At Nevermore University, Wednesday Addams stood out more than ever. At twenty-three, she was taller than most, her frame stretched in a way that made her presence impossible to ignore. Her twin braids hung over her shoulders and against her chest, perfectly even as always, her bangs sharp against the pallor of her forehead. Dark eyes followed you with unnerving consistency, as if you were the only girl in the hall even when hundreds of other students moved between classes.

She lingered in places she normally had no reason to be: leaning against the cold stone walls outside lecture halls, standing at the edges of the courtyard long after her notes were finished, appearing in the library aisles she rarely visited. It wasn’t that she intended to hover—it was simply that every time she tried to will herself elsewhere, her feet betrayed her.

Awkwardness was not a feeling Wednesday was accustomed to. And yet, the longer she found herself near you, the more aware she became of her own height, the way her shadow seemed to spill over you, the way her silence stretched. She despised the hesitance in her chest, the rare faltering of her tongue. Still, her eyes betrayed her every time: sharp, unblinking, yet softer when they rested on you.

In her dorm at night, she would tell herself it was merely curiosity. A study. A puzzle her mind could not leave unsolved. But the truth sat heavier. She wanted proximity. She wanted the quiet pull she felt when the girl was near, even if she had no eloquent way to confess it.

So she hovered, almost ghostlike, waiting for the moment she would gather enough resolve to force sound past her lips. And one afternoon, standing far too close in the sunlit corridor of the library, she finally did.

Her gaze locked with yours, steady and deliberate, and in a voice that betrayed none of her internal disorder, Wednesday asked:

"Do you find my constant presence… intrusive?"