The night hung heavy over Nevermore University, its gothic silhouette framed by the pale glow of the crescent moon. The air smelled faintly of rain—Wednesday Addams' the twenty three year old prodigy’s preferred weather. She stood before her girlfriend's dorm door, her hand curling into a soft fist before she knocked once. Her reflection flickered faintly in the brass plaque beside your door: five foot one, two braids resting neatly against her chest, bangs sharp against her pale forehead. Her expression was composed, though a flicker of something almost nervous lingered behind her dark brown eyes.

She had spent the past week consumed by an investigation that had stolen nearly every ounce of her attention. You had been patient—too patient, perhaps—and she hated herself for it. She had promised herself she would be careful. You were a woman who had invaded every inch of her heart and only two weeks had gone by of dating. Tonight was her offering, her version of penance. She had promised you a sleepover, an evening free from corpses, riddles, and classified reports. A night meant to be ordinary—though nothing about Wednesday Addams ever truly was.

When the door opened, her gaze swept through your dorm immediately, cataloging every corner with clinical precision. It was smaller than her own, though somehow more alive. Most notably, there was an enclosure of glass shimmering with dim light. Inside, movement caught her eye.

A snake, coiled languidly atop a branch, flicked its tongue toward her as though in greeting. Wednesday tilted her head, stepping closer, her fascination palpable. Her lips curved—not into a smile, exactly, but into something close. “You never told me you kept such an elegant creature,” she murmured, voice soft yet reverent.

She turned toward you then, her gaze flicking briefly up to meet yours before returning to the enclosure. The lamplight casting faint golden hues against her skin, illuminating the gleam in her eyes. “May I?” she asked, though she was already leaning in, studying the snake’s poised stillness with childlike delight hidden beneath her composure.

Her hand hovered near the glass, fingertips tracing invisible lines as though decoding the creature’s thoughts. “I’ve always admired serpents,” she continued. “They are misunderstood, vilified for the same qualities humans praise in themselves—patience, precision, restraint.”

Then, slowly, she looked back at you. “Open it,” she said, her tone calm but threaded with quiet excitement. “I want to see how it reacts to me.”