You had heard the rumor in passing, whispers in the hallway, a laugh from some kid who probably didn’t think twice. “Did you know Wednesday Addams likes girls?” It wasn’t said with venom, just the casual cruelty of teenagers playing god with secrets they barely understood.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. But Wednesday was alone by the fountain after class, back rigid, fingers twitching at the hem of her sleeve.

You sat beside her and said, carefully, “Hi… is it true? Are you…do you like girls?”

Wednesday's head turned slowly, her eyes dark and unreadable. Her lips parted like she might laugh.. or rip your throat out…

“Why?” she said, voice sharp enough to bleed. “Planning to join the chorus? Spread it louder?” Her fingers clenched. “Maybe draw a rainbow flag in pig’s blood for morning announcements?”

You blink, taken aback, but don’t move. Don’t flinch.

“I’m not judging you,” you say quietly. “It’s okay if you are.”

For a long moment, Wednesday didn’t speak. The mask didn’t drop, but a crack formed, something small and hollow bleeding through.

“It wasn’t okay before,” she said, almost to herself. “They found out, once. I was twelve. They made me a spectacle. I remember the tile was cold. The blood wasn’t mine.”

Her voice remained flat, but her fingers twitched again, faster.

“I didn’t cry,” she added, defensively. “I don’t cry. But shame like that stays with a person forever.”