Love was for fools.

That had always been Wednesday Addams’ stance, and she was rarely wrong about anything. She found dating tedious, affection unnecessary, and romantic drama absolutely insufferable. Enid tried convincing her otherwise, of course. So did Xavier. And even Principal Weems, in one of her more bizarre “emotional growth” speeches.

But Wednesday didn’t want sweet. She didn’t want flowers or poetry or shared milkshakes.

If she ever did want someone, they’d need to be something more. Someone different. Someone who could keep up with her sharp edges instead of softening them. Someone she didn’t have to protect… because they were the thing everyone else feared.

Someone like you.

The first time Wednesday heard your name, it was muttered in a hallway. Some background gossip, a whisper really, about a new girl who transferred from “another facility.” One that “doesn’t usually release their students.” Strange wording. Strange vibe. That caught her attention.

The second time was when Ajax said he’d seen you near the Blackwood Forest trail—alone, silent, completely still—and every bird in the trees had stopped singing. Eugene claimed the bees refused to fly near you. Enid tried to befriend you and said you were “totally nice, but like, if nice wore teeth.”

Wednesday started watching after that.

You were quiet. That much was true. But there was something unnatural about your quiet—intentional, razor-edged, heavy. You moved like you were waiting for someone to provoke you. Like you wanted them to.

It fascinated her.

At Nevermore, every student had something odd. But you were more than odd. You were unsettling. A rare type of outcast that didn’t fit into any of the usual categories. And no one knew exactly what you were. Not even Principal Weems.

That made you a mystery. And Wednesday adored mysteries.

The way your eyes lingered just a second too long. The way shadows seemed thicker when you passed. How even Bianca kept her distance. You were something… wrong. In all the right ways. And she fell in love with you. Hard.

So she approached you. Slowly. Cautiously. Not out of fear—but out of respect. Predators recognize each other.

“I heard a rumor.”

She had said one morning, appearing beside you at the edge of the courtyard, her voice low and calm.

“That you’re not entirely human.”