Part 1
She met you in fencing class.
As Wednesday was walking through the hallways of Nevermore, on her way to the fencing class, she couldn't help but question herself, why had she returned?
Sure, she had defeated Crackstone. Tyler was locked away, the Gates family’s legacy was ash. Yet, despite her apparent victory over the forces conspiring against Nevermore, Wednesday couldn’t shake the hollow feeling of anticlimax.
So why?
Perhaps it was the faint pull of unfinished business. The photos of a shadowy stalker she’d received at the end of her first year were an unsolved loose end, but even those now felt underwhelming. Whoever it was hadn’t made a move worth her attention in months.
Or maybe she was here because it gave her the chance to humiliate Bianca this time. That thought warmed her more than she cared to admit. Bianca had always been the most formidable opponent in fencing, her skill matched only by her infuriating arrogance. Wednesday lived for that. She would never say it aloud, but Bianca was the only opponent worth her time.
As she entered the fencing room, the chatter of students died down. The tension in the room was immediate, Wednesday didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. She had always been the odd one in this class, the only one to don a fencing uniform as black as her soul while everyone wore the casual white.
But something was different today. She caught sight of a figure seated casually in one of the chairs lining the hall but the reason her eyes found this one so fast because they dressed entirely in black fencing gear, just like her. Their mask and helmet obscured any hint of identity.
For as long as she had fenced at Nevermore, she had been the only one to wear black. This was an intrusion.
Her gaze shifted to Bianca, and for the first time, Wednesday noticed blood dripping from the other girl’s left hand. It was a small, angry trickle, barely enough to warrant alarm, but the sheer fact of it was startling. Bianca never bled. Not in fencing. Her form was too precise, her reactions too swift.
“Wait, that’s not Wednesday?” Kent was the one to speak out.
The rest of the students murmured, their gazes bouncing between her and the stranger. Even the coach was a bit confused.
Wednesday’s curiosity deepened but she said nothing.
Her dark eyes flicked back to Bianca. The siren’s usual air of superiority was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter. Humiliation.
Bianca Barclay had been beaten, and beaten badly, by... whoever this was.
“Barclay,” The coach said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Infirmary. Now.”
Bianca huffed, her glare locked on the figure in black. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been reduced to ashes. But they remained unmoved, offering no reaction.
As Bianca passed Wednesday, she slowed, her lip curling in disdain. “Not one word,” she muttered, low enough that only Wednesday could hear.
Wednesday tilted her head, her tone as cool as ever. “Careful, Barclay. Your blood loss is showing.”
Bianca huffed but she said nothing, stalking out of the hall with as much dignity as she could muster.
Wednesday’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. Whoever this person was, they had achieved something remarkable. The idea that someone could dismantle Bianca so thoroughly sparked a flicker of excitement deep in Wednesday’s chest, a sensation she quickly quashed.
The possibility of being bested was not one she entertained lightly, but the idea of such a challenge thrilled her in a way she couldn’t deny. It was rare to find someone who could match her ruthlessness, let alone surpass it.
Her gaze returned to the masked figure. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even acknowledged the chaos they’d caused. They simply sat there, busy in their own world.
She took a step forward, “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.
The figure didn’t respond. Their silence was deliberate, unyielding.
Wednesday’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, dark, challenging, hungry. “If you’re going to steal my aesthetic, the least you can do is prove you’re worthy of it.”
A murmur swept through the room. Someone let out a low whistle, and the coach frowned, clearly torn between maintaining order and allowing the drama to unfold.
“Addams, this is not the time for theatrics,” the coach started, but Wednesday silenced her with a raised hand.
“It’s not theatrics. It’s a challenge,” she said, her dark eyes fixed on the seated figure. “Unless you’re too afraid to accept.”
For a moment, the figure remained motionless. Then, slowly, they stood. The black fencing uniform clung to their frame, and the mask’s darkened mesh remained inscrutable. They stepped onto the fencing strip—silent, measured, and deliberate and Wednesday adjusted her fencing mask.
The room collectively held its breath.
The coach sighed, knowing full well he can't stop Wednesday.
“En garde.” he yelled.
With her perfect stance and razor-sharp mind, Wednesday raised her blade. A precision tool she had used innumerable times, the weight of her foil in her hand was reassuring. The other fencer, whose mask concealed any emotion, mirrored her movements with eerie grace across from her.
“Prêts,” the coach said.
Wednesday’s focus narrowed. Her heart beat steadily. She would rule. She did it every time.
“Allez.”
The duel began. Wednesday moved first, her blade darting forward in a testing thrust. Her opponent’s response was immediate, a deflection so swift it was almost imperceptible.
Wednesday pressed forward, her footwork precise and aggressive. She lunged again, trying to draw her opponent into a mistake. But the figure in black sidestepped, their movements fluid and economical. They struck back, their blade skimming past her guard with alarming speed. Wednesday barely parried and dodged in time.
A flurry of attacks and counters. Wednesday’s strikes were measured, calculated to exploit any opening. Yet her opponent offered none. It was as if they were reading her mind, anticipating her every move.
Her frustration grew, simmering beneath her stoic exterior. She was Wednesday Addams. She did not lose.
Then it happened. In a single, breathtaking motion, her opponent disengaged, their blade whipping around her guard to land a clean hit on her shoulder.
The coach’s voice rang out. “Point. 1-0.”
The room exhaled collectively. Wednesday’s grip on her épée tightened. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. She had underestimated them. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.
They reset. The coach’s whistle blew. “Allez!”
This time, Wednesday took a defensive stance, watching her opponent closely. Their movements were fast, almost inhumanly so, but there was no sound—no labored breathing, no huffs of exertion. It was as though they weren’t human at all but a ghost sent to haunt her.
Their blade darted forward in the blink of an eye. Wednesday countered, attempting to draw them into a trap. But they saw through it, disengaging and circling to her left. She pivoted, parrying a thrust aimed at her torso, but their follow-up was too quick. The tip of their blade grazed her arm.
The coach’s voice rang out again. “Point. 2-0.”
Wednesday’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. The students murmured, the shock evident in their voices. Anger flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She was not accustomed to being outmatched like this.
The next round began. Wednesday forced herself to focus, she studied their movements, searching for a pattern, a weakness. Their strikes were precise, but even precision had its rhythm.
Then she saw it—a slight hesitation in their retreat, a fraction of a second where their weight shifted too far back. It was enough.
When they lunged, she was ready. She sidestepped, her blade sweeping upward in a controlled arc. The tip struck their shoulder.
"Point 2-1" The coach whistled.
For the first time, her opponent faltered. It was subtle, a small hesitation as they reset, but Wednesday caught it. The way they froze for a heartbeat, their head tilting slightly as if registering the touch, was fascinating. She couldn’t see their face, but she imagined what might lie beneath the mask. Surprise? Annoyance?
She allowed herself the faintest of smirks.
But the pause was brief. The stranger reset, their stance as flawless as ever. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her foil. If they can get hit, she can win. She just needs to be patient.
The whistle sounded again, and they moved.
This time, it was a storm. The stranger’s attacks came faster, sharper, each strike more relentless than the last. Wednesday parried and countered, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up. They weren't getting tired, and Wednesday for a fact understood, this was must be because one of their powers, Was it fair? No. But it was... maybe a lit... amusing.
For every move she anticipated, they had another waiting in line.
She refused to give ground, but her endurance was waning. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her breaths coming faster despite her efforts to control them. And then, just as she thought she might regain the upper hand, they struck.
The tip of their foil grazed her chest with clinical precision.
“Touché! 3-1."
The class went full silent, except a few gasphs.
Wednesday staggered back a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had lost. And it wasn’t luck or a fluke. It was a deserved victory. This opponent, whoever they were, was better.
Her gaze flicked to the masked figure, who was already lowering their blade, their movements as calm and unbothered as ever. They turned without a word, stepping off the fencing mat as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Anger bubbled beneath Wednesday’s surface, sharp and unrelenting. Not just at her opponent, but at herself. She had lost, just as Bianca had.
But unlike Bianca, she wouldn’t accept it.
“Wait,” she said, the stranger paused mid-step but didn’t turn.
“I’m not finished.”
Taking off her gloves, Wednesday ripped off her mask, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Her pale face, flushed faintly from exertion “One more match,” she said, “No helmets. No gloves. First blood.”
The figure paused mid-step. Slowly, they turned back to face her. The room held its collective breath as they reached up, removing their gloves with deliberate precision. Then, they raised their hands to their helmet and pulled it off.
Wednesday froze.
A cascade of hair fell free, framing a face that froze Wednesday in place. Deep blue eyes met hers, piercing and unreadable.
A girl.
For the first time in years, Wednesday Addams felt something foreign and unfamiliar. Her mind stumbled over itself, her usual composure shattered. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could only stare. The sharp lines of the girl’s face, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through her.
The girl’s expression was unreadable, her silence almost oppressive. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no mockery in it, no trace of satisfaction. It was as though the outcome of their first match had been irrelevant to her.
That infuriated Wednesday more than the loss itself.
The coach hesitated before stepping back and raising his hand. His voice wavered slightly as he called out, “En garde.”
Her grip of her foil tightened as she drew her focus inward, forcing her breathing to steady. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the humiliation, This was about proving a point- to herself and to the girl who had dared to take her victory so effortlessly.
“Allez!”
The match began with a lunge from Wednesday, her blade aiming for the girl’s shoulder. It was a calculated strike, meant to gauge her opponent’s reaction. As before, the girl deflected with an unnerving ease, her blade redirecting Wednesday’s attack in a single fluid motion.
Wednesday pressed forward, her strikes coming faster, sharper, each one aimed to corner the girl into a defensive position. But her opponent was quick, impossibly quick, slipping out of reach with minimal effort.
Wednesday felt her frustration mount with each failed strike. No matter how precisely she aimed, the girl always seemed a step ahead.
Wednesday pushed harder, her movements growing more aggressive. She feinted left, aiming for the girl’s left hand, of course her attack was parried... but barely this time.
For the first time, her defense seemed less impenetrable. Wednesday seized the opening, striking with renewed vigor. But right then, Wednesday’s eyes locked on the girl’s, her heart skipping a beat. They were… haunting. Deep, unfathomable, and completely devoid of emotion.
And then, the girl did something that froze Wednesday mid-movement.
She shifted her stance; a slight adjustment to her footing, the angle of her blade. But as the girl moved, it became clear that this was something entirely different. Her grip on the foil changed, her movements adopting a fluidity that was both unfamiliar and unnerving.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. The stance was unusual, almost ceremonial in its precision. And then it clicked.
It was the stance of a katana.
The realization sent a chill down Wednesday’s spine. She had studied fencing extensively, priding herself on her knowledge of techniques from all over the world. But this was something else, something that Wednesday isn't an expert on...
The girl moved, and Wednesday barely had time to react. Her strikes came in sweeping arcs, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. The blade seemed to dance, its movements impossible to predict.
Wednesday’s defense faltered under the onslaught. She parried desperately, her mind racing to adapt to this new style. But the girl’s attacks were relentless, her blade slipping past Wednesday’s defenses with alarming frequency.
For the first time, Wednesday felt out of her depth.
She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this girl overwhelm her—not again. She lunged, aiming for a weak point in the girl’s defense, but her blade was deflected with a force that nearly knocked it from her hand.
The girl countered with a strike so precise, so swift, that Wednesday barely dodged in time.... or did she?
Because the girl had stopped.
It wasn’t a retreat or a hesitation. She simply froze, her blade lowering slightly as though she had no reason to continue.
Wednesday frowned, her gaze dropping to her arm. Her stomach dropped. A thin line of red traced its way down her pale skin, a tiny drop of blood beginning to bead at its edge.
First blood.
Wednesday’s foil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as the weight of her loss settled over her. She stared at the girl, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.
She had lost. Again.
The girl stepped back, her expression unchanged. There was no emotion in her eyes, no trace of satisfaction or smugness. It was as though the match had meant nothing to her, as though Wednesday had been just another opponent to dispatch.
Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The loss was infuriating, yes, but it was the girl’s indifference that stung the most. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even been challenged.
The girl bent to retrieve her helmet and gloves. She turned without a word, walking toward the exit as though the match had never happened.
Wednesday watched her go, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been defeated before by Bianca, but not like this. Not by someone who had reduced her to irrelevance with so ease.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to see Bianca, her left hand freshly bandaged. Bianca stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t sure how to start.
“Now you get it?” Bianca muttered, crossing her arms.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, “Get what?”
Bianca exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why I lost.”
Wednesday remained silent, waiting for Bianca to elaborate.
“When she showed up in the black gear, I thought it was you.” She raised her bandaged hand, her irritation palpable. “So, naturally, I challenged her. Gloves off. I wanted to prove a point to you..."
“And yet here you are,” Wednesday noted, “Unproven.”
Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she pushed past the jab. “She’s not like anyone else. The way she fights? It’s... unsettling.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “She doesn’t fence. Not really. She reads you, adapts, and then it’s like she’s a step ahead of you the whole time. You can’t even throw her off. I tried."
“And failed.” Wednesday said flatly.
"So did you. But at least you got a point against her." With that, Bianca turned and walked away.
Wednesday remained where she was, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.
Why did it feel like she was everywhere and nowhere at once?
She exhaled sharply, spinning on her heel and leaving the gym.
By the time she reached quad for lunch, the words had already outrun her. As she stepped inside, the chatter shifted noticeably, students stealing glances at her as though they couldn’t believe the day’s events.
And then there was Enid.
The werewolf practically launched herself at Wednesday, her vibrant energy an unwelcome assault.
“Wednesday! Oh my gosh, is it true? Did you actually.......lose?"
Wednesday gave Enid her death glare... which Enid is immune to, unfortunately.
“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, you got your butt kicked by the new girl in, like, the most epic way possible! Like, who even is this girl? And why is she just as dark and scary as you?”
“I am not discussing this.” The glare deepened.
“Okay, okay,” Enid said, holding up her hands. “But seriously, who is she? And why are you so.... intense about this?”
“I am not intense,” Wednesday said curtly.
“Come on, are you jealous? Or just annoyed that someone might actually be better than you?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or… is it something else?”
Wednesday’s turned slowly, fixing Enid with a look that could have withered flowers. “Your penchant for meddling will get you killed one day.”
Enid smirked, unfazed. “Uh-huh. So, jealous and annoyed. Got it.”
Before Wednesday could retort, her gaze shifted to the far end of the dining hall.
There she was, sitting alone at a table. She had chosen a seat far from the crowd, her posture calm and unbothered, as though the buzz around her didn’t exist. The students nearest to her stole glances at her, some murmuring, and some looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb.
“You should go talk to her,” Enid whispered, leaning closer.
Wednesday tore her gaze away, fixing Enid with an incredulous look. “And say what, exactly?”
“I don’t know. How do goths befriend each other?” Enid said earning another death glare. She shrugging. “Besides, you two have the same energy; dark and brooding. You’re practically soulmates.”
“Ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the girl. She was so still, so utterly composed, it was unnerving.
Before Wednesday could decide whether to act, the girl stood, collecting her tray and leaving the hall without so much as a glance toward anyone.
She found out your name in alchemy class.
Alchemy was Wednesday’s next class, and she had hoped it would provide a distraction, But as she sat at her desk, her mind kept going back to that girl... and as she began the delicate work of combining reagents, She glanced at the door, almost involuntarily, as though expecting something... and she wasn't disappointed.
The room fell silent. Every student turned to look as the girl walked in, unhurried and unbothered. Her expression betrayed no hint of apology, no trace of acknowledgment for the disruption. She simply stepped inside as though she owned the space.
The professor sighed, “Well, if it isn’t our newest addition. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “Y/N, I’d ask why you’re late, but something tells me you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”
You said nothing, offering only a blank stare before scanning the room. The only empty seat was beside Wednesday. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat down.
Wednesday stiffened, her focus now completely obliterated. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, you seemed utterly unbothered by the attention of the room, just as she was at her start here in Nevermore.
The professor resumed his lecture, but Wednesday barely heard a word.
She pretended to focus on the lesson, her pen moving across her notebook. But her eyes betrayed her, darting toward you at every opportunity.
She should have been focused on the experiment, on proving her superiority in yet another intellectual endeavor. But all she could think about was.... those eyes.
Every time Wednesday stole a glance at you, she found herself lingering, her gaze caught by the depth of your stare. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t look away.
The rest of the class passed in a haze, when the professor finally dismissed them, Wednesday gathered her things ignoring you. She refused to acknowledge you as you rose and left the room, as silent and unbothered as ever... but she did. As she watched you disappear into the corridor, Wednesday felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Curiosity. Frustration. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn't like it.
She first talked to you in the library.
If she could eradicate botany from this school, she would. She despised the assignment. Plants were irritatingly alive, with their need for sunlight and water and their incessant growth. And worse, they were resilient, continuing to thrive no matter how much she wished otherwise. That their existence shared the same planet as hers was one of life's more enduring inconveniences.
But what annoyed her more was giving these green nuisances even a moment of her attention. It was an indignity she had endured only to achieve perfection in her report, which, of course, had been flawless. That's why she had come to the library, she needed a book, Comprehensive Biology.
And there you were.
At the far corner of the library, you stood alone, scanning the shelves.
Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She hadn’t planned to confront you, but the sight of you, unbothered and aloof, stirred something in her. Frustration? No, she refused to acknowledge such a trivial emotion. It was something deeper. A need to understand. To assert control.
She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stopped a few feet away. For a moment, she simply observed. You were searching for something, your eyes moving methodically over the spines of the books.
“Lost?” she asked finally, her tone sharp and cutting. Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through cloth. “Or have you simply forgotten how to read?”
You turned your head slowly, your expression unreadable as you looked at her. For a moment, there was nothing, no reaction, no flicker of recognition. Then you tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in your eyes.
“Who are you again?” you asked, your voice devoid of malice but also of any warmth.
The question hit Wednesday like a slap. Her expression didn’t falter, but inside, a slow burn began to rise. Who are you again? The words echoed in her mind, each one twisting the knife of insult deeper.
“Who am I?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief and irritation. She stepped closer, her dark gaze locked onto yours. “I’m the person you defeated. Twice. Today. The one you sat beside in class today. Or has your memory been as unimpressive as your personality?”
You blinked, unperturbed, and returned your gaze to the books. “Oh,” you said simply, as if the information had already slipped from your mind. “Right.”
The dismissiveness of your voice made Wednesday’s jaw tighten. Most people crumbled under her sharp tongue or recoiled from her glare. You, however, seemed utterly immune
“You’re remarkably unbothered for someone with so little reason to be,” Wednesday said, her voice icy.
You pulled a book from the shelf. “And you’re remarkably persistent for someone who lost.”
Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. The audacity. The nerve. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle you or applaud your ability to get under her skin.
“I don’t lose,” she said firmly.
You finally turned to face her fully, the book resting in your hands. “Then what do you call what happened earlier?”
Wednesday’s glare could have melted stone. “An anomaly. One that will not be repeated.”
You raised an eyebrow, your expression still maddeningly neutral. “If you say so.”
Most people would have shifted under her gaze by now, stumbled over their words, or tried to appease her. You did none of those things. Instead, you opened the book, flipping through its pages showing your complete disinterest in the conversation.
“Why are you here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.
“Looking for a book,” you replied simply, your tone making it clear that the answer should have been obvious.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is so fascinating that it brought you to the library instead of, say, gloating over your victory?”
You closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf with the same quiet precision that marked everything you did. “I don’t gloat. Victory isn’t worth much if it’s expected.”
The words struck a chord.
“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, her voice a low growl.
You tilted your head again, considering her words. “So I’ve been told.”
Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What type of outcast are you?”
No reply.
Her irritation spiked. “What’s your power? You must have one, unless the administration suddenly decided to admit normies."
Still no reply.
Wednesday huffed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ignoring me is ill-advised. I’ve been known to make people regret it.”
You pulled a book off the shelf, inspected it briefly, and then replaced it with a calm that bordered on infuriating.
Wednesday stepped closer, her boots silent on the carpet. “I asked you a question.”
Without a word or any visible motion, a glint of metal appeared in your hand. A knife, sleek and deadly, materialized out of nowhere. Wednesday froze, her body tensing as her hand instinctively moved toward her own hidden knife. But she stopped short when you spun the weapon in your fingers with fluid ease, offering her the handle.
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and calculating. She didn’t take it immediately, instead scrutinizing both you and the blade. After a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours as she took the knife.
It wasn’t an ordinary knife; it was a parrying dagger, the kind designed to trap and break an opponent’s blade... and it looked old, centuries old.
“Conjuring weapons,” she said slowly, her tone even but laced with curiosity. “Is that your ability?”
"Something like that." you answered.
Before she could probe further, you let out a quiet sigh, your gaze drifting back to the shelves. It seemed you still hadn’t found what you were looking for. As you stepped away from the shelf and headed toward the exit, Wednesday tried to stop you. She held out the parrying dagger, “Here. Take it back.”
"Keep it." You said simply without even glancing back, leaving Wednesday standing alone in the dimly lit library, the dagger still in her hand. She slid it into her pocket, her mind already plotting how she would uncover the truth about you. She didn’t just let things go. And she certainly wasn’t about to start with you.
She understood a bit more about you during botany.
Breakfast was, at best, tolerable, and at worst, a chore. The only reason she even bothered was the unavoidable biological need to sustain herself.
She surveyed the room with her dark eyes, already calculating the path of least interaction to her usual seat with Enid.
But her gaze froze mid-scan.
You were there.
Sitting at her table.
Sitting in her seat.
And beside you, chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Did Enid mistook you as Wednesday?
Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as she stood by the entrance, taking in the scene. How did you end up here? Of all the tables, all the seats in the dining hall, why hers? . You, however, were picking at your breakfast with the same disinterest Wednesday reserved for Enid’s most frivolous stories.
Enid noticed her almost immediately, waving excitedly. “Wednesday! Over here!”
Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but failed. She stood rooted for a moment, weighing her options. She could walk away, claim another seat, and avoid the unbearable company of Enid and you. But that would mean admitting, if only to herself, that she was bothered. She was not one to surrender her territory so easily.
With a sigh that carried all the weight of her disdain, Wednesday made her way to the table. When she reached the table, she didn’t ask for her seat back. She was too mature for that.
Enid beamed. “Look who joined us! Isn’t this great?”
“It’s something,” Wednesday muttered, her tone flat as she slid onto the bench across from you.
You didn’t look up from your plate. The lack of acknowledgment was grating, though she couldn’t decide why.
“So,” Enid said, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity, “Y/N was just telling me, well, okay, not telling, more like I was guessing, that she’s not really into breakfast food. Isn’t that funny? Like, how can anyone not love pancakes?”
Your fork paused mid-air for the briefest of moments before continuing its journey to your mouth. You didn’t respond.
Wednesday, who understood that pointless chattering annoys you as much as her... maybe she could try "The Enid Way"
“Perhaps Y/N finds pancakes as insipid as she finds conversation.”
Enid blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or defend herself. “Uh… okay, rude? But honestly, you two could totally bond over being broody and, like, totally impossible to read.”
Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you then, a sharp, probing look. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Predictable, perhaps. There’s a certain monotony to Y/N’s silence and I do not find it intriguing at all.”
You glanced up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no irritation in your expression, no spark of retaliation, just an unreadable calm that only served to unnerve her further. “And yet, here you are, commenting on it,” you said evenly before returning to your plate.
It wasn’t the sharpest retort, but the way you delivered it, like an afterthought, as though Wednesday’s presence barely registered, made it sting all the same.
Enid looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement only she could muster. “Oh my gosh, this is like watching two glaciers collide! I mean, not that you guys are slow or cold or anything. Well, maybe a little cold. Anyway, isn’t this fun?”
“No,” Wednesday and you said at the same time.
Enid burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “See? You’re already bonding!”
Wednesday shot her a look that could curdle milk, but Enid was unfazed.
Eugene was approaching their table but he stopped short when he saw you, his gaze darting between you and Wednesday. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“Uh… are we seeing double, or is this the person who—”
“Finish that sentence, Eugene, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wednesday said.
Eugene’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly. “Got it. Not finishing the sentence.” And just as Eugene joined the table, her attention returning to you. You were wiping your hands with a napkin, getting ready to leave. Wednesday can tell, your hate for social interaction, raged more than her's. Perhaps, she can use that against you.
As Enid watched you stand and leave without so much as a goodbye, she sighed dramatically, "You two would make the perfect brooding couple.”
Wednesday shot her a withering look. “Your penchant for romanticizing everything is both exhausting and nauseating.”
Enid just grinned. “Admit it, Wens. You’re curious about her.”
Wednesday didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Enid was right. You were a mystery, and Wednesday Addams hated unsolved mysteries almost as much as she hated losing.
Wednesday walked into her botany class with her usual measured pace, her eyes scanning the room as she adjusted in her seat. She didn’t expect much from this class... wait... she forgot to pick up her botany book from the library last night because of you...
“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. It was only fitting that you had managed to distract her into forgetting something as trivial yet necessary as a textbook. You were becoming a consistent thorn in her side. And speak of the devil,
You entered the greenhouse. Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you for a moment as you made your way to the empty seat beside her. You sat without so much as a glance in her direction.
When the class began, the new teacher, whatever her name was Wednesday doesn't care, droned on about invasive species and their effects on native flora.... just like you invaded her perfectly built world.
You weren’t writing anything down.
Your notebook remained mostly untouched, save for a few idle scribbles. Instead, you stared straight ahead, your gaze fixed on some undefined point, your expression unreadable.
For all your skill in fencing and your mysterious arrival at Nevermore, there was an emptiness in you, that Wednesday can feel now...
You didn’t belong here or maybe you belonged too much, in a way even Wednesday couldn’t define.
She first won against you during lunch....
During lunch, Wednesday sat at her usual table with Enid, who was excitedly recounting the latest gossip she’d overheard from the other werewolves. Her voice was a constant hum in Wednesday’s ear, background noise she had learned to filter out with practice.
Then Enid’s chatter abruptly halted.
“Y/N!”
Wednesday turned her head to see Enid bounding across the dining hall. You stood near the entrance, holding a tray of food with the same level of enthusiasm one might have for poison. Enid grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward their table with a persistence that could only be described as infuriating.
You shot Enid a glare that could have killed a lesser person, but the werewolf had her practice with Wednesday's death glare so she seemed unfazed. As you passed other students, you glanced down at Enid’s hand gripping yours with something bordering on confusion, as though physical contact itself was a foreign concept.
“Come on!” Enid chirped, her cheer undeterred by your visible disdain. “It’s not like it’ll kill you to sit with friends!”
“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” you said flatly.
“Not yet,” Enid said brightly, as if your protest were merely a formality.
Wednesday watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. How did Enid always manage to worm her way into the lives of people who radiated darkness like storm clouds? She had done it with Wednesday herself, and now it seemed you were the next victim.
When you reached the table, you didn’t sit immediately. Instead, you crossed your arms, glaring at Enid with a mix of irritation and reluctance.
“Sit!” Enid chirped, patting the bench beside her.
You exhaled sharply, muttering something under your breath, but eventually slid into the seat, placing your tray down.
Wednesday watched the exchange, her dark eyes narrowing at Enid’s ability to befriend the most unapproachable people. The werewolf had done the same with her. And though Wednesday would never admit it aloud, Enid had wormed her way into a space in her life that she didn’t entirely hate. Wednesday would be lying if she said she doesn't care for Enid at all.
Would Wednesday ever find you in that position? She quickly pushed that thought down the stairs, killing it then dumping the body.
“So,” Enid began, already bubbling with energy, “did you know that Wednesday is like, super into typewriters? It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”
“I’m right here,” Wednesday deadpanned.
“Oh, I know,” Enid said, grinning. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you ran out of typewriter paper last night?”
“Yes,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.
“Well,” Enid continued, “I was thinking of taking Y/N to Weathervane for a tour. She’s new, after all."
You rolled your eyes. “I rejected.”
“Same thing!” Enid said brightly, brushing off your correction." Anyway, I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? You can come with us and pick up your paper, Wednesday!”
Wednesday smirked faintly. She could tell you hated the idea of being dragged into Enid’s plans. You hated company, just as she did. But that made the opportunity to spite you all the more enticing.
“Fine,” Wednesday said, her tone even. “I’ll come.”
Enid clapped her hands together. “Yay! This is going to be so fun!”
You shot Wednesday a death glare, clearly unamused.
“Oh,” Wednesday added, her voice laced with mock innocence, “perhaps Eugene would like to join us. He loves coffee.”
“Eugene!” Wednesday called the hummer who was in their hummer's table. “Join us for a trip to Weathervane later.”
“Really?” Eugene’s face lit up, and he quickly shuffled over to their table.
You looked between Wednesday and Eugene, your glare sharpening. “This is ridiculous.”
“No,” Wednesday replied, meeting your glare with one of her own. “This is retribution.”
Enid, blissfully unaware of the tension, leaned forward with a grin. “This is going to be the best day ever!”
You didn’t respond, instead stabbing a piece of food on your plate with enough force to make the table tremble.
Wednesday allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The fencing matches may have been your victories, but this round was hers.
But she hadn't seen the real you... until now.
“She’s late,” Wednesday muttered, already regretting her choice, agreeing to go just to spite you.
“Relax, Wednesday,” Enid said, though the werewolf sounded a little unsure herself. “Y/N doesn’t strike me as the punctual type. Or, you know, the type who tells people things. Like ever.”
Eugene adjusted his glasses. “Do you think she just bailed? Maybe she doesn’t actually want to come. I mean it has been almost half an hour...”
“She’s coming,” Wednesday said with conviction. She didn’t know why she was so certain, but she was.
Finally, you appeared in the distance, walking toward them with a measured, unhurried pace.
You stopped a few feet from the group, your hands shoved into your hoodie’s pockets, and regarded them with your usual, unreadable expression. You didn’t apologize for being late.
“You’re late,” Wednesday said, her tone biting.
You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Eugene offered an awkward wave. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”
Enid quickly stepped in. “Glad you made it! We’ve been waiting forever, but, like, no big deal or anything.”
You didn’t respond to Enid’s cheerfulness, your gaze briefly flickering to her before shifting elsewhere.
“Well,” Enid said, clapping her hands together, “let’s go! The bus should be there any minute.”
The bus ride to Jericho was quiet, at least between you and Wednesday. Enid filled the silence with her usual chatter, talking about.... everything?
“Have you been to Jericho yet, Y/N?” Enid asked, turning to you with a curious smile.
You shook your head, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the bus window.
“It’s cute,” Enid continued, unfazed by your silence. “Small, but cute. Oh, but you should know, some of the normies there aren’t super friendly to outcasts. So, it’s always good to go with people who’ve got your back, you know?”
At her words, Wednesday saw something flicker in your eyes. It was brief, barely there, but it was enough to catch her attention.
A shadow of acknowledgment, perhaps, as you gave a small nod.
The bus arrived at Jericho and the group hopped down.
Enid led the way, her excitement not affected by your clear preference for distance. You trailed behind, keeping a noticeable gap between yourself and the others.
Eugene tried to bridge the gap a few times, but each attempt was met with silence, and eventually, he gave up.
The group stopped at a small general store first. Enid immediately darted toward the cosmetics aisle, her eyes lighting up as she scanned rows of nail polishes and makeup.
“Y/N, do you need anything?” Enid asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“No,” you replied simply, your voice as flat as ever.
Enid shrugged and continued her search, while Wednesday moved toward the stationery section, searching for her typewriter paper and ink. She found the items quickly enough but lingered, her gaze occasionally drifting toward you.
You stood near the entrance of the store, your hands in your pockets, watching a pair of children playing near the candy section. The boy, no older than six, was laughing as he chased his older sister around, their footsteps light and carefree.
It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed something in the way you observed them. Wednesday noticed something in your eyes, different from your usual detached demeanor. Intrigue? Longing? It was impossible to say.
“What’s so fascinating about them?” Wednesday asked, her voice low as she approached.
You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”
“That’s doubtful,” she pressed.
You finally turned your head toward her, your expression unreadable. “Who says it’s your business?”
For a moment, Wednesday considered pushing further, but something in your tone warned her off. You weren’t going to share, and she didn’t care enough yet to pry the answer from you.
“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning back toward the shelves.
When she returned to the checkout counter, you were already standing there, waiting. Wednesday placed her items on the counter, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.
You didn’t acknowledge her, your attention fixed on the glass door as though willing the others to hurry up.
“Got everything I need!” Enid chirped, appearing beside them with an armful of brightly colored products. She paid quickly, practically bouncing toward the exit.
“Come on, guys!” Enid called from the doorway, already heading outside.
Wednesday followed, her bag in hand. You moved to the door without a word.
The group had just stepped out of the store, when Wednesday’s sharp eyes caught movement near the counter, on the cashier, his shoulders hunched as five boys loomed over him. They weren’t just grabbing beers from the fridge. One of them yanked a handful of cash from the register
“C’mon, old man, don’t look at us like that,” one of them sneered. “Think of it as…taxes for keeping your store safe.”
The cashier muttered something inaudible, his voice trembling. The boys only laughed, grabbing more bottles and shoving them into their backpacks.
Enid’s cheerful demeanor shifted instantly. She grabbed Wednesday’s arm. “Wednesday…shouldn’t we do something? He needs help.”
Eugene took a step back, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Enid. These guys look...trouble. And we’re not even supposed to be here, technically.”
Wednesday frowned. On one hand, this was a normie problem, a petty theft that would resolve itself eventually. On the other hand, there was an undeniable injustice in letting the boys get away with it.
Before she could decide, the boys finished their “business” and left, swaggering out the door with their loot. Enid sighed, clearly disappointed but not wanting to push it further. “Guess we’d better go,” she said, turning to leave.
Wednesday hesitated for a moment but followed Enid and Eugene down the street. However, something nagged at her. A presence. She glanced back, and sure enough, there you were, still standing in the store’s doorway, watching the scene unfold.
“Y/N,” Wednesday called out,
You turned slowly, meeting her gaze with your usual unreadable expression. “I need to buy something.”
Enid frowned, confused. “But you said you didn’t need anything earlier.”
You didn’t respond to her. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back into the store.
Curiosity piqued, Wednesday followed, with Enid and Eugene trailing behind. From their spot near the door, they watched as you approached the counter and spoke to the shaken cashier in a low, even voice. “I need that, that, and that.” you said, pointing to items behind the counter.
The cashier blinked, visibly confused but too shaken to argue. He retrieved an aluminum baseball bat, a heavy chain, and a pair of black gloves, placing them on the counter.
“What is she even going to do with all that?” Eugene whispered nervously.
You slid the gloves onto your hands, gripping the bat in one arm and coiling the chain loosely in the other. Without a word, you passed them, heading toward the alley where the boys had disappeared moments earlier.
“What is she—” Enid started, but Wednesday cut her off with a raised hand.
“Follow her,” Wednesday said, her voice low and firm.
The three of them trailed after you, keeping their distance until they reached the alley’s edge. Peeking around the corner, they saw the five boys lounging against a brick wall, laughing and drinking from their stolen beers.
When they noticed you, their laughter grew louder. One of them, tall with a cocky grin, stepped forward.
“Hey, little girl,” one of them said, smirking as he stepped forward. “What’s with the bat? You gonna play baseball with us?”
The others laughed.
But you didn’t respond. You simply stared at them, your grip tightening around the bat.
The first boy took another step closer, his smirk widening. “You lost, sweetheart? Or maybe you’re here to—”
CRACK
Wednesday can swear if she blinked she would've missed the swing of the bat as it connected with the boy's temple with a sickening thud, cutting his words short as he crumpled to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley, silencing the laughter instantly.
“What the hell?!” one of the boys shouted, his eyes wide with panic.
Wednesday’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on you as you adjusted your stance. There was no hesitation in your movements, no wasted energy. You were a predator, and they were your prey.
One of them lunged at you, but you sidestepped easily, the chain in your other hand whipped out, coiling around the wrist of the next boy like a serpent. With a sharp tug, you yanked him towards you, and the bat came down again with brutal precision on his head. Another one down.
“Holy crap,” Eugene whispered, clutching at Wednesday’s sleeve. “She’s… she’s gonna kill them!”
“No,” Wednesday murmured, her voice almost reverent. “She’s too precise for that.”
The remaining boys hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized the odds weren’t in their favor. One of them pulled out a pocketknife, holding it up shakily.
“Stay back,” he warned, his voice betraying his fear.
You tilted your head slightly before the chain lashed out again, latching onto his hand. The knife clattered to the ground as you closed the distance, the bat swinging upward and catching him squarely under the chin. He collapsed in a heap.
You slowly picked up the knife and glared at the last two. With a flick of your wrist, the blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the leg of one of them. He screamed, collapsing to the ground clutching his thigh.
The final boy tried to run, But you were faster. The chain wrapped around his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. The bat came down once, twice, and he was out.
The boy still screaming because of the knife latched onto his leg begged, “Take it! Take the money! Take the beer! Just don’t—” Your bat silenced him with a single, calculated blow to the side of his head.
Wednesday’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. There was something captivating about the way you moved; calculated, efficient, merciless. Not a single touch landed on you, and yet you left all five of them groaning on the ground.
You crouched down, rummaging through the pockets of the nearest boy. Pulling out a wad of cash, probably way more than what they even stole. You rose and picked up the bag of beers.
As you passed the trio at the end of the alley, Wednesday’s gaze followed you, her smirk still there, she wouldn't hide it because she was, truly, for the first time in her life, impressed.
Wednesday followed you instantly, and the other two followed hesitantly... stopping just inside the doorway as you approached the cashier.
“I’d like to return this bat,” you said, placing it on the counter alongside the cash and the beer.
The cashier stared at you, wide-eyed and speechless.
Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked out of the store, passing by the trio without so much as a glance.
Wednesday watched as you made your way to the bus stand, and just stood there. The three of them stood there in stunned silence.
Enid was the first to break it. “Okay, I take it back. She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier.”