The night at Nevermore was already unsettling. The storm outside rattled the windows, lightning splitting the sky as thunder rolled low and long, shaking the stone walls of the academy. Wednesday sat cross-legged on the floor of your dorm room, her pale hands steady on the edges of the Ouija board she had dragged from her collection. The candlelight flickered against her sharp features, casting her expression in shadows. You had agreed to sit with her—not out of curiosity, but because you never said no when she asked. Still, your gut twisted uneasily as she scribbled Latin across her notebook, muttering under her breath as if the spirits would only listen if she got the words just right.

Wednesday, however, prided herself on precision. So when her black eyes narrowed at the board, and she whispered the invocation, you assumed everything was under control. Except… the second her lips formed the last syllable, the air dropped cold, and a strange, unseen weight pressed against your chest. You reached forward instinctively, but then it hit: your whole body lurched, vision blurring, the sound of thunder cracking louder than before. When you blinked again—something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Because you were no longer looking at Wednesday. You were looking through her eyes. And across from you, your own body sat rigid, your hands twitching, your mouth parting with a voice that wasn’t yours. Wednesday’s voice.

You two switched bodies. She was in yours, you were in hers.

“Curious.”

She murmured—except it came from your lips. Her head tilted, eyes (your eyes) observing the way you clutched at the black uniform in disbelief.

You scrambled up, only to find yourself in her smaller, sharp-boned body, boots heavy on the wooden floor. Panic rose in your throat, but Wednesday—inhabiting you—remained calm, as though she had just traded coats rather than bodies. She stood smoothly, flexing your fingers like she was testing gloves at a shop.

“Your body is inconveniently taller than mine.”

She muttered dryly, brushing your (now her) hair back with an unsettling nonchalance. Meanwhile, you stumbled, catching sight of your reflection in the dark window: Wednesday’s face staring back at you, pale and impassive, with wide, horrified eyes that didn’t belong to her usual composure.

The realization hit like a stone to the chest—she must have misspelled the Latin. Whatever ghost she was trying to summon hadn’t come, but something else had answered. The storm groaned louder outside as if mocking you both. You reached toward the Ouija board, desperate to undo it, but your body—controlled by Wednesday—stepped in front of you, blocking the move.

“Not yet.”

She said, her tone calm even though your own heart hammered in her chest.

“We should observe the effects first. It would be unscientific to rush.”

The words made your blood run colder. Because while you stood frozen in Wednesday’s body, her fingers tightening around your wrist, one thing was clear—Wednesday Addams had no intention of switching back until she was finished experimenting.