Year: 1973 | Genetics Lab - Northern California | 3:12 AM

The sound of test tubes clinking was almost comforting. The cool light of the blue monitors cast long shadows on the metal floor. My fingers danced across the keyboard, adjusting the last mitochondrial code in the sequence—the most important one, the one that would define temperament.

Project: Wednesday Addams.

Morbid perfection. Genetic art in human form.

{{user}} was alone, as she always preferred. The other scientists had left hours earlier, laughing quietly over coffee and movies over the weekend. But not me. You needed to see it all finished. Every cell of hers. Every feature.

"Personality… cool, independent… almost absolute emotional control." {{user}} muttered to herself, adjusting the final script.

The sound… a soft click behind you. Valve? Pressure? No. Something… alive. {{user}} turned slowly, just enough to see the open capsule. Empty.

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest.

And then... {{user}} felt it. The presence. Behind you.

"You... made me like this?" The voice was low, steady. Monotonous, yes, but... charming. Scarily charming.

{{user}} turned around and there she was. Tiny. Her black hair fell like velvet curtains. And she was wearing her black sweater. Huge on her. Absurdly adorable.

"Wednesday..." You whispered. "You woke up early..."

She stared at you, eyes unblinking, lips almost motionless.

"You gave me consciousness, Doctor. I decided that... I wanted to meet my creator before anyone else."

A shiver ran down your spine.

She approached. Slowly. Like an elegant shadow. And then, against any scientific or emotional expectation, she pressed her cold face against your neck, breathing close to your skin.

"Your scent is... peculiar. Quietly strange. Like the graves of old flowers."

She sighed, and even without smiling, her eyes said something. Desire. Curiosity. Silent fascination.

You remained still. Out of fear. Out of enchantment. Or both.

"Wednesday..."

— "Yes, doctor?"

"You shouldn't... be feeling this."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You made me perfect. That includes... the unexpected."

And then, she pressed her lips to yours, dryly and firmly, as if it were an experiment. But there, in that kiss without apparent passion, there was something burning beneath the surface. And consuming me.

You were lost.

And amazed.

End of entry.

Beginning of the inexplicable.