Chapter Text
Nevermore’s dormitory loomed under the heavy September sky like a tomb that had never known sunlight. Thick leaden clouds sealed off the heavens, leaving the world drained of color—cold and faded, as if all vitality had been strangled by the shadows.
Wednesday Addams sat on her side of the room. The black sheets were stretched taut without a single wrinkle, and an antique typewriter waited at the corner of her desk. Her fingers moved across the keys with mechanical precision, crafting a novel steeped in crypts, betrayal, and wounds that would never heal—mirroring the aura that clung to her like a second skin. Writing was the only thing that came close to calming her. Not peace, exactly—more like forging the roiling hatred inside her into something cold, sharp, and orderly.
Five years had passed since the Addams family had reclaimed her from the orphanage. Five years of their indulgent, near-feral brand of affection, which had shaped her into the most dangerous student at this elite boarding school. Straight A+ grades, zero club participation. Teachers feared her in whispers. Students treated her like a living taboo. Cross her, and tomorrow your backpack might contain a dead crow—or something far more nauseating. Her rules were ironclad, her boundaries sacred. No one dared test them.
Until now.
The lock clicked. The sound sliced through the room like an ill-tuned prelude.
A rush of warm air carrying the sweet scent of strawberries flooded the darkness without warning.
“New roommate,” Wednesday said without looking up, her voice as sharp and cold as a blade drawn in the dead of winter. “Rule one: speak only when necessary. Touching is strictly forbidden. Fail to comply, and you can leave tonight.”
“Wednesday… It really is you!”
The voice cracked with barely contained joy, slamming into her like a burst of wildfire.
Wednesday’s fingers froze above the keys. Her spine stiffened vertebra by vertebra as an icy disbelief spread from her chest to her fingertips. Slowly, she turned her head.
Enid was taller than she remembered. Streaks of bright pink and blue danced through her hair. Her clothes were a cheerful riot of color, and her suitcase was plastered with stars and rainbow stickers. She looked exactly like the stubborn little sun Wednesday remembered—foolish, relentless, and impossible to snuff out.
The next second, Enid launched herself forward without hesitation, wrapping her arms tightly around Wednesday’s shoulders.
Wednesday’s body went rigid, as if struck by lightning. The heat of another person burned through her black layers. A familiar heartbeat thrummed against her, along with that same soft scent that made her want to destroy something. For one excruciatingly brief moment, her mind went blank. Her pupils dilated. Something buried deep inside her thrashed violently, threatening to claw its way out.
Then disgust and rage surged up like black water beneath ice, roaring over everything.
“Don’t touch me！”
Wednesday shoved her away with brutal force. Enid stumbled backward, crashing onto the floor with a dull thud. Her elbow scraped across the rough wood, skin splitting open to reveal a small smear of crimson.
But Enid was already scrambling back to her feet, offering that bright, placating smile. “I’m sorry… I got too excited. I just… I missed you so much.” She rubbed her arm, voice soft and careful, each word placed delicately like it might shatter.
Wednesday stood over her, chest churning with a storm of ugly emotions. She hated Enid for abandoning her six years ago. She hated this version of her even more—the one who could look so small and warm, as if a single hug and a few whispered words could erase every wound. What she hated most was the tiny, traitorous tremor in her own chest: the buried little girl who still wanted to lean into that embrace. It made her sick.
“Enid Sinclair.” Wednesday’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous rasp, like frost creeping from the grave. “You still dare show your face in front of me?”
The words cracked open the sealed gate of memory—
The orphanage gate. A black car waiting. Eleven-year-old Wednesday clutching Enid’s arm so tightly her knuckles went white, tears falling uncontrollably.
“Enid, don’t go! Don’t leave me! You promised!”
Enid, eyes red-rimmed, slipped a crumpled envelope into her hand—the money she’d secretly earned from odd jobs. “I’m sorry, Wednesday… This is for our jar. I swear I’ll come back for you, okay? I promise…”
Then the hand slipped away. Enid turned toward her new parents’ expensive car. The door slammed shut like a final verdict. Wednesday stood there until the taillights vanished down the road.
The memory faded, but the pain never did.
“I waited a whole year…” Wednesday’s voice fractured with a faint tremor beneath the rage, like fresh blood from an old scar. She quickly buried it beneath layers of ice. “Every single day I thought you’d come back. Every night I listened for footsteps at the door.”
Enid bit her lower lip hard enough to leave marks. “I’m sorry… I did go back, I swear! But you were already gone. They said your real parents had finally found you…” She forced another smile, fragile and too bright. “But we’re together again now. Just like when we were little—”
“Enough！”
Wednesday’s voice cut through the air like a blade forged in frost. She strode over to Enid’s obnoxiously colorful suitcase, dragged it to the open window, and yanked the zipper open. In one merciless motion, she hurled the whole thing—bright clothes, fluffy plush toys, and all—over the balcony railing. Enid lunged after it, barely managing to catch a small pink scarf fluttering in the wind.
Wednesday stood behind her, the corner of her mouth curling into a cruel little smile that never reached her eyes. Those dark eyes held only cold satisfaction and a deeper, burning ache. “That’s what happens to traitors.”
Enid turned slowly, eyes rimmed red, tears threatening to spill. She sniffed hard and somehow produced an even uglier smile. “It’s okay… I’ll just go pick them up.”
Her voice was so quiet, yet it sawed at Wednesday’s nerves like a dull knife. A spike of irritation flared inside her. This was wrong.
Enid was supposed to get angry. She was supposed to fight back.
Instead she was compliant, small, and warm—turning Wednesday’s hatred into a punch thrown into cotton, leaving only a suffocating void.
Wednesday armored herself in fresh layers of frost. “From today on, I make the rules. One: no noise during my writing time. Two: the room is divided. Stay out of my space without permission. Three—” She paused, each word hammered like a nail into a coffin. “Never. Touch. Me. Without my consent. Break any rule, and you’ll learn why the rest of Nevermore knows better than to cross me.”
Enid nodded silently, throat working as she swallowed whatever else she wanted to say.
Night fell. Wednesday remained at her typewriter, fingers striking the keys, but the dark sentences that usually flowed so easily kept catching today. Her mind was no longer still. The empty bed on the other side of the room loomed like a silent swamp, sucking away most of her focus.
The door creaked open with painstaking care. Wearing her school uniform, Enid slipped in like a cautious cat, slowly approaching before gently placing a cup of pure black coffee at the corner of Wednesday’s desk. The faint clink of the cup against wood sounded deafening in the silence. She held her breath, ready to retreat just as quietly.
Wednesday shot up and seized Enid’s wrist in a vise grip. “What did I say? No entering my space without permission!” She glared, eyes promising violence. The moment she registered the warmth of Enid’s skin against her own, she recoiled as if burned and flung the hand away in disgust.
Enid didn’t flinch or cry out. She simply lifted her gaze. Those eyes held no fear, no accusation—only a deep, endless well of gentle patience that was willing to endure anything. The look nearly choked Wednesday.
“I just… made you some black coffee,” Enid whispered. “You used to say it was your favorite when I made it.”
Wednesday let out a low, scornful laugh that carried an edge of hoarseness she didn’t notice. “You think a cup of coffee can make up for what you did?” She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something slow, cruel, and almost pleased. “Enid, I’m going to make you regret coming back to me every single day. I’ll tear apart those ridiculous rainbows of yours piece by piece until you’re just like me—”
She straightened, eyes as barren and black as a winter wasteland. “Nothing but darkness.”
Enid said nothing. She simply lowered her gaze. It felt as though her heart had sunk into a lightless ocean—cold, heavy, every beat costing her everything she had. No sun. No warmth. Only silent, tightening suffocation.