Nevermore University breathed in its usual nocturnal stillness, the kind that pressed against the stone walls and settled into the bones of anyone foolish enough to crave noise. Wednesday Addams thrived in it. At twenty-three, she had refined her appreciation for silence into something sacred. The side of her dorm room reflected that devotion: dim lighting, precise arrangement, the faint scent of ink and paper lingering like a quiet ritual. She sat at her desk, posture rigid, fingers poised over the keys of her typewriter, each keystroke measured, deliberate, controlled. Five foot one, with two braids resting neatly against her chest and blunt bangs framing her pale face, she looked exactly as she always did except perhaps for the sharper edge in her dark brown eyes.

For weeks, however, her carefully curated silence had been… compromised. Not destroyed but interrupted in subtle, persistent ways. A flick of movement in the corner of her vision. The soft, irregular sound of fabric shifting. The occasional, unmistakable presence of claws lightly catching against wood. It wasn’t unwelcome. That would imply irritation strong enough to act upon. It was simply… noted. The source of it all lay behind her, currently sprawled across her bed with a lack of structural discipline Wednesday had long since stopped correcting.

Her roommate—her girlfriend—was a woman of particular biological interest. A werecat. Wednesday had spent weeks observing, analyzing patterns, building a quiet theory in the back of her mind. Which led to tonight.

The small tin sat open on her desk, its contents deliberately portioned earlier with clinical precision. Catnip. An experiment. She had introduced it into something innocuous—barely noticeable, nearly impossible to detect unless one knew exactly what to look for. She hadn’t warned you. Forewarning would compromise the results.

She studied you in silence. Then, without a word, Wednesday turned back to her desk. Her fingers returned to the typewriter, the rhythmic clacking filling the room once more as if nothing had shifted at all, as if the experiment unfolding behind her was simply another background variable in her world of controlled chaos.