The forest had become her home now.
Wednesday stepped over a fallen branch, the crunch of dead leaves beneath her boots the only sound she acknowledged. She had memorized every inch of this place—every twisted root, every gnarled tree that stretched into the sky like skeletal fingers.
A year ago, this forest had been foreign. Now, it felt more familiar than her dorm room
She had been coming here, retracing the same paths, searching for something—anything—that might lead her to the truth. It didn’t matter if it was midday or the dead of night. This place had long stopped feeling like a mystery to solve and instead had become a graveyard of unanswered questions, one she refused to leave.
“Wednesday,” Enid’s voice came from behind, soft but tired. “It’s getting dark.”
“I’m aware,” Wednesday said, not stopping.
“I just— I don’t think we should be out here too long,” Enid added, “The sun’s setting and you know how the fog gets when it’s—”
“Thick enough to make a person vanish between blinks,” Wednesday finished flatly. “Yes, I remember.”
"Wednesday, it's been hours…" Enid’s voice was careful, but there was an edge to it—frustration, concern, exhaustion wrapped together. "Maybe we should take a break? You haven’t eaten all day, and I know you don’t need food like a normal person, but even vampires need a blood bag every once in a while."
"I am not a vampire," Wednesday said flatly.
"Debatable." Enid swatted at a mosquito buzzing near her arm. "Look, I get it. I do. But… we’ve covered this entire area before. If she was here, we would’ve found something by now. I mean, what’s gonna be different this time?"
Wednesday didn’t answer immediately. It wasn’t about anything being different—it was about the need to keep looking. If she stopped, even for a moment, the silence would catch up to her, and she would hear it again.
The thought of stopping, of turning back again, made her stomach turn. You were still out there. You had to be.
Enid didn’t understand. No one did. They thought they knew loss, thought they understood what it meant to grieve, but they had never felt it like this. Like an iron stake driven straight through the chest, twisted just enough to make sure it never healed.
They didn’t know what it was like to go to sleep and waking up reaching for someone who was no longer there.
They didn’t know what it was like to walk these woods for a year, chasing nothing but echoes.
Enid stepped closer, voice softer now. "She wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself."
Wednesday’s jaw clenched.
"You don’t know what she would have wanted."
"You know she’s not here," Enid’s voice was softer now, cautious. As if she knew she was stepping on a live wire.
"You don’t know that."
Enid exhaled sharply, her fingers curling at her sides. "I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s been so long. If there was something to find, we would’ve found it by now."
Wednesday felt the sharp sting of frustration curling in her chest. The anger wasn’t at Enid—it never was. But hearing the words spoken aloud, hearing the acceptance in Enid’s voice, made her skin crawl.
Because Wednesday could never accept it. Not when you were still out there somewhere.
“You don’t have to keep coming with me,” Wednesday said.
“You say that every time,” Enid replied, folding her arms. “And every time I say the same thing: I’m not letting you do this alone.”
“I’m not doing this for company. Or comfort.”
“I know.” Enid stepped around a root, her voice quieter now. “But I also know you haven’t slept in two days.”
“I’ll sleep when I find her,” Wednesday muttered as she kept walking.
Enid didn’t leave.
She never did. Even when Wednesday’s silence turned cold. Even when her obsession became something unhealthy, something suffocating. Even when weeks turned into months and the world moved on—Enid stayed.
"Where did you go?" Wednesday whispered, sure that Enid didn't even hear.. And for a moment, Wednesday could almost hear the voice—soft, teasing—
“I swear to God, you read like it’s a competition,” you’d said, pulling a chair up next to her in the library. “How many horror novels does one person need?”
Wednesday didn’t look up from her book, only flicked her eyes in your direction with a silent disdain that she pretended wasn’t affection. “Apparently, all of them. But unfortunately, this library lacks proper horror literature," she mused, more to herself than to you. "A disappointment, really. Perhaps I should donate a collection of books containing more substantial content. Serial killers. Cannibalism. The real horrors of humanity. Maybe it would toughen the students here."
And then, your laugh.
It broke through the silence of the library like sunlight, unbothered by the weight of the world. It always made something uncomfortable twist in Wednesday’s chest. Something… warm. Terrifyingly warm.
She glanced at you from the corner of her eye. You were leaning your head on her shoulder now, your own book resting in your lap, barely touched.
“You’re not reading.”
“I’m resting. On something cold, and slightly bony, and weirdly comforting.”
“I’m not a pillow.”
“You are now.” You shifted just enough to get comfortable. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Wednesday didn’t answer. She didn’t move either.
She stared down at her book and realized she hadn’t processed a word on the page. Her heart was thudding in her ears, and your hair smelled like lavender. She hated how aware she was of your breathing. How easily you just fit beside her, like it was natural. And when you reached for her hand under the table, brushing your pinky against hers, she didn’t pull away.
For a girl who made a hobby out of death, that moment felt a lot like being alive.
“Wednesday,” Enid’s voice pulled her violently back to the present.
The clearing was darker now. Shadows clung to the trees like bruises. The temperature had dropped too, she could see her breath now, faint mist curling from her lips. It wasn’t supposed to be this cold. Not yet.
“We need to go,” Enid said, stepping beside her. “It’s already too dark.”
“No,” Wednesday said, scanning the edges of the trees. “We haven’t checked the northern slope yet. Or the embankment.”
“We can’t see anything anymore. Look around.” Enid held up her flashlight, its beam barely piercing the thickening fog. “If we get turned around again, we won’t find our way back.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” Enid snapped, harsher than usual. “I care if you get lost. Or hurt. Or god forbid something worse. You’re not invincible, Wednesday. And this place, it’s not right.”
Wednesday didn’t respond. Her jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.
After a moment, Enid stepped in front of her. “You can come back tomorrow. I’ll even come with you again. But right now, we have to go.”
Something behind her ribs cracked, but she didn’t let it show. She stared at the ground, fists tight at her sides.
You would’ve said the same thing, wouldn’t you? Would’ve tugged her sleeve, tilted your head and asked her to stop pushing herself so hard. You would’ve given your infuriating smile. You would’ve made her listen.
And maybe if she had listened back then.… you wouldn’t be gone.
Finally, she nodded once. Sharp. Mechanical. And turned away.
Enid fell into step beside her. They said nothing as they retraced their path, the forest swallowing their footprints behind them like they’d never been there.
But even as the trees blurred in the fog, even as the light faded into ink and the cold gnawed at her bones, Wednesday’s thoughts stayed fixed.
Fixed on your smile.
Your laugh.
Your warmth on her shoulder.
And the terrible, hollow question that echoed louder every night.
Where did you go?
No.
Worse.
Why did you leave her behind?
Or had she been the one who left you?
She didn’t know.
Not yet.
But the forest did.
And she would come back tomorrow.
Again.
And again.
Until it told her the truth.
Enid was already asleep.
She lay curled up under her blankets, her breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of her chest unbothered by the world’s cruelty. Wednesday paused, watching Enid as she shifted in her sleep.
She envied her.
Sleep.
When was the last time she had really slept?
She tried to recall it—tried to remember the sensation of willingly closing her eyes, of feeling the weight of exhaustion drag her under without resistance.
But all she could remember was the last time she received a text from you.
“Goodnight, Wednesday. Try not to spend all night thinking about ways to traumatize your classmates <3”
She could still picture it. The way her phone screen had lit up in the darkness of the dorm. The way she had stared at your words, rolling her eyes, her fingers twitching to type a response—something sharp, something scathing—only to settle for her usual:
“I’ll consider it.”
It was a ritual. Your last message of the night, her reluctant reply, the knowledge that in the morning, your name would be the first notification she’d see.
It wasn’t fair how much she missed something so small. The way you used to text her at ungodly hours, just to tell her something ridiculous—"I just saw a bat outside, it made me think of you," or "Do you think ghosts get lonely?" or "Wednesday, if I ever get murdered, promise me you’ll make it a really dramatic revenge quest, okay?"
She used to roll her eyes at you. Tell you to let her sleep. That you were insufferable. That she had no time for these pointless conversations.
And now?
Now she would give anything to see your name on her screen again.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, fingers curling into the blanket, the exhaustion pressing against her skull but never quite sinking in.
She remembered the night you had slept here.
You had dozed off beside her, curled into the space that didn’t belong to you, your head resting against her arm, your breathing soft and slow. She had felt the warmth of you, the way your body shifted in sleep, your fingers loosely tangled in the fabric of her sleeve.
She should have woken you up. Should have told you to leave, to return to your own space.
But she didn’t.
Because the moment she moved, the moment she even thought about pushing you away, she felt something crack deep inside her chest.
She wasn’t used to warmth. She wasn’t used to the way it felt to have someone willingly close, someone who trusted her enough to sleep beside her, to reach for her even unconsciously.
She had barely breathed that night, too aware of the steady rhythm of yours. Too aware of how much she wanted to keep you there.
She hated it.
Hated that something as simple as your presence had unraveled something deep inside her, something she couldn’t name, something she didn’t want to name.
But she never told you to move.
She just listened to the steady rhythm of your breathing, the way your heartbeat thumped against her ribs where your chest was pressed to hers.
She let herself have this moment.
Because she knew that, eventually, you would wake up.
And this would be over.
She hadn’t realized then how much she would regret not memorizing every second of it.
Because now the space beside her was empty.
Wednesday’s fingers twitched, and before she could stop herself, she reached for her phone, unlocking it with a practiced motion. She shouldn’t look at it. She knew she shouldn’t.
But she did.
The text was still there.
"I am still here now, all alone… waiting for you."
She had never told Enid about it. Never told anyone.
Because she knew what they would say. That it was fake. That it was someone playing a cruel joke.
But she knew better.
Knew your words. Knew the way you phrased things.
It was you.
It had to be you.
But where?
What was "here"?
She had gone over it in her mind a thousand times. Had traced every possibility, every lead, every theory. But the answers never came.
Instead, all she had were pieces of memories that didn’t make sense.
Flashes, visions, she has no idea.
You, standing in the forest.
You, walking behind someone.
Following them into the trees.
Following who?
Her memory fractured at the edges, blurred and unfocused, like something had been wiped clean, like something had been stolen from her.
Why couldn’t she remember?
She clenched her jaw, her breathing steady but uneven in her chest. The wind howled outside the window, and in the silence that followed, she swore she heard it again.
Your voice.
Calling her.
Soft. Echoing.
"In our special place."
She gritted her teeth.
She didn’t remember.
She didn’t remember any special place.
But if you were calling her there—if you were waiting for her—
Then she would find you.
No matter what it took.
The room was still steeped in darkness when Wednesday sat up, the weight of another sleepless night pressing against her bones. She didn’t fight it. Didn’t try to rub the exhaustion from her eyes or stretch out the stiffness in her joints. It didn’t matter. None of it did.
She pulled on her boots with sharp, efficient movements, lacing them tight, making sure they wouldn’t come loose if she had to move fast. The cold air bit at her skin as she shrugged on her coat, but she barely registered it. Her mind was already elsewhere—out there, in the woods, searching.
Because maybe today would be different.
Maybe today, something would change.
She didn’t notice Enid stirring at first. The blonde groaned softly, rolling over, her face still half-buried in the pillow. But the sound of Wednesday adjusting the strap of her bag, the buckle clicking into place, was enough to pull her further from sleep.
"Wednesday," Enid’s voice was hoarse with sleep, but there was a thread of frustration laced in it. "You’re going out again?"
Wednesday didn’t answer. She was already securing the last of her things, mentally mapping out the route she was going to take.
"Jesus, Wens, the sun’s not even up yet." Enid pushed herself up, "At least wait until morning. And eat something first."
"I don’t have time for that."
"You never have time for that." Enid swung her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over her face before leveling Wednesday with a look. "When was the last time you ate?"
Wednesday didn’t reply.
Enid sighed, the kind of exasperated, defeated sound that she had made too many times to count over the past year. "You have to stop doing this to yourself."
Wednesday fastened the last button on her coat, adjusting the high collar around her neck. "I have to go before the trail gets colder."
"The trail is already cold." Enid’s voice sharpened with something almost like anger, but the way her throat tightened made it clear it wasn’t directed at Wednesday.
Wednesday didn’t respond. She just kept moving, tying her hair back, grabbing the notebook where she had scrawled every dead-end lead, every place she had searched, every scrap of information that meant nothing.
A year of nothing.
"Wednesday."
She heard the shift in Enid’s tone before she turned, saw the way her friend’s expression tightened, how her claws had slipped out just a little, pressing into the blanket.
"You’re going to look in the same places again." Enid’s voice was quieter now, but there was an edge beneath it. "You’ve searched them a hundred times."
"And I’ll search them a hundred more," Wednesday said, her voice flat, controlled.
"Why?" Enid asked, frustration cracking through her words. "What do you think is going to happen? You think you’re just going to find something new all of a sudden? That maybe this time you’ll find some clue that magically wasn’t there before? You go, you walk those woods like a ghost, and you come back with nothing. Nothing, Wednesday. Don’t you get it? She’s—”
Wednesday’s face twitched, just barely. But it was there. That flicker of something fragile.
Enid’s breath caught, guilt washing over her. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Her arms dropped to her sides helplessly. “I don’t want you to get lost too.” Enid’s voice was quieter now. “Like Y/N did.”
Wednesday's grip tightened on the strap of her bag
Enid swallowed, glancing toward the window, toward the forest beyond. “She went in with you that night. You were looking for me. For Eugene. And then…” She hesitated. “Then you got separated.”
“You and Eugene were found,” Wednesday said, voice steady. “She wasn’t.”
Enid nodded. “Yeah. We were.”
A pause. Then, carefully: “Do you blame yourself?”
Wednesday didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do. I asked her to go in there with me."
Enid’s breath hitched.
“I should have told her to stay put,” Wednesday said, quieter now. “She shouldn’t have followed me.”
Enid looked down at her hands, gripping the blanket again. “Wednesday…”
“She never would have been in that forest if it wasn’t for me,” Wednesday continued, her voice sharp, precise. “I should have kept her safe. I should have—”
“She wouldn’t have listened,” Enid said gently. “You know that. She loved you. If you were going into hell, she would’ve followed with a smile.”
“I should have made her listen.”
“Wednesday…” Enid reached out, fingers grazing Wednesday’s sleeve. “No one knew what Thornhill had planned. No one knew how far she’d go.”
“I knew she was dangerous,” Wednesday whispered. “And still I let her come with me. I thought I could control the outcome. That I’d find you and Eugene and bring everyone back.”
Enid swallowed. “You did bring us back.”
“But not her.” Wednesday’s eyes darkened, her jaw set. “I found Thornhill. After. She was trying to run. I stopped her.”
Enid’s brows furrowed. “I know… You said she confessed.”
“She did. She admitted everything—taking you, Eugene, locking you up. She told me how she did it. She laughed. Like it was some game. But she said she didn’t touch Y/N.” Wednesday snapped. “Over and over. She swore she never saw her. That she had nothing to do with it.”
Enid hesitated. “Do you believe her?”
Wednesday stared into the dim light for a long moment.
“I believe she knew something.”
“And?”
Wednesday exhaled. “I lost control.”
Enid’s expression softened. “Wednesday—”
“I let my anger decide. I thought she was taunting me. Holding it back just to hurt me. So I…”
“You killed her.”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation. No shame in her voice. Only exhaustion.
“I left her in the woods,” Wednesday said. “Her corpse fed the wolves. She deserved worse.”
Enid crossed her arms. “But she might’ve known more. Something she didn’t get to say.”
“She should’ve said it when she had the chance.”
Silence settled again. The cold seeped in through the windows.
“I just don’t want you to get lost too,” Enid whispered. “That forest… it takes things. People. Time. Hope. Every time you go out there, it feels like I lose you more too.”
“I can still hear her,” she said. “Some nights. Calling me back to the forest.”
Enid looked at her, terrified and heartbroken all at once.
“She says she’s waiting,” Wednesday whispered. “She says she’s alone. She wants me to find her. And I will. I have to.”
“Do you really think Y/N is…” Enid trailed off, hesitant.
Alive?
The word didn’t need to be spoken. It hung between them, heavy and unrelenting.
Wednesday’s answer was immediate.
“Yes.”
Enid blinked.
“You really think she’s out there?” Enid asked, quiet now, cautious.
Wednesday’s gaze was unwavering.
“She has to be.”
“We should've brought a metal detector or something,” Eugene said, adjusting his glasses. “Or I don’t know one of those search dogs.”
Enid shot him a look. “And where exactly were we supposed to find one?”
Eugene shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s gotta be someone in Jericho who has a German shepherd."
Wednesday ignored them, tuning out their voices. Her mind was elsewhere. Always elsewhere.
On you.
Your eyes.
The way they had always looked at her—unafraid, unwavering. Like they could see straight through the spikes she had carefully built around herself.
She clenched her jaw and kept walking.
“I mean, I get it,” Eugene continued, rubbing his arms against the cold. “If it were one of you guys missing, I’d never stop looking either. It’s just… we keep looking in the same places. If she were here, wouldn’t we have found something by now?"
Wednesday clenched her jaw. "She’s here."
Because she could feel it.
Because every time she stepped into these woods, it was as if the air thickened with something unseen, something almost tangible. A presence. A whisper of something unfinished.
Because when she closed her eyes, she could still see your gaze.
Your eyes had always been different. They weren’t sharp like hers, weren’t calculating like those of her foes. They weren’t soft either—no, softness would have never survived her. Instead, they were steady. Steady in a way that unsettled her, in a way that saw past the jagged edges of her mind, past the walls she had meticulously built.
You saw her.
And you never turned away.
It had rained that day.
You had called it a date. Wednesday had called it an unfortunate consequence of poor cafeteria coffee.
“You’re staring again,” she said flatly, though the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Well, you’re cute when you pretend to hate this,” you whispered, tapping her cup. “But I know you like it.”
“I am going to murder you in your sleep if you call me cute again.” she replied.
“Aw. You say the sweetest things.”
It started to rain halfway through your walk back. Most people would’ve ducked for cover—but not you.
You stepped into the open like it was a stage. You twirled once, arms out, water matting your hair. You laughed—this full, uninhibited sound that cracked through Wednesday’s ribcage like thunder.
“Come on, Wends!” you called out, spinning. “Live a little.”
She raised her umbrella higher and stared at you. “I am quite literally already living. Getting pneumonia would shorten that.”
You had only laughed again, shaking your head as you continued dancing in the rain. People walking past gave you strange looks, but you didn’t seem to care. You never did.
And Wednesday…
She had watched you.
Watched the way your smile reached your eyes, the way you had been utterly and completely yourself.
Something in her chest had ached that day, though she hadn’t understood it at the time.
Now, as she stood in this godforsaken forest, searching for you—again—she wished she had stepped forward.
She wished she had let the rain soak into her skin.
She wished she had taken your hand.
“We shouldn’t go deeper,” he said. “The signal’s dying again.”
“We’re close to the western basin,” Wednesday said. “That’s where the ground sinks. She could’ve—”
“Wednesday,” Enid cut in gently, stepping forward. “We’ve been there. So many times.”
“I might have missed something.”
“You didn’t.”
Silence.
Enid placed a hand on her arm. “We’re not giving up, okay? We can try again tomorrow?”
Wednesday’s hands curled into fists.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
She was so tired of tomorrows.
Wednesday felt it in her bones.
The exhaustion, the weight of it pressing against her skin like lead. Every movement felt heavier than the last, her limbs slow, her breaths shallower than they should be. She knew what she was doing to herself. The human body had limits, and she had been testing hers for far too long.
But it didn’t matter.
Because what if?
What if you were still out there, somewhere in that cursed forest, waiting for her? What if you were cold, stuck somewhere she hadn’t looked yet? What if you were—
A plate was shoved in front of her face.
She blinked, looking up.
Enid stood there, arms crossed, "Eat," she said simply, “I got something simple,” Enid said, cautious. “Soup, bread, nothing crazy. You need to eat, Wends.”
Wednesday kept staring at the floor, hands loosely clasped in her lap.
“Come on,” Enid urged, nudging the container toward her. “Just a few bites.”
Wednesday finally turned her head, her expression unreadable. “I’m not hungry.”
“You weren’t hungry yesterday either,” Enid pointed out. “Or the day before that. And guess what? That’s not sustainable.”
Wednesday exhaled sharply through her nose, irritation flickering to life. “I’ll eat when I need to.”
Enid’s shoulders dropped, frustration clear now. “That’s not how it works, Wednesday. You don’t just run on spite and caffeine forever.”
“I’ve done well enough so far.”
Enid folded her arms. “You have not. You’re exhausted. You’re starving. You're—” Wednesday didn't hear her words, her mind, already going back again, when you had brought her breakfast...
“You love me,” you had grinned.
“I tolerate you. Vaguely.”
You’d kissed her on the cheek then, soft and warm. She had felt it for the rest of the day.
“Please. Just… eat a few bites. For her, if not for yourself. You won’t be able to search for Y/N if you get sick," Enid reasoned.
Wednesday’s jaw clenched.
She didn’t argue.
Didn’t roll her eyes.
Didn’t push the food away this time.
Instead, she picked up the fork, took a single bite.
The food felt foreign in her mouth. Too warm. Too much. It settled in her stomach uncomfortably, like it didn’t belong.
But she kept eating. A few more bites. Just enough to satisfy Enid, to make her stop looking at her like that. Like she was worried. Like she cared too much.
And as she chewed, as she swallowed, her mind drifted.
What if you were out there, hungry?
What if you hadn’t eaten in days, just like her? What if you were waiting—starving—just hoping that someone would come for you?
What if she had failed you in more ways than one?
She set the fork down.
"I’m done," she said.
Enid frowned. "Wednesday—"
"I said I’m done."
Enid exhaled, rubbing her temple like she was trying to be patient. Like she was trying not to snap.
Wednesday could feel it.
The tension.
The weight of too many unspoken words.
And then, finally—
“It’s been a year, Wends…” Her voice was quiet, careful. “You haven’t been attending your classes that much. Weems said—”
“Weems can go to hell.”
Enid flinched at the sharpness of the words.
“My classes aren’t more important than finding Y/N.”
“I know that,” Enid said quickly. “It’s just… they’re worried. I’m worried. Bianca wanted to go with you too.”
Wednesday scoffed. “I don’t want her pity.” Her gaze flickered to Enid. “I don’t need your pity either.”
Enid frowned. “It’s not pity, Wednesday.”
“Then what is it?” Wednesday’s tone was cold, cutting. “Because all I see is you following me around, making pathetic attempts to pull me away from this, like you think I’ll just move on if you push hard enough.”
Enid inhaled sharply, hurt flashing across her face. “That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Wednesday interrupted, voice like ice. “You’re just waiting for me to give up so you can pretend everything is fine again. That Y/N was never here to begin with.”
Enid shook her head. “That’s not true—”
“You want me to stop looking.” Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists. “Because it makes you uncomfortable. Because it makes everyone uncomfortable. But I don’t care.”
Enid swallowed, clearly holding back something.
But Wednesday wasn’t done.
“You moved on because it’s easier to pretend she’s dead than to admit that we failed her,” Wednesday pressed, voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “I won’t do that.”
Enid clenched her jaw. “You think that’s what I did? That I just—what—forgot her?”
Wednesday didn’t answer.
Enid exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face. “God, Wednesday, do you even hear yourself? You act like I don’t miss her too. Like Eugene doesn’t. Like everyone else at Nevermore didn’t love her too.”
Wednesday’s throat tightened.
“She was our friend,” Enid continued, voice shaking now. “She was my friend too. And yeah, maybe I’m trying to be realistic about this because someone has to be.”
Wednesday refused to meet her eyes.
Enid sighed again, exhausted. Defeated.
“That’s really unfair, Wednesday.”
Wednesday didn’t respond.
Enid ran a hand through her hair, then turned toward her bed. “I’m going to sleep,” she said, voice quieter now. “If you go looking again… wake me up.”
She climbed under her blankets, pulling them tight around herself, facing away from Wednesday.
The room fell into silence once more.
Wednesday sat perfectly still, the weight of her words pressing down on her.
She knew she had gone too far.
But she also knew Enid wouldn’t leave.
She knew.
Which is why she didn’t wake Enid. Or Eugene.
They had started looking with her when this all began—when your disappearance was still fresh and everyone believed it was only a matter of time before they found you huddled in some ravine, cold and bruised but alive. But now?
Now it had been a year.
And she couldn’t take the pity in their eyes anymore.
Even when they tried to hide it, it was there. The sideways glances. The careful silences. The way they offered suggestions but stopped short, as if worried she might break if they said the wrong thing.
So she left without telling anyone.
Let them sleep.
Let them forget.
She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
The wind moved through the trees above like whispers. Cold. Familiar.
The same wind she remembered from that day.
The last anniversary.
Not the one this year—this year she had spent it sitting alone in her dorm, staring at the wall until the sun went down. That day had felt like being buried alive.
But the one before it…
The last anniversary with you.
You had remembered.
Of course you had.
You always remembered the things that mattered...
She remembered the way you had dragged her through Jericho that day, pointing out things that you claimed were secretly part of your anniversary “scavenger hunt”—lies, obviously. Poorly disguised. But charming in a way she had never admitted aloud.
You had ended the day with a small, stupid paper bag. “Happy Anniversary,” you said, pushing it into her hands.
She had expected something ridiculous.
Instead, she had pulled out a carefully crafted object—an antique-style wind-up raven, carved from deep obsidian stone, with delicate mechanical wings that fluttered when wound. You had made it sing—quiet, eerie little chirps that mimicked a real raven’s call. It perched on a brass base that you’d engraved by hand.
She had flipped it over and found the words etched in tiny, imperfect strokes:
“So you never have to be alone when I’m not with you. Happy anniversary!”
“Happy anniversary,” she murmured to the trees now.
And somewhere, she imagined your voice answering her, light and teasing.
“Wends, you’re out here again? Didn’t we agree last time not to spend special days chasing cryptids?”
She turned her head slowly. Nothing. Of course nothing.
But that didn’t stop her from hearing you.
“Maybe check under that tree root. I might be curled up with the worms.”
You were always there, in the static between the rustling leaves. In the hush of her own breath.
“You're going to dig a trench into this forest if you keep pacing the same way every week,” you said, imaginary and infuriatingly amused.
Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “You would’ve done the same.”
“Nope,” your voice teased. “I would’ve brought a sandwich and a better flashlight. And probably some bug spray.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
She kept walking. There wasn’t a path here, but she didn’t need one. Her feet knew where to go—toward that hollow near the creek where she’d looked a thousand times. Toward the broken tree stump you once dared her to climb, only to fall off and sprain your ankle laughing. Toward the mossy patch where you swore you saw a ghost deer.
“Are you sure you want to look under every rock, Wends?” you whispered, somewhere behind her eyes. “Because I swear I’m not hiding under a mushroom.”
“You’d be the kind of idiot to hide under a mushroom,” she muttered back.
"Only because you’d never think to look there. Just like you aren't looking right where I am."
She paused. For a long moment, she just stood there, listening to the wind. It moved through the branches like a memory trying to find its voice.
She crouched slowly, her boots digging into wet soil, brushing leaves aside with gloved fingers. Nothing. Just dirt, roots, decay.
She imagined your voice again, this time softer.
“You already know where I am, Wends…”
Her breath caught.
The fog thickened. The trees blurred.
She hated this place.
"Why did you follow me?" she asked the fog. "Why didn’t you just refuse!"
She didn’t expect an answer. She didn’t get one.
But in her mind’s eye, she could see you tilting your head, grinning, eyes warm like morning sunlight.
"Because you asked me Wends and I trusted you."
“I should’ve said something... when I still had you...”
“You did. In your own way. In every stare. Every time you stayed longer than you meant to.”
“I didn’t want this.”
The voice in her head sounded so close now. She could almost feel your breath.
“No. But you let yourself have it. Just once. And that scared you more than anything. Was it one of the reasons you did it?”
Her knees shook. She stumbled back, breath catching in her throat. No.
Her breath was uneven. Her boots shifted on the leaves, and the cold bit harder than before.
Your voice was quiet now. Just a murmur.
“You already know where I am, Wends…”
Wednesday froze.
The raven in her hand felt like it doubled in weight.
Restless dreams...
Wednesday sat beside you on the crooked log near the shore, her boots almost brushing against the moss. You were close—too close, at least according to her rules—but she didn’t move. She could feel your shoulder almost graze hers whenever you shifted. And she didn’t move.
You were talking again, as always. And for once, Wednesday wasn’t thinking about how to quiet you. She was listening.
“I kinda used to hate this part of the forest,” you said softly, your eyes on the lake. “When I first got to Nevermore, I used to come here thinking if I stared long enough, it might swallow me whole. I don’t know why.”
Wednesday blinked, turning slightly. “And now?”
You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Now it feels like this place knows things.” you had said. “Like... even if you don’t tell it your secrets, it already has them?”
She stared at you. You weren’t usually this serious, not when the sun was up. That was your rule—sad things belonged to the night, you used to say.
You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them. “You think I’m full of sunshine and jokes and all that ‘live, laugh, love’ crap, right?”
“I think you’re worse than Enid,” Wednesday said without hesitation.
You snorted. “That bad?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” you muttered. “I try.”
She watched you, studied the corner of your mouth, the lines that never seemed to stay in one place—always twisting into smirks, grins, something lively. But now… now your face was still.
“Did I ever tell you I didn’t grow up in a normal house?”
Wednesday blinked. “That assumes I thought you did.”
You snorted softly. “No, I mean… like, not normal-normal. Not even Addams-level weird. I mean messed up.”
That got her attention.
Your voice had shifted. No teasing. No laughing. Just that quiet, haunted tone.
“I wasn’t always like this. You know. Bright. Loud. I… used to be really, really quiet. Scared of everything.”
Wednesday stayed silent. She didn’t move.
You kept your eyes on the lake.
“My family,” you said, and your voice cracked. “They weren’t like other people.”
Wednesday’s chest felt tight all of a sudden.
“They were witches. Powerful ones. Not the Wiccan kind. Not the Nevermore kind. I mean real, blood-bound, dark witches. Obsessed with power. Obsessed with the old ways.”
You swallowed, lips dry.
“They believed that power came through sacrifice. Innocent blood. The younger, the purer, the better.”
Wednesday didn’t breathe.
“I was a child,” you said, voice distant. “And I was innocent too. But I was theirs. And that meant… I was off-limits.”
Her hands curled into fists in her lap.
“So they made me fear them. They told me to make friends. Told me to bring them home to play. And I did. God, Wends... I did." Your voice cracked, "I didn’t know what I was leading those kids into. I thought… I thought we were just playing.”
You laughed bitterly.
Wednesday looked at you then. Really looked.
You, the one who filled her days with unbearable noise and color.
You, the one who danced in the rain.
You, the one who spun through life like nothing could ever touch you.
You were this.
You had always been this.
“I was ten when I figured it out,” you whispered. “There was this girl… smaller than me. Shy. She looked up to me. I—” Your voice broke. You looked down. “They asked me to bring her to the woods. Said they’d show me how to be ‘strong like them.’”
She already knew how that story ended.
“I told someone. I didn’t know what would happen next. But I couldn’t do it. Not again. I told a teacher. The cops came. People in suits. They didn’t tell me anything after that. Just packed me up and dumped me in an orphanage.”
You looked away from the water now. Right at her.
“That’s why I’m like this, Wends. Why I laugh so much. Why I’m so loud. It’s armor. If I make enough noise, maybe I can drown it all out.”
Wednesday couldn’t speak.
“And then came the powers.”
You raised a hand, fingertips glowing faint blue. Cold fog surrounded them.
“Freaked everyone out, obviously. Orphanage didn’t want me. Social workers didn’t want me. But then Nevermore stepped in.”
You smiled. It was small. Quiet.
“That’s where I met you.”
Wednesday looked away.
“In my restless dreams, I sometimes see them,” you murmured. “My family. The things they made me do. The kids I didn’t save. The girl I should’ve saved.”
Your voice trembled.
“And sometimes, I worry… that I’ll become like them too.”
Now the lake was still. Silent. A perfect mirror for the gray sky above. The same crooked log still rested there, half-consumed by moss and time. The wind whispered across the water, cold and sharp, bringing nothing with it.
But there were no birds, no sound.
And yet everything inside her was screaming.
The moment she saw the shape on the log, her breath caught in her throat.
There you were.
Exactly where you had sat all those months ago. Same spot. Same posture.
Knees pulled close. Chin resting. That same haunted stillness she’d seen in you only once before.
You were wearing the same coat you wore the night you disappeared. The same gloves. Hair just barely different—longer? Wet? She couldn’t tell.
But it was you.
You didn’t look at her. Not yet.
You stared at the lake.
She didn’t dare speak.
Didn’t dare move.
Because suddenly, she was afraid. Truly afraid. And it wasn’t the lake. Or the fog. Or the silence.
It was the way you were sitting.
Still. Unmoving. Like you’d been there for a very long time.
And then—
Your voice.
Soft. Playful.
Just like before.
“Took you long enough.”
And Wednesday walked.
Step by step. Each one heavier than the last.
Because it was coming back to her.
Not what she chose to remember. But what she did.
All of it.
She hadn’t wanted to see it, hadn’t wanted to believe it—her mind had kept it locked away, buried beneath fog and frost and grief, but now… now it returned in pieces.
A year ago,
Enid and Eugene. Gone for two days.
She’d hardly slept. Hadn’t eaten. Her nails had broken against the bark of trees from how hard she’d clawed her way through the forest, desperate, ravenous for answers.
She found it on the third day.
Enid’s locket.
Half-buried in the moss, silver chain tangled around a dead root. Her hands trembled as she reached for it—just a flash of metal in the dirt—and the moment her fingers brushed it, the world shifted.
Her knees hit the ground. The vision struck like a storm behind her eyes.
You. Standing over them. Enid’s blonde hair soaked red. Eugene’s glasses shattered beside his lifeless body. And you—gazing down at the ruin with a look that burned itself into Wednesday’s memory. Your expression… distant. Cold. Almost satisfied.
She had screamed.
Not out loud. No. Her screams were the silent kind—the ones that crushed her ribs from the inside. Rage. Pain. Betrayal. It swallowed her whole, and for the first time in her life, Wednesday Addams wanted to tear the world apart.
“No,” she had muttered. “No… no, not her.”
But the vision held tight. Showed her over and over. You had done this.
You. The person who brought light into her black-and-white world. The one she had started to believe she could trust with her softest thoughts, her future. You, standing there with the darkness of your family behind your eyes, a legacy of blood, and betrayal.
Why?
Why did you lie to her? Why did you become them?
Her mind had spiraled. Maybe you were just like them. Maybe you’d lured her in the same way your family had taught you to lure the innocent. You had used her. Gotten close to her. Earned her trust. Just to get close to them.
Her blood had gone ice cold. The rage that followed had been total. Absolute. Blinding.
She didn’t think. She didn’t question.
You’d played her. Everything—the laughter, the smiles, the tenderness. The way you’d held her hand when you thought she wasn’t looking. All of it—lies. She saw it with her own eyes now, her vision can never be wrong. Everything had gone red. No room for doubt. No time for second guesses. You had betrayed her. Played her.
She remembered her hands trembling as she shoved the vision out of her mind. She remembered thinking how she had let herself love you. How stupid. How careless. How human.
Was it because of your family? Had they gotten to you? She didn’t know. Didn’t care.
She wanted answers.
And so, she’d planned it.
She asked you to come with her the next evening. Said she’d found a lead. Said she needed someone she trusted. Her voice was steady. Too steady. You were so happy to hear it. You told her you were glad she hadn’t given up—that you wanted to help search. Of course you did. You’d always wanted to be by her side.
You met her at the forest edge, smiling like you always did. That irritating smile. That beautiful, warm, stupid smile. You even brought two cups of coffee, saying you thought she might’ve forgotten to drink anything again.
“I thought I’d be the one getting lost,” you joked, nudging her as you both walked into the woods together. “But now it’s you wandering off. What’s the world coming to?”
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even speak.
You noticed, of course. You always noticed. “You okay, Wends? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
And maybe she had.
Because the thing walking beside her… she didn’t think it was you anymore.
She led you to the lake.
The same one she stood in front of now, every nerve ending in her screaming as she stared at your figure—still, silent, waiting.
Back then, you had frowned when she stopped.
“Why are we here?” you asked, glancing around.
“Tell me the truth.”
Your face twisted into confusion.
“Wends?”
“Don’t lie to me.”
You laughed, but it was nervous, faltering. “Okay... You’re gonna have to help me out here, cause I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Enid. Eugene.” Her voice cracked. “I saw what you did.”
Your smile disappeared. “What I… what?”
“I saw you standing over their bodies. Covered in blood. Laughing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then you said it. “No. No, I didn’t—Wednesday, I don’t know what you saw, but that wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything. I swear to you, I—”
“You used me,” Wednesday snarled. “You knew I cared about them. About you. And you twisted it. Just like your family did.”
Your eyes filled with tears. “No. No, I would never—Wends, you know me. You know I would never hurt them, I—”
“I trusted you,” she had said. Her throat had tightened with each word. “I let you in. And you—you slaughtered them. Was that the plan all along? To get close to me and hurt the people I care about?”
Your voice cracked. “Wednesday, no—I swear—I would never hurt them—I didn’t—”
Your hands had trembled. You’d reached for her, eyes wide and terrified. “I didn’t do anything. I swear—I swear on everything I am—I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t real. Please. You know me.”
But Wednesday couldn’t see your eyes anymore. Not the real ones. Just the ones from the vision. Cold. Deceptive. Dangerous.
And your voice—was it trembling from fear?
Or guilt?
She remembered your hands reaching for hers.
She didn’t let them.
Her hands closed around your throat instead.
You didn’t fight.
Even as the lake water pulled you under.
You stared up at her with wide, terrified eyes—but not at death.
At her.
Like she’d become the monster you were being accused of being.
And you were right.
You were so, so right.
The memory choked her. The way your body had floated for a moment before the cold water dragged you beneath the surface. The way her breath had come heavy, frantic, her skin pale and wet with sweat.
She’d told herself you’d lied. She had to be right.
She had to be.
Enid and Eugene were found the next day. Tied up in the Thornhill greenhouse. Scared, but alive.
And the vision?
A lie.
Planted in Enid’s locket.
A trap.
Thornhill had admitted it in a scream—giddy at the irony. “I didn’t even have to lay a finger on your little pet. You did it for me.”
Your family had helped her. One last act of revenge. They couldn’t get to you… so they poisoned the person you loved most. With doubt. With grief.
And Wednesday—
She broke.
That was the day her restless dreams stopped being silent. That was the day the lake began to haunt her.
And now?
She was walking toward you again.
You hadn’t moved. Not an inch.
Your eyes were bright. That same smile. That same softness. You didn’t look angry. You didn’t look hurt.
You looked alive.
And that hurt more than anything.
Because she had stolen that from you.
You, who had twirled in the rain. Who brought her coffee. Who carved—W+A Even if the world ends— wherever you could.
You, who held her hand when no one else dared.
You, who trusted her.
You, who loved her.
And she…
The weight in her chest made it hard to breathe. Her legs felt like splinters barely holding themselves together.
“I always liked this place,” you said quietly. “Even when the bugs bit and the moss made the rocks slippery. You used to hate it.”
She turned to you. Her mouth trembled. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. “You’re not real.”
“Neither are dreams. But they still feel like something, don’t they?”
She flinched.
“I remember everything,” she whispered.
Your hand lingered on her cheek, cold and weightless.
“I know what you thought, Wends,” you said gently. “But I didn’t do it.”
“I know that now.” Her voice cracked. “I know it was a vision. I know Thornhill used it. I know your family was involved. I know. But it doesn’t matter.”
She looked down at her hands. Pale and shaking. She stared like she was hoping they’d be someone else’s. Someone capable of something less monstrous.
“I still did it.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. You did.”
Silence again. But it wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating.
“I was angry,” Wednesday said suddenly, her voice raw. “No. Not angry—furious. I was convinced you had betrayed everything. Everyone. I thought you had become them. Your family. I thought you had used me to get to Enid and Eugene. To finish what your bloodline started.”
Your gaze lowered.
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
You looked at her now, really looked at her. “You didn’t believe me.”
“No,” she breathed. “I didn’t.”
You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “That’s the part that hurt the most, I think. Not the… not the lake. Not the fear. Just you looking at me like I was a monster.”
Wednesday shut her eyes. Her lips trembled.
"You already feared it might be true,” you whispered. “That some part of me… would turn out like them.”
Her silence said enough. Her hands were shaking now. “You trusted me.”
Tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them, slipping quietly down her pale cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Sorry I let Thornhill get to me. Sorry I saw that vision and never asked questions. Sorry I buried you in this lake and buried the memory even deeper. Sorry I pretended you were still missing instead of admitting what I did.”
She turned fully to you now. Her voice trembled.
“You never got justice. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. You just... vanished. And everyone pitied me. Comforted me. But I was the monster.”
Another silence. Another wave lapped at the edge of the lake like an answer.
“I don’t want pity either,” Wednesday said, voice hoarse. “I don’t want forgiveness.”
She reached out and touched your hand. Cold. Still. Not real.
“But I want to be with you again.”
You looked so alive.
So painfully alive.
And she had taken that from you.
“I’m tired,” she whispered. “I’ve been tired since that night. There’s a weight in my chest I can’t get out. It pulls me down when I wake up. It follows me to sleep.”
Her gaze returned to the lake. “And this place… it never let me forget. It keeps calling me back.”
Her eyes found yours again, “Why do you look like you did before?” she asked.
“Maybe it’s not really me,” you said. “Maybe it’s just what you need to see. Or maybe I’m what’s left of me. The part that still waits for you.”
Wednesday closed her eyes.
“I don’t want to wake up again,” she whispered. Not without you. I’ve lived every day in a lie. And when I remembered the truth… I didn’t feel human anymore.”
You didn’t argue.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of lakewater and earth and the distant sound of birds. You stood and offered your hand to her.
“Come with me.”
Wednesday looked up.
You weren’t smiling. But your face was soft, like you were trying not to cry.
“Where?” she asked.
You looked to the lake.
“Home.”
Her lips trembled. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
“You’ll disappear,” she said. “You’ll vanish the moment I step in.”
“Maybe,” you whispered. “Or maybe I’ll be waiting on the other side.”
Wednesday stood slowly, the weight in her bones cracking like frost on stone. She took your hand.
Your fingers were warm now.
Together, you walked to the water’s edge. The lake lapped at your boots like it remembered. Like it welcomed.
“Are you afraid?” you asked.
Wednesday stared ahead. “Not anymore.”
She let go of everything.
She opened her eyes one last time.
And there you were. Smiling. Holding her close.
Safe now. Forever.
In her restless dreams… she could finally be with her lover.