Archive of Our Own

Enid never imagined her teenage years would take this turn.

She had always thought it would be about simple things… friendships that came and went, that strange sensation of changing without quite knowing into what. But what happened to her was something entirely different.

Werewolves, Hydes, brushes with death, loves that burned too bright and too fast.

And Wednesday. Always her.

Always at the center of everything.

Enid had never liked chaos. She had never been the type to dive headfirst into it.

She had spent her life trying to fit into molds far too tight, suffocated by expectations that weren’t her own, by parents who wanted her to be someone she could never quite become. When she arrived at Nevermore, all she wanted was a place where she could exist without apology.

A place to belong.

But fate, with its cruel sense of humor, had given her Wednesday Addams as a roommate.

The opposite. The enigma. The undoing.

And all it had taken was a look. That dark, fathomless gaze, cold and unrelenting, that seemed to strip her soul bare without permission.

It was unbearable.

Like thirst in the middle of the desert. As if Wednesday were the only source of water — forbidden, dangerous, irresistible — and Enid had no choice but to throw herself into it, to drink, to drown.

Now, she woke in a room she didn’t recognize. Dark. Silent.

The kind of silence that wasn’t absence, but presence — thick, invisible, pressing in. The walls were papered in deep wine, almost black, patterned with arabesques that seemed to stir under the dim glow of a chandelier suspended above.

The furniture was heavy, ancient, carved from dark wood with figures Enid couldn’t name — crows, spirals, perhaps bones. A tall mirror leaned against the wall, but its glass was clouded, as if it refused to reflect anything living.

The air smelled of extinguished candles, old books, and something metallic, like dried blood. Curtains hung thick and oppressive, banishing any trace of natural light. Time itself seemed halted here, as if the room existed outside the world. And somehow, Wednesday belonged to it. As if she had been carved out of its shadows.

She was there. Standing in the corner, arms folded, posture rigid as ever. Yet there was something different. Something impossible.

Vulnerability.

The air between them was taut, weighted with words unsaid. Enid tried to summon something, anything to shatter the silence, but all she managed was the throbbing pain in her skull and the way her gaze slipped from Wednesday’s eyes to her forehead.

A cut. Small, covered by a makeshift bandage — hastily done, without care. So very Wednesday. But what wasn’t typical, what didn’t make sense, was the thought that followed.

Was it me? Did I hurt her? Could I have done that?

“Wednesday…” Enid’s voice came out like a wounded whisper, dragging through the air as if torn from her chest. “Did I… hurt you?”

Wednesday stilled, as though time had rooted her to the spot. The question wasn’t just unexpected — it was intimate, cutting. Her eyes, always impenetrable, faltered. A blink that lingered too long.

The flex of a tense jaw.

“It doesn’t matter.” The words left her, not with their usual frost, but fractured — as though she’d spat them out before she could shape them into her customary indifference.

Enid felt the weight of it. Not the words themselves, but what they concealed. It wasn’t disdain. It was fear. Fear of admitting that yes, there was pain. That there was affection. That there was something fragile enough to break.

Silence coiled around them like a storm on the brink. Wednesday moved, slow and deliberate, each step as if treading on mines. She stopped at the bedside, her gaze fixed on Enid — not in scrutiny, but in search of shelter.

“How are you?” The question came crooked, dragged out of her. And the tone… the tone wasn’t hers.

It was far too human.

Enid swallowed hard, her heart hammering off-beat. She raised her hand, trembling, reaching toward the bandage. She wanted to touch. To understand. To prove she wasn’t a threat.

But Wednesday recoiled. Swift. Almost violent. As if the touch itself were a sentence.

Enid froze. The rejection stung deeper than any words could. “Wednesday…” she murmured again, voice fading to almost nothing. “Did I hurt you?”

This time, Wednesday didn’t answer. Not with words. But her eyes… they were too wide, brimming with raw, desperate panic, as if she were facing something she had no defense against.

Thing appeared at the head of the bed, restless. The sound split the moment clean, like a blade. Wednesday looked away. The mask slipped back into place. Coldness, restored.

But it was a trembling coldness, stitched together with shaking hands.

++

Thing drummed on the table with urgency, his restless fingers tapping as if they were trying to scream. Enid watched him, still dizzy, struggling to follow the gestures. He pointed at her, then at the door, then made a sharp movement, like an explosion. Finally, he crossed his fingers, as though begging.

“You’re saying… they were hunting me?” Her voice came out low, rasped.

Thing nodded emphatically. Then he pounded the wood, as if to say yes, yes, yes. And after that, he mimed a slap through the air, finishing with a finger pointing back at himself.

“My mom…” Enid swallowed hard. “She’s angry with Wednesday?”

Thing hesitated, then confirmed. Wednesday had stepped in. She had faced her mother. She had taken the blame.

Why?

“She almost died…” Enid whispered. “Oh my god…”

It was the only thought that made sense. The recklessness, the cut on her forehead, the hiding. Wednesday hadn’t been home. She had been hiding from her parents. At her grandmother’s mansion — that sharp-eyed woman who always seemed to know more than she said.

It was too much.

Enid was terrified at the thought that she might have hurt Wednesday. Her best friend. Her pack. The only pack she had ever truly known. Wednesday had put herself in danger to save her. And Enid had almost lost her — without even realizing it. Because if it had happened, it would have been too late.

“How… how did I come back?” she murmured. “What happened?”

Before she could think, Wednesday was already at her side, measuring her forehead with a cold palm. Enid froze. The touch turned her to stone.

Unexpected. Intimate. Almost gentle.

By the time she recovered from the shock, the hand was gone. Wednesday’s gaze fixed on her with its usual sharpness, but there was something else lingering there.

A shadow of concern.

“The fever has dropped,” she said firmly. “You’re stable.”

Enid tried to speak, but Wednesday was already stepping away, moving out of sight. She paused at the door, hesitating just for a second. And then, hearing Enid’s weak voice ask what had happened, she answered without turning back…

“Don’t worry. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

She pointed toward a small table Enid hadn’t noticed before, where folded clothes were neatly laid out.

“Put these on. If you can.”

But Enid couldn’t. She tried to rise. Pain sliced through her like a blade. Sharp. Unrelenting. She gasped, and Wednesday spun around instantly, her eyes wide.

“Don’t be reckless,” she said, her voice firm. “You’re hurt.”

Enid looked down at herself. Bruises. A wound across her abdomen. Her breath caught short. Wednesday stepped closer, her gaze fixed on her, as if ensuring she wouldn’t try again.

“You need to rest,” she said. “You’ve lived enough for one day.”

“But… what am I doing here? How did you bring me back?” Enid’s voice wavered.

Wednesday looked away. Her answer came clipped, but with a faint, almost imperceptible crack.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Enid swallowed hard. She nodded. Because what else could she do?

Without another word, Wednesday left the room. The door closed with a muffled sound. And Enid, for the first time since she had woken, found herself truly alone.

The room felt darker now. Heavier. The pain in her head throbbed. Maybe it was from the fight. Maybe from the weight of everything else.

She couldn’t tell.

++

The pain still throbbed, but Enid couldn’t stay lying down. She needed to move. She needed to understand. With effort, she pushed herself out of bed, muscles protesting with every movement. She leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath, and made her way to the door.

She turned the doorknob slowly, as if the hallway might bite. The wood creaked, revealing a narrow, dark corridor, its walls lined with ancient tapestries and paintings that seemed to watch her. The air was thick, almost still.

The kind of place where time didn’t pass — it just accumulated.

Thing was still perched on the table, fingers frozen now, as if he had turned to stone at the sight of her standing. Enid turned toward him, eyes narrowed.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “Why am I here? How… how did I come back?”

Thing hesitated. His fingers moved, but formed nothing. No answer. No explanation.

“You know, don’t you?” Enid stepped closer, her tone firmer. “You were there. You saw.”

Thing recoiled slightly, as if he wanted to disappear. Then he made a quick gesture — a cut through the air, like a line being drawn. Silence.

Enid understood. Wednesday had threatened him. Ordered him to be silent. Anger sparked inside her. Small, but hot.

“She told you to stay quiet.” It wasn’t a question. It was certainty.

Thing didn’t respond. He just curled in on himself, fingers bent as if shielding something.

Enid felt her stomach twist. The pain in her abdomen flared, but she ignored it. She needed to remember. She needed to know what she had done. What had been done. Her memory was betraying her, leaving her vulnerable. Leaving her exposed. And Wednesday… Wednesday was acting strange. Stranger than anything in this place, which was already strange enough.

She stared down the empty corridor, as if it might give her answers. But there was only silence. And in this place, silence seemed to hide more than it revealed.

“This isn’t fair…” she murmured. “Not when all I feel is confusion.”

Thing moved closer, fingers brushing lightly against her hand, as if asking for calm. But Enid didn’t want calm. She wanted truth.

She turned back to the room, her body still weak, but her mind ablaze. Wednesday was hiding something.

And if Enid didn’t remember soon… she might never know what had really happened.

++

Thing followed her with restless fingers but didn’t try to stop her. Still, he seemed uneasy, as if he knew she was about to see something she shouldn’t.

Then the sound came — sharp, dry, like gunshots. Enid jumped, her heart racing. She ran to a narrow window at the end of the corridor and peered through the heavy curtains.

Outside, in the mansion’s shadowed garden, Wednesday’s grandmother fired at discs launched into the air by an old, rusty machine. The weapon she held looked like it belonged in a museum — long, ornate, decorated with silver and bone.

She shot with cruel precision, eyes narrowed, her body rigid as stone.

Further back, Enid saw Wednesday. She stood beside her grandmother, speaking with her. But it wasn’t a light conversation. Wednesday was tense, more serious than Enid thought possible — and that said a lot. Her jaw was clenched, her shoulders stiff, and even from a distance, Enid felt the weight of it.

Something was wrong.

The conversation ended abruptly. Wednesday turned her back and walked away with heavy, purposeful steps, cutting through the garden like a blade. Her grandmother sighed, dropped the weapon in an almost theatrical gesture, and gave a sly sideways smile. Then she turned and began walking back toward the mansion, followed by a tall, silent butler.

Enid stepped back from the window, her stomach twisting. She didn’t know if it was from pain, hunger, or the unsettling sense that everything was off. Thing approached, pointing insistently toward the end of the corridor, where a slightly open door let escape the smell of hot food.

“You want me to go to the dining room?” Enid asked, unable to hide her discomfort.

Thing nodded vehemently, his fingers almost begging.

“I’m not hungry…” she murmured. “I don’t even know why. I just… can’t.”

Thing crossed his fingers, then pointed at her, then at the door. He insisted. Wednesday had given instructions. And he, loyal as always, was trying to follow them.

Enid hesitated. Her body ached, her head throbbed, and her heart felt torn between fear and anger. But she gave in.

Because maybe, just maybe, sitting at the table would reveal something. Some clue. Some truth.

++

The dining room was far too large for three people. The high ceiling disappeared into the shadows, and the wrought-iron chandelier hung like a slumbering creature. The long, ornate table seemed made for silent banquets. Candelabras cast dancing shadows across the walls, and the scent of hot food mingled with the mansion’s ancient aroma.

Enid stepped in slowly, guided by Thing, who remained restless at her side. She sat carefully, feeling her still-aching body. Wednesday was already at the table, posture impeccable, eyes fixed on some indefinite point. Beside her sat Hester Frump — elegant, sharp, with a smile that seemed to know too much.

“Finally, the little wolf has awoken,” Hester said, pouring herself a glass of dark wine. “I thought I’d lose dinner. And I hate waste.”

Enid tried to smile, but couldn’t. Her stomach churned, and it wasn’t because of the food. It was the feeling of being watched, tested, measured.

“She’s still recovering,” Wednesday said, not looking at anyone. “No need for sarcastic remarks.”

“Ah, darling, sarcasm is my second language. You know that.” Hester twirled her glass between her fingers, eyes glinting. “But very well. Let’s pretend everything is normal. As we always do.”

Thing positioned himself at Enid’s side. The food was served — hot, aromatic dishes — but Enid barely touched them. Every bite felt like an effort.

While everyone feigned normality, Enid tried to remember. Fragments came and went. The smell of wet earth. Claws. A scream. Blood. But it was all hazy, as if her mind were shrouded in fog.

“You know, dear,” Hester said, with a sly smile, “I thought you were going to tear my granddaughter’s head off. That was close.”

Enid’s fork clattered onto her plate with a sharp sound. She looked at Wednesday, her heart racing.

“Is that true?” she asked, voice low but steady. “I… almost hurt you?”

Wednesday hesitated. Her eyes met Enid’s, and there was something there — guilt, perhaps.

But she looked away.

“It’s not the time for that.”

“Not the time?” Enid repeated, anger rising. “Are you joking with me?”

Wednesday fell silent. Hester watched the scene with the air of someone who had expected it.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Enid said, pushing her plate away. “Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Frump. But I need to rest. And… I’d like to speak with my parents.”

Hester nodded, not losing her smile. “Of course, dear. The phone is in the living room. You may use it freely.”

Enid rose with difficulty, body still weak but mind ablaze. “Thank you. But I think I’ll rest first.”

“Probably for the best,” Hester said, in a tone almost maternal, though still laced with irony.

Wednesday rose as well, as if to prevent Enid from leaving like that. “Enid…”

But Enid wouldn’t let her continue.

“I want to be alone for a while…”

And she left the room without looking back.

If no one was going to give her answers, she would have to find them herself.

++

The room was silent, wrapped in shadows stretching across the walls. Enid lay down slowly, her body still sore, her mind exhausted. The bed felt strange, the sheets rough, but fatigue won over any discomfort. Gradually, her eyes closed, and sleep claimed her.

The dream came fast. Intense.

She ran through the forest, but not on her own feet — on paws. The world around her was wild, frenzied. The smell of wet earth, the snap of breaking branches, the metallic taste in the air. Other wolves ran around her, but she didn’t know if they were with her or against her.

Everything was instinct. Everything was a threat.

Then came the gunshots. Sharp cracks cutting through the air. Hunters. Three of them. Dark clothes, cold eyes, weapons raised. She growled, lunged, but something pulled her back. A voice.

“Enid!” Wednesday. Standing in the middle of the clearing, fragile and firm at the same time. “Come back! You have to come back!”

But she couldn’t. Instinct was stronger. The pain, deeper. And then a scream. Wednesday fell. Blood. And everything went dark.

Enid woke with a start, heart racing, body sweating. She sat up in bed, gasping, trying to understand where she was. Her breaths came in short, uneven waves. And then, she heard footsteps.

Wednesday entered the room in a hurry, eyes wide, expression heavy with concern.

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asked, stopping by the bed.

Enid didn’t answer. Silent tears ran down her face. Wednesday hesitated. Almost reached out, then pulled back. Slowly, with effort, she approached and ran a hand gently down Enid’s back. The gesture was strange, almost awkward, but still tender.

“Breathe the way I taught you,” she said softly. “Slowly. Count to four.”

Enid tried. Inhaled. Exhaled. Gradually, her chest began to calm. The trembling subsided. And when she finally caught her breath, she looked at Wednesday sitting at the edge of the bed.

What she saw in her eyes frightened her more than the dream. It was fear. Real fear. Fear for her.

“I… I remembered something,” Enid said, her voice still shaky.

Wednesday nodded, unsurprised. “It was the beginning.”

“Why aren’t you telling me anything?” Enid asked, more firmly. “Why is everyone acting like I can’t know?”

Wednesday looked away. “Because I didn’t want this to happen. The memories… they can hurt you.”

“Do you think I’m weak?” Enid asked, tone harder.

“No,” Wednesday replied quickly. “That’s not it. You’re strong. You’ve already proven that. But I… I’ve never been good at protecting anyone. And… I’m trying.”

Enid didn’t know whether to be angry or to melt. Wednesday’s honesty was disarming. But she still needed to know. It was her right.

Wednesday stood, stepped back, and let out a long, almost unbearable sigh.

“You were unconscious for two days after what happened…”

Enid froze. Two days. Two days without knowing who she was, what she had done, what she had suffered.

And now, it was all starting to come back. Slowly. But inevitably.

“You want to know what happened,” Wednesday said bluntly. “But I can’t give you everything at once.”

Enid nodded, eyes still wet. “Just give me what you can.”

Wednesday took a deep breath, jaw tense. “I… couldn’t reach you in time. The hunters were nearby. Other wolves too. It was chaotic. You protected me. But you almost got lost… I had to take them out to save you.”

Enid listened carefully, absorbing every word. But there was something in the way Wednesday spoke — calculated pauses, measured sentences — that left her uneasy.

“You’re still hiding something,” Enid said, not accusing, but firmly.

Wednesday looked away. “I’m not… It’s just… you’re still recovering.”

Enid felt anger rise, hot and unexpected. But her body was too tired to sustain any confrontation. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“Okay. Fine. For now.” She looked around the dark room, at the shadows that seemed to move across the walls. “Can you stay here tonight? I… I don’t want to be alone.”

Wednesday seemed surprised. But when she saw Enid’s gaze, she nodded. “Of course.”

++

Enid couldn’t sleep.

The room was too quiet, too dark, and even with Wednesday there, the restlessness wouldn’t let her be at ease. She turned in bed, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate the pain, but the discomfort was deeper than physical.

Wednesday lay on the sofa near the window, wrapped in a thin sheet, her body curled as if trying to occupy the smallest possible space. She didn’t look comfortable. Not that comfort was something she valued — yet there was still something strange about seeing her there, so still, so silent. She was making an effort. Enid knew that. And she wanted to reciprocate, even if it was just a small gesture.

Carefully, Enid sat up in bed, her muscles quietly protesting. She looked at the sofa and whispered:

“Wednesday… are you awake?”

Nothing.

She waited a few seconds, then tried again, a little louder:

“Wednesday?”

Silence.

Enid frowned. Wednesday wasn’t the type to sleep deeply. She was like a bat — alert, ready, always on watch. And after everything that had happened, Enid doubted she had managed to rest.

After a few more seconds, Enid called again:

“Wednesday?”

This time, the response came, low, almost dragged:

“I’m trying.”

Enid let out a timid laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Wednesday replied, without moving.

Enid hesitated, looking at her curled on the sofa. The sheet barely covered her feet, and her rigid posture seemed more like armor than a resting position.

“You don’t want… to sleep here with me?” she asked, voice still low but steady.

Wednesday turned slowly, surprise evident in her eyes. “In the bed?”

“It’s just… the sofa doesn’t look comfortable. And you’re trying so hard to take care of me. I wanted you to rest too.”

Wednesday hesitated. Her gaze swept the room, as if searching for an escape. But Enid didn’t back down.

“Please,” she said. “I trust you.”

After a brief silence, Wednesday got up, walked over to the bed with measured steps, and lay down next to Enid, keeping a respectful distance. But her body was tense, as if she didn’t know where to put her arms, as if the mattress were made of thorns.

“You won’t hurt me,” Enid said, turning her face toward her. “Actually… it feels more like the opposite.”

Wednesday swallowed hard. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling for a moment, and then she sighed.

“We should sleep…”

“I wanted to talk,” Enid said, almost a whisper.

Wednesday turned her face slowly, eyes meeting hers. There was something there — perhaps even tenderness. But also a barrier.

A wall that Enid still didn’t know how to cross.

++

“You know, you seem… different,” Enid said, turning her face toward her. “Since I woke up. You’re more… contained. More nervous.”

Wednesday didn’t respond immediately. She stared at the ceiling, as if the shadows up there were easier to face than Enid.

“I’m not good at this,” she said at last. “Taking care of others…”

“But you’re trying,” Enid murmured. “And I can see that.”

Wednesday turned her face slowly, eyes meeting hers. There was something there — a mix of guilt and tenderness, as if she were fighting against herself.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she said, in a voice almost inaudible. “And that… scared me.”

Enid swallowed hard. That was more than she expected to hear. More than Wednesday usually allowed.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Enid said. “I’m here. Even without remembering everything… I’m here.”

Wednesday looked away, but didn’t move back. Thing, who had been quiet until then, approached and placed Aunt Ophelia’s journal on the bed, as if he knew it was time.

Enid looked at the old leather-bound notebook, edges worn from use. “You said it’s your aunt’s?”

Wednesday nodded. “Ophelia Frump. My mother never talks about her. I always thought it was strange. But when I went after you, she gave me this. Said it might help me understand what was happening.”

“Was she like you?” Enid asked, curious.

“Not exactly. She was… more intense. But also more sensitive. She hid it well. The journal talks about things no one in the family mentions. About wolves. Hunters. Ancient pacts. And about fear. The fear of losing someone.”

Enid ran her fingers over the cover, feeling the rough texture. “Do you think she went through something similar?”

“Maybe. I’m still reading it slowly. But there’s a passage that struck me.” Wednesday opened the journal, flipping carefully until she found the page. “She wrote: ‘Instinct protects, but it also destroys. And sometimes, what saves is what scares the most.’”

Enid remained silent. It felt like it was speaking directly to her.

“My parents must be desperate,” she said, trying to change the subject. “My siblings too.”

“They’ve been informed,” Wednesday said. “They know you’re safe. That you’re being cared for.”

Enid nodded, relieved but still uneasy. “Thank you…”

Wednesday looked at her with an expression hard to read. “You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it all over again.”

Enid felt her chest tighten. She wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. So she just moved a little closer, letting the silence speak for them.

++

“I still don’t know what to do with this,” Enid murmured. “Being an alpha. It’s like my body belongs to someone else. And there’s so much I don’t know if it’s real or just… fantasy.”

Wednesday turned her face slowly, without hurry. “Fantasy often contains more truth than people are willing to admit.”

“But I don’t know how to control it. I don’t know what’s real. And it scares me.”

“You’ll learn,” Wednesday said firmly. “And I’ll make sure you don’t become a tragic statistic in some supernatural history book.”

Enid smiled, a small but genuine smile. “Thank you. For coming after me. For keeping your promise.”

Wednesday looked away. “I don’t make promises lightly.”

Silence stretched for a moment, until Enid asked:
“Do you think Nevermore will reopen?”

Wednesday sighed. “Two directors dead. One teacher. A Hyde attack. The school’s reputation is more compromised than my ability to show affection.”

“I don’t want to be away from you. Or from the others. I… I’ve learned to like the school. To like myself there. And I’m not ready to go back home and live under my parents’ control again.”

“I understand what you mean…”

Enid looked at her, trying to decipher what lay behind that calm. “You seem so… composed about all of this.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. “Composure is a performance. And I excel at performing.”

Enid laughed, even if it was a tired laugh. “Of course. Addams.”

“With pride.”

“Speaking of which… why are we at your grandmother’s mansion? Why not the Addams mansion?”

Wednesday took a moment before answering. When she spoke, her voice was low. “My parents lied to me. And I’m not very good at forgiveness.”

Enid turned toward her, surprised. “They lied?”

“Yes. They knew more than they said. And they hid it. I’m still… processing it.”

“Had you already promised to spend the holidays here?”

“Yes. And I thought it would be better for you too. My grandmother’s mansion is less… explosive. And she doesn’t try to push me to macabre balls every week.”

Enid smiled. “Yeah. I think I need calm right now.”

Wednesday looked at her with a hint of tenderness she rarely let slip. “You’ll have it. And you’ll have me.”

++

The next morning, Enid sat in an old armchair in the living room, the landline pressed to her shoulder and her voice low, trying to keep calm. On the other end, her mother spoke as if Enid had merely run away on a whim — as if all of this were just a phase, a teenage tantrum.

“I’ve told you, Mom. I’m fine. I’m safe. Someone is taking care of me,” Enid repeated, trying to sound firm.

“Safe? In an unfamiliar mansion, far from proper supervision? That’s not safety, Enid, it’s irresponsibility,” came the sharp reply from the other end.

Enid closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not alone. Wednesday is with me.”

“Wednesday Addams? That dark girl you insist on calling a friend? That only proves you’re not thinking clearly.”

The conversation dragged on for a few more minutes until Enid finally hung up, shoulders tense, heart racing. She let herself slump onto the sofa, exhausted, as if the call had drained the little energy she had left.

Thing appeared beside her, gently drumming on the tabletop. Enid looked at him with a weary smile.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

Wednesday entered the room silently, her eyes scanning Enid. “How was it?”

Enid let out a long sigh. “As always. My mother thinks I’m overreacting. That this is just another phase.”

Wednesday approached, stopping beside the sofa. “She doesn’t understand. And she probably never will.”

Enid looked at her, surprised by the quiet empathy. “You heard?”

“Parts. Enough to know you deserve an award for not throwing the phone out the window.”

Enid laughed, though it was a weak laugh. Wednesday sat in the opposite armchair, watching her closely. “You’re better than yesterday.”

“Better?”

“The bruises are almost gone. The cut on your abdomen is closing too quickly. That’s accelerated regeneration. Probably because of your alpha condition.”

Enid touched the side of her abdomen, where there had once been constant pain. Now, only a slight tenderness remained. “So… this is normal?”

“Not exactly. But expected. Alphas have more resilient physiology. And you seem to be adapting.”

Before Enid could respond, Hester Frump entered the room in a black velvet dress, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Good morning, creatures. I thought I’d propose a distraction. Something light. Perhaps a strategy game, or insect dissection. Nothing too demanding.”

Wednesday frowned. “She’s still recovering.”

“I’m fine,” Enid said, straightening in the sofa. “Actually… I think I need this. Anything to get my mind off everything that’s happening.”

Wednesday hesitated. Her look said she disagreed, but she didn’t want to argue. She knew how stubborn Enid could be when she made up her mind.

“As you wish,” she said neutrally. “But if you faint in the middle of the activity, I won’t pretend I didn’t warn you.”

Hester smiled, satisfied. “Excellent. Then get ready. It will be… peculiar.”

Thing drummed excitedly, as if he already knew this wouldn’t be anything light.

Enid stood up carefully, still feeling fragile, but determined. And Wednesday, though reluctant, followed beside her. Because, in the end, she knew: Enid was stubborn.

And she herself wasn’t much different.

++

The activity proposed by Hester Frump was, as expected, peculiar.

In the mansion’s main hall, she had set up a table with glass jars, preserved insects, ancient tarot cards, and a strategy board that looked like it had been used in rituals. Thing organized everything efficiently, while Hester explained the rules with a dark enthusiasm.

“It’s simple,” she said, a mischievous smile on her lips. “You’ll create a narrative using the elements on the table. It can be a story, a prophecy, or a reconstruction of a crime. Creativity is mandatory. Sanity… optional.”

Enid laughed, still a little weak, but excited. Wednesday, on the other hand, looked suspicious. “This seems like a trap disguised as a game.”

“Exactly,” Hester replied, satisfied.

Despite her reluctance, Wednesday joined in. And slowly, the tension between them began to ease. Enid delighted in trying to fit the most absurd elements together — a poisoned dragonfly, a card bearing the symbol of death, a jar with what looked like lunar dust. Wednesday, as always, was methodical, precise, yet allowed herself subtle smiles when Enid made silly comments or tried to tease her.

At one point, Enid leaned in to show a combination she had made and, without thinking, lightly touched Wednesday’s arm. A simple gesture. Natural. Wednesday didn’t recoil. Didn’t freeze. She merely looked at her, as if the touch had been expected.

Hester, watching everything with crow-like eyes, raised an eyebrow.

“Well, look at that,” she said, a provocative tone in her voice. “My granddaughter didn’t flinch at physical contact. That’s new.”

Wednesday tensed slightly, her shoulders stiff. “It’s irrelevant.”

“Of course it’s relevant. You always seem ready to bite anyone who invades your space. But with her…” Hester smiled. “You seem… domesticated.”

Wednesday stood abruptly. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Convenient,” Hester murmured, as her granddaughter left the room with firm steps.

Enid laughed, trying to contain her smile. “She hates being read.”

Hester approached, sitting beside Enid with a conspiratorial air. “So, little wolf… what are you to her?”

Enid froze. The question hit like an arrow. She looked at Hester, then at the door through which Wednesday had exited.

“I… we’re friends,” she said, a little awkwardly. “We’ve been through a lot together. And she… she’s important to me.”

“I noticed that,” Hester said, her gaze sharp. “But what are you to her? Because, honestly, I’ve never seen my granddaughter like this with anyone. Not even her own family.”

Enid bit her lip, her heart racing. “Maybe… maybe I’m someone she chose. And that’s already a lot coming from Wednesday.”

Hester smiled, satisfied with the answer. “Yes. That’s a lot.”

Silence settled for a moment, until Wednesday’s footsteps echoed down the hallway again. Enid composed herself, and Hester rose with elegance, as if nothing had happened.

But Enid knew. The question still echoed within her.

++

The Frump mansion garden was a labyrinth of shadows and exotic flowers, with twisted trees that seemed to whisper to one another. The sky was beginning to deepen into a rich blue, and the breeze carried the scent of wet earth and ancient leaves.

Enid sat on the grass, leaning against a moss-covered stone, playing a guessing game with Thing. He made exaggerated gestures, trying to convey words with his restless fingers, and Enid laughed every time she came close but got it wrong.

"Are you trying to tell me… bat? No? Ah! Cemetery!" She laughed loudly when Thing made a dramatic gesture of approval, as if he had just won a world championship.

Wednesday was a few meters away, sitting beneath a tree with gnarled branches, the diary of Aunt Ophelia open on her lap. The late afternoon light fell over her like a frame, and her eyes were fixed on a yellowed page, her fingers still, as if time had stopped there.

Enid, still smiling, turned to her. "What are you reading?"

Wednesday lifted her eyes slowly, as if emerging from a trance. "A passage from when Ophelia was at Nevermore. It’s… curious."

"Curious how?"

Wednesday closed the diary calmly but left her finger marking the page. "She got involved with a secret group of students who believed they could channel the energy of the dead to enhance their abilities. They called it ‘The Vigil.’ She wrote that, for a time, it worked. She saw things. Felt things. But then… she began to lose control. Reality fragmented. She attacked a fellow student thinking he was an invading spirit."

Enid’s eyes widened. "Wow, could that happen to you?"

Wednesday answered firmly, without arrogance. "No. I wouldn’t be that foolish. Ophelia was brilliant, but emotionally unstable. I am… more restrained."

Enid didn’t seem convinced. "But you feel things. Even if you don’t admit it. And if… if you lost control too?"

Wednesday was silent for a moment, her eyes returning to the diary. "I don’t lose control. I command it."

Enid moved closer, sitting beside her. "Would you like to find your aunt? If it were possible?"

Wednesday didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the sky, where the first hints of night were beginning to appear. The question seemed to touch something deeper than she expected.

But then, as if closing an inner door, she stood up, brushing her skirt with a quick gesture. "It’s getting late. We should return for dinner."

Enid looked at her, surprised by the sudden change of subject.

"As much as I appreciate the end of the day and the somber atmosphere of the night," Wednesday continued, "you still need to rest. And my grandmother becomes restless when schedules are ignored."

Thing made a gesture of agreement, as if already ready to escort the two back.

++

Dinner that night was served in a smaller room of the mansion, more intimate, yet still steeped in velvet, silver, and shadows. Low-hanging candelabras cast warm, dramatic light across their faces. Hester Frump was particularly lively.

"I’ve been thinking," she said, cutting a piece of meat. "Tomorrow you should visit the family business. The Frump Funeral Parlor. It’s an enriching experience. And an excellent opportunity for the little wolf to see the world that has shaped generations of our lineage."

Enid froze, fork in midair, surprised. "Funeral parlor?"

"Of course, dear. Coffins, wakes, embalming. The art of farewell. It’s almost poetic."

Wednesday gave a brief nod. "Could be interesting. As long as it doesn’t involve living clients."

"Excellent," Hester said, satisfied. "But before that… I must remind you that your brother will be stopping by early tomorrow."

Wednesday paused. Her gaze hardened. "Can’t you just… send him away?"

Hester laughed, a low, ironic sound. "Unfortunately, no. He’s family. And he insists on keeping in touch, no matter how much you try otherwise."

Wednesday sighed, shoulders sinking slightly. Enid laughed, trying to suppress a smile.

"You don’t like your brother?"

Wednesday picked up her wine glass, swirling the liquid slowly. "I have issues with siblings. They tend to be… excessive."

Enid frowned. "Well, I have siblings too. And they’re not that bad."

"You have issues with them as well," Wednesday said without looking up. "You’re just more polite about admitting it."

Enid went silent for a second, her face reddening. "That’s not true."

Hester watched the two with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Ah, how fascinating to see two such different creatures teasing each other like good friends. Or… something more?"

Enid coughed, disguising her embarrassment. Wednesday pressed her lips together, clearly annoyed.

"Well, I shall take my leave," Hester said, rising with elegance. "I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t be late. The dead do not like to wait."

She exited the room, Thing following behind, leaving a trail of old-fashioned perfume and provocation in the air.

Enid looked at Wednesday, still trying to collect herself. "Maybe we should go to bed."

Wednesday stood, picking up Aunt Ophelia’s diary that lay beside her plate. "I still have a few things to do."

Enid hesitated. "Can I come with you?"

Wednesday paused, her body stiff for a moment. "No need."

The answer was curt, but not cruel. Enid understood. Wednesday needed space, and she knew that pressing the matter would only make her friend retreat further.

"Alright," Enid said, with a small smile. "Then… good night."

Wednesday nodded, not looking directly at her. "Good night."

++

Night fell heavily over the Frump mansion. The silence was deep, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wood and the whisper of wind against the windows. Enid slept, but her rest was uneasy.

The nightmare came like a wave.

She saw Wednesday lying on the ground, eyes wide, her body injured. And herself — monstrous, uncontrollable — advancing without knowing what she was doing.

Enid woke with a start, heart racing, body sweating. She sat up in bed, panting, trying to figure out where she was. Thing appeared quickly, climbing up the headboard, fingers drumming alertly.

"Wednesday… where is she?" Enid asked, still trembling.

Thing made a simple gesture, pointing outside the room. She hadn’t gone to bed yet.

Enid rose slowly, feeling her body still sensitive, and left the room in search of a glass of water. The hallway was dark, and the mansion’s noises — creaks, whispers, the distant sound of something moving — made everything feel more tense. She walked cautiously, bare feet brushing the cold floor, until she saw a soft light at the end of the corridor.

Descending the stairs carefully, she followed the sound that now filled the air: deep, melancholic notes, played melodiously. It was a music room. The slightly open door let slip the melody of a dark, elegant instrument — a cello, of dark wood with intricate carvings.

Enid stopped at the doorway, peeking through the crack. Wednesday sat there, eyes closed, body leaning over the cello, fingers gliding with precision and grace. She wore black pajamas with white details, simple, yet somehow… beautiful.

The thought startled Enid. But not as much as the way Wednesday played. There was something hypnotic about it. A rare surrender. A vulnerability she never expressed in words.

When the last note faded into the air, Thing made a subtle gesture, as if saying: Not now. But Enid was not good at taking advice.

She stepped into the room with quiet footsteps.

"It was beautiful," she whispered.

Wednesday turned, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. "You were listening the whole time?"

Enid blushed. "Yes. Sorry. I… didn’t mean to intrude."

Wednesday showed no reaction. She simply looked at her for a moment, as if deciding whether it was a problem. "I needed to think."

Enid moved a little closer but kept her distance. "Do you always think like that? Playing?"

"It’s more efficient than talking to people."

Enid smiled, unsure if she should. "And… what were you thinking about?"

Wednesday looked at the cello, then at the window. "Things that don’t have easy answers."

Enid felt her heart tighten. She had never wanted so much to know what was going through an Addams’ mind. But she knew that with Wednesday, direct questions didn’t always lead to honest answers.

++

The next day dawned with a thick fog covering the Frump mansion’s garden.

Enid woke feeling more energetic, the nightmares from the previous night still lingering in her mind, but her body lighter. Wednesday, as always, was already ready before anyone else.

The visit to the Frump family funeral home was… exactly what Enid expected. A quiet, shadowed place, with stained glass casting patterns over urns and coffins carved with symbols. Hester guided them with morbid enthusiasm, explaining the details of each room as if presenting an art gallery.

Despite her initial discomfort, Enid found herself fascinated. Wednesday seemed at home — eyes alert, steps firm, as if revisiting a forgotten part of herself.

On the way back to the mansion, the atmosphere shifted. A black car was parked at the entrance, and leaning against the door, arms crossed and a cornered smile on his face, was Pugsley Addams.

"Well, look at that," Enid said, smiling. "Pugsley."

"Enid Sinclair," he replied, nodding.

Wednesday stopped beside them, her expression already impatient. "You couldn’t have warned me you were coming?"

"I did warn you. You ignored it. As always."

"You could have interpreted the silence as a no."

Pugsley shrugged. "Our parents are worried. They want you to visit. They say you’re isolating yourself."

"I’m recovering from prolonged exposure to family hypocrisy."

Enid watched the exchange closely. She knew Pugsley — more sociable than his sister — but still… there was tension.

"Wednesday…" he said, softer this time. "They just want to know if you’re okay."

"If they were really concerned, they wouldn’t have lied to me."

The silence that followed was thick. Enid looked at Wednesday and understood. Not just the resentment, but the exhaustion. The feeling of not being heard. Of being shaped by expectations that weren’t hers.

"You don’t want to go?" Enid asked quietly.

Wednesday looked away. "Not now."

Enid nodded. "I understand."

Pugsley sighed. "Alright. Just… don’t take too long. They’re unbearable when worried."

"Then we’re on the same page."

He waved goodbye and returned to the car.

As they entered the mansion, Enid looked at Wednesday. "You have your reasons. And I respect that."

Wednesday didn’t answer, but her expression softened for a moment.

++

The room was silent, lit only by the soft light filtering through the window. Enid stood in front of the mirror, her fingers carefully gliding over the skin where a deep wound had once been. The bandage that had covered the area now rested on the dresser. She wore only a cropped top, just enough to reveal the scar — or rather, what remained of it.

Almost nothing.

It was frightening how much her body had healed. The accelerated regeneration, the strength that seemed to pulse beneath her skin… all of it was new. Fascinating. And a little terrifying. But if this was her reality now, all she could do was learn to live with it.

As best as possible.

She turned sideways, studying her reflection closely, when the door suddenly opened.

Wednesday entered, her eyes fixed on the journal she carried — until she looked up and froze.

Enid turned, surprised, but not exactly uncomfortable.

Wednesday, on the other hand, was in shock. "Pardon," she said quickly, closing the door with an almost mechanical motion.

Enid laughed, amused. "It’s fine. You can come in."

There was a pause. Then the door opened slowly, and Wednesday stepped inside, more restrained than usual. She looked… uncomfortable. Which, coming from her, was almost endearing.

"Do you want to see how the wound looks?" Enid asked, turning back to the mirror. "Since you took care of me while I was unconscious… I think it’s fair."

Wednesday hesitated, then approached slowly. "You’re practically whole."

"Almost as if nothing happened."

Wednesday leaned in, her eyes scanning the skin with clinical precision. "Can I touch?"

Enid nodded, her heart racing without warning.

Wednesday’s fingers touched her skin gently. Cold. Precise. And the contrast with Enid’s warmth was immediate — a shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was… intense.

Wednesday seemed focused, but there was something in her eyes. A curiosity that went beyond science…

Enid watched her face, so close, and felt the air between them shift. Growing heavier. More intimate.

"Your hands are cold," Enid murmured, almost without thinking.

"Efficient circulation. And a lack of human warmth," Wednesday replied, not taking her eyes off the skin.

Enid laughed, but the sound was low. Almost nervous. She didn’t know what was happening there, but she knew she didn’t want it to stop.

And then, of course, Thing entered.

The door creaked slightly, and his fingers tapped with energy, as if announcing something important.

Enid instinctively stepped back, pulling her top a little tighter. Wednesday took a step back, her expression returning to its usual neutrality.

Thing paused, as if sensing the mood, and made a small apologetic gesture.

"I… need to review some notes in the journal," Wednesday said, already turning to leave. "Nothing urgent. Just… organizing."

Enid nodded, trying to hide her smile. "Of course. Good luck with that."

Wednesday left with quick steps, Thing following behind, and Enid stayed there, alone, her heart still racing and her skin still tingling from the touch.

She looked in the mirror once more. The scar was almost invisible.

But what she felt… that didn’t heal so easily.

++

The night was quiet, and the room was bathed in shadow. Enid remained lying down, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, while Wednesday sat at the edge of the bed, her body upright, her gaze sharp — as if part of an equation she was trying to solve.

"You remember Bruno, right?" Enid began, her voice low.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate. "The werewolf with an inflated ego and an underused brain. Yes. Unfortunately."

Enid let out a muffled laugh. "You never liked him."

"He barked more than he thought. And you deserve someone who knows the difference between instinct and impulse."

Enid was silent for a moment, then continued. "At the party… his girlfriend showed up. Out of nowhere. And I felt so stupid. Like I’d fooled myself again. Like I’m always chasing people who are going to hurt me. Or worse… hurt others. Like with Ajax."

Wednesday watched her attentively, then spoke calmly. "It’s inevitable. Relationships are like emotional traps… you enter, you get hurt, you learn. Or you repeat."

Enid frowned, surprised. "For someone who avoids this kind of thing so much, you talk as if you’ve studied it."

"I have. Not by choice. By survival. Sentimentality is a distraction. I prefer to keep my focus where it’s useful."

"So that’s why you avoid getting involved?"

Wednesday turned her face, her eyes fixed on the window. "Feelings distort judgment. Love, especially, is one of the most effective ways to turn intelligent people into blind, pathetic creatures. It’s like a fever. Too high, and you start to deliriate."

Enid stayed silent, absorbing it. This was Wednesday at her purest — logical, cutting, almost cruel.

But there was something beneath it.

"So… you could never fall in love?" Enid asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "No one could ever captivate you like that?"

Wednesday didn’t answer. For the first time in the conversation, she stayed silent. Her gaze drifted, as if she were waging an internal battle. Enid felt her heart race. She didn’t know exactly why. She just knew she wanted to hear the answer. Needed to.

And then, Wednesday turned her face slowly, her eyes meeting Enid’s with an intensity that made her catch her breath.

"As much as I don’t want to," she said, her voice firm but carrying something new, "emotions are stubborn. They insist on taking hold. And maybe… under very specific circumstances… someone in particular makes me vulnerable. And that’s something I still don’t know how to handle. Or how to hate."

Enid felt her stomach drop.

++

The silence that followed Enid’s question seemed to swallow the entire room.

"Is it me?" she had asked, almost in a whisper.

Wednesday didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze was fixed on Enid, as if trying to decipher what to say — or what not to say. It was rare to see her hesitate. Rare to see her vulnerable.

And Enid felt her heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo off the walls.

But then, as if something inside her had shut down, Wednesday looked away.

"That’s not relevant," she said, her voice colder than before.

Enid sat on the bed, not averting her eyes. "Of course it is. You just said someone makes you vulnerable. And now you’re pretending it doesn’t matter?"

Wednesday stood, adjusting the sleeve of her shirt in an exaggerated manner. "I just meant that emotions are inconvenient. And sometimes they take root without permission. That doesn’t mean they should be nurtured."

"You’re avoiding the conversation."

Wednesday paused, her eyes fixed on the door. "I’m not avoiding it. I just don’t see any use in continuing this conversation."

"Because you don’t want to admit what you feel?"

Wednesday turned, her face impassive. But there was something in her eyes — a contained gleam, a tension that didn’t match the coldness of her words.

"I need… to check something with Thing," she said, already walking toward the door. "It’s important. And… requires concentration."

Enid frowned. "Seriously? Now?"

"Yes. Now."

She left the room with quick steps, not looking back.

Enid stayed there, sitting on the bed, her chest tight. There was no clear answer. No conclusion. But there was something.

Something that Wednesday didn’t know — or didn’t want — to face.

++

Enid stayed in the room for a while, lying down, staring at the ceiling as if it could answer everything spinning in her head. The conversation with Wednesday still echoed. The question she had asked. The answer that hadn’t come. Or rather — that had come in silence.

She felt restless. Not from a lack of answers, but from the sense that there was something there. Something that needed to be understood. And perhaps, just perhaps, she was ready to try.

After taking a deep breath, Enid got up and left the room. The mansion’s hallways were shrouded in shadows, and the sound of the wooden floors creaking beneath her feet seemed louder than it should. She followed the path she was already beginning to memorize — to the music room.

The door was slightly ajar, and inside, Wednesday was playing again. The same somber cello, her fingers gliding over the wood, eyes closed. The melody was slow, melancholic.

Enid didn’t enter. She stood there, watching.

She knew Wednesday was overthinking. Organizing her thoughts like pieces of a puzzle she didn’t want to complete. And that… had to mean something.

Enid turned to head back to her room, still absorbing the moment, when a voice cut through the silence of the hallway.

"She plays differently when she’s upset."

Enid jumped. Hester Frump was standing there, as if emerging from the shadows. The black dress seemed to absorb the light, and her eyes shone with a frightening lucidity.

"Sorry, I didn’t see you," Enid said, trying to catch her breath.

"Few do. I like it that way."

Hester stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the music room door. "You know how you got here, don’t you?"

Enid nodded slowly. "She brought me. I… was unconscious."

"She arrived carrying you. Pale. Silent. But her eyes… they were at war. I’ve never seen my granddaughter like that. Never seen her care so much about anyone else."

Enid swallowed hard. "She… doesn’t talk about it much."

"Of course not. She doesn’t know how. Wednesday was raised to be sharp, not open. But you… you disarm her. And that’s fascinating."

Enid looked at Hester, surprised by the honesty. "I don’t know what I did."

"You exist. And that, for someone like her, is enough to cause internal chaos."

Hester moved closer, her eyes now fixed on Enid. "I wanted to understand what makes you so different. But I think I’ve figured it out over the past few days. You don’t try to change Wednesday. You just… are yourself. And she, for some reason, allows it."

Enid stayed silent, absorbing every word.

"So here’s a piece of advice," Hester said, her tone lowering. "Don’t push. She runs when she feels cornered. But don’t give up. Because if there’s anyone who can make her stop running… it’s you."

Enid nodded, her chest tight. "Thank you."

"Don’t get used to it. I’m not one for giving advice."

Hester turned, disappearing down the hallway like an elegant shadow.

++

Enid woke to the soft morning light filtering through the heavy curtains of the room. Her body felt rested, but her mind still carried the weight of the previous night. The unfinished conversation. The silence that had taken the place of an answer.

She dressed slowly, tied her hair back with whatever elastic she could find, and went down for breakfast.

Wednesday was already there.

Sitting at the table, flawless as always, with a cup of dark tea between her fingers and her gaze fixed on some indefinite point on the wall. But when Enid entered, her eyes shifted — following every step until Enid sat down.

And that, subtle as it was, warmed Enid from the inside.

They ate in silence. Hester had left early to handle some matters at the funeral parlor, and Thing was busy with something involving papers, ink, and a magnifying glass. Leaving the two completely alone.

The silence was almost palpable. It wasn’t uncomfortable — but it was dense. Enid wasn’t used to being near Wednesday like this. So quiet. So contained. So… after.

She thought about saying something. Anything. But Wednesday was quicker.

"Your parents called."

Enid froze, the spoon paused mid-air. "They called?"

"They’re coming to pick you up tomorrow."

The world seemed to slow down. Enid felt her stomach drop. "Tomorrow?"

Wednesday nodded. "They said you need to come back. You’ve been away long enough."

Enid looked down at her plate, appetite gone. "Of course. I couldn’t hide from them forever…"

But the disappointment was there. Sharp. The chance to talk with Wednesday, to understand what was between them, seemed to slip through her fingers.

But she couldn’t just let things lie.

"About yesterday…", Enid began cautiously.

Wednesday lifted her eyes but said nothing.

"I know you don’t like talking about feelings. But I’m not you. And I need to understand. I need to know if what you said… if it means something."

Wednesday set the cup down with precision. "It means emotions are inconvenient. And I don’t like being vulnerable."

"But you were. With me."

Wednesday looked away. "It was a lapse. Not a confession."

Enid pressed her lips together. "You always run when something touches you. But I’m not going to let this go. Because I saw the way you looked at me. And I felt it. You felt it too."

Wednesday stayed silent. Her gaze was a fortress. But Enid knew her too well to be intimidated.

"You can pretend you don’t want to talk. But I’ll keep trying. Because I’m not good at giving up."

Wednesday finally looked at her. And for a second, just a second, there was something there — a trace of exhaustion, of surrender.

But she stood up, adjusted her chair calmly. "I need to review some pages in the diary."

Enid said nothing. She just watched as Wednesday left the room with controlled steps.

She hadn’t won. But she hadn’t lost either.

++

"I don’t want to leave," Enid murmured, her voice trembling. "They always do this. Pull me back like I’m a child who doesn’t know what she wants. Like I don’t have the right to choose…"

Thing approached, lightly touching her hand in a comforting gesture.

"And now… just now, when I’m starting to understand what’s happening with Wednesday. With me. With all of this."

Thing made a gesture that seemed to say: You’re stronger than you think.

Enid sighed, frustrated. "And she… she doesn’t make it easy. She runs. She shuts down. And I’m left here, trying to decipher every silence, every look. It’s exhausting."

Thing crossed his fingers, then pointed to a drawing of a phone on the wall.

"Do you think I should call them? Ask for more time?"

Thing nodded firmly.

Enid stood, took a deep breath, and left the room, resolute. The hallway was silent. She descended the stairs with slow steps, heart racing, and when she reached the room where the phone was, she froze.

Wednesday’s voice echoed from the slightly open door.

"She’s trying to understand everything at once. The transformation, her parents, what she feels for me. It’s… a lot."

Enid froze. Hester’s voice responded, lower, but steady.

"And you? What do you feel for her?"

There was a pause. Long. Tense.

"I don’t know how to name it," Wednesday said. "But it’s strong. And constant. And it scares me."

Hester let out a soft laugh. "You brought her here unconscious. Took care of her as if she were your own soul in pieces. That’s not fear, Wednesday. That’s affection. And deep."

"Affection is dangerous. It makes me vulnerable. And I don’t like that."

"You hate not having control. But she isn’t a threat. She’s… an exception."

Enid felt her heart tighten. That was more than she expected to hear. More than Wednesday had ever said to her directly.

"She’s leaving tomorrow," Wednesday said, in a quieter tone. "There’s nothing I can do to stop it."

"You can ask her to stay."

"That would be selfish."

"Or honest."

Enid stepped back, heart racing.

++

Enid took a deep breath and carefully pushed open the door to the room. The wood creaked softly, and the voices stopped immediately.

Wednesday stood by the unlit fireplace, arms crossed, her expression more rigid than usual. Hester was seated in a dark velvet armchair, a glass of wine in hand and a smile that seemed to know too much.

"Ah, the little wolf has arrived," Hester said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Just when the conversation was getting… a little too emotional for my taste."

Wednesday shot her grandmother a sharp look. "You could have kept that to yourself."

"I could," Hester said, rising gracefully. "But where’s the fun in that?"

She passed by Enid with a curious, almost conspiratorial glance. "Good luck, dear. She’s harder to read than a corpse without a jaw."

And she left, leaving the room in a thick silence.

Enid lingered near the door for a moment, then stepped forward slowly. "I heard. Part of the conversation…"

Wednesday didn’t move. "Of course you did."

"You said you don’t know how to deal with what you feel. That it scares you."

Wednesday finally looked at her, her dark eyes like glass. "Being scared isn’t the problem. It’s what comes after."

"After what?"

"After admitting it. After feeling it. After losing control."

Enid stepped closer, heart racing. "I just… need to know. What do you want, Wednesday? What do you expect from me?"

Wednesday looked away, as if the question were a blade. "I don’t know."

"You always know everything. You always have an answer. But now… you’re running."

"Because this isn’t an equation. It’s… unpredictable. And I hate unpredictability."

Enid felt her throat tighten. "Then tell me. Directly. No beating around the bush. Do you want me to stay? Do you want me to leave? Do you want me… to give up?"

Wednesday remained silent. Her gaze was a wall, but there were cracks. Small. Visible.

"I don’t want you to go," she said finally. "But wanting doesn’t change what’s going to happen."

"It’s not just about what’s going to happen. It’s about what you want to happen."

Wednesday exhaled deeply, as if every word were an effort. "I want you to stay. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of person you need."

Enid stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. "I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest…"

Wednesday looked at her, and for the first time, there was no defense.

++

Enid said nothing. She just stepped closer, slowly, and wrapped Wednesday in a hug.

For a moment, Wednesday froze. Tense. But she didn’t resist. Her shoulders relaxed, and her arms, hesitant, moved to rest on Enid’s back. It was a small gesture, but full of meaning.

She was allowing it.

They stayed like that for a few seconds—or maybe minutes. Time seemed suspended.

Then Enid pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. "Shall we sit?"

Wednesday nodded, silent.

The two settled on the couch, side by side. Enid gently took Wednesday’s hands, and even with the visible hesitation, she didn’t pull away.

"I don’t know how this started," Wednesday finally said. Her voice was low, but steady. "But when you said I was your pack… when you sacrificed yourself for me… something changed. The last few days started fitting together in my mind like pieces of a puzzle I didn’t want to assemble."

Enid squeezed her hands lightly. "Were you afraid?"

Wednesday looked at her, eyes darker than ever. "Yes. Afraid of losing you. And I don’t like feeling fear. I don’t like feeling anything that takes control from me."

Enid smiled, even with her eyes misted. "But you didn’t lose me. I’m here. I’m okay."

Wednesday looked away, as if still trying to believe it. "You shouldn’t have done that. Throwing yourself for me. It was reckless."

"Maybe," Enid said. "But I don’t know when it started either. Maybe it was that day, or maybe before. When I decided I would die or live for you. And that… that is more than I’ve ever been willing to do for anyone else."

Wednesday looked back at her, and there was something new there. Something that wasn’t fear, nor doubt. It was acceptance.

"You’ve turned my world upside down, Wednesday Addams."

Enid took a deep breath. "And I, who’ve never been one for chaos, who’ve always run from conflict… for the first time, I don’t want to turn back. I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to."

She leaned a little closer, eyes fixed on hers. "Because you made me feel more alive than ever. And that… that I don’t want to let go of."

Wednesday didn’t respond. But she didn’t need to.

The silence between them was filled with everything that had finally been said.

++

My parents are coming tomorrow," Enid said at last. "And I don’t know what to do."

Wednesday looked at her calmly, but there was tension in her eyes. "You’ll have to decide whether to go back with them… or stay."

Enid sighed. "They’ll want me to go back. They’ll say I need care, that I can’t stay away from them after what happened."

"You’re better."

"But they won’t see that. They never do."

Wednesday slowly let go of her hands, but didn’t step away. "You can ask for more time. Say you’re still recovering. That you need space."

Enid looked at her hesitantly. "Do you think they’ll listen?"

"No. But you need to say it anyway."

Enid was silent for a moment, then got up and began pacing the room. "I don’t want to go back. Not now. Not when… all of this is still happening. Not when I’m finally starting to understand who I am. And what you are to me."

Wednesday stood as well, arms crossed, gaze steady. "Then tell them. Say it with all the words. Without hesitation."

Enid stopped, turning to her. "Will you be with me? When I talk to them?"

Wednesday hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Yes. If you want."

Enid smiled, relieved. "I do."

Wednesday stepped closer, eyes fixed on hers. "You don’t have to run from them. But you also don’t have to bend. You’re an alpha now. And it’s not just about physical strength. It’s about knowing when to fight."

Enid took a deep breath. "Then I’ll fight. For me. For this."

Wednesday didn’t respond. But her look said it all.

++

The morning sun had barely broken through the mist when the black car stopped in front of the Frump mansion. The air felt heavy, as if the very atmosphere knew that this encounter would not be easy.

Enid stood on the porch beside Wednesday, who held her hand firmly. Addams’ cold fingers contrasted with the nervous warmth of Enid’s skin, but the gesture was clear.
She was not alone.

From the car, Esther Sinclair—impeccable, rigid, eyes already assessing everything around—and Murray Sinclair, more reserved, with a hesitant smile that tried to soften the mood, stepped out.

"Enid," Esther said, without even greeting. "Let’s go. It’s been long enough."

Enid took a deep breath. "I’m not going."

Esther stopped, surprised. "What do you mean, you’re not going?"

"I’m still recovering. And I need more time. Here. With Wednesday."

Esther crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. "You’re not an adult, Enid. You don’t decide on your own. And this girl—with all due respect—is not a model of stability."

Wednesday stayed silent but squeezed Enid’s hand lightly.

"I’m not a child anymore," Enid said firmly. "And I deserve my wishes to be respected. I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I’m staying a few more days."

Esther stepped forward, her tone harsher. "You’re being influenced. This isn’t you."

"This is me. Maybe for the first time."

Murray stepped closer, trying to mediate. "Dear, maybe we can talk. Maybe a few more days, just until she feels ready…"

"She’s already had too much time," Esther cut in. "And now she’s saying she’s with this girl as if that’s a justification."

Enid looked her mother straight in the eyes. "I’m with Wednesday. And that matters to me."

Esther was silent for a moment, shocked. Her face hardened as if trying to process what that meant.

Wednesday finally spoke, her voice low and cutting. "She’s safe. And she’s being cared for. If that bothers you, it’s because you don’t know what she means to her."

Esther looked at her with disdain but didn’t respond.

Murray sighed. "Maybe… just a few more days. With conditions. And then we talk again."

Esther hesitated. Then, with a cold glance, she nodded. "Three days. And I want updates. Daily."

Enid nodded, not looking away. "Fine."

Esther turned without another word, entering the car with stiff steps. Murray looked at Enid with a sad smile, then followed behind.

The car drove away, leaving behind the weight of expectation and the bitter taste of imposition.

Enid slowly let go of Wednesday’s hand but didn’t step back. "Thank you. For staying."

Wednesday looked at her, her dark eyes softer than usual. "I told you I don’t give up easily."

Enid smiled. "Neither do I."

++

The Frump mansion garden was bathed in a soft golden light, the late afternoon tinting the leaves with warm, melancholic hues. Enid and Wednesday sat side by side on a moss-covered stone bench.

Wednesday read aloud a passage from Ophelia’s diary, her tone monotone.
"The night I decided not to run away was the same night I realized that fear was not my enemy, but my mirror..."

Enid wasn’t paying attention to the text. Her eyes were fixed on Wednesday, with that silly, enchanted look she didn’t even try to hide. The way the light hit her face, the focus in which she read, the way her fingers held the diary delicately… everything about her seemed mesmerizing.

Wednesday stopped reading, let out a subtle sigh, and closed the diary with a firm motion.

Enid blinked, confused. "Why did you stop?" she asked softly.

Wednesday looked at her, her dark eyes more intense than usual. "You’re being a constant source of distraction."

Enid laughed, throwing her arms around Wednesday’s shoulders in a spontaneous, affectionate gesture. "Sorry. It’s just that you get so focused. And so… cute."

Wednesday was surprised by the contact, her body tense for a moment. But she didn’t pull away. She allowed it. And that, in itself, was a lot.

"Cute is not an adjective that applies to me," she said, trying to maintain her composure.

"Today it is," Enid replied, smiling.

Wednesday turned her face toward her, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The tension between them was gentle, yet electric. And then, as if inevitable, they leaned in at the same time — and kissed.

It was brief. Delicate.

Enid pulled back laughing, looking at Wednesday’s expression — a mix of surprise, confusion, and something that seemed… enchantment.

"You’re so adorable," Enid teased.

Wednesday composed herself, crossing her arms. "That’s offensive."

Enid laughed again. "Am I really a constant distraction?"

Wednesday nodded without hesitation. "Unfortunately, yes."

Enid settled closer, resting her head on her shoulder. "And those days I saw you touching? Was it to calm down?"

Wednesday was silent for a moment, then replied in a lower voice. "It was to try to organize what I felt. And fail miserably."

Enid smiled, her eyes closing softly. "Then keep trying. I like hearing it."

Wednesday didn’t answer.

But the silence between them was now pleasant.