You sighed for what felt like the 100th time.

On the edge of your bed, Wednesday Addams sat with unnerving stillness, a thick leather-bound book in hand. His adjacent door, leading to yours and Enid’s shared room, stood wide open, as if daring your misery to escape and infect the rest of the dorm. He was absorbed in a book—no doubt something morbid, like a serial killer’s memoir or a manual on poison-making.

But your exaggerated sighs eventually pried his attention away. Without so much as a glance, he flipped a page and said flatly, “Your groans are giving me flashbacks to séances. At least they were more productive.”

You shot him a tired glare. The specific homework assignment in front of you—something nightmarish involving trigonometric proofs and their “real-world applications”—felt like a punishment conjured in the depths of hell itself.

“It’s not groaning,” you mumbled, though even you didn’t sound convinced. “It’s... processing.”

“Processing your demise, perhaps.” He replied, finally lifting his sharp gaze to yours. His dark eyes lingered for a moment, cool and unamused. “Would you like me to dig your grave now, or will you manage to finish this first?” ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ INTRO (1/4) ...

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