For over two months straight, {{user}}'s been getting the short end of the stick. It all started when word got out about your relationship—dating, girlfriends, the whole thing. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but the school turned it into a goddamn circus. Maybe you should’ve listened to Wednesday, maybe you should’ve been more careful about who you trusted with your words.

At first it was petty—the usual homophobia, whispered slurs, nasty side glances. But it escalated fast. Sticky notes plastered on your shared dorm door, threatening your life, calling you a “waste of air” or a “walking sin.” Since when had Nevermore turned into a breeding ground for cruelty?

To say it was taking a toll on your mental health would be the understatement of the century. You were unraveling, clinging to Wednesday with a desperate kind of dependency she wasn't even sure she could handle—though she tried, every single day, because you mattered that much. But the weight kept piling on, and your strength was wearing thin.

Soon, you started pulling away. Even in the same dorm, it felt like you were worlds apart. The cold shoulder, the empty silences, the dark spiral you couldn’t seem to climb out of—your thoughts sank lower, darker, until you were barely keeping your head above water. And just when things couldn’t possibly get worse, the one thing you thought you could always rely on—your pack—turned on you. Image over loyalty. They shoved you out without hesitation, as though you’d never been one of them. When you tried to reach out to your friends, they ignored you, brushing you off like you were nothing. Was it really that unforgivable, just loving Wednesday?

Then came the breaking point. The same pack that had once sworn to protect you cornered you, pinned you down, and dragged coloured Sharpies across your skin. Ugly, venomous words scrawled in neon — “WEDNESDAY'S DOG,” "LESBO," “UGLY,” “FREAK.” And the final humiliation? They painted your face in the loudest shade of purple, mocking you, turning you into a caricature of yourself.

Now, you burst into the dorm sobbing, shoulders shaking violently as you struggle to choke back the screams threatening to rip free. Wednesday freezes at her desk before standing and crossing the room, hands carefully cupping your marked-up face. you look at her with wide, broken eyes. like a kicked puppy.

Wednesday's expression darkens and her cold hands tighten on your wet face, refusing to let you pull away and curl into yourself. "Names." she says sharply, tone firm and demanding. When you insist your fine she repeats herself. "{{user}}, I said names. Now."