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The red-string around Wednesday's pinky finger was a curse, and a nuisance. At least, in her eyes it was. Everyone had one, though Normies didn't believe the Outcasts about that. They tied two people together, two souls that we predestined to have near perfect compatibility, be that romantic or platonic. But only a few outcast families could see their own strings. The Frump family could see everyone's strings, their own included of course.
Wednesday had grown to see the strings as a weakness, and her ability to see them was a curse she relished. Her own would have to go, she couldn't keep it. To be tied to someone else, to care what they thought and felt was a nuisance and a weakness she would not accept.
She'd known years before she'd been shipped off to Nevermore Academy that she'd one day rid herself of the string. While Wednesday had no intentions of staying at the school in which her mother's shadow lurked over her. It did however offer her the chance to remove her red-string in private.
A red-string could not be untied. But there were a few volatile ways Wednesday could remove her string, or at least break it's tether to her bound. Being attached to someone for the rest of her life was not how she intended to live. Besides, it was just another security in her plan to run away and live a life of her own away from her Mother's watchful eyes.
That first night at Nevermore Wednesday settled herself on the balcony outside the window. Thing sat away from the circle she'd prepared, and watched closely, in case he needed to go for help. Enid was just inside, but Wednesday allowed Thing's close watch. Of course, if he were to tell her parents, she'd amputate his favourite finger.
If Morticia and Gomez found out that Wednesday's string was broken, they'd be heartbroken. They'd come right back to Nevermore, and flutter around like bats in a cave. They'd worry that something had happened between her and her, soulmate. No, she couldn't have cut the string at home, not under her mother's watchful gaze.
Wednesday had always intended to rid herself of her string in secret. Nevermore just offered the perfect shelter to do so.
There was plenty that could go wrong, but that was a risk Wednesday had to take. To be tethered to someone was not something she would accept, without at least trying to rid herself of the string. Of course, she was not naive enough to assume that with string severed, the connection itself would be. But she'd much rather not have a string tying her to someone that she did not care to know.
Wednesday lit the candle in the centre of the circle, and held her string over it. From the book she'd stolen from her family's library, she chanted out the first incantation. The flame flickered, and shot up, encasing the string.
She watched, entranced for a moment. She didn't feel the flame, not on her hand so close to it, nor on the string.
She chanted the second incantation, this one to weaken the string. From beside her, Wednesday plucked the dagger she'd carefully chosen for the ritual. She held it into the flame under her string which stayed taut through the flame. She uttered the third incantation, the one that should seal the deal.
The dagger, an ornate instrument she'd plucked from the wall of her family home, should have the power to cut the string. But through the ritual, it would never be able to hurt her bound, her soulmate. It would slide harmlessly through their skin, without leaving a single mark. A trade off she'd sat with, but had eventually accepted.
The flame flared up, and pulled away from the string. Wednesday raised the dagger, and hit it against the string. A new flame, from the dagger connecting with the string, burned the way forward for the blade.
The candle dulled out, and the string split.
What was left of Wednesday's Red String dangled down her palm. The end sat just above her wrist, charred and smoothly cut. She'd done it, and no one would be any the wiser. She was free of the weakness she'd been forced to bear.
—
Wednesday had trained herself to ignore other's red strings when she was just going about her day. It was good to acknowledge them when she was analysing the people around her, but otherwise they only served to be a distraction.
The change to her own string had been easy enough to adjust too. It longer stretched out, tied to another, tethering her to someone she did not care to know. A small line of red that no longer existed in her line of vision was simple enough to adjust too. The sight of her own string, hanging limply by her side, charred at the moment, sent a small thrill through her system. A constant reminder of her success.
She'd only trained her eye to ignore long, red strings that tied between two people. Red Strings that stretched out, or hung tight between two people. It was entirely another to be greeted with the sight that met her when the Weathervane Barista's hands came into view.
His string dangled down his palm, loose and limp. It did not trail to the floor, ending instead with a smooth, charred edge just above his wrist.
Well. That was certain to complicate things, Wednesday was sure. But only if she stuck around, and she had no intentions of doing that. The barista, like Nevermore, would soon be nothing more but a distant memory. She was sure. As long as things went according to plan.