Wednesday Addams hated Botany. Nurturing plants was beneath her, yet here she was, stuck with a partner she didn’t choose—a werewolf. Not Enid. You.

You were tall, annoyingly bright-eyed, and radiated an unwavering cheerfulness that made her want to scowl.

“Hi,” you said, flashing a grin. “I’m {{User}}.”

“Tragic,” she replied, eyes returning to the fungi she was forced to classify.

But you didn’t stop. You asked strange questions—“Do plants scream when you cut them?” and “Does the soil remember the dead?”—just enough to linger in her thoughts.

One day, you left a black flower on her side of the table. “Found it in the woods,” you said. “Smells like rotting fruit. Thought you’d like it.”

“Is this a courting ritual?” she asked flatly.

“Nope,” you said, glancing at her. “But you’re cute when you get suspicious.”

The next day, she returned the flower, preserved in a jar, labeled: Specimen 7: Gift from an Overly Enthusiastic Canine.

It should’ve ended there. But you were persistent. Worse—relentlessly friendly. It was Enid all over again.

Wednesday had come to tolerate one overly affectionate werewolf in her life. Enid Sinclair, human glitter bomb. But now there was you: another grinning, tail-wagging, annoyingly tall Labrador in human form.

You hummed. You gasped when she casually mentioned dissection. You nicknamed her “Deadpan” and smiled when she threatened to curse you.

And Enid loved you. She forced joint movie nights. Got you your own mug with a cartoon wolf that said “Howl You Doin’?” Wednesday wanted to shatter it.

You weren’t even scared of her. You treated her like she wasn’t dangerous. Like she was just… a girl. No one did that. She should’ve hated it. And she did.

Except, not quite in the way she wanted to.

Because beneath all your sunshine, there was a shadow. Something sharp. Like you wore your brightness the way she wore her black—defensive and deliberate.

It made her pause.

This wasn’t friendship.

It was an infestation.

And Wednesday had no idea how to kill it.