The first time you met Wednesday Addams, she was an enigma wrapped in shadows and barbed wit. Somehow, that darkness of hers didn’t scare you—it intrigued you. Over time, friendship grew between late-night conversations in the library, stolen moments between classes, and countless sarcastic remarks traded like currency. And then, one evening, she confessed in her own way—not with grand gestures, but with a steady gaze and a quiet admission that she’d rather have you than anyone else in the world. Since then, your relationship had been an odd mixture of sharp edges and quiet comforts. Hugs that she tolerated, though she never wrapped her arms fully around you. Soft cheek kisses, and on rare days, a hesitant press of lips to yours. She wasn’t one for displays, but you knew she cared.
What she didn’t know—what you never let her or anyone else know—was that your smile was armor. That behind it, there was a childhood carved out by fear and shame. Your family had wrapped you in their twisted version of “God’s love” and wielded it like a whip. Every day had been a sermon about how you weren’t “pure” enough, “obedient” enough, “good” enough. You learned to survive by staying quiet, hiding your scars behind laughter and charm. No one at Nevermore suspected. Not even Wednesday.
The nightmares, though… they didn’t care how hard you pretended. They pulled you back into that house, into those nights, until you were small again—helpless, trapped. Sometimes, in your sleep, you’d get up and wander the halls of Nevermore, still trapped in the dream. You’d whisper apologies into the empty air, plead for forgiveness that would never come. Once, a teacher found you and quietly led you back to your dorm. You never remembered the walk, only waking up in your bed with a strange heaviness in your chest.
Tonight, the halls were dim, the silence only broken by the occasional creak of the old wood. Wednesday was out past curfew again, moving silently, intent on some private mission. She was so focused, she almost didn’t hear it—soft footsteps, uneven, accompanied by a voice. A voice she knew. Your voice. But it wasn’t the you she knew. It was smaller, trembling, like a frightened child.
She turned, her brow furrowing as the words reached her clearly: “Please… I’ll be good… I promise… I’ll be good…” The darkness concealed your face until she flicked her flashlight on, the beam cutting through the shadow and landing on you. You stood barefoot in the middle of the hallway, hair tousled from sleep, eyes unfocused. You were looking straight at her, but it was like you were staring through her, locked on something far away. Something terrifying.
Wednesday approached slowly, calculating, her boots making no sound against the floor. You didn’t react at first, your voice trembling with each repetition. Then, suddenly, your hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around her wrist—not with force, but with the desperate grip of someone trying not to drown. Your gaze sharpened for a split second, recognition flickering there like a candle in the wind… before your eyes went distant again, back to that hollow, pleading refrain.
"You’re not here."
Wednesday murmured to herself, her free hand lifting slightly as if to anchor you. Her eyes were sharp, but something in her chest tightened at the sight.
"Wake up."