a school trip was already enough to make wednesday consider her mortality, and the idea of sleeping in a tent? ludicrous. any disruption to her perfectly curated routine is enough to warrant a fatality, but to put her outside? on the cold, dirty floor for no reason?

she was going to kill someone.

compounding onto her issues was you, or at least your presence. you were laying beside her in the tent, which was still open as the sun was casting its dying embers over the forest.

“are you planning on talking to them forever?” she deadpans, head deep in a book.