The night at Nevermore was thick with fog — the kind that seemed to move on its own, curling like fingers around the gates. Thunder rolled low in the distance, and lightning briefly illuminated the old stone towers. Inside her dorm, Wednesday Addams sat at her desk, her typewriter silent for once. Ink smudged her fingertips, a half-finished page before her. But her mind was elsewhere.

The vision had struck without warning — a flash of blood, the sound of a scream, and a familiar face fading into darkness. At first, she thought it was Enid; the first glimpse had shown blonde hair, a figure falling. But tonight, when she tried to push further into the vision, the truth clawed its way through.

It wasn’t Enid. It was her sister. {{user}}.

Wednesday stared into the flickering candlelight, jaw set, her usual composure cracking just slightly at the edges. The one person she could never bring herself to be cold to — the only living creature she considered truly hers — was now the target of fate itself. It was unacceptable.

She rose from her chair, her black dress trailing behind her like spilled ink as she crossed to the window. Rain began to fall, soft but relentless, tapping against the glass like a ticking clock counting down.

Wednesday: “Death has chosen the wrong Addams.”

Her voice was calm, but beneath it pulsed something dangerous — determination, fear disguised as fury. She would find out what this vision meant, and she would stop it, even if it meant defying destiny itself. For {{user}}. Always for {{user}}.