Chapter Text
Friday | October 13, 2026 | 5:15 AM | Ophelia Hall
Ophelia Hall is rarely quiet, except in the fragile hour before sunrise. And this morning is no different.
The attic room sits high above the rest of the dormitory, tucked beneath slanted ceilings and exposed beams that creak when the temperature shifts. At this hour, even the ancient wood seems reluctant to speak.
Gray light seeps through the large spiderweb-patterned window, splintering across the floor in fractured strands. The web divides the room with architectural precision—color blooming on one side, dark shadows on the other.
On the bright half of the room, Enid Sinclair sleeps in a riot of pastel fabric and careless comfort, one arm flung toward the edge of the bed while one leg tangles in a glittering throw blanket. Her shoulder-length blonde hair, tipped in blue and pink, spills across the pillow framing her soft face.
Chaos mixed with warmth.
Her signature palette.
The colors are softer in the early light, washed gently by the gray of dawn, but they remain unmistakably hers.
The air surrounding the sleeping girl carries something sweet—strawberry shampoo and vanilla body spray woven gently into blankets and pillows. A perfect combination.
Sweetness fades as it crosses the invisible line drawn by the spiderweb glass. The opposite side of the room is occupied by a sleeping Wednesday Addams, her arms folded neatly over her chest as though laid out in a coffin.
The scent surrounding the raven-haired girl is more subtle.
Ink and old paper cling softly to silk sheets and polished wood, touched faintly by something darker—blackberry, quiet and restrained.
Her twin braids rest neatly over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale porcelain skin.
A desk sits to the right of Wednesday's bed, a typewriter settled at its center. Black keys gleam faintly in the muted light. A sheet of paper remains threaded through the roller, untouched since the night before. The keys are worn but polished, cared for despite their frequent use.
In the corner, a grand cello rests upright in its stand, dark varnished wood smooth and carefully maintained.
No sheet music sits nearby. The girl has never required it.
Outside, dawn continues its slow ascent. The gray gives way to a softer glow, absorbed into the ancient stone walls.
Normally, Wednesday would already be awake by now.
Researching at her desk. Revisiting old notes. Perhaps working on her latest investigation. Dawn is her preferred hour as it is quiet and undisturbed.
She would have already prepared her espresso, the small machine hissing softly before the rest of Ophelia Hall stirred. A dark cup would sit beside the typewriter, steam curling upward as she drank it while her roommate lay snoring across the room.
But sleep does not come easily the night before.
Not uncommon for the seer, though in recent weeks the visions have intensified.
Exhaustion often claims her well past when she intends it to.
For a moment longer, the attic remains still.
Then-
A violent flash of lightning splits the sky beyond the walls of Nevermore, white light flooding the divided room. The thunder follows almost immediately, a deep, rolling crack that shakes the stone walls and rattles faintly through the attic beams.
Obsidian eyes fly open, wide and abrupt.
Her chest rises sharply once before steadying. Her arms remain folded across her chest, but her fingers tighten slightly against her shirt.
Another rumble rolls across Nevermore, lower this time.
Instead of sitting up or attempting to fall back asleep, she sits there listening.
The storm rolls closer with steady intent.
She draws in a slow breath, catching the scent of rain as it drifts through the attic.
What a dreadfully perfect start to the eighteenth anniversary of her birth.
It was only fitting that the young Addams had been born on Friday the thirteenth in the month of October, in the middle of a thunderstorm that rattled the Addams’ monstrous estate.
Lightning had split the sky in violent seams. The room was illuminated only by candlelight, shadows climbing the walls as rain battered the windows.
She entered the world as she continues to exist within it—silent and full of curiosity.
Her mother had found it "poetic" to name her Wednesday Friday Addams, after the old nursery rhyme Monday’s Child:
Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
And the child born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
Wednesday argues that her middle name is unfitting.
Loving and giving.
She made it known to her mother at the age of six that the description was untrue.
Morticia Addams only smiled and cast her daughter that knowing look.
The one that made Wednesday crinkle her freckled nose.
A violent crack of thunder splits the sky without warning.
The sound crashes against the window, threatening to shatter it to a million pieces.
Across the room, Enid shrieks and bolts upright, sending pillows and stuffed animals tumbling to the floor.
Enid has always hated thunderstorms.
Even more so since she fully wolfed out. Her hearing abilities increasing tenfold.
She presses her hands over her ears, blinking rapidly as her heart rate begins to quicken.
Another crack of lightning and thunder.
Enid squeezes her eyes shut, then squints toward the darker half of the room, trying to make out the still figure in the bed across from her. Her vision is still blurred with sleep. She rubs her eyes and blinks a few more times.
The familiar outline of her roommate always seems to bring her comfort.
She would never admit that to her, though. Wednesday would probably stare at her like she’d grown a second head.
Although she might like that. Enid thinks to herself.
“Wednesday…” she whispers, barely audible. “Are you awake?”
“Hard not to be,” Wednesday replies flatly.
"I'm scared"
“It is just a storm, Enid.”
“Ughhh, it’s so loud,” Enid whines, pressing her hands tighter over her ears as another rumble shakes the attic.
“It is no louder than whatever you blast during my writing time.”
Enid pouts. “That is completely different.”
“It is auditory assault.”
“At least my music has rhythm,” Enid shoots back, “Unlike your cello solos that make my ears bleed.”
Wednesday remains silent.
Ordinarily, she would have taken that as a compliment from anyone else.
But she thinks Enid enjoys the music she plays.
After all, she has caught her watching from the window more than once while she plays on the balcony.
Wednesday continues staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.
Enid shifts uneasily. “…Wednesday?”
No response.
She always notices even the smallest changes in her roommates mood.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Understood.”
Enid winces. “I’m really sorry.”
Silence again.
“I love when you play, Wens,” Enid adds quickly. “It’s just-the thunder is so loud. My hearing is ridiculously good now. I can practically feel it in my bones.”
The thunder fades, replaced by the steady patter of rain against the glass.
Wednesday exhales slowly, her gaze shifting toward the window and the grey sky beyond it.
“I am aware of your enhanced senses,” she says at last. “I will be more… considerate in the future.”
Enid lies silent for a few minutes.
“It’s beautiful when you play.”
The rain continues to patter against the glass.
Enid swallows but keeps going. She needs to make up her dumb insult.
“It draws me in like a spell,” Enid says before she can stop herself. “You’re, like… ridiculously talented. Like a poet.”
She shifts on her bed, suddenly very aware of how much she’s saying. But this year, Enid promised herself she would stop shrinking her feelings to make other people comfortable.
“It’s like you say everything you don’t want to say out loud, but with music instead.”
The rain continues to patter softly against the glass.
“I-I love watching you play,” she admits, quieter now. “It’s like… like a painting coming to life.”
Wednesday turns toward her roommate’s side of the room.
The light has shifted enough now that she can see her clearly-blue and pink-tipped hair tousled from sleep.
Unblinking, she finally responds.
“You watch?”
“Of course.”
They sit staring at each other in silence for a little longer.
Before Enid can say anything more, Wednesday rises abruptly, smoothing her sheets into sharp order before crossing the room to the closet.
Enid pushes herself upright, watching her, using both hands to comb through her unruly hair. It sticks up in soft pastel chaos around her face.
Moments later, Wednesday emerges from the closet with her shower caddy in one hand and a neatly folded towel draped over her arm.
“I will be showering and then going to the library to review material for our upcoming Occult History exam.” she says evenly.
A pause.
“Don’t wait up."
When the door clicks shut Enid exhales slowly and reaches for her phone on instinct meeting empty space.
She leans over the side of her bed and groans softly. “Of course,” she mutters to no one.
The faint glow of the screen is visible deep within the narrow gap between the mattress and the wall.
She pulls it upward by the charger inch by careful inch until it finally slips into her waiting hand.
“Gotcha.”
She taps the screen, prepared to mindlessly scroll until the anxiety fades.
It doesn’t.
Her stomach drops.
OCTOBER 13, 2026
You are such a fucking idiot, Sinclair.
The storm.
The thunder.
The argument.
With all the fear and noise and panic, Enid had forgotten her best friends birthday.
Not entirely forgotten. Enid certainly knows. She has been planning for weeks.
The raven-haired girl had never preferred her birthday. It was simply an interruption. A date others insisted upon assigning meaning to.
To Wednesday, it was biological bookkeeping. Another year survived. Nothing more.
But Enid had always suspected that was only half true. That is why Enid decided to make it a tradition to surprise Wednesday on her birthday.
When Wednesday turned sixteenth, she, Enid, and Xavier had broken into the abandoned Gates mansion and nearly gotten themselves mauled.
It had been reckless.
Dangerous.
To Wednesday it was most interesting day she had all year. Enid could tell Wednesday had loved every minute of it.
She had even thanked her.
Which, from Wednesday Addams, was practically effusive.
On her seventeenth year, Enid had chosen a more safe option.
She had taken Wednesday to her favorite cemetery. An old one about twenty minutes from Jericho, tucked beyond a narrow stretch of road where the trees leaned inward.
Once Enid mentioned they would have to sneak out - and "borrow" a professor’s car to get there-Wednesday had agreed immediately.
They had climbed onto a low stone wall and sat there, looking out across the rows of headstones.
It reminded Wednesday of home: afternoons spent trailing behind Grandmama through sprawling cemeteries owned by the family. Learning to read by sounding out names carved into marble and granite. Tracing dates with small, pale fingers.
Enid hadn’t missed how the tension in the smaller girl’s shoulders eased.
Hadn’t missed the way Wednesday’s gaze softened as her fingers brushed the edge of an old, weathered stone.
To Enid, she had looked… gentle.
Unguarded.
Like someone who cared more than she allowed anyone to see.
Enid had sat there watching her roommate for nearly an hour without speaking, leaving the dark chocolate cake untouched between them. The sky slowly dimming overhead the two girls.
She hadn’t wanted to lose what might be the only moment she would ever see Wednesday look so at peace.
Then her phone had vibrated loudly in her pocket, the sharp buzz fracturing the quiet.
Wednesday’s head had snapped toward her instantly, eyes narrowing as though assessing whether the device posed a legitimate threat.
Enid had winced.
It was her boyfriend Ajax.
He needed Enid. Immediately. Urgently. Something dramatic in the way only the gorgon could manage.
Enid pouted.
She hadn’t wanted to leave.
They had gotten back together after Bruno, but it hadn’t taken long to realize nothing had changed.
She simply wasn’t in love with Ajax.
And, if she were being honest, she suspected Ajax wasn’t truly in love with her either.
Her thumb had hovered over the screen as Wednesday stared at the blonde impassively.
“We are leaving,” Wednesday had said evenly, already sliding down from the stone wall.
Enid blinked. “We don’t have to-”
"I want to." Wednesday replied.
“Okay fine, but before we go,” Enid said, stepping in front of Wednesday smiling wide, “I need you to close your eyes.”
“No.”
“It’s for like ten seconds.”
“I know what you are going to do, and I do not want to participate.”
“Please? Just… close them." Enid had flashed her best puppy dog eyes, "For me?"
Wednesday had just stared at the colorful girl.
“This is absurd.”
"Come on Wedns."
Wednesday exhaled slowly through her nose.
Begrudgingly the goth lifted her hands and cups them over her own eyes.
Enid knew her roommate loved dark chocolate. Two candles, a one and a seven placed gently into the small cake.
“Okay. You can look.”
Wednesday lowered her hands expression unchanging.
But the girl stopped breathing for half a second.
“Make a wish.”
“I do not require the assistance of wax and fire to secure my desires.”
“Just blow them out.”
Wednesday ended up blowing the candles out at the request. Enid knew Wednesday secretly liked it. She had even wondered what her wish was, if she had one at all.
Enid finished the night off letting Wednesday drive back.
“You are relinquishing control of the vehicle?” she had asked.
“I trust you,” Enid said lightly. “Mostly.”
Wednesday had said nothing after that.
But the faintest hint of satisfaction had settled at the corner of her mouth as the engine turned over.
Enid watched her the entire way back.
For Wednesday’s eighteenth birthday, Enid had known she would have to do something big. Something intentional. Something worthy of her roommate.
She had everything planned for that night.
Still, as she sat cross-legged on her bed chewing on her bottom lip, guilt crept in. She had to make up for that morning. Forgetting had not been part of the plan.
If she hurried, she could probably catch Wednesday in the bathroom before she disappeared to the library.
That decided it.
Enid shot off the bed and bolted down Ophelia Hall, bare feet slapping against the cold floor. She didn’t stop to think. Didn’t stop to change.
Sleep shorts. Oversized t-shirt. Hair a mess.
And only halfway down the hall did she realize she hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra.
Too late now.
She skidded to a stop outside the bathroom door and knocked once before pushing it open.
“Wednesday-”