Chapter Text
Machiavelli once said: "A sign of intelligence is an awareness of one's own ignorance."
Contrary to what many may think, Wednesday was willing to admit her ignorance on a wide array of things. Pop songs, social media, and the technology used to access such unpleasant torture tended to elude her, for instance, in contrast to her current object of fascination.
Enid was a master in all these things. She could rattle off a repertoire of eardrum shattering ‘hits’ as soon as you asked. She was also a werewolf with the ability to cleave you in two should you insult said cacophonies. Alas, Enid was unfortunately not inclined to such captivating displays, more likely to stomp her foot and scowl, which, in Wednesday’s mind, may have been a downgrade.
It was Enid’s lycan aspects that had Wednesday prowling the stack aisles of Jericho’s town library. A desperate display, in truth, as Nevermore no doubt possessed a far greater collection of non-fiction on outcasts than a normie library, but none had yet satisfied her curiosity on werewolves and alphas. It had become apparent something in Enid had shifted since that night. It emitted off her like radiation, only without the satisfaction of her very being rupturing on a cellular level, a power that Wednesday sought to understand.
“This one hasn’t even the lucidity to spell lycanology right.”
An understanding that continued to elude Wednesday as she shut yet another book and returned it to its place on the cheap, store bought shelf.
Standing before the shelf, her usual blank expression contorted into thinly veiled frustration. Wednesday scanned the variety of books on display. She must have dwelled within each for several hours by now.
“Useless. Perhaps you were right before, Thing,” she observed as the hand made himself known from behind a collection of books. He’d been traipsing the shelves himself to cut their search time. “The family library is more likely to yield results.”
It was at this that Wednesday turned sharply to leave, not getting two steps before two clicks from her bodyless companion caught her attention. Looking back over her shoulder at the hand, who was sharply pointing at a book with a simple black leather cover, she frowned.
“What’s this?” Wednesday asked, moving swiftly to pluck the book from the shelf. Glancing over the title and author, she huffed in indignation at Thing.
“A Sweet Moon Shared by Eredith Morrissey. Thing, this is drivel. Consumed by people who would benefit from a lobotomy.”
She looked at the hand, whose position on the library shelf afforded him an almost eye level standing with the admittedly short goth. He started to twiddle his fingers and tap in that strange dance known to him and his friends as his manner of speech.
‘Enid’s favourite. May contain something?’
Wednesday looked over the book again. Indeed, Enid’s favourite author. Ignoring the unfamiliar and unwelcome twinge of guilt from insulting Enid’s tastes, her eyes briefly snapped back to Thing before settling on the book. She opened it without a further word to him. She wouldn’t yield to him that he had a point.
It took just a few hundred words of this dreadful tome for Wednesday to make a realisation. The protagonist of this book, a peppy and optimistic brunette with a love for stuffed animals, reminded her of a certain peppy blonde werewolf who frankly occupied too much of the seer’s mind.
In truth, Wednesday had started seeing her roommate in many things: a pink butterfly, a Styrofoam cup filled with the most grotesque green liquid otherwise known as “matcha”, or, most frustratingly, the longing emptiness in her chest whenever Enid wasn’t around.
Now sat at a small table nestled in the corner of the library, it was this scornful pull on her black heart that enticed Wednesday to the similarity between Enid and Yasmin, the protagonist of the book. Them both being werewolves was just the start of it. Everything down to the speech patterns made Wednesday’s mind drift to the way Enid’s pink lips moved when gifting Wednesday’s ears with her voice.
A voice that permeated Wednesday’s mind as she read the novel, Yasmin’s dialogue morphing into familiar warm and cheerful tones in her monomaniacal brain, intensifying the feeling of emotional necrosis in her chest as swarms of locusts invaded her gut. These sensations had plagued Wednesday since the start of the semester, since that piercing “Howdy, roomie!” had made Wednesday realise just how much she craved the wolf’s presence. How much harder it was for her to sleep without the low rumbling from one side of the room from Enid’s growls, or how much harder it was to write without the occasional giggle from behind her back as Enid tapped away on her soul trapping phone.
Whilst she struggled to admit it to herself, Enid had been more than indelible in her marking. Ineffaceable didn’t begin to scratch the surface, nor could any word in this teenage drivel she was reading.
Wednesday’s eyes scanned the page as Yasmin detailed her life, so different yet so familiar to her that it almost felt like a devious trick played on her by a malignant spirit hellbent on torturing her soul. Oh, what bliss that would have been.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence, surely. Wednesday didn’t believe in them.
When she turned the page and read:
‘Yasmin sat her bright pink bag down on the table of her shared kitchen space, the rows of pins giving a shake as she turned and was greeted by the monochrome tones of her housemate, Elsbeth.
In many ways, Elsbeth was the opposite of Yasmin, the moon to her sun, light to her dark, black to her pink... but the two were two halves of the same heart. Yasmin adored Elsbeth, silently and with reverence, but adored her all the same. For Elsbeth cocooned where Yasmin bloomed, and she feared if she was open with her deep, unsatiated love for her housemate, it may just cause her to flee.
“What are you staring at?”
Elsbeth’s dark eyes met Yasmin’s bright ones, a subtle raise of the former’s brow revealing that the latter had been staring.
“S-sorry, I was just—”
Just what? Admiring your tanned skin? The freckles that dust your cheeks? Imagining holding your hand in mine? To hell with her homophobic parents.
“Just... tired. Y-yeah... um, just tired.”
Yasmin, you coward.’
Wednesday’s heart was clenching. Shameful that such grating words could have any effect on her at all.
Surely Enid would have mentioned the fact these books were absent of the traditional heteronormative pairings of romance. Not that Wednesday had an issue with it. Never.
Yet Enid was often like a verbal buzzsaw with the information she could present, so her never mentioning her favourite author happened to write lesbian romance was noteworthy. Did she think Wednesday could ever judge her for liking such things? Or, perhaps, sharing such feelings as the characters?
At the latter thought, Wednesday felt something dangerously close to hope.
Shocking herself from her musings, she slammed the book closed. Her eyes widened the slightest bit, noticeable only to a certain appendage, whose ability to notice was starting to grate on Wednesday’s raw nerves.
“What matter with you? Is bad as you say?”
“Nothing,” she said sharply. “It’s dreadful, but I believe I may have a use for it.”
Her face fixed into its usual stoic mask. She stood briskly, tucking the book under her arm as Thing tapped his fingers slowly, showcasing his amusement and earning a glare from the full-bodied Addams standing over him at the table.
“Careful. It’d be a shame if you happened to get stuck in a vice for the rest of this semester.” At the threat, Thing shrank back.
“Let's go. I believe this novel may inform me as to how best to include Evelyn further in Viper’s investigations.”
As Thing took his spot on Wednesday’s shoulder, she analysed her reasoning. It was sound enough. Evelyn and Yasmin were werewolves, no relation at all to a certain someone. Viper and Elsbeth shared a more gloomy and dark disposition.
Perhaps she could improve Evelyn’s inclusion in Viper’s life via studying this novel more in depth, platonically though, in this instance. Wednesday deemed herself more likely to dissolve her insides with disinfectant than write romance, especially with Viper.
Wednesday would always call a hatchet a hatchet. Viper was a piece of her: her sense of justice, avoidance of emotional attachment, and sharp eye. And just like her, she would never follow in her mother’s footsteps and burn alive in the pits of love.
She wished.
Walking to the counter, Wednesday was pulled from her internal monologue by the pale librarian giving her a curious look as she placed the book before him. No need to trade words, her intent was clear. Why else would she hand him a book? Yet he opened his mouth.
“Oh, uh... Eredith Morrissey? Nice, nice. Colour me surprised. I didn’t think—”
His eyes avoided making direct eye contact as Wednesday’s words cut through him like a sharpened blade.
“Think what?” She fixed him with an unimpressed glare. “That I need to conform to your preconceived notions?”
“N-no, I just... Never mind.”
Good, Wednesday thought.
The boy, likely a weekend worker from Jericho High, scanned the book and, without a word, handed it back to her, not even bothering to tell her when it should be returned. Shoving the book into her bag, Wednesday returned her glare to the boy, finally meeting his eyes, which seemed to stop dancing around like a burning mammal.
“Tell anyone and I will ensure this library becomes your tomb.”
Not even bothering to make sense of the boy’s stuttering following her warning, Wednesday swiftly turned on her heel and left. It was getting late. Enid would be back from her day out with that insipid Bruno soon enough and would no doubt wish to regale Wednesday with it, and Wednesday, for her part, would ignore the gnawing feeling inside every fibre of her being at hearing her fawn over such an unimpressive suitor.
When Enid had told Wednesday of her intention to talk to Bruno, to understand his side of things following his predictable fall from grace during their brief entanglement inside one another's bodies, Wednesday felt like Enid had picked up a sledgehammer and, like an underpaid and overtaxed demolitions worker, destroyed her masterful design.
Breaking up with Bruno as Enid was a masterstroke on her part. It allowed her revenge for Enid's eyebleed inducing display in front of half the school, whilst preventing Enid any long term pain once she realised his misogynistic deception. Yet Enid had sought to undo it.
Why?
Wednesday couldn't understand it. What was there to understand? He had lied. He wasn't deserving of being heard by her, of looking into her eyes, understanding and hypnotising as they were, and spouting his nonsense into perfectly formed ears like a triton.
If she had her way, her bolo knife would already have been adequately bloodied and Enid would be here with her, walking by her side back to Nevermore, back to their dorm.
Wednesday had made mistakes, lied, manipulated, and done Enid wrong, but she'd never dishonoured her in such a disgusting, embarrassing manner.
It made her mad as a March hare that someone as undeserving as Bruno could have Enid yet not offer her the very moon as a sacrifice in place of his own heart. If it were Wednesday...
Stopping abruptly on the sidewalk, Wednesday took stock of herself. Her breathing was slightly quicker than normal, her heart rate elevated, and her thoughts utterly muddled.
Briefly considering a brain parasite, Wednesday settled on the far more likely, and comforting, explanation: she was frustrated Enid wanted to undo her work.
Fine.
To the circles of Hell with it. If Enid wanted to suffer, she brought it on herself, and when it inevitably erupted in flames, Wednesday would have her bolo knife ready regardless.
This explanation did little to subside the ache in her very soul.
How painful.
In the unpleasant way.
“Howdy, roomie!”
Enid’s head turned to Wednesday as the seer entered the room. She was adjusting the sleeves of her dancing outfit in an almost insecure way. It made sense; swapping bodies just the day prior had left them both feeling a little itchy under the flesh, like beetles scurrying beneath their porcelain sheath.
“How’d the research go? Any fun facts? Oh! Did you know, in ancient Greece, they believed eating lamb from a wolf’s kill could turn you into some kinda zombie!?”
Wednesday, peeling off her jacket as she walked by Enid to her desk, attempted to ignore the more unruly elements of her thoughts as she turned to face the werewolf. She most certainly wasn't feeling a strong hammering in her chest at seeing the pink monstrosity the werewolf was in, nor admiring the form-fitting nature of the outfit. Not at all.
Or the way Enid smiled at her so genuinely, turning to face the seer fully with a bounce in her step.
“I didn’t, actually. Thank you, Enid.”
She had. Vrykolakas, a fascinating myth, but seeing Enid’s grin widen in pride was worth the white lie. After yesterday, the blonde deserved it.
Then, as if hit by a bullet, that same grin appeared in her mind, only directed at Bruno. The sourness of recollecting that it had been just a couple of hours ago forced Wednesday to turn on her heel, her eyes drifting over the keys of her typewriter.
The book.
Enid couldn’t know she’d fallen to such depravity.
“As for my research, I have little to share.”
Thing scuttled from Wednesday’s bag onto her desk. If he could raise an eyebrow, he surely was. Ignoring the hand, Wednesday sat.
“I take it your date with that Lothario went well?”
She almost spat the word, hoping Enid didn’t catch the venom in "date".
Enid winced behind Wednesday, now knelt down pulling on her dance shoes.
“Date? God, no!”
Standing and gesturing with her hands despite Wednesday’s preoccupation with staring at her typewriter, Enid continued.
“Eugh, he just kept saying it was complicated and it was this whole thing, ergh! I think I’m just gonna avoid him. I cannot have anything throw off my dance ahead of the gala. Swapping bodies was enough.”
Wednesday caught the levity in that last part, almost as if Enid’s imprint on her mind was so strong she could feel the wolf’s wink against the back of her head.
She was magnificent.
As an ally. A friend.
They had almost died. Enid had been scared, yet she had taken it in stride the very next day. Going forth like a pink frilly knight into the fray, it was just one of many moments Enid demonstrated why Wednesday desired her company at all times.
That ache in her chest subsided into a deadly glow that spread throughout her whole body. The buzz of a thousand hornets flew between her heart and lower organs at the sound of Enid’s honeyed declaration that she’d avoid Bruno.
Good.
Forever, hopefully.
“Anyways! I gotta head out, don’t wait for me!”
Enid practically skipped towards the door.
Only then did Wednesday possess the will to turn around.
“Enid, wait!”
The raven called to her wolf.
...Her wolf?
Enid turned abruptly to face Wednesday, hand on the handle.
“Hm?”
Enid drew her bottom lip beneath her top one, tilting her head like a puppy.
“I’m sorry.”
Wednesday met Enid’s eyes, the hornets threatening to burst from her chest cavity like a geyser, as a look of concern and confusion flashed over the wolf’s features.
“For failing today with my research. I know you’re afraid. I meant what I said yesterday, about your quiet strength.”
At that final statement, Enid gave her a small and real smile that Wednesday found herself drawn to, like a moth to a catacombs oil lamp.
“Wednesday... it’s okay. Totally okay. I-I really appreciate you looking. You’re the best! Really, I’m glad to have you in my life.”
Oh, sweet Hell.
What had overtaken Wednesday’s mind? Had she been poisoned? How had such simple words reduced her to putty, to melted skin and bone in Enid’s strong hands?
At a loss, the raven simply nodded, allowing the wolf to leave with a cheerful smile and somehow an even greater hop in her step.
“See ya!”
At that, the door closed.
Such a thin barrier and yet enough for the snake around her blood organ to tighten its grip and the pleasant warmth to leave her very soul.
Every fibre of her being longed to follow Enid, to play the cello as she moved like a sharpened knife through flesh, but she couldn’t.
Doing so was an admission.
One that Wednesday wouldn’t even make to herself.
She had gone insane.
And it wasn’t nearly as fun as she anticipated.
1 hour later
'“Yasmin, I...”
Elsbeth firmed her lips, hands desperately grabbing at the lapels of Yasmin’s jacket.
“...I’m sorry. For putting you in danger. I’m stubborn, obsessive, and I hate myself for it, for almost losing you... I don’t want you to hate me. Please.”
“Els...”
Yasmin’s hand caressed Elsbeth’s cheek, her thumb wiping away a single tear.
“I could never hate you.”
Elsbeth’s eyes shone, a rare vulnerability visible in her dark pools, her nose bumping against Yasmin’s.
When did they get so close?
Clearing her throat, Elsbeth pulled back, only slightly, her hands moving from the lapels down Yasmin’s arms, feeling the strength of her wolf in those muscles.
“Your wolf. She was magnificent.”
For a moment, the memories of the danger passed, the guilt a hazy presence as she remembered how Yasmin shifted right in front of her to protect them. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the memory of covering her up after she regained her humanity and escorting her home, to now, at the edge of their bed.
Or rather, her bed, though she desired desperately in that moment to make it theirs.
“You’re so silly.”
Yasmin gave a giddy grin, her hand moving down from Elsbeth’s cheek to her neck.
“Can I... Els, I want to kiss you.”
“Then quit wasting time, my wolf,” Elsbeth whispered before her lips were joined with her love’s.
The kiss was soft, cautious, as if Yasmin was afraid she’d crush her if she pushed too hard.
To hell with it, she thought, deepening the kiss.
It was Yasmin’s lungs that gave out first. Unable to continue, she breathed heavily between small giggles, her arms now settled on Elsbeth’s waist as the smaller girl wasted no time in practically assaulting Yasmin’s neck, nipping and biting at her wolf, whose claws came out with a delightful sound, only matched by the low growl that followed.
“Elsbeth-”
At Yasmin’s call, the shorter girl ceased her assault and met her eyes again.
A look of pure love, lust, and... desperation was apparent in her gaze.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
That was all it took.
For legs to hit the bed.
For two bodies to fall back onto the mattress with a thud.
Finally, for Yasmin’s hand to slip into Elsbeth’s jeans to her—'
“OH, you’re still up! Good. Eugh, you would not believe what happened after the dance today..!”
Wednesday slammed the book shut the moment she heard the first peppy tones of her roommate returning.
Had it been an hour already?
She wondered, glaring daggers at the notebook she had placed beside the book. Having intended to take notes on Yasmin and Elsbeth’s dynamic, she found herself staring at an empty page.
The revelation that she had allowed herself to become engrossed in such filth had Wednesday breathe out through her nose, a breath one almost may have called a shudder.
She was glad Thing had decided to retreat to his little abode. If he were here, he’d certainly be laughing. Or whatever it was hands did.
Though the thought of denailing Thing for such a transgression briefly pleased Wednesday, she knew it would greatly upset Enid, which was markedly less pleasing.
“First off, we had to cut it short because of Dort’s curfew! Which is so not helping adapting my dance routine now that Bruno is officially out of the picture!”
Enid, stripped from her dance outfit, continued talking as Wednesday kept her gaze firmly on her desk, subtle when slipping the book into her drawer. The last thing she needed was Enid’s puppy-like curiosity exposing her descent into madness.
Said descent was made worse by the sound of Enid’s clothes hitting the floor.
“How vexatious.”
“I know, right? And to make it worse, who else BUT Bruno was waiting for me outside the music room.”
Wednesday’s eye twitched.
“I still have my nail gun.”
That seemed to get a chuckle from Enid, who had slipped on some fluffy travesty that would assault Wednesday’s retinas if the seer wasn’t fixated on her empty notebook.
“Honestly, might not even need it. I was so eager to escape his attempt to speak to me, I almost knocked him down the stairs. Imagine if he broke his neck and I was literally accused of murder!”
At this, Wednesday failed to suppress a small lift of her lips, a minor surrender to her amusement.
Finally turning to face Enid, who had started packing her overnight bag for the lupine cages, she replied.
“A fascinating prospect. A new case, perhaps.”
In truth, Enid was one of the very few people Wednesday would not hesitate to help dig a hole to hide the body for, especially if that body belonged to that painfully dull boy.
A boy undeserving of ever hearing the small laugh leave Enid’s lips as the wolf slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Never change, Wednesday. Forever my dark cloud.”
Wednesday’s breath hitched.
Being Enid’s anything was putting increasing pressure on her already crumbling walls, to the point she truly was on the precipice of being buried by her visceral rot.
“Come say goodnight?”
Enid fidgeted with her hands, an insight into the wolf’s anxieties about her status as an alpha.
Wednesday simply nodded, rising from her chair to escort Enid to the cages, trying desperately to ignore the stokers shovelling coal into the furnaces of her heart.
She needed to move her research out of the room.
To get air.
That was certain.