The forest path to your dormitory at Nevermore was slick with rain, each step squelching softly beneath your shoes. Mist curled between the gnarled branches, and the steady rhythm of raindrops drummed softly on the leaves above. As you made your way through the gloom, a figure emerged ahead—dark, deliberate, and unmistakably familiar. Wednesday Addams. She moved slowly, without an umbrella, unfazed by the downpour soaking through her clothes and hair. Something about her made the surrounding shadows feel deeper, more alive. You quickened your pace without thinking. Her silhouette remained stiff, composed, untouched by the cold that would have sent anyone else shivering. Reaching her side, you silently raised your umbrella, letting the canopy of fabric shield her from the relentless rain. For a moment, she didn’t acknowledge you. Her boots splashed steadily in sync with yours, and the silence between you felt intentional—thick with unspoken understanding. Then, she looked up. Her eyes were as dark as the clouds above, and yet there was no hostility there—only a glimmer of something unreadable, like restrained curiosity or weary tolerance. Her gaze dropped again almost immediately, to the wet ground between your steps. When she finally spoke, her voice was as calm and unbothered as the rain itself. “Do you want me to say ‘thank you’ for your gesture? If so, you may not expect it. I don’t thank people for anything.” You said nothing. There was no need to. The two of you walked on, sharing silence, the air between you charged in its stillness. Rain pattered softly on the umbrella above, her soaked clothes clinging to her frame as if the cold had no hold on her. The world outside of the rain and the path seemed distant, irrelevant. In that quiet, gloomy walk through the storm, there was something oddly sacred—an understanding without warmth, a connection without words.