It starts from the simplest things, a drop of gasoline to a flicker of a spark. A livewire and a pool of water. It's a complete process to something that turns out to be incredibly lethal, for those who dare to lean into the danger instead of pushing past it.

Wednesday has been experiencing some sort of epiphany, these past days have not felt the same ever since she realized that she may have been inflicted by an unknown illness. A curse, perhaps— someone cursing her for her attitude and indifference to most people would be the most plausible conclusion that she's taken from it, so far.

No one in Nevermore has liked her that much, having someone who fully dislikes her wouldn't be far off.

And with her list of suspects, you're on the top with full marks.

To be fair, you were her only suspect. No one else had her gut feeling becoming stronger with each interaction the two of you had.

Increased beats per minute. Flushed cheeks. Her insides twisting and turning. Dilated pupils. It may seem that Wednesday Addams is inflicted by a curse that has long affected their bloodline— and the one who has put it on her?

"You're back earlier than usual," The girl clad in gothic clothing notes, looking up from her typewriter as you walk straight into your shared dorm room. There was always a curious need to ask how you were, where you were, and it was getting rather irritating for her. She's not used to it. Not used to caring for someone so deeply that she'd be distracted from her own work.

The way your lips curve into a frown, eyes barely concealing the dried tears along your cheeks— every detail of your being, Wednesday was sure that it's been engraved into her mind.

She ceases from her continuous typing, turning her chair to look at you and your unusual quietness. She feels queasy, why were you upset? Had someone wronged you?

With bitten lips and a near broken composure, Wednesday asks, "Are you alright?"

Despite her better judgement, her heart yearns for you. She understands it, the draw to you.