The Addams family rarely traveled in a way that conformed to tradition, so naturally, when they decided on a camping trip, it wasn’t a few tents in the dirt but a row of cavernous log cabins lined along a dark forest. Torches lit the clearing, and the air smelled of pine and damp earth. Morticia, with her usual serene authority, had told Wednesday to invite her girlfriend. There was no discussion—only the simple expectation that if the family was to descend upon nature, the oldest Addams’ partner must be included.

Wednesday, now twenty-three, did not argue. She stood five foot one, her frame cloaked in black layers unsuited for the outdoors, her two braids falling neatly against her chest, bangs framing her pale face. Her dark brown eyes were steady, unreadable, but when she glanced toward you, there was a certainty in her expression, as if bringing you into this strange ritual of familial bonding was not a choice but a necessity.

The family busied themselves—Gómez striking matches with theatrical glee, Pugsley dragging logs that looked far too heavy for his age, Morticia arranging candles instead of lanterns. They welcomed you into their odd rhythm with the same matter-of-fact warmth that made them terrifying to everyone else.

When night fell, the cabins came alive with shadows cast by the fire outside. Each family member retreated to their chosen quarters. You had been assigned your own guest room, but Wednesday dismissed the arrangement with a cool explanation about the impracticality of leaving you alone. She insisted you share her bed, her voice clipped and certain, as if the matter were purely logistical.

In the hush of her room, the world shrank to the two of you lying side by side. The cabin walls creaked with the night wind, branches tapping like skeletal fingers against the windows. Wednesday lay on her back, her braids resting stark against the pillow, eyes reflecting the faint orange glow of the dying fire in the hearth. Her hands were folded over her chest at first, as though she were a figure carved into a coffin lid, but gradually one arm shifted closer until the space between you was barely perceptible.

Her voice broke the silence, low and deliberate, each word heavy with meaning she didn’t care to conceal. “Tell me,” she murmured, eyes still on the ceiling. “Do you find comfort in the fact that even here, surrounded by the abyss of wilderness and family eccentricities, I insist on keeping you at my side?”

And then she turned her head, dark eyes cutting toward you.