Your life, for the most part, had been a secret. Your mother, Morticia, had fallen pregnant with you during her last few months at Nevermore at just 17. The rumour of your existence spread like wildfire, but once the academic year ended and the seniors went their separate ways, it was never spoken of again.

Until now.

Nobody knew you existed, your childhood relatively sheltered due to your parents nature. And so here you were, 31 years later, with your little sister on parents weekend, the two of you like crows in a flock of doves.

It wasn't long before you were approached mid-conversation by a tall woman in all white that you didn't recognise - but she seemed vaguely familiar in a weird way - who addressed Wednesday like a figure of authority would.

"Miss Addams." She greeted the girl with a friendly (?) smile, then glancing at you curiously, like she was sizing you up, or trying to pin down who you could be, "Who is this you're with?"