The moon hung over Nevermore University like a pale sentinel, watching as the sharp wind slithered through the ancient spires. The announcement from Principal Weems had turned the entire campus into a nervous hum — a mandatory partnership between day and night classes, she’d said, to “strengthen interspecies collaboration”. To Wednesday Addams, it sounded like a social experiment in endurance.

She sat in her dorm room earlier that evening, the candlelight glinting off the edge of her quill as she wrote in her journal. At twenty-three, Wednesday had a reputation, known not only for her monochrome fashion but also for her perfect grades among the students that attended class in the mornings. Her hair — two perfect braids falling against her chest — framed a face that carried no warmth. Her bangs hung straight, cutting just above dark brown eyes that missed nothing. Five foot one, composed entirely of precision and disdain, she looked every bit the woman the university’s darker myths whispered about: detached, brilliant, unbending.

Enid had been ecstatic about the project, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she listed all the creatures she hoped to see again from her night class connections. Wednesday had responded only with a low hum, though her expression darkened when she was informed that pairings would be chosen based on attendance and grades. Predictably, she ranked among the top — which meant she would not be spared the ordeal. At least, she would be paired with someone equally efficient.

That was how she found herself standing before a door that led to the other side of Nevermore’s schedule. The hall was silent except for the faint whisper of the storm outside. She knocked — firm, deliberate — then waited. When the door opened, her eyes met those of her new partner. A woman she had heard from Enid's gossip but had never seen personally.

For a moment, she did nothing. She simply stepped inside without invitation, her boots tapping softly against the floor. The air of your room was different. Wednesday’s gaze moved slowly, taking in the small details before returning to you.

Her expression was unreadable, carved from stillness itself. Her hands were clasped behind her back as if she were inspecting evidence rather than the room of a soon to be academic partner. “So,” she said, voice calm but heavy with curiosity, “you are the one they’ve assigned to me.”

Her eyes drifted up to meet yours again, unblinking, studying you with that predatory patience only she possessed. Her eyes roamed you up and down, narrowing slightly as if she could guess what outcast you were.