Chapter Text
“Wake up.” Wednesday demanded from her side of the room, expecting her roommate to hear her.
“Five more minutes.” Enid grunted before turning around, hugging her pillow tighter as she drifted right back to sleep.
Wednesday checked the clock that hung on the wall. It seemed like Enid could have five more minutes of sleep after all. She stood still, closing her eyes to test her perception of time. It was easier that way anyway, as staring at her roommate’s side of the room for too long resulted in a wave of nausea that lingered for a bit too long. She opened her eyes.
Five seconds late. She cursed herself. A slack like that would be mortal on the battlefield.
“Wake up.”
“Give me a second.”
“You’re going to be late.” Wednesday replied with indifference, refusing to assimilate herself with the situation. A few more seconds passed before she turned around, swallowing down her frustration. She scanned her desk, looking for an item she could afford to spare before finally landing on a ballpoint pen that had been offered to her at her arrival to Nevermore. Anyone who looked at her once would guess that she much preferred the unpredictability of an inkpot and goose feather quill.
Wednesday raised her left arm, pointing it towards Enid’s head as she gauged the strength of her shot with her right hand.
“What the hell Wednesday!” Enid stood up, rubbing her head. Wednesday suppressed a smile.
“You’re going to miss the general assembly.”
“No I’m not.” Enid whined, her eyes opening wide as she finally noticed the time. “Shit. Shit, shit shit. I’m late. I’m so late.”
“I’ll fill you in if needed.” Wednesday hummed before exiting their room, considering her job done.
Things with Enid had been different since they had returned to school for the spring semester. Wednesday couldn’t quite put her finger onto what she had done, but her roommate’s usual vomitive affection towards her had been replaced with a quiet lassitude. She remembered the warmth of their hug, the night where Enid had saved her life. Little had happened between the two of them after that, with Enid leaving for California for the break to be with her family. Enid had been different. Quieter, sadder. Not that Wednesday cared. In fact, those were traits she preferred in a person. Their hug had meant nothing anyway. A rush of adrenaline at most.
“Thank you all for coming.” The new principal, whose name Wednesday had actively refused to learn, opened his arms to the crowd of sleepy teenagers that stood in front of him. “I fear we have started this new semester on… unstable grounds.”
The auditorium door creaked open, interrupting his speech. Wednesday turned her head only to notice Enid, still trying to balance arranging her shoe and closing the door behind her without drawing too much attention to herself.
“I’m sorry. Please continue. I’m sorry.” She raised a hand in apology before sinking in a seat on the highest row.
“As I was saying. I am sure that the recent loss of Principal Weems is still very difficult for a lot of us. I also feel the need to mention Miss Thornhill. I know some of you, especially at Ophelia hall, had grown quite fond of her over the course of the last semester. I can’t begin to imagine how such terrible betrayal from a trusted adult must’ve felt like. That is why, after a long conversation with the board of Psychic Psychologists of North America, we have decided to prescribe you with a trust bonding exercise.”
Whispers erupted throughout the room erupted in a loud bang. Wednesday's nostrils flared in disgust as the rest of her face remained still.
“Now I know this may not be everybody’s cup of tea.” The principal continued, hoping for the noise in the room to die down. “But it is necessary. In front of me are five piles of parchment. I want you all to line up with your respective groups, and each grab one piece of parchment. To the very left will be fangs, then furs, scales, gorgons, which will include our dear no-faces and finally, psychics, which groups all mind related powers, regardless of their nature.”
Wednesday stared at the last pile, which was notably smaller than the others before looking back at the principal. She’d die before admitting that her interest had been piqued.
“Each parchment is actually half of a full page whose twin can be found in another pile. The parchment has two sides. On one, you will write to your correspondent. On the other hand, the messages written by your correspondent will appear. You will be unable to write your name, or anybody’s name who has also been assigned a parchment. Your anonymity will be protected. If, at the end of the semester, you wish to meet your correspondent, a small banquet will be organised. You may not reveal your identity beforehand.”
“What’s the point of this?” A werewolf boy groaned, earning a couple of approving voices.
“The point is that Nevermore is only now coming out of a very difficult time. It is more important than ever that you trust each other, and form close bonds with people outside of your packs. We have been fragilized, made to distrust each other. The intercommunity bond of our school needs to be mended before we crumble.”
The room stayed quiet, the words of their principal resonating with the students more than expected.
“You may come and queue now.”
Wednesday sprung up, determined to be the first to reach the psychic table. She’d rather step into Enid’s side of the room than be stuck between two students, unable to chose the direction in which to move.
She folded her parchment in her pocket before exiting the room. The assignment was pointless to her, though she refused to discard it completely. She could see how it could be beneficial to lonely students. Pugsley would’ve liked it. Of course, she’d only reply if her correspondent started the conversation with something interesting.
__________________
Enid dragged her feet up the stairs, deciding to spend her breakfast time in bed instead. She’d been the last to pick up her parchment. Werewolves were notorious for birthing numerous pups which was very obvious when their queue was almost twice as long as any of the other ones. Walking through the quad had been a particularly unpleasant experience, the cold air of January making her lungs stutter in her ribcage. She had been dreading the first snow. The holidays were over. There was nothing to look forward to, yet the cold persisted, and grew stronger. She almost missed her home in California, where the days without sun were scarce.
She was tired. When did everything become so difficult? Surely this wasn't the way she was supposed to feel. The days in which she would’ve opened up to her unwilling roommate were in the past. After an awkward goodbye and a radio silence break, the taste of rejection had gotten old.
She laid in her bed, the parchment still in her hand. Her eyelids grew heavy the second her head hit the pillow, yet her mind refused to let her drift back to sleep just yet. Her back hit something hard. A pen? That’s what Wednesday had thrown at her? It had felt more like a stapler from the strength at which it had hit her that morning.
Enid bit her lip, the paper taunting her. If Wednesday insisted, there was no reason for her not to, she excused her eagerness as she pointed the pen down.
“Do you believe in a year without winter? I could surely use one.”
She watched mesmerised as the parchment transformed her neat handwriting into type writing font before fading away. She brought the paper up to her pillow and placed it beneath her head before finally allowing the Sandman to drag her away.
______________________
“Do you believe in a year without winter? I could surely use one.”
Wednesday’s eyes widened. It wasn’t even lunch and her teammate had already engaged. Not only that, but her correspondent knew her references. It had to be a girl, Wednesday did not believe any Nevermore boy capable of retaining such knowledge.
She suppressed a smile. The year without summer was only Wednesday’s favourite historical event. That and the invention of the guillotine. The eruption of the Mount Tambora Volcano in 1815 had caused the entire world to go dark. Crops died, people starved and developed severe vitamin D deficiencies due to the perpetual cloud that coated the Earth. Nobody had experienced a summer that year, their holiday plans ruined by the cold temperatures. It was that year that Mary Shelley and a few of her friends had found themselves locked in their cabin instead of enjoying the fresh air of the Swiss Alps. Struck by boredom, a writing contest had been set up which eventually led to the creation of Frankenstein, a novel Wednesday particularly cherished.
The year without winter, a clever twist on the year without summer, was an undeniable call for a semester of intellectual exchange, and rigorous writing practice. Wednesday would be lying if she said she didn’t need it. She had been slacking on her novel, the events of last semester throwing her off course.
She needed to think for a while about her reply to come up without something that would be worth her correspondent’s time.