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Chapter Text

The dorm felt quieter than usual, filled with the faint rustle of clothes being folded and stacked into suitcases. One obnoxiously large and pink, one old leather, black and neat. 

Winter crept at the edges of the round frosted window, a pale sheen of ice catching the moonlight. Enid’s side of the room was a chaos of sweaters, scarves, and glittering monstrosities bursting like an explosion of colour. Normally, Wednesday would’ve mocked her for it. But normally, things didn’t feel so strange.

Because tonight, even Enid Sinclair was quiet.

Her hands moved mechanically, free from their usual big gestures and enthusiasm stuffing items into her suitcase. Her shoulders slumped, her smile and usual chatter gone.

Wednesday watched her over the top of her typewriter, though she’d stopped typing eons ago.

Viper de la Muerte would have to wait.

She studied Enid closely, waiting for the clue that might explain her unusual behaviour.

At last, she asked. Curiosity kills cats, not Addams, after all.

“What’s wrong?”

Enid froze mid-fold, fingers twisting into the stitching of one particularly loud orange, white and pink sweater. She didn’t meet Wednesday’s eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

A blatant lie. Her tone carried the same flat hollowness as a grave dug too shallow.

Wednesday shut her typewriter with a decisive click.

Enid laughed weakly, but the sound had none of her usual spark. She sat on the edge of her pink bed, sweater clutched in her hands like a shield. “It’s just… Christmas at home. With my mom. And my brothers. It’s…” She exhaled sharply, her shoulders hunching. “It’s awful, Wednesday. My mom thinks I’m this total disappointment. My brothers treat me like I’m invisible. Except when they’re fighting over food. Last year they literally fought over the last piece of meat on my plate, and Mom just… let them. Like it was normal. Like I wasn’t even there.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she gave a half-hearted shrug. “So, yeah. I guess I’m not exactly looking forward to it.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. Enid was all soft edges and sunshine normally. It was nauseating... Mostly.

Though she refused to admit it, not even to Thing or her typewriter, some deep, dark, bottomless place within her liked it.

Liked Enid the way she was.

But now here she was, words dripping with dread from her lips, bitterness shining through what little glitter remained. It lodged in Wednesday’s chest like a splinter she could not ignore.

She considered her options. She could offer words of sympathy—trite, meaningless. She could promise retribution—dramatic, but impractical.

Or…

Or she could do the unthinkable.

“You need not go home for Christmas,” Wednesday said before she could stop herself.

Enid blinked, startled. “Uh… okay? But then where am I supposed to—?”

“My family mansion.”

Enid’s mouth fell open. “Wait. What?”

“You may spend the holidays with the Addams. With me.” Wednesday’s voice was steady, final. She meant it. “There, you will not be invisible. My mother will drape you in furs and smother you in unsolicited affection. My father will attempt to adopt you before the week ends. And my brother will attempt to test your durability with explosives, which you will survive. You will be… welcomed.”

Enid stared at her, eyes wide, sweater forgotten in her lap. “You—you’re serious?”

Wednesday arched a brow. “I do not waste words on pleasantries. If you despise your family’s festivities, you will endure ours instead. It is an invitation.” She paused, then added, quieter: “And not a temporary one.”

For a long moment, Enid said nothing. Then her face broke into the tiniest, trembling smile. Her eyes glistened, though she tried to blink it away. “Wednesday Addams, are you—” her voice wobbled—“are you actually being nice to me right now?”

Wednesday scowled, feeling the heat rise traitorously in her chest. “Don’t be absurd. I’m being pragmatic. Misery loves company, and you’re intolerable when left to your own.”

Enid laughed. Soft, relieved, and touched in a way that made Wednesday’s carefully constructed walls feel far too thin.

The drive to the Addams mansion was long, winding, and blanketed in cold fog. Enid sat curled up beside Wednesday in the hearse, glittery suitcase tucked at her feet, knees barely brushing at every bump.

Wednesday cursed herself for dreaming of potholes.

She had overheard Enid’s phone call home. Her mother sounded disinterested in each word, even as her voice cracked on the word home.

“Yes, yes. Fine, do what you want”, her mother had said before hanging up with barely a protest.

Enid smiled when she put the phone down, but Wednesday saw through it. She knew Enid Sinclair. The way her jaw tightened. The way her knuckles went white around her phone.

That smile had been armour crafted from glass.

By the time the looming spires of the Addams mansion pierced the black horizon, Enid had fallen quiet again.

The car crunched to a stop at the gates. A figure stood waiting at the top of the grand staircase, draped in black like a raven poised for flight.

Morticia Addams.

The doors creaked open, and Enid stepped out, eyes wide. She took in the mansion’s gnarled towers, its spiked ironwork, the way crows perched on every jutting edge. “Wow,” she whispered. “It’s like… Halloween and a cathedral had a baby.”

Wednesday glanced at her. “High praise.”

They climbed the steps. Morticia glided forward, hands outstretched, her voice low and musical. “Darling. You’ve brought a guest.”

“Mother, this is Enid Sinclair,” Wednesday said.

Morticia took Enid’s hands in her own long, cool fingers, smiling as if she’d been expecting her all along. “The werewolf roommate,” she purred. “I’ve heard so much about you. You shine, child. Like moonlight reflected in a pool of fresh blood.”

Enid blinked. “Uh—thank you? That’s… sweet?”

“Come, come.” Gomez appeared, sweeping forward. He clapped Enid on the shoulder with such enthusiasm she nearly toppled over. “Mi pequeña lobo! Welcome! Any friend of Wednesday’s is family! Have you eaten? You must be starving! Morticia, summon the cook, fetch her the blood sausage, the charred marrow, the—”

“Oh, I’m—I’m fine, thanks!” Enid squeaked, laughing nervously.

Pugsley skulked out next, a mischievous grin spreading ear to ear. He circled Enid like a shark, squinting up at her. “So, you’re the wolf. Do you, like… bite?”

“Pugsley,” Morticia intoned, “manners.”

He shrugged. “What? I just wanna know.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “If she bites you, it will be because I told her to.”

Enid blushed. “I’m not going to bite any—”

Gomez roared with laughter, clapping his thick hands together. “Splendid! Already, she fits right in! Lurch will see to your luggage, why don’t you two make yourselves at home?”

Wednesday tugged Enid by the wrist and led her up the winding staircase, leaving her family behind without a word. The house echoed with distant creaks, the shuffle of things that didn’t quite sound human, the faint strains of organ music from nowhere at all.

When they finally reached Wednesday’s room near the attic, Enid lingered at the doorway. Her gaze swept over the black wooden bed, the stacks of ancient tomes, the jars of… questionable specimens lining the shelves. “This is so… you,” Enid said softly, stepping inside. “And so not me. But I kind of love it.”

Wednesday set her typewriter back in its corner, turning to face her. “It is adequate.” She hesitated, then added, “It is yours too, for the holidays.”

Enid turned to her, eyes wide, lips parting in surprise. “Wait. You’re—sharing your space? With me?”

“I invited you, didn’t I?” Wednesday replied, deadpan. “It would be barbaric to force you to sleep in the crypt. That’s reserved for extended family.”

Enid laughed, light and incredulous, before flopping back onto Wednesday’s bed, bouncing slightly on the stiff mattress. “Well, at least your bed is comfortable.”

“It is crafted from the wood of every coffin I cracked open during my youth.”

“…Of course it is,” Enid sat up, nose scrunched. “This is officially the weirdest Christmas ever.”

Wednesday sat beside her, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She glanced at Enid, catching the way her shoulders had loosened, the way her fangs shone in the candlelight.

Somewhere in the dark hollow of Wednesday’s ribcage, something stirred.

Chapter Text

The Addams family table groaned beneath the weight of dishes that might have frightened away most guests: roasted carrion bird with charred feathers, bowls of gleaming black squid ink pasta, candied scorpions piled high in silver bowls, blood sausages coiled like ropes, and a tureen of soup that occasionally… growled.

The dining hall bathed in candlelight, black candles burning with the scent of pine sprigs, a wreath made of small animal bones hung above the entrance archway.

Outside, the world grew colder and darker. Carolers’ screams rang as rotten fruit pelted against their woollen coats. 

Wednesday’s lip twitched at the sound.

Pugsley grinned towards Wednesday. “You finally got the tripwire working again?”

”Of course. I detest singing. Especially when unsolicited.”

Enid sat at Gomez’s right hand smiling bravely. Wednesday took her usual seat opposite, her gaze never straying far from her roommate as Enid carefully picked out what looked least threatening.

Gomez raised his glass, eyes twinkling. “To new family at the table! May she survive the evening with her sanity intact!”

“Or at least with enough left to find her way back to us,” Morticia added, her red lips curving into a serene smile.

Glasses clinked. Enid lifted hers, cheeks pink. “Thank you for having me. This is… amazing. And, um, terrifying. In a good way.”

Wednesday arched a brow. “You use too many words.”

Enid rolled her eyes fondly. Morticia’s gaze lingered between the two girls.

“So, Enid,” Gomez boomed, twirling his knife with the flourish of a swordsman, “tell us. How did you come to survive living with our little death trap here?”

Enid laughed nervously. “Oh, Wednesday’s… um, she’s great. Once you get past the whole death stares and threats of murder.”

Pugsley snorted. “She normally jumps straight to mutilation or murder. She must like you.”

Enid flickered her eyes to Wednesday, then forced them onto her plate of sour meat as heat crept over her cheeks.  

Morticia tilted her head, black hair cascading like a waterfall of night. “And yet, you remain by her side. Not many can withstand her… charm.”

Enid swallowed. Wednesday was staring at her, expression unreadable, but her pale fingers drummed once against her wine glass.

“I guess I just… get her,” Enid said softly. “She’s not scary to me. Not really.”

The room hummed with silence for a beat.

Gomez leaned in, grinning like a devil. “Not scary? Even with the knives under her pillow? The venomous scorpions she keeps for company?”

Enid shook her head. “No. That’s just… Wednesday being Wednesday.” She smiled, earnest and unflinching. “I wouldn’t want her any other way.”

For the first time all evening, Wednesday’s throat tightened. Heat ghosted at the base of her neck. She set down her fork with precision, as if the cutlery had personally offended her.

Morticia’s lips curved higher. “Fascinating.”

Enid reached for her glass, still oblivious to the way every Addams at the table was watching her. As though she had cracked open the tightest safe in the world. “Honestly, she’s been… kind to me. In her own way. She looks out for me. Even if she pretends not to.”

There it was again.

That strange, twisting warmth in Wednesday’s chest. It unsettled her worse than any poison. She wanted to deny it. Should have snapped or made a sharp comment back, but Enid’s words struck her somewhere nobody had reached before.

Gomez leaned across the table, his eyes wide, voice hushed as though he’d stumbled upon a scandal. “Are you two… smitten?”

Wednesday’s knife clattered against her plate.

Enid choked on her water, coughing violently, face flaming red. “W-what? No! I mean—I—she’s—”

Morticia laid a graceful hand over Gomez’s. “Subtlety, dearest.” But her gaze flicked to Wednesday again, velvet-smooth. “It is plain to anyone with eyes, of course. The way she looks at you.”

Wednesday’s breath caught, sharp as a snapped bone.

She had never before considered her gaze. How it lingered, how it tracked Enid’s movements as if drawn magnetically. “You are mistaken father. Enid and I are roommates. Friends. Her companionship is merely one of mutual convenience.” Under the table, Wednesday’s nails pressed crescent moons into her palms.

Enid, still blushing furiously, tried to laugh it off. “You guys are, like, too much. We’re best friends.”

“Best friends,” Morticia repeated softly, as if the words were a delightful secret.

Gomez raised his glass again, eyes alight. “Then let us toast to friendship! The kind that burns, sears, consumes… until nothing is left but devotion!”

Wednesday clenched her jaw, glaring at her father. Though she couldn’t help but admit, Enid’s shy smile across the table undid her in ways she could not name.

By the time dessert was unveiled, Enid was trembling, not from fear, but from the laughter she could barely keep contained.

Thing scuttled forward carrying a silver tray. Upon it: a tower of black forest cake so dark it seemed to swallow light, topped with whipped cream that twitched suspiciously. Candied eyeballs rolled down the sides, oozing cherry-red filling.

“Woah,” Enid whispered, wide-eyed. “It’s beautiful.”

Wednesday tilted her head. “Your taste is finally improving.”

As plates were passed and slices cut, Gomez leaned forward, elbows planted, eyes gleaming. “So, Enid… tell us. What is it about Wednesday that keeps you bound to her? Surely it cannot only be her charm.”

“Or her conversational skills,” Pugsley added, deadpan.

Enid, pink-faced and flustered, tried to form words. “Well… she’s… um…” Her eyes darted toward Wednesday instinctively. “She makes me feel… safe. Like I don’t have to pretend.”

Wednesday froze, fork midair.

Safe?

The word ricocheted inside her skull like a bullet.

Morticia smiled like a woman holding the final card. “A rare gift, to feel so seen.”

Wednesday stabbed her cake. “You make it sound like I’m a comfort blanket.”

Enid bit her lip to stop from giggling. “More like a comfort guillotine.”

The table erupted with delighted laughter. Wednesday glared at everyone equally, but it did nothing to dull the way her chest swelled.

Enid knew her. Really knew her.

When dessert was finished, Gomez clapped his hands. “Now! A game to welcome our guest!”

Enid blinked. “A game?”

Morticia’s dark eyes glimmered. “Couples’ Charades.”

Wednesday nearly choked. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come now, querida,” Gomez crooned. “It is tradition! Morticia and I first played when we were younger than you two. A most… bonding experience.”

“I am not bonded,” Wednesday snapped.

But the decision was already made. They were herded into the parlor, where candle flames flickered and the furniture cast long shadows against the walls.

The rules were simple. Two players acted out infamous couples from literature, legend, or true crime, while the family guessed.

The trick: you had to be convincing.

Enid found herself paired with Wednesday on their very first round. 

“Romeo and Juliet!” Gomez cried as Wednesday reluctantly let Enid take her hand, pulling her toward the balcony.

“No,” Morticia corrected, voice smooth as velvet. “Too tender. Look closer. Observe the way Wednesday resists even as she leans closer.”

Enid, heart racing, pressed a hand dramatically to her chest, locking eyes with Wednesday. The family murmured with delight.

“This is ludicrous. I’ve fought off serial killers faster than this.”

”Ah-ah,” Pugsley wagged his index finger. “No talking.”

”Another word and I’ll cut out your tongue so you stop talking.” Wednesday said.

“Of course,” Morticia said, clasping her hands together. “It is obvious. Catherine and Heathcliff. A romance doomed, yet burning.”

The room hummed with agreement. Enid flushed, laughter bubbling nervously in her throat. Wednesday’s fingers twitched in hers, but she did not pull away.

Finally, Gomez declared, “Enough guessing. The truth is plain to see. They mirror us, cara mia.”

Wednesday nearly dropped Enid’s hand. “You presume too much.”

Morticia tilted her head, her smile slow and devastating. “Do we?”

The room filled with silence.

Morticia’s gaze lingered on their joined hands, her smile slow as poison blooming.

“Denial, my dears,” she murmured, velvet and certain, “is only the first stage of devotion.”

Enid’s laugh died in her throat, her eyes darting down to where Wednesday’s cool fingers brushed against hers.

Chapter Text

The door to Wednesday’s room shut behind them with a heavy click. The silence pressed down like the lid of a coffin, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Enid perched on the edge of Wednesday’s bed, face flushed from the feast, giggling softly at the memory of Morticia’s velvet smiles and Gomez’s warmth. They’d made her feel welcome. Truly welcome. Embraced her like she’d always end up here eventually.

The thought made Enid’s chest feel warm. Wednesday had made her feel at home.

Enid blushed as she thought on her declarations during dinner. Was it too much? Wednesday wasn’t exactly used to declarations of you make me feel safe.

“Your family is… wow.” Enid shook her head. “They’re intense. Fun, but intense. I’m not sure I’ve ever been interrogated with so much… love?”

Wednesday’s hands tightened on the black candlestick she was extinguishing. “That wasn’t love. It was psychological warfare. You’ll adjust.”

Enid laughed again, then went quiet as she searched Wednesday’s room for a potential second bed. Fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, she forced out the question she’d been avoiding since she arrived. “So, um… where am I supposed to sleep?”

Wednesday turned slowly, expression as flat as always. “I assumed that was obvious.”

Enid tilted her head. “Was it?”

 “The bed, of course. We’ll share.”

Enid blinked. “Share? Like… share-share?”

Wednesday’s throat went dry. She cursed herself for the choice, cursed herself harder for meaning it. She could have dragged in an old mattress from the attic, could have pointed Enid to the long couch by the fire, could have commanded her to sleep in the torture chamber down the hall.

There were a thousand solutions, but none of them kept Enid close.

And Wednesday wanted her close.

Enid was staring now, pink creeping into her cheeks. “Are you… sure?”

Wednesday crossed the room, each step deliberate, her mind screaming at her to retreat. She folded her hands neatly in front of her, armour against the chaos inside. “I would not have suggested it if I weren’t.”

Enid smiled, almost to herself. “Okay. Sharing it is. I’ll warn you though, I move alot. It’s a… werewolf thing.”

Wednesday turned away sharply, pretending to straighten the blanket at the foot of the bed. A faint heat licked at her cheekbones, threatening to expose whatever monstrosity was inside of her.

Yet, as she felt the mattress shift behind her when Enid stretched out, she loathed herself for wanting nothing more than to join her.

By the time Wednesday was dressed in her black pyjamas and finished in the washroom, Enid stood awkwardly beside the bed in fluffy, white pyjamas with red embroidered candy canes.

“I assure you,” Wednesday said, pulling back the sheets. “My bed does not bite.”

Enid forced a small laugh.

Even the storm outside seemed to pause, leaving a hush as hollow as a crypt.

At first, the mattress felt too small with both girls laying stiff as corpses. Wednesday laid on her back, arms crossed tightly over her chest, Enid curled on her side, facing the wall. Away from Wednesday.

The silence was there again, thick and palpable, broken only by the faint ticking of the antique Victorian clock on the nightstand.

Wednesday closed her eyes, forcing her breath into an even rhythm as the room grew dark. Sleep was not something she required much of, but she could simulate it well enough when required.

At least, until she heard it.

The faintest hitch. A tremor of breath trying not to break.

And then they came. Quiet sobs.

Her eyes flew open. Her entire body went rigid as though death itself had grasped her. She knew this sound. It was grief pressed into pillows, muffled pain no one was meant to hear. Enid must have thought she was asleep.

Without permitting herself to think, Wednesday reached out, her hand resting carefully on Enid’s arm. “Why are you crying?”

Enid startled, then let out a weak laugh that cracked apart in her throat. “I—I thought you were asleep.”

“Clearly not.” Wednesday sat up halfway, her dark hair, free from their usual braids, falling over her shoulder as she kept her voice unnervingly gentle. “Tell me.”

Enid sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s stupid. Just… thinking about home. My mom. She’s never been… happy with me. No matter what I do. I hate that I dread seeing her.”

Wednesday studied her, taking in the tear-streaked cheeks, the way her blonde hair fell in messy waves to frame her face, pink and blue highlights blending in the shadow of night. Her words were raw.

Every instinct inside of Wednesday sharpened like a knife. The sound clawed at her in ways knives never could. For a moment, she considered retreat. Instead, she shifted stiffly, rolling toward Enid until their foreheads brushed in the dark.

“You should not waste tears on someone unworthy of them,” Wednesday said, her voice low. “Your mother possesses all the warmth of a corpse in winter. If anything, she should weep for losing you.”

Enid hiccupped, trembling. “She doesn’t care. I wasn’t... I’m not what she wanted. I’m just… a disappointment.”

Wednesday’s jaw locked. The word scraped at her insides.

“Disappointment?” she repeated. “No. That term is insultingly inadequate. You are… an enigma, Enid Sinclair. A contradiction. Chaos wrapped in sugar and colour.” Her throat bobbed. Her next words slid out unbidden, softer, rawer.
“And necessary.”

Enid’s sobs faltered. Slowly, her fingers inched across the blanket, brushing Wednesday’s hand.
Wednesday didn’t move. She lay there, letting Enid’s warmth press against her skin. It burned deliciously, and she did not pull away.

Inching closer, Enid hesitated, only for a moment, before laying her head against Wednesday’s chest, pressing them both back down into the bed as her arm curled lightly around her waist.

Wednesday froze. Her heart thundered so violently she was certain Enid could feel it hammering against her cheek, even without her werewolf senses. She almost shoved her away.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her hand moved with a will of its own, fingers threading slowly through Enid’s golden hair. She stroked gently, rhythmically. It felt... soothing, as though they belonged like this. Like they fit.

Enid’s breathing began to slow, evening out into soft, long breaths.

Wednesday Addams, who perused torture chambers for fun, who dug up graves in the dead of night, who preferred the company of poison over people, lay there in the dark. Holding Enid Sinclair against her chest.

Wanting to keep her safe.

To protect her.

To be there.

Wednesday woke slowly, the weight of warmth anchoring her in a cocoon of blankets. For a moment, she let herself drift in the sweet haze between sleep and waking. It was how she imagined death’s cold grasp felt moments before she took you. It was peaceful.

Until, that is, she became acutely aware of the steady rise and fall of Enid’s chest against her back.

Her eyes snapped open.

Somehow, during the night, they had shifted. Enid’s arm was looped firmly around her waist, holding Wednesday in place. Her breath rolled lazily against the back of her neck. Their legs were tangled together, inseparable beneath the heavy quilt.

Wednesday froze, every nerve lit like there was an inferno inside of her that would swallow her whole.

Wednesday Addams, who prided herself on composure, self-control, and absolute independence… was the little spoon.

Her body betrayed her, loosening its guard as though it had finally found a place to collapse. Wednesday noted another self-surgery would be required to remove whatever piece of her cold insides had turned lukewarm.

Enid murmured something in her sleep, a sound soft and content. Her hold tightened, pulling Wednesday closer, as though she were afraid she might slip away.

Wednesday’s pulse roared against the soft of her throat. The logical response would be to untangle herself immediately. To reassert the boundaries she had so carefully drawn.

Instead, she remained still.

The curtains glowed faintly with morning light. A snowstorm had begun at some point during the dark night, piling thickly against the window ledge. The world felt muted as the wind blew and snow continued to fall.

Wednesday’s usual disdain for daylight felt oddly distant now, softened by the steady warmth of Enid’s body pressed so insistently against her own.

Dark eyes darted around the room. Enough was enough. Wednesday Addams did not cuddle. Enjoyable as it may be.

She had just began calculating the least humiliating way to extract herself from Enid’s grip when the door creaked open.

No, no no no no-

“Good morning, my darlings,” came Morticia’s velvet-smooth voice.

Wednesday went rigid.

Enid jolted awake, her arm still banded tight around Wednesday’s waist. Her eyes snapped open.

Morticia glided into the room, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her gaze swept across the bed, taking in the tangle of limbs, the proximity, the obvious fact that her daughter, notoriously stoic, enthralled with solidarity, was nestled like a black cat in the arms of a bright-haired wolf.

Enid scrambled back so fast she nearly fell off the bed. “I—it’s not—it wasn’t—we just—!”

Wednesday bolted upright, her hair falling into disarray around her face. Her voice, usually sharp and precise, wavered. “This is not what it appears to be.”

Morticia’s lips curved into a knowing smile, dark eyes glittering with mischief. “It appears,” she said smoothly, “that you two slept soundly. How wonderful. The snowstorm must have made the night quite… cold.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “We were… conserving body heat. A practical solution to the storm.”

“Of course.” Morticia’s voice dripped with indulgence. “Practicality often leads to the most delicious entanglements.”

Enid buried her flaming face in her hands. “Oh my god.”

Morticia tilted her head, studying them both with an elegance that only deepened the horror of the moment. “My little viper,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth that made Wednesday’s stomach twist, “I’ve never seen you so… peaceful. Enid must be a very comforting presence. That is a rare and precious horror.”

“Mother,” Wednesday hissed, “if you insist on drawing conclusions from circumstantial evidence, I will be forced to procure counterevidence in the form of flesh-eating bacteria.”

Morticia merely smiled wider, the picture of unbothered grace. “Breakfast is ready. Do come down together.”

As the door closed behind her with a whisper, Wednesday longed for a pool of piranhas to swallow her whole.

Chapter Text

Breakfast dragged on, each minute another turn of the torture chamber’s rack.

Enid picked at her plate of sautéed slime mushrooms, pushing them around with her fork as though rearranging corpses on a slab. She refused to lift her blue eyes from the plate. Wednesday couldn’t blame her.

She half wished she had followed suit instead of glaring into the dark eyes of her mother, who sat across the long table with her sharp, knowing smile twitching upward. Morticia’s gaze flickered between the two girls like a viper tasting the air.

“Have the mushrooms offended you, Enid?” Morticia purred.

Enid’s ears flushed pink. She muttered something about not being hungry.

Morticia tilted her head, her smile deepening. “Dawn is rarely kind to creatures of the night, but you’ll adjust. Perhaps Wednesday will tend to you later. She’s always had such a steady bedside manner.”

Wednesday’s fork scraped her plate with a harsh screech. “She is fully capable of surviving without coddling.”

Morticia’s brow arched. “Mm. And yet… the way you look at her, darling, one might think you’d rather not risk it.”

Wednesday’s glare could have seared flesh. Enid, crimson now, excused herself, claiming a stomach ache. Wednesday suspected it was less indigestion and more desperation to flee. A wise choice.

Her father clapped his hands at the wind rattling the windows. “The storm of the century! How festive!” he boomed, cheerfully cracking open his boiled rotten eggs. They hissed and bubbled in response.

When breakfast finally ended, Wednesday retired to the parlor, notebook in hand. Thing skittered after her, pausing at the door to wave cheekily at Morticia, who inclined her head with a smirk as if to say I know you’ll keep an eye on her too.

She sat, stiff-backed in a high, spindly chair near the hearth. She’d taken her notebook from their—her— room before breakfast, hoping Viper de la Muerte could detangle the chaos in her mind which seemed to match the growing storm outside.

She tapped her pen against the blank pages, irritated. Viper did not normally elude her like this. Writing was her escape.

Thing perched on the armrest beside her and tapped pointedly at the page, then flicked his fingers in a sharp, impatient gesture.

“I am aware it’s blank,” Wednesday muttered. “Your commentary is unnecessary.”

Of course, that was when her father noticed.

“¡Mi nube de tormenta,” he boomed warmly as he entered, palms open knowingly. “I thought I would find you sulking in here.”

Wednesday didn’t look up. “I am not sulking. I am brooding. There’s a distinction.”

“Ah!” Gomez clasped a hand dramatically to his chest. “Brooding! The noble cousin of despair. The twin brother of longing!”

Wednesday’s pen hovered above the paper, frozen. “I didn’t say longing.”

“No,” Gomez said, lowering himself into the chair across from her, eyes twinkling. “But I know it when I see it. I’ve seen it before, in the mirror, long ago, when I was but a boy with my Morticia just out of reach.”

Wednesday’s expression remained flat, but her ears burned faintly. She shifted in her chair. “If this is your attempt at parental guidance, I must insist you stop.”

Gomez leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “Wednesday, you have your mother’s eyes. Dark and sharp as knives, always searching for weakness. But your heart—” He tapped his chest, smiling softly. “Your heart is mine. A foolish, reckless, hopelessly romantic organ. I can see it when you look at her.”

The pen in her hand snapped. Black ink bled across her fingers like a wound, dripping onto the paper below.

“I don’t look at anyone,” she said flatly.

A large log cracked sparks into the air dramatically, fire licking at the splintered edges. Thing drummed an accusing finger on the hearth, then pointed toward the ceiling, in the direction of the bedrooms.

Wednesday resisted the urge to throw him into the fire too.

“Ah, Thing, my scheming accomplice!” Gomez beamed. “You see it too, don’t you? The way our Wednesday looks at her wolf?”

Thing signed eagerly, nodding so furiously his fingers blurred.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes at him. “Traitor.”

Gomez chuckled. “Oh, querida, you see? You may fool your classmates. Perhaps even Enid herself. But not me. Never me. The way your gaze lingers… like she’s a wolf caught in your snare. You want to deny it, yet you’d set the world on fire if anyone tried to harm her.”

Wednesday set her ruined notebook down slowly, deliberately, and finally met his eyes. Her stare was hard, but there was something beneath it.

“It isn’t… prudent,” she said, her voice quieter than before. “Love. Attachment. It weakens one.”

Gomez softened, his booming presence dimming into something gentle. “Yes. And it’s glorious. To love is to hand someone a knife and bare your chest. To wait for the strike… and hope they choose instead to hold you closer.”

“That sounds like a fool’s wager.”

He grinned. “Exactly. And I’ve never been happier to lose.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Wednesday’s black eyes wavered, just slightly, as though she were weighing his words.

“If—hypothetically—I did feel such… impulses… they would not be easily discarded. I know myself. If I ever chose to… indulge in love, it would consume me. Permanently.”

Gomez’s smile grew soft, knowing. “Ah. The Addams curse.” He placed a hand over his heart. “We do not fall halfway, Wednesday. We plummet. We burn. We are devoured.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line as she swallowed.

“I have no intention of being devoured,” she said firmly.

Gomez rose, clasping his hands together. “Of course not. And yet…” He bent close enough that only she could hear, his moustache brushing his grin. “I see the way she warms you, mi pequeña. You can deny it all you like. But remember, your mother denied me once too. Look where it got her.”

He pressed a hand to her shoulder gently before sweeping towards the door. “The storm will grow stronger tonight. Keep your wolf close.”

When he was gone, Wednesday stared into the fire. Her inky fingers clenched the broken pen so tightly it stained her palm black.

Crawling into her lap, Thing tapped the notebook with one sharp finger.

“I am not in the mood for your meddling.”

 Thing tapped her wrist firmly, then spelled with decisive flicks of his fingers: TELL HER.

Wednesday glared down at him. “Absolutely not.”

Thing jabbed a finger at her stained hand, then at her chest. IT’S ALREADY ALL OVER YOU.

Wednesday stared at the ink smeared across her pale skin. It looked like bruises, stains that couldn’t be washed away. She thought of the way Enid had curled into her the night before, soft and warm, her golden hair pressed to Wednesday’s shoulder. She thought of the heat that had flooded her chest, the terrible, intoxicating relief of it.

“She’ll run,” Wednesday whispered. Her voice was unsteady, a thread unravelling. “Or worse, she won’t.”

Thing rested against her ink-streaked hand and squeezed, steady and certain.

Wednesday’s throat ached. She let her eyes drift toward the ceiling, toward the rooms above them, where she knew Enid lay in restless sleep. The storm clawed the mansion, demanding she act.

Her pulse roared. She rose to her feet slowly, pulled by unseen strings, and crossed the parlor. The hallway loomed ahead, leading toward the staircase, toward Enid.

She reached the foot of the stairs, hand hovering just above the banister. Her chest was tight, her breath shallow. She imagined it: walking into… their room, Enid blinking awake, her blue eyes meeting hers in the dark. The words clawing out of her, raw and merciless.

Her fingers brushed the carved wood.

The storm thundered, mirroring her heartbeat.

She froze.

The weight of it was unbearable. The risk, the inevitability, the way she knew Gomez was right. If she fell, she would never stop falling. There would be no Wednesday Addams left, only a girl consumed whole by Enid Sinclair.

She withdrew her hand, turning sharply back into the parlor.

Thing slapped the table in protest, signing furiously: COWARD.

Wednesday lowered herself back into the chair, her expression as blank and cold as marble. Only her eyes betrayed her, flicking once, twice, toward the ceiling.

Chapter Text

Outside had grown wild and dangerous. Wind ripped thick branches from trees, metal groaned under the weight of snow, and the lights along the hallway flickered with faint, uneasy crackles. The air bit at Enid’s skin as she burrowed deeper beneath the bed’s soft blankets. They smelled of Wednesday, rain and ink, books and black coffee. Enid knew Wednesday would be enjoying the storm, but for her, the roaring wind was a cruel reminder of the chaos inside her own chest. She lay staring at the ceiling, wishing the world would swallow her whole instead.

Enid had tried to read one of the heavy, dust-choked books lined on the shelves dotted with candles and questionable specimens, but the words swam uselessly in her brain. Her thoughts lingered on the morning, on the quiet intimacy of being in Wednesday’s bed, and on Morticia having seen them there.

The door clicked open before Enid could steady herself.

Morticia glided in silently, as if the wind had carried her, her black gown brushing the wooden floor.

“Enid, dear,” Morticia’s voice was velvet, but it cut like a scalpel. “You look positively haunted. How delicious.”

Enid bolted upright, clutching the blanket to her chest. “O-oh! Mrs. Addams! I… I was just… resting.”

“Resting. Of course. Stomach ache, wasn't it? Your execution of deception is… adequate. Perhaps it would work for most. But not me, I’m afraid.” Her lips curved faintly, amused.

Enid swallowed hard. “Thank… you…? I think?”

Morticia moved closer, settling on the edge of the bed, tilting her head. Her dark eyes peeling at Enid’s defences. “We both know the truth, do we not? You care for my daughter.”

It wasn’t a question.

Something tightened in Enid’s stomach. “…She’s my best friend.”

Morticia hummed softly, unconvinced. “Ah. So was Gomez to me, once. Before I allowed him to understand exactly what he had at his fingertips.”

Enid’s throat tightened. “I don’t—”

“Of course you do,” Morticia said, voice low. “I see the way you look at her. As though she were the moon itself. Distant, formidable, and yet, without it, your night would be unbearable.”

Enid twisted the blankets into tight knots. “She doesn’t… she doesn’t even feel… I mean… I’d never—”

“Oh, child,” Morticia’s smile softened, almost maternal. “My Wednesday is cautious. She fears the vulnerability that comes with passion. That is her father’s blood in her. But the hunger for it, the all-consuming devotion? That is mine.”

Enid’s chest tightened painfully. “So… she could—” She bit her lip until it hurt to stop the words.

Morticia reached out, her long, cool fingers brushing Enid’s trembling hands. “When my Wednesday loves, it will not be tepid or fleeting. It will be eternal and beautifully ruinous. She will be utterly possessed.”

Enid whispered, barely audible, “That… sounds kind of… But no, I—” She buried her face in her palms, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Morticia leaned closer, her eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight. “Enid, why are you so… reserved? You are usually so blatant with your affections. Yet now, you curl into yourself as though I might bite.”

Enid swallowed. “I… I just…”

“Does this have anything to do with… wanting to be accepted by the pack?” Morticia pressed gently. “Because Wednesday… she is not of your kind. May it be cause for conflict?”

Enid’s hands clenched beneath the blanket. She could not meet Morticia’s gaze. “It’s… my mother. I’m already a disappointment to her. If I… fell for someone outside the pack… it’d… I’d—”

Morticia smiled weakly. “Enid,” she murmured. “Disappointment is a cruel bedfellow. It seeps into the marrow. But it does not define you. Not now, not ever.”

Enid’s chest heaved. “But what if I fail her? The pack? What if… I can’t make them see me?”

“Then you burn anyway,” Morticia said. “You burn brightly. You will not be invisible. You will not be ignored.”

Enid whispered, “And Wednesday… would she—?”

“Yes,” Morticia said sharply. “But only for someone strong enough to survive it. To burn with her, rather than be reduced to ash. Tell me, Enid,” she leaned closer, eyes narrowing, “are you strong enough?”

Enid froze. Her first instinct was to retreat, to hide. But a surge of something unyielding rose in her chest. She lifted her chin. “I… I’d try. For her. I’d do anything.”

“I thought so,” Morticia murmured. Then, tilting her head toward the windows where the wind clawed at the house, she added softly, “Sometimes, the universe—or nature, if you prefer— can offer a helping claw, for those brave enough to act.”

The lights flickered violently, groaning, and then died.

Darkness swallowed the corners, shadows writhing like the storm itself. Enid’s blood ran cold.

Morticia’s eyes glinted in the faint candlelight she lit. She extended a hand toward Enid, offering her the candle. “Go find her. Talk to her."

Enid’s heart thumped violently. The house was silent except for the rustle of sheets and the heavy snowfall outside. Thrill and fear ran down her spine, mingling into one urgent need. Morticia’s words, sharp and enigmatic, clung to her as she rose, blanket around her shoulders, and slipped into the darkened hallway.

The storm had seeped into her bones. She needed to move.

To find Wednesday.