushing Wednesday’s hand. Wednesday did not pull away.
"I don’t want that for them either," Wednesday said. "Or for you."
Agnes looked between them, expression soft. "I think the house is cool."
Enid smiled weakly. "Thank you, sweetheart."
Wednesday squeezed Enid’s fingers once, brief but certain.
"If they fear us," she said, "that is their failing. But we will ensure our children never doubt that they belong."
The house creaked softly around them, as if in agreement.
By Friday night, Enid had a plan.
She announced it over breakfast the next morning with the kind of determination usually reserved for revolutions and bake sales.
"I’m gardening," she said.

Wednesday looked up from her coffee. "You do that often."
"Not like this," Enid replied. "I’m doing it… strategically."
Agnes leaned over her bowl. "Are we intimidating someone."
"No," Enid said firmly. "We are de-intimidating."
Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "Suspicious."
Enid grinned. "I’m going to be in the garden all morning. Saturday. Peak neighbor activity hours. Lawns, hedges, passive-aggressive leaf-blowing."
She gestured vaguely with her spoon. "They’ll see me. In daylight. Touching flowers. Smiling."
Agnes nodded slowly. "A bold tactic."
"I even picked the outfit," Enid added proudly. "The bright hoodie. The obnoxious one."
Wednesday’s lips twitched. "The yellow one with the smiley face."
"The one and only," Enid said. "Maximum approachability. I will look physically incapable of haunting anyone."
Saturday morning arrived crisp and clear.
Enid stepped outside armed with gardening gloves, a watering can, and a hoodie so aggressively cheerful it could be seen from space. The giant smiley face beamed across her chest like a declaration of harmless intent.
She took her position in the front garden with purpose.
Almost immediately, curtains twitched.
Across the street, an older man paused mid-hedge trim. Two houses down, someone pretended very hard to check their mailbox. A woman next door watered the same patch of grass for an unreasonable amount of time.
Enid waved.

Big. Friendly. Two hands.
No one waved back.
Undeterred, she knelt in the dirt and got to work. Pulling weeds. Trimming dead stems. Humming softly to herself. Every so often, she glanced up and smiled at anyone within visual range.
Wednesday watched from the front window, coffee in hand.
"Your strategy appears to be unsettling them further," she observed.
"They just need time," Enid called back. "Exposure therapy."
Agnes appeared beside Wednesday. "She looks like a children’s television host."
"Precisely," Wednesday said. "Disarming."
Enid stayed out there for hours.
Sunlight caught in her hair. Dirt smeared her gloves. The garden slowly began to look less wild, more welcoming. Flowers stood taller. Paths became clearer. The house, for the first time, looked lived in rather than looming.
Eventually, one neighbor lingered a little longer than the others. A woman across the street pretended to prune roses while watching Enid from the corner of her eye.
Enid noticed and smiled again.
This time, the woman hesitated… then gave a small, uncertain nod.
Enid’s grin nearly split her face.
Progress.
And so the routine began.
Every Saturday morning, without fail, Enid went out into the garden. Rain or shine. Hoodie or overalls. Gloves on, smile ready. She waved at everyone who passed. Joggers. Dog walkers. Parents herding sleepy children toward cars. She learned schedules without meaning to. Who left early. Who came home late. Who lingered.
During the week, if she caught sight of anyone before heading to work or when she came back in the evening, she greeted them the same way. A warm smile. A soft hello. Sometimes a compliment shouted across a hedge.
Some people ignored her.
Some pretended not to see her.
A few stiffened like prey sensing danger.

Wednesday’s contribution did not help.
From the second floor office window, Wednesday had developed a habit of watching the street with her chin resting on her hand, eyes dark and unblinking. Her expression suggested she was mentally cataloguing weaknesses.
It was, at least, less aggressive than before. She no longer stared until people fled. Now she simply observed.
Progress, Enid insisted.
The pies had not worked. That much was clear. But that was fine. Pies were risky. Too much commitment. Too many expectations.
Cookies, however, were universal.

After two full weeks of smiling, waving, gardening, and relentless friendliness, Enid baked a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. The good kind. Crisp edges, soft centers, chocolate still melting if you broke one in half.
She packed them carefully into little boxes, each tied with pastel ribbon. Agnes watched from the counter, impressed.
"You’re terrifyingly determined," Agnes said.
"Kindness is a siege," Enid replied, tying the final bow.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "You are attempting to conquer the neighborhood with baked goods."
"Exactly."
With the cookies balanced in her arms and her smile firmly in place, Enid stepped out the front door.
Door to door.
One house at a time.

This time, she was sure, baking would work.
Once again, Enid did her best.
She knocked on doors, boxes of cookies balanced carefully in her hands, ribbons untangled, smile in place. She greeted passersby cheerfully. She waved. She called out small hellos.
Most doors remained unanswered.
Some she could hear moving inside, curtains twitching, but the wood held fast.
Eventually, she gave up. She lined paper plates along the doorsteps, one for each house, cookies stacked neatly, little notes attached. Each note had a smiley face, carefully drawn in pen, and a short message. From your friendly neighbors.
She stepped back and surveyed her work, feeling a flicker of accomplishment.
Wednesday, from the second-floor office window, noticed the slight slump in her shoulders, the way her hands lingered over the railing a moment longer than necessary. She could tell.
Enid was hurt.

The leaves had turned fully by then. Fall had arrived. The garden was slowing, preparing for winter. She had no excuse to spend every Saturday outside, tending to flowers as a form of neighborly diplomacy.
She carried out the motions anyway, cleaning up the garden, pruning, sweeping. But once again, no one came to open the doors. No one waved, no one smiled, no one paused to acknowledge her presence.
Enid smiled anyway. She laughed softly when Agnes nudged her playfully. She pretended she was fine.
But Wednesday could see it clearly.
The quiet crease at the corner of her lips, the slight gloss of her eyes in the sun, the way her hand gripped the rake just a little too tightly.
It hurt her wife’s feelings, deeply.
And Wednesday did not need words to know that.

Chapter Text

Wednesday found Agnes in the library that evening, long after Enid had gone upstairs under the pretense of reorganizing fabric she had already organized twice. Agnes sat curled sideways in an armchair, a book open in her lap, eyes drifting more than reading. She looked up the moment Wednesday entered.
"You’re thinking very loudly," Agnes said.
"I am considering violence," Wednesday replied evenly.
Agnes nodded. "That tracks."

Wednesday paced once, slow and deliberate, hands clasped behind her back. "I do not care if they dislike us. Fear is efficient. Disapproval is survivable."
She stopped by the window, gaze fixed on the darkened street beyond the garden. "But watching Enid dim, even slightly, because of their small minded cruelty… that will not stand."
Agnes shut her book. "She’s pretending she doesn’t care."
"Poorly," Wednesday said.
There was a pause.

"I considered going door to door," Wednesday continued. "Breaking in. Explaining, in detail, the consequences of ignoring and being cruel to my wife."
Agnes blinked. "That feels on brand."
"It would be satisfying," Wednesday admitted. "However, it would not solve the problem. It would only confirm every story they tell themselves about this house."
Agnes thought for a moment, then asked quietly, "So what do we do."
Wednesday’s expression sharpened, not with anger, but with focus. "We show them who Enid is. Properly. But not just her, we also show them that I am not a threat. As much as it annoys me to be viewed as not.”
Agnes tilted her head. "They already know you are the women who bought the creepy house."
"No," Wednesday said. "They know a rumor. A shadow."
She turned to Agnes fully. "They do not know her kindness. Her generosity. Her refusal to stop loving people who have given her no reason to."
Agnes smiled softly. "So we make them see it."
Wednesday nodded once. "On her terms."

Agnes leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "So what’s the plan then."
Wednesday did not answer immediately. She stared at the fireless hearth, expression unreadable, as if weighing something heavy.
"I will accompany Enid," she said at last.
Agnes blinked. "…Accompany her how."
"When she delivers baked goods. When she brings gifts. When she attempts kindness," Wednesday said flatly. "I will be there."
Agnes stared at her. "You. Outside. With neighbors."
"Correct."
"And you won’t threaten anyone."
"I will restrain myself."
Agnes squinted. "That wasn’t reassuring."
"I will even," Wednesday continued, voice tight, "fake a slight smirk if necessary."
Agnes gasped. "No."
Wednesday shot her a look. "Do not make this harder."
"You’re serious," Agnes said slowly.
"I am."

Agnes leaned back, stunned. "You hate small talk. You hate strangers. You hate… gestures."
"I hate watching Enid hurt more," Wednesday said.
Her voice softened, just barely. "I will be miserable. Enduring pleasantries, standing in daylight, pretending to be approachable."
She folded her hands together, fingers lacing with deliberate control. "But for Enid… mi loba… I would do anything."
Agnes smiled then, wide and fond. "She’s going to cry."
"Undoubtedly," Wednesday said. "I will endure that as well."
The plan settled between them, heavy and certain.
Kindness, reinforced.

And this time, it would come with teeth.
Wednesday brought it up over breakfast.
Enid was halfway through her coffee, still in pajamas, hair a mess, when Wednesday slid a small box onto the table between them. Another neatly wrapped batch of baked goods.
Enid blinked. "…What’s this."
"An offering..for our neighbors.” Wednesday said.
Enid frowned. "We already tried that."
"We will try again."
Enid looked between the box and Wednesday’s face. "With what. Cookies. Bread. A handwritten apology note."
"With me," Wednesday replied.
Enid choked slightly on her drink. "You."
"I will accompany you."

Enid stared. "You hate neighbors."
"I hate injustice more."
Enid opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Something about the way Wednesday said it left no room for debate.
"Okay," Enid said slowly. "But if someone screams, that’s on you."
They walked the street together, Enid smiling nervously, Wednesday standing at her side like a very dark shadow. Enid knocked. Smiled. Offered the box.
Doors stayed shut.
One opened briefly, then closed faster when Wednesday shifted her weight.
"This is worse," Enid whispered.
"I am aware," Wednesday said.

They turned to head back toward the house when a sharp cry cut through the air.
A small child lay sprawled on the pavement, a bike tipped sideways beside him. He couldn’t have been older than six. Scraped knees. Tears streaming.
Enid was at his side instantly, kneeling. "Hey, hey. You’re okay. That was a big fall, huh."
The boy sniffed, nodding, lip trembling.
Wednesday stood just behind them, looking down, mildly perplexed, as if confronted with an unfamiliar species.
Enid dabbed at the boy’s knee with a napkin meant for the cookies. "Do you live close by."
He pointed shakily down the street.
"Can you show us."
He nodded again.
They walked slowly, Enid holding his hand, murmuring reassurances. Halfway there, Wednesday’s gaze sharpened.
"I will take him to the door," she said quietly.
Enid blinked. "What."

"If they believe me kind," Wednesday said, "they will have no choice but to extend that belief to you."
Before Enid could respond, Wednesday crouched and offered her hand. The boy took it without hesitation.
Enid watched, stunned, as they approached the house.
The door opened cautiously. A parent appeared, tension clear. Their eyes flicked to the child, then to Wednesday.
"He fell," Wednesday said evenly. "He scraped is knees but is without significant injuries. The wounds should be cleaned though."
The parent froze for a moment… then pulled the child into their arms. Relief cracked their composure.
Then, unexpectedly once the boy was released from his mothers grasp he turned and after pandering for a moment… hugged Wednesday.
Hard.
Wednesday stiffened completely, eyes wide. Every muscle in her body locked. She did not kick them, though the urge was visible. Enid bit her lip to keep from laughing.
The other parent appeared then, thanking them both. Enid handed over the baked goods, smile soft.
As they turned to leave, the woman hesitated. "I’m sorry if we seemed rude. Or distant. We just… “
"It’s okay," Enid said gently. "Really."
They walked home in silence.
Halfway there, Enid slipped her hand into Wednesday’s. Wednesday let her.
Progress, at last.

Later that night, Enid and Agnes were curled up on the couch, cats draped across them like warm, purring weights. Augustus was sprawled across Enid’s legs, Octavian tucked against Agnes’s side. The television played quietly, something light and forgettable. Enid was half asleep when the doorbell rang.
It was not a normal sound.
It was thunderous. Deep. Horrifying. Like an accusation.
Agnes yelped, it was the first time since they moved in anyone bothered to ring the bell. Augustus looked up disheveled. Octavian vanished entirely.
Wednesday rose immediately. "I will handle it."
Enid groaned. "If that’s another neighbor calling the cops…"
Wednesday was already moving.She opened the door. There was no one there.
Just a plate.

Cookies. Still warm. Covered loosely in foil. A piece of notebook paper sat on top, folded unevenly, words scrawled in a child’s barely legible handwriting.
Wednesday picked it up, read it once, then stood very still.
Enid appeared behind her. "What is it."
Wednesday handed her the note.
Thank you for helping me. You are nice ladies!
There was a small, wobbly smiley face underneath.
Enid coudlnt help but let a massive smile overcome her face. Agnes leaned over her shoulder.
"Oh," Agnes breathed.
Enid laughed, soft and broken, eyes shining. She gathered the plate into her arms like it was something precious.
Wednesday watched her, something quiet and dangerous loosening in her chest.
Kindness, it seemed, had finally knocked back. Seeing her wife happy was everything. Even if it meant losing the careful aura she had built.

Chapter Text

Agnes knew, logically, that she was not a burden. Wednesday told her so, in the blunt, unwavering way she told all truths. Enid told her so daily, with hugs and laughter and an open invitation to stay as long as she wanted, they even said forever. They meant it. She believed them. And still. Nineteen felt too old to be this lost. Agnes lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, counting the faint cracks in the plaster. The house was quiet in the way only a settled home could be. Downstairs, she could hear Enid moving about, the soft clink of dishes, the distant murmur of Wednesday’s typewriter keys like a steady heartbeat.
Everyone else seemed to know where they were going.
Enid had a career. A name. A following. She talked about deadlines and collections and meetings with the same enthusiasm she talked about fabric and color. Wednesday published books with unsettling regularity, her future stretching out sharp and certain. By 19 they were already either successful or on the path. But here she was at 19 not a single day of college under her belt. Or anything else really.
Agnes had… finished school.

Nevermore had given her structure. Rules. Expectations. Now those were gone, replaced by freedom she did not know how to use. College applications sat half filled on her desk. Brochures piled up in uneven stacks. Art schools. Universities. Programs that promised purpose if only she could choose the right one.
Every option felt wrong.
She drifted through the house sometimes, feeling like a guest in a life that was not hers. She helped where she could. Cooked when Enid let her. Ran errands. Folded laundry. Useful things. Safe things.Still, the question followed her.
What are you doing?
She watched other nineteen-year-olds from a distance. On screens. On sidewalks. Moving forward with loud confidence or at least the illusion of it. Agnes felt stalled, stuck between who she had been at Nevermore and whoever she was supposed to become next. She hated herself most for the guilt. Because she was loved. Protected. Wanted. And still she felt restless.

That night, she sat on the back steps, wrapped in a blanket, staring into the edge of the forest beyond the yard. The trees loomed dark and patient, like they were waiting for her to decide something. Agnes exhaled slowly. She did not know what she wanted to do with her life. She only knew she did not want to waste it. Agnes knew it was wrong to compare herself to them.She knew it the same way one knows touching a bruise will hurt. The knowledge did nothing to stop her. Wednesday was twenty-two and already terrifyingly successful. Five published novels. A record shattered. Mary Shelley surpassed and left behind. Her name carried weight now, spoken with respect and a little fear. She had built her wealth, her future, brick by deliberate brick.
Agnes felt… still.
She had hobbies. Things she liked. She could draw when she focused, sew if Enid showed her how, bake when the mood struck. She enjoyed helping in the garden, wandering the forest, cataloguing strange little curiosities she found along the way. But none of it pointed anywhere.
No path. No direction. No voice in her head saying this is it.
She rubbed at her face, frustrated with herself. She was safe. She was loved. She had time. Everyone reminded her of that constantly.
Time felt useless without a way to spend it.
Agnes stared out toward the trees again, wondering how something so full of possibility could feel so empty all at once.
Wednesday and Enid noticed, of course.
They always did.
Agnes had grown quieter over the past few weeks. Not withdrawn exactly, but… dimmed. Less laughter. More time spent alone. Long stretches where she sat and stared, like she was waiting for something to arrive and afraid it never would.
They found her thw following evening in her room.
She sat curled into her reading nook by the window, knees drawn up, chin resting on them. Outside, the garden lay hushed, leaves skittering across the paths in the wind. Agnes wasn’t reading. She was just looking out, lost in thought.
Enid leaned against the doorway first. "Hey, pup."

Agnes glanced back, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Hey."
Wednesday stepped inside, closing the door softly behind them. She crossed the room without hesitation and sat on the edge of the nook.
"You have been unusually silent," Wednesday said. "Statistically concerning."
Agnes huffed weakly. "That’s one way to put it."
Enid climbed in beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You don’t have to be okay all the time, you know."
Agnes swallowed. Her gaze dropped back to the yard. "I know."
There was a long pause. No pressure. Just presence.
"I feel…" Agnes started, then stopped. She frowned at herself. "Stuck."
Wednesday tilted her head. "Explain."
"I don’t know what I’m doing," Agnes admitted quietly. "Everyone else does. You two have lives. Careers. Plans. And I’m just… here."
Enid squeezed her gently. "You’re not just here."

"I know," Agnes said quickly. "And I’m grateful. I swear I am. But I’m nineteen and I don’t have a direction. I don’t even know what direction would feel right."
She finally looked at them then, eyes bright with frustration. "I don’t want to waste time."
Enid’s expression softened, heart breaking just a little. "Oh, honey."
Wednesday studied Agnes carefully. "Stagnation is not failure," she said. "It is merely a pause."
Agnes let out a shaky laugh. "It doesn’t feel like a pause."
Enid rested her forehead against Agnes’s. "It won’t always feel like this. And you don’t have to figure everything out right now. We promise."
Agnes closed her eyes, leaning into them, letting herself be held.
For a moment, the world felt quieter.
Enid pulled back just enough to look at her properly, hands still warm around Agnes’s arms.
"Can I ask you something," she said gently.
Agnes nodded.
"What do you like to do," Enid asked. "Not what you think you should do. Not what looks good on paper. Just… what actually makes you feel good when you’re doing it."
Agnes hesitated.

She stared out the window again, chewing on her lip. "I mean… I have hobbies."
"I know," Enid said softly. "But I want to hear you talk about them."
That made Agnes pause.
"When I draw," she said slowly, "I lose track of time. Especially when I’m drawing places. Buildings. Old ones. I like imagining who lived there before, what secrets they kept."
Wednesday’s gaze sharpened slightly.
"And I like organizing things," Agnes continued, warming as she spoke. "Not like… cleaning. But cataloguing. Writing notes. Figuring out where things belong. I did that a lot at Nevermore. The archives. The weird stuff no one wanted to deal with."
Enid smiled, encouraging. "That sounds really you."
Agnes shrugged. "I like wandering the woods too. Finding little things. Bones. Feathers. Rocks. Stuff that looks ordinary but isn’t, if you look close enough."
Wednesday nodded once. "Pattern recognition. Historical curiosity. Observational skill."
Agnes blinked. "Is that… good."
"It is useful," Wednesday said. "And rare."

Enid squeezed her hands again. "See. That spark right there. That’s what I wanted to hear."
Agnes felt something loosen in her chest, just a little.
That was when Wednesday’s gaze shifted.
She had been listening, truly listening, but now her eyes moved, slow and deliberate, around the room. Agnes’s room was quiet, personal, lived in. And everywhere, lining the walls, tucked into shelves, pinned to corkboards, were photographs.
So many of them.
Trips. Old trips. New ones. Blurry candid shots of forests and ruins and abandoned buildings. Nevermore’s spires caught at odd angles. The lake at dusk. Corridors half lost to shadow. A bunch were from Wednesday and Enids senior year.
Wednesday stood.
She walked closer to the wall without asking, studying the images with unnerving focus.
"You took these," she said.

Agnes shifted, suddenly self conscious. "Yeah. I mean. Over time."
Enid followed, eyes widening. "Agnes… I didn’t realize there were this many."
Wednesday’s fingers hovered just short of touching one photo. A younger Wednesday, braid tight, expression severe, caught mid stride across the Nevermore grounds.
Another. Wednesday reading beneath a tree. Another. Wednesday glaring directly at the camera. She remembered those photos. Ones agnes had took while stalking her at the peak of her obsession.
Agnes winced. "Okay, some of those were… early Nevermore years."
"You were thirteen," Wednesday said flatly.
"I was very bored," Agnes muttered. "And you were fascinating. I wanted to be you… but you know that already."
Enid covered her mouth to hide a laugh. "Oh my god."
Wednesday did not look offended. If anything, she looked… thoughtful.
"You have been observing for a long time," Wednesday said.
Agnes nodded slowly. "I like capturing moments before they disappear. Stuff people don’t notice. The way places feel. The way people exist in them."
Silence settled.

Wednesday turned to her then, fully. "You are not stagnant."
Agnes blinked. "I’m not."
"You are an archivist of the living," Wednesday said. "A documentarian. You preserve what others overlook."
Enid’s eyes softened immediately.
Agnes swallowed, emotion rising unexpectedly. "You really think so."
"I do," Wednesday said simply.
For the first time in weeks, Agnes felt something unfamiliar bloom in her chest.
Possibility.

Enid tilted her head, looking around the room again, really seeing it now.
"You know," she said carefully, "you seem to really like photography. Maybe that’s something to look into."
Agnes hesitated. "I don’t know. It’s just a hobby. And I’m not even that good. Plus, it’s hard to make money with it. Hard to find work and stuff."
Enid chuckled softly. "Okay, first of all, you are good. Second of all…" she waved a hand vaguely. "Money isn’t really a concern."
Agnes blinked at her.

"I mean," Enid added quickly, "it would be awesome if you had your own stable income someday. That’s important. But it’s not urgent. We’re fine. More than fine."
Wednesday nodded. "Financial pressure is not a prerequisite for purpose."
Enid smiled at Agnes. "What matters is if you’re happy."
Agnes looked down at her hands, thinking. "I don’t know if I’m ready to pursue it. Like… seriously."
"That’s okay," Enid said immediately. "It’s just a thought. A seed."
Wednesday inclined her head. "Seeds do not demand immediate growth."
Agnes smiled then, small but real. "Thanks."
For the first time in a while, the future didn’t feel quite so heavy.
Later that night, Agnes sat between them on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, a blanket pulled up around all three of them. Augustus had claimed Wednesday’s lap. Octavian was draped across Enid’s shoulder, purring loudly enough to be felt.
The house was quiet. Safe.

Agnes leaned into Enid without thinking. Enid’s arm came around her automatically. Wednesday rested a hand on Agnes’s knee, steady and grounding.
The future was still there. Uncertain. Vast. Full of questions Agnes did not yet have answers to.
But it no longer roared.
It lingered softly at the edges of her thoughts instead of crushing down on her chest. For the first time in a while, the fear loosened its grip, replaced by something gentler.
Time.
Agnes closed her eyes, breathing evenly, surrounded by her sisters.
And for tonight, that was enough.