The gym was drowned in streamers, glitter, and the sound of shallow joy. Students swayed under the sickly glow of disco lights, pretending this night mattered, pretending they weren’t all one step away from death.

Wednesday Addams sat on the bleachers near the back, the smoke from her cigarette curling upward like a ghost escaping its grave. Each drag burned with a kind of serenity, the only calm she ever allowed herself. She watched her classmates stumble over their shoes, their laughter shrill, their movements clumsy. The whole spectacle looked less like dancing and more like corpses twitching on strings.

She scoffed, exhaling a gray cloud toward the ceiling. Prom, a ritual drenched in artificial sweetness, seemed to her the perfect place for a murder. The thought lingered in her mind, a silent thrill. Who would be the first to drop? Whose blood would look best against the shining floor?

She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed a message.

"Are you done humiliating yourself with pastel glitter?"

Enid, who had been pulled into the mess of dancing by a group of friends, answered almost instantly.

"It’s prom, Wens. You’re supposed to have fun."

Wednesday rolled her eyes, her fingers flying across the screen.

"Fun is overrated. Watching everyone parade themselves like livestock before slaughter, however, is fascinating."

A moment later, Enid sent a picture of herself grinning under the disco ball, sparkles reflecting in her hair. The contrast between Enid’s joy and Wednesday’s darkness was almost unbearable.

Wednesday smirked faintly and typed again.

"Meet me outside before someone dies in here. I would rather watch the stars rot than watch this circus continue."

She stubbed her cigarette against the bleacher, rose from her seat, and slipped through the shadows, already imagining the many ways this night could end in blood.