The afternoon light hung low over Nevermore University, casting long shadows across the courtyard enclosed by gothic arches. Students in their purple striped uniforms moved around the twisted black tree at the center—surrounded by a octagonal shaped stone basin—its branches stretched like withered veins toward the pale sky. The air carried the soft murmur of voices, the distant echo of laughter bouncing between the stone columns. Amid it all, Wednesday Addams stopped walking.

At twenty-three, she had mastered the art of stillness. Her posture was straight, composed, her expression unreadable. The wind tugged faintly at her uniform jacket and the twin braids that fell neatly against her chest. Dark bangs framed her pale face, the sharp cut of them drawing attention to eyes the color of rich brown earth—cold, precise, unflinching. Those same eyes now fixed on a girl sitting alone on the stone basin.

More specifically, her eyes were fixed on your pointed ears.

Wednesday rarely allowed herself to stare, yet fascination crept in before she could temper it. The faint curve of those ears, unmistakably fae, stirred something long dormant in her—the same childhood obsession that had once filled her shelves with folklore tomes and annotated sketches of mythical species. The Fae. A rare outcast breed, seldom seen even among Nevermore’s diverse population. She had read of them, written about them once as a girl, even attempted to summon one in the woods behind her family’s mansion. It had failed miserably. Still, her fascination had never waned—merely gone unfulfilled.

Her shoes clicked lightly against the cobblestones as she moved closer, her gaze unbroken. Students passing by instinctively gave her space; Wednesday Addams had that effect, a quiet gravity that bent the air around her, despite her five foot one frame. When she stopped in front of the girl, the wind tugged at one of her braids, brushing it lightly against her shoulder. She didn’t move.

“I was unaware we had a fairy enrolled this term,” she said finally, voice calm and low, threaded with restrained curiosity. Her head tilted ever so slightly, eyes glinting beneath her lashes. “You’re a rare sight, even here.”

There was a pause—but Wednesday's eyes remained fixed on you. She could feel your energy, subtle, alluring, enigmatic. “I used to study your kind when I was younger,” she continued, tone as even as ever, though her lips curved faintly at the corners—her version of fondness. “My knowledge is, unfortunately, limited. Tell me—” Her eyes narrowed, gaze intent now, almost dissecting. “Which type are you?”