Wednesday died again
“She did it again, she did it again, SHE DID IT AGAIN—”
Eugene ran like his life depended on it.
The forest blurred around him, branches clawing at his sleeves, roots threatening to trip him, but he barely noticed. Panic propelled him forward, breath ragged, heart hammering against his ribs.
When he reached the cottage, he didn’t hesitate—he pounded on the door with both fists, the force of his desperation rattling the frame. Then, just as abruptly, he sagged against it, wheezing.
The door swung open to reveal Enid, her hair a tangled mess, eyes heavy with sleep. She blinked at him, unimpressed but unsurprised, like someone who had woken up to the same emergency one too many times.
Eugene wasted no time. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her with whatever strength he had left.
“She did it again!” he gasped. “She did it again! SHE DID IT AGAIN!”
Enid sighed, rubbing her temple. “Wednesday?”
“WEDNESDAY,” Eugene confirmed with the desperation of a man on the brink. “DIED. AGAIN.”
Enid barely reacted. Instead, she turned back inside, grabbing her coat with the practiced ease of someone getting ready for another long, tedious errand.
Eugene gaped at her. “WHY ARE YOU NOT PANICKING?!”
“Because,” Enid said, pulling her sleeves into place, “this isn’t new.”
“IT SHOULD NEVER BE ‘NOT NEW’!”
She ignored him, securing her hair in a ponytail as if Wednesday’s continued brushes with death were nothing more than an inconvenient weather forecast.
“How this time?” she asked, voice calm.
Eugene inhaled sharply, the pitch of his voice climbing as he practically shrieked, “SHE LET A SNAKE BITE HER TO TIME HER OWN DEATH.”
Enid froze mid-motion. For a long moment, she just stood there, fingers still tangled in her hair, posture rigid. Then, slowly, carefully, she lowered her hand and took a deep breath.
“Shewhat?”
Sunlight filtered through the trees, painting dappled patterns across the small clearing. It was a beautiful day. Tranquil. Idyllic.
Which made the entire situation even more infuriating.
Eugene’s hands fluttered uselessly in front of him, his expression contorted somewhere between terror and exhaustion. “Wednesday, please,” he begged, voice thin with barely contained hysteria. “Don’t do this.”
Wednesday sat cross-legged in the grass, completely undisturbed by his presence. She was busy inspecting her arm, rolling her wrist experimentally, testing the veins beneath her skin as if this were nothing more than a casual routine. “Don’t you dare get Enid,” she warned, tone breezy but firm. “I know what I’m doing.”
From a few feet away, Bianca crossed her arms, watching the scene unfold with the weary exasperation of someone who had long since given up trying to understand Wednesday Addams.
“And what exactly is your goal?” she asked, voice flat.
Wednesday turned to her as if the answer should be obvious. “People assume snake venom kills instantly,” she said. “It doesn’t. It takes time. And I—” she gestured to herself with a flourish, “—have a high resistance due to prior experience.”
Bianca’s expression didn’t change. “You mean because you’ve died from it before?”
Wednesday beamed. “Exactly.”
Eugene let out a strangled noise. “That’s NOT how resistance works!”
Wednesday waved a dismissive hand. “It’s partially how it works.”
Bianca exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “So your plan is to get bitten on purpose and just… see how long you last?”
Wednesday nodded, entirely too pleased. “Correct.”
Eugene made a sound that was almost a sob. “WHY?!”
Wednesday huffed, as if it was exhausting having to explain herself. “Because I want to know! People are so dramatic about venom. ‘Oh no, you’ll drop dead in seconds!’ That’s simply not true. It’s all about metabolism, dosage, tolerance—”
Eugene clutched his head in despair. “THIS IS NOT HOW YOU TEST THAT!”
But Wednesday was already turning to the snake. The poor thing had been waiting patiently, head slightly tilted, as if it too were questioning the logic of the situation.
She extended her arm.
“Alright, my slithery friend,” she said, voice businesslike. “Let’s begin.”
“WEDNESDAY, NO—”
The snake bit her.
She didn’t even flinch.
Instead, she examined the bite marks with mild interest, tilting her wrist as if appraising a new accessory. Then, satisfied, she glanced at her watch.
“Alright,” she murmured. “Timer starts now.”
Eugene made a horrible, strangled noise and collapsed to his knees in the dirt.
Five minutes.
Wednesday drummed her fingers against her knee. “Tingling,” she noted. “But still fine.”
Eugene whimpered.
Ten minutes.
She flexed her fingers. “A bit more burn. Numbness creeping in.”
Eugene let out a high-pitched screech. “PLEASE STOP NARRATING YOUR OWN DEATH.”
Fifteen minutes.
Her eyelids drooped slightly. She tilted her head, swaying a little, testing the weight of her own limbs.
“Ooooh, yeah,” she murmured. “Definitely in my bloodstream now.”
Bianca sighed, arms crossed. “Would you at least lie down?”
“No,” Wednesday said firmly. “That would imply defeat.”
Twenty minutes.
Her hands were shaking now. Her breathing had slowed.
Still, she smiled, victorious. “I told you all—”
Then she slumped backward.
Silence.
A long, exhausted silence.
Bianca exhaled through her nose. “You know,” she muttered, “I hate that she was right.”
Eugene made a strangled sound, part sob, part shriek, then did the only logical thing left.
He ran.
Straight to Enid’s house.
And with that, Wednesday Addams officially died.
Again.