The Maiden Of Death Part 5
Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Wordcount: 10.5K-ish
Part 1 -- Part 2-- Part 3- Part 4--Part 5
Summary: Enid's plan gets Wednesday a bit close to you, and she found out, who you were, on the night of Raven.
A/n: Sorry for taking so long with this, really was so busy with life and all. It's kinda hard to maintain time for me these days. But I am trying my best :(
Warnings: Down bad Wednesday? A small reveal at the end? Rom-com turns into horror?
âI will now present to youââ Enid spun dramatically, ââthe Six-Part Dating Strategy!â
Wednesday stared blankly.
âI will burn this room down.â
PLAN ONE: âSubtle compliments!â Enid clasped her hands together. âYou know, like, âOh wow, Y/N, your hair looks really nice today even with all that blood.â or âWow, Y/N, I love the way you almost murdered me during fencing'."
Wednesdayâs face remained impassive. âI do not compliment people.â
And yet, here she was, standing across from you in the fencing hall, rapier in hand, watching as you sidestepped her latest attack with infuriating ease.
Your movements were a spectacleâfluid, efficient, entirely unreadable. But this time, you barely engaged in offense, your sword more of a guide than a weapon, your real focus resting on evasion. You moved as though the air itself bent to accommodate your existence, as though gravity had little hold on you.
No. That wasnât quite right.
Wednesday gritted her teeth and struck again, but you were already gone before the tip of her blade could meet your shoulder, ducking at the last possible second, gliding just out of reach.
Why werenât you hitting her?
Even when she had given you an opening, moments where any experienced fencer would have capitalized on a misstep, and yet you never took them.
Not out of pity. No, you werenât the type.
You were training your reflexes, perfecting your dodging. Using her.
Wednesday felt an unexpected warmth creep into her chest at the thought, a strange mix of irritation and satisfaction. That you deemed her skilled enough to be a challenge for your evasive techniques, that you were using her in your own training, was something she couldnât quite bring herself to dislike.
But it also meant she had yet to truly test your limits.
You let her get close this timeâdangerously closeâbut at the last moment, you twisted your body, turning just enough for her blade to skim past your side, and in one fluid motion, your rapier met hers with a decisive clash, knocking her weapon off course.
Your hand met her shoulder.
The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, the cold flooring of the fencing hall beneath her as your sword hovered just inches from her throat.
Wednesday sat up, watching as you turned away, as you always did after your fights, moving to the benches to remove your gloves. It was an unspoken routine nowâyou never lingered, never exchanged words. You were a ghost even in the moments of your victories.
She just⌠didnât understand it.
Her fingers curled against the floor as she inhaled sharply.
Wednesday nearly grimaced.
This was going to be simple. A compliment was nothing more than an observation, a statement of truth. She was always honestâthis was no different.
You glanced at her, barely acknowledging her presence.
ââŚYour, uhâŚâ she hesitated, feeling an immediate and unfamiliar heat crawl up her spine, like her body was physically rejecting the act. She forced herself forward, jaw tight. âYour reflexes are⌠adequate.â
It was the most she had ever seen you react to anything.
You just stood there, half in the middle of removing your glove, staring at her with an expression that very clearly read: What the hell is wrong with you?
Or at the very least, vanish into a void where she could pretend that hadnât just left her mouth.
Your head tilted slightly, as if trying to decipher her.
Wednesday felt something in her stomach twist violently, but she held her ground, keeping her expression unreadable.
Finally, you gave her a slow, almost lazy nod. And without a word, you finished pulling off your gloves and walked out of the fencing hall.
Wednesday remained rooted in place.
A sharp exhale escaped her.
She didnât even know what that was.
"PLAN TWO: âMysterious gifts!â Enid beamed. âLeave little trinkets! Like, oh! A fancy dagger orâwait, youâd probably leave something super creepy, wouldnât you?â
Wednesday considered it. âBianca's severed hand might be an appropriate token.â
She had the perfect item in mind.
Wednesday watched from the corner of the hallway, watching from a safe distance as you stepped out of your room.
There it was. The small, unassuming black box, sitting neatly at your door.
Wednesday observed the way your gaze narrowed, suspicion flashing across your features. You stared at it for a moment too long, as if assessing whether it was some kind of elaborate trap. Your hesitance was telling. Her lips curled slightly. You were always prepared for the worst. She liked that about you.
Had no one ever left you a gift before?
The thought made something unpleasant stir in Wednesdayâs chest.
Wednesday noted the way your shoulders tensed, the way your gaze flickered over the hallway, sharp and calculating. As if you were analyzing every possible threat before approaching the box with the same caution one might have when dealing with an explosive device.
At least you werenât foolish.
You knelt down, carefully lifting the box, turning it over in your hands as if weighing its contents. Then, finally, you opened it.
Wednesdayâs breath slowed.
Your eyes widened. Just barely.
Wednesday had seen you fight, had seen you maneuver through attacks with unnerving ease, had seen you reduce your enemies to mere obstacles in your path. But thisâthis fleeting moment of surpriseâwas something else entirely.
Something rare. Something fascinating.
Your fingers brushed over the smooth surface of the skull before you lifted it from the box, holding it in your hand... as if caressing it.
Wednesday felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest.
She had done this. She had caused this reaction in you.
But then without hesitation, you turned your headâdirectly toward where she stood.
Wednesday pressed herself further into the alcove, heart rate steady. You hadnât seen her. That much she was certain of.
When she risked another glanceâ
You were gone. Your door remained open.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Wednesday ignored the way her pulse had jumped at the sudden proximity.
Her mind scrambled for an answer. This was supposed to be a mysterious gift.
She had not anticipated you catching her in the act.
It was supposed to leave you wondering.
Words, normally so precise, felt fleeting in her mind. She had not prepared for an interrogation.
ââŚIt is a talisman,â she finally stated, voice level despite the odd twisting sensation in her chest. âA symbol of fortune.â
You regarded her, eyes narrowing slightly.
Wednesday refused to squirm beneath your scrutiny.
After a pause, you asked, âWhy didnât you just give it to me directly?â
Wednesday faltered. She never faltered.
Her mind worked frantically, scrambling for something that made sense.
ââŚIt is a tradition,â she finally settled on, forcing her tone into something impassive. âA gift left to be discovered rather than handed over. It is more effective when received unexpectedly.â
Your eyes held hers for a long moment, dark and unreadable, before you hummed, almost as if you were amused.
Wednesdayâs fingers twitched slightly against her palm.
"Goodnight," she said, abruptly turning on her heel.
No, she was not fleeing! She just had no further reason to linger.
And yet, long after she had returned to her room, long after she had laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, she could not erase the sight of your expression from her mindâ
The way you had looked at her.
Like she was something worth understanding.
"PLAN THREE: Small gestures." Enid practically vibrated with excitement, clasping her hands together like she was reciting a sacred text.
"Subtle things that let her know you care. Like offering her her favorite dessert, or pushing her out of the way of a moving car!"
Wednesday hummed. "I'd rather push her into the way of a moving car."
"Wednesday! That would hurt the car!"
You sat with your usual unreadable expression, quietly sipping a black coffee, right beside Enid, right in front of Wednesday...
A strategic choice on Enidâs part.
One that Wednesday refused to acknowledge as useful.
"I still think we should have a dedicated gaming club," Ajax was saying. "Like, come on, we have fencing, but we canât have video games? Kinda unfair, if you ask me."
Bianca scoffed. "What, so you can lose to me in two different kinds of competitions?"
"Okay, first of all, ouch. Second, Iâd totally win."
"In your dreams, Medusa Boy."
"Oh by the way, you should definitely join a club Y/n. " Enid asked you.
Wednesday noticed the way your fingers barely twitched, how your gaze flickered toward Enid before settling back onto your untouched food.
"Maybe hummers?" Enid suggested and Wednesday knew it was because she was there.
At that, Eugene nearly choked.
Enid waited for a moment, then let out an awkward chuckle, glancing at Wednesday for help.
Wednesday didnât bother offering any. Your mood was unreadable, but there was something⌠restrained in the way you sat, something distant.
If Enid noticed, she didnât mention it.
"Let me guess," Bianca drawled, her voice laced with a thin layer of amusement. "No clubs. No interests. No social life. Just endless brooding in some dark corner."
Wednesday turned her gaze toward you, waiting for a reaction.
But you gave her nothing.
You didnât look at Bianca. Didnât acknowledge her presence. Didnât breathe in her direction.
"You know, Iâve seen this before," Bianca said, voice laced with faux amusement. "The whole dark and brooding thing? It gets old fast. You might want to work on having an actual personality before people lose interest."
You didnât even flinch.
You simply continued sipping your coffee, as if Bianca were no more than the air around you.
Wednesday wasnât sure if it was self-restraint or if you truly didnât care, but it was making Biancaâs irritation worse.
"Silent treatment, huh? Not surprising. I guess when you donât have much to offer in a conversation, silence is your best bet."
Wednesday placed her fork down with a deliberate slowness.
"Itâs amusing," she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the air, halting whatever Bianca had been about to say next. "How the most bitter individuals are always the first to reach for weak insults. As if degrading others somehow makes up for their own lack of control."
Biancaâs eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"Did I stutter?" Wednesdayâs gaze was unwavering. "You're attempting to provoke her because she refuses to acknowledge you. Itâs a rather sad display of wounded pride."
A flicker of something passed over Biancaâs expressionâfrustration, maybe. Annoyance. "Thatâs notâ"
"You lost," Wednesday continued, her voice remaining void of emotion. "Accept it and move on, like any self-respecting individual would. Or are you so insecure that you need validation from the one person who doesnât even care enough to respond?"
Biancaâs expression hardened. "Careful, Addams."
Wednesday tilted her head. "Or what? Youâll resort to more pathetic attempts at insults? I expected better."
"Wednesday," Enid hissed under her breath, clearly panicked.
Bianca looked like she was ready to kill her.
But Wednesday did not care.
She had watched Bianca push, had watched her try to tear into you, to get a reaction.
And Wednesday had not liked it.
She was not entirely sure why.
She only knew that she had acted.
But what truly caught her attentionâwhat made her pause for a fraction of a secondâwas you.
You, who had remained still and silent throughout the entire ordeal.
Now, you finally looked at her.
Your eyes met hers, gaze unreadable, something flickering within them as you regarded her for a long, quiet moment.
A question that was never asked.
"PLAN FOUR: Talk to her more! You need to talk to her more. Casual things. Nothing about death or destruction!" Enid announced, her hands gesturing wildly as if she were unveiling some grand strategy.
Wednesday gave her a flat look. "Both things that relate to her?"
Enid opened her mouth, then shut it again, blinking. "âŚGood point."
Wednesday had no trouble talkingâwhen it mattered. When words were necessary, sharp, and deliberate. But the idea of casual conversation felt foreign, unnatural, something trivial and unnecessary. Words should serve a purpose, not be thrown into the void for the sake of social norms.
And that was how Wednesday found herself in botany class, standing beside you, a pair once again. It wasnât surprising, everyone was too afraid to be partnered with Wednesday or You.
Oleander, a beautiful thing. Deceptive. Deadly. Wednesday could admire that. She could focus on that.
But instead, her mind was on another similar kind of poison. You.
She found her gaze drawn to you in spite of herself, taking in every precise movement, every quiet breath. There was something hypnotic about the way you worked, the way your fingers grazed the edge of a leaf without hesitation, the way you handled the plant as if it posed no threat to you at all. You were utterly unbothered, your focus entirely on the task, unawareâor perhaps unconcernedâwith the way Wednesday was watching you.
Wednesday exhaled. This was ridiculous. But, if she was going to do this, she would do it on her terms. She picked up her shears, trimming a precise section of the oleander before finally speaking. âYou work efficiently,â she observed.
You didnât look up. âI prefer to get things done.â
It was a neutral response. Not unkind, not welcoming, but not dismissive either. An opening.
She debated her next words carefully. A compliment? An observation?
The silence stretched, and before she could overthink it further, she stated, âI assume your efficiency extends to more than just plants.â
This time, you did look up, your gaze meeting hers with mild curiosity. âItâs necessary.â
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. âFor what?â
You hesitated. For a moment, she thought you wouldnât answer. But then, you returned your attention to the oleander, carefully plucking away an unnecessary stem. âFor surviving.â
Wednesday considered that answer. It was true, but also deliberately vague. You always did thatâspoke just enough to satisfy a question, but never enough to be understood. It was a habit Wednesday recognized in herself, and that realization was... unsettling.
âEfficiency is a virtue,â she said finally, falling back into her work. âBut perfection can be a limitation.â
You glanced at her, âWhat do you mean?â
Wednesday hummed, trimming a leaf between her fingers. âPerfection leaves no room for unpredictability. And predictability is fatal.â
You studied her for a moment, then nodded. âIâll keep that in mind.â
It was simply an acknowledgment, a consideration of her words as something worthy of remembering. Wednesday found herself gripping her shears just a little tighter.
For the remainder of class, the conversation continued in fragmented momentsâsmall remarks, simple exchanges. And though the air between you never lost its tension, it was less suffocating than before. You still spoke little, but so did she. In some twisted way, it felt like a mutual understanding.
When the bell rang, Wednesday watched as you collected your materials without a word and slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the door, and before she even realized it, she was following.
It wasnât intentionalâat least, not consciously. But her feet moved before her mind could catch up, and soon enough, she had fallen into step beside you.
âYou were avoiding striking me during our last match.â
You didnât stop walking. You didnât even flinch. But there was a flicker of something in your eyes when you looked at her, the kind of emotion that was impossible to decipher unless one knew where to look.
âYes,â Wednesday said, unwavering. âYou had openings. You didnât take them.â
For a moment, she thought you might deny it outright. But instead, you merely hummed in acknowledgment.
âYou notice everything, donât you?â
It wasnât said with annoyance, nor admiration. Just another observation.
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. âYouâre avoiding the question.â
âDo you always follow people after class?â
Wednesday tensed. She should have anticipated that. But rather than offering an excuse, she merely met your gaze, unwavering. âNo.â
You nodded once. âAlright.â
It was a deflection. But Wednesday let it slide, because this was the longest conversation she had ever had with you, and despite herself, she didnât want it to end.
She realized, with no small amount of frustration, that Enid had been right. Small gestures, small conversationsâthey made a difference.
Wednesday did not remember deciding to walk here.
She had left her dorm long before the first light of dawn, her body moving with its usual rigid purpose, but for once, she had no clear objective. At least, not one she could immediately justify.
She had simply walked, following an unspoken direction until her feet slowed, her gaze lifting to find you seated beneath the same tree she found you last time.
You hadnât noticed herâor at least, you didnât acknowledge her. Your back rested against the rough bark, legs stretched out, one knee bent.
Your breathing was steady, deep, eyes closed as if even the end of the world couldn't disturb you.
It was a familiar kind of quiet, yet somehow one that unsettled her.
The early morning air stirred strands of your hair with each passing breeze gently. You looked⌠calm. Too calm.
Wednesday hated how long she stood there, watching you.
She had made progress, hadnât she? You tolerated her presence, which was more than could be said for the majority of those who attempted to get close to you. Others received a wall of cold indifference, but WednesdayâŚ
You spoke to her the most.
You werenât warm, nor particularly friendly, but she never expected you to be. That wasnât the goal. And yet, the knowledge that you were equally as tolerant of Enid gnawed at her. But that was different. Enid was persistent, impossible to push away. Wednesday had earned her place.
She noticed the way your glovesâwere worn from use. You had been working last night.
And now, she needed to confirm it. She needed to watch you. Study you. She needed to know. She already has seen you enough in action and yet she needed to confirm it with her own eyes. Your precision, your efficiencyâthe real you.
âHave you done staring?â
Her breath caughtâjust for a fraction of a second.
You still hadnât opened your eyes. You hadnât moved. But you had noticed her, as if you could sense her presence without ever needing to look.
Wednesdayâs jaw tensed, irritation flaring at herself more than you. She had not intended to be caught so easily. âYou would be none the wiser if you had simply remained silent.â
âI was hoping youâd go away,â you murmured. âClearly, that was a mistake.â
Wednesday ignored the dry remark, stepping forward and lowering herself to sit beside you under the shade of the tree. She kept a careful distanceânot enough to invade your space, but just close enough to make it clear she had no intention of leaving.
Your head tilted slightly in her direction, your eyes still closed. âI didnât say you could join me.â
âI donât remember asking your permission.â
There was a pause. Then, a slow exhaleânot quite a sigh, but something close to it. You didnât tell her to leave.
She forced her thoughts into order. Conversation. Small talk. That was the goal.
Wednesday glanced at you, considering her options. âAre you always this early?â
âI can ask you the same question.â you countered.
She had walked into that one. Annoying.
But then, after a pause, you added, âI donât sleep much.â
Wednesday turned her head slightly toward you, watching the way your fingers curled against your knee, absentminded but controlled.
You exhaled slowly, tilting your head back against the tree trunk. âA habit.â
Vague. Unhelpful. But she didnât press, not yet. Instead, she shifted tactics.
âYou usually use techniques that arenât standard in fencing. Some of your movements resemble kenjutsu, but theyâve been altered for a different style of combat.â
âYouâve been analyzing me.â
Wednesday didnât bother denying it. âI analyze everyone.â
She waited for you to shut down the topic, to divert the conversation elsewhere, but instead, you merely tilted your head toward her, finally cracking open your eyes. The sun had begun its slow ascent, catching against your irises in a way that made something shift uneasily in Wednesdayâs stomach.
âWhat about you?â you asked, voice low, almost absent. âWhere did you learn?â
Wednesday blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift of focus. She had prepared for resistance, not reciprocation.
"Fencing is an important part of Addams family tradition. My Uncle Fester trained me before I ever set foot in a tournament. My father also contributed, but his focus was on dueling rather than form.â
You nodded slightly, as if that answer made sense to you. âExplains the way you fight.â
Wednesday hesitated, the conversation unfolding easier than she had anticipated. For once, it didnât feel like pulling teeth.
âYou must have learned a lot in H/n.â
The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake.
Your expression didnât shift but Wednesday felt the subtle shift in the air, like the sharp, invisible drop in temperature before a storm. Your gaze hardened, the once passive calm in your posture turning rigid.
âI never told you where I was from.â
There was no accusation in your voice, no outward hostility, but that made it worse. It wasnât angerâit was scrutiny. You were assessing her, picking apart the misstep with a practiced, surgical precision.
Wednesdayâs mind raced through possible responses, damage control, ways to steer the conversation away from the pit she had just dug herself into. But nothing would be enough. Lying was pointless, you would see through it instantly. But the truth was just as damning.
Finally, you leaned back against the tree again, expression unreadable. âSo, you do your research.â
Wednesday clenched her jaw, frustration curling deep in her chestâat herself, at the situation, at the way your voice held no visible anger, just quiet, measured understanding.
âI do,â she admitted. Lying would be pointless.
You exhaled slowly, gaze turning back to the sky. âI figured as much.â
Wednesday watched you, unsure of what came next. You didnât seem upset, but you werenât brushing it aside either. You were merely⌠thinking.
Not forgiveness. Not acceptance.
Just⌠choosing to let it be.
Wednesday wasnât sure which was worse.
PLAN FIVE: Ask her to the Raven!
She was certain she had made herself clearâshe had no interest in this yearâs Raven. No interest in its frivolous spectacle, the music, the pointless dress. It had been a waste of time last year, and it would be no different now.
âYou are fabricating this to make me attend the Raven.â
Without hesitation, Enid shot back, âYES!â
Perhaps she can use this now. âI had to conduct research before asking you something.â
You remained still, watching her.
âAnd yet,â Wednesday continued, watching you carefully, âI found nothing.â
Even now, you gave nothing away. Your face remained unreadable, your posture relaxed in a way that was entirely too controlled. As if you had expected this, as if you had prepared for it.
Wednesdayâs mind turned, examining every angle, every possibility.
âNo history. No records before Nevermore.â She tilted her head, voice measured. âItâs as if you did not exist.â
âWhat did you want to ask me?â
A simple question. A direct invitation. And yet, Wednesday felt her mind stall for the first time in⌠longer than she cared to admit. She folded her hands in her lap, composing herself. âThe Raven is approaching.â
She tried again. âNevermoreâs annual formal gatheringââ
âI know what the Raven is,â you interrupted, voice as impassive as ever. âGet to the point.â
Wednesdayâs fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her skirt. âEnid is attempting to coerce me into attending.â
âSounds like Enid. So what about it?â
She had rehearsed this. Thought through every possible phrasing, every logical approach. But as she sat here, faced with the actual moment, the words tangled themselves in knots before they could leave her tongue.
âIââ She stopped. Tensed. Then began again, voice flat. âIt is a proposition ofââ No. That sounded transactional.
A breath. A pause. A recalibration.
Why was this difficult? It was a simple inquiry. A proposition dictated by logic. She was merely extending an invitation. Nothing more.
She straightened her posture, collecting herself.
âI was consideringââ No. Wrong. Start over.
Your silence was unbearable.
She exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.
âI am asking if you would go to the Raven with me.â
You did not react at first. Not visibly. You merely blinked once, slowly, before tilting your head, considering her in the way one might examine a riddle with an answer just out of reach.
Then, finally, your voice, calm and even. âI know you arenât the socially gathering type. And neither am I. So why do you want to go there with me?â
Her first instinct was to craft a logical excuse. Something about observation. Something about data collection. But as she opened her mouth, the words felt thin, transparent, unworthy of the truth that pressed heavy against her ribs.
She exhaled quietly, accepting the inevitability of what came next.
âI want to know you.â
Your gaze flickered. Just barely.
It felt like vulnerability.
Wednesday did not like the feeling of exposing herself like this. She was not used to it. But she could not bring herself to regret saying it.
You considered her words for a long moment.
Then, finally, you spoke.
âCuriosity kills the cat, Wednesday.â
She felt it again. The way her name sounded from your lips. Not the way others said itâcasual, indifferent, obligatory. No, there was weight to it. Something deliberate. And it affected her more than she cared to admit.
But she refused to let you see that.
"I am not afraid," Wednesday stated. "Are you?"
This time, you did smirk. Slight, but undeniable.
Then, her dark gaze locked onto yours, sharp and searching. "Are you?"
Wednesday felt a sharp, bracing satisfaction curl inside her, something darkly electric. You rarely gave people anything. But she had pulled it from you.
âI am not wearing any sparkling dress,â you said.
âI do not expect you to,â Wednesday responded immediately.
Your expression remained neutral, but something behind your gaze gleamed with consideration. It was impossible to tell what you were thinking.
Wednesday was patient. Mostly.
âSo?â she asked, âWhat is your answer?â
You considered her, then exhaled slowly. âI'll go.â
The Raven had already begun, the rest of the school had already begun making their way inside, laughter and muffled music spilling from the doors yet she remained where she was, waiting.
You had told her you would meet her right outside. You had given her your word. And yet, here she wasâalone.
She wasnât worried, of course. That would be absurd. But her fingers twitched at her sides, betraying the lingering frustration creeping in. It wasnât like she had been standing here long. If anything, she had arrived early. Perhaps too early. But the idea of making you wait for her had been unacceptable.
And so, she had come before the arranged time, preparing herself for whatever was to come.
Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her dress. A new dress. Something Enid had forced her into acquiring, insisting that her usual attire was âcriminally outdatedâ and that âif youâre going to court someone, you need to at least look like you put in effort.â Wednesday had wanted to strangle her.
Courtship. The mere thought of the word made her want to scoff. It was absurd. Yet, here she was, standing outside a school dance, waiting for someone. Waiting for you.
She had spent the week preparingânot that she needed to. She had already analyzed every potential outcome, calculated every possible scenario in which she might extract more information from you. She had thought about your answers, your reactions, your frustratingly unreadable expressions. And, though she hated to admit it, she had found herself wondering⌠how you would look tonight.
And now, as if summoned by the mere thought, she felt something.
Not the usual sense of awareness, not the subtle shift in the air or the telltale footsteps that always gave people away. No, this was⌠nothing.
Like an absence of presence.
A void in reality itself.
A shiver ran down her spine, and for the first time in a long time, she hesitated before turning.
You were standing there. Right behind her.
Her senses were honed, trained to detect the faintest disturbance in the air, the softest shift in movement. No one could sneak up on her. It was impossible. She hadnât felt a thing.
She turned fully to face you, her breath steady, though her mind was not.
You were dressed in black.
Not a dress. Not the standard gown the other girls had conformed to. A full, tailored suitâblack from the crisp collar down to the polished shoes. The fit was precise, sharp lines and dark fabric making you look like you had stepped out of a world untouched by color. It suited you in a way that felt inevitableâas if anything else would have been unnatural.
No. She would not finish that thought.
Wednesday inhaled carefully, composing herself.
"Youâre late," she said.
You merely blinked. "Youâre early."
Wednesday scowled slightly. She should have expected that response. "I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind."
With a quick inhale, she tilted her chin slightly, sharpening her gaze. âYou do realize there was a dress code.â
You blinked at her, unbothered. âAnd?â
Wednesday had to fight the inexplicable urge to smirk.
âMost people would have at least tried to blend in.â
"Most people arenât me."
That was an understatement.
Wednesdayâs eyes flickered over you again, and for a moment, she swore she felt her own pulse betray her.
She would not entertain these thoughts.
You exhaled softly, pulling her out of her reverie. âAre we going in, or do you just plan to keep staring at me?â
Wednesdayâs spine stiffened instantly. âI wasnâtââ
You arched a brow, waiting.
She exhaled sharply. âLetâs go.â
You nodded, falling into step beside her as she moved toward the entrance.
It was just like last year. The moment she had entered, the weight of a hundred stares had settled onto her like a cloak. She had never cared about the scrutiny beforeâlet them look, let them judge, let them fear. It had never mattered.
But tonight, something was different.
Tonight, the eyes werenât only on her.
The entire room seemed to shift the moment you stepped inside, as if the very presence of you disrupted the delicate balance of the event. Students who had been chatting freely just moments ago fell silent, their laughter fading into hushed whispers.
Some turned their heads quickly, pretending not to look, but their shoulders remained tense, their postures rigid. Others werenât as subtle, their eyes wide, cautious, as if being caught staring too long might summon something unspeakable. And as if one accidental touch with you might be enough to disintegrate them.
No one had ever looked at her like that. People feared Wednesday for what she might do. But with you⌠Wednesday was sure they themselves didn't even know why they feared you.
She wondered if you noticed. If you cared.
Glancing to her side, she found you as unreadable as ever. Walking beside her with the same detached, effortless indifference, as if the entire world could set itself on fire and you wouldnât so much as blink.
Had she ever touched you?
Not while fencing, not during your so-called âtraining sessionsâ after sunfall. Even in proximity, you had always been⌠distant. And now, standing beside you, Wednesday found her gaze flickering downwardâtoward your hands.
You were wearing gloves. Dark, sleek, as always.
A part of her wondered if it was intentional. A precaution. A shield.
She had sometimes seen you without them, but not too much.
A fact that normally wouldnât have mattered, but now settled in her mind like an itch she couldnât quite reach.
She wondered what that might do. Would she see something? Feel something? Would it be cold? Warm? Would it give her a vision?
"OH. MY. GOSH! There you are! Finally!â
Wednesday barely had time to react before she was ambushed by an overly pink werewolf.
Enid beamed up at her, practically vibrating where she stood. âYou actually came! Andââ She turned sharply, eyes locking onto you like a predator spotting new prey. âYou actually came!â
You stared at her blankly. âWas I not supposed to?â
âNo, no, you were, I justâwow.â Enid took a step back, arms crossing as she gave you an exaggerated once-over. âOkay, seriously? You really committed to the whole âcolor is evilâ thing, huh?"
You blinked at her, expression unchanging. âItâs a funeral theme.â
Enid hesitated, confused. âWait, whose funeral?â
You tilted your head slightly. âPossibly yours if you keep talking.â
If Wednesday had ever doubted that someone could be even more socially intolerable than herself, you had long since proved her wrong.
Enid, being Enid, merely huffed, waving a dismissive hand. âHa, ha, very funny. You and Wednesday are totally made for each other.â
Wednesday felt something at that but promptly crushed it into nonexistence.
âSeriously, though, you guys look cool tho. Itâs like⌠Dark Princess and Mysterious Assassin Chic.â
You raised a brow. âThat sounds ridiculous.â
Enid shrugged. âYeah, well, I was gonna say âGoth Girlfriend and her Shadowâ but I figured Wednesday might actually kill me for that one.â
Wednesdayâs glare was instantaneous. âKeep talking, and I just might.â
âOh, hush.â Enid grinned. Then, in a move as seamless as if it were a natural part of the conversation, she threw in, âAt least itâs better than last year, when you came with Tyler.â
Wednesday stiffened, but it was your voice that broke through first.
It was the first time you had asked anything about her past. Your tone remained the sameâflat, impassiveâbut Wednesday noticed. The way your eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The way you processed the name, as if filing it away for later analysis.
âOh, right,â Enid chirped. âI forgot, you werenât here back then.â She waved a hand dismissively. âTyler Galpin. The Hyde who was responsible for all the murders and Crackstone last year.â
You were silent for a moment, then, âInteresting choice.â
Flat. Emotionless. But Wednesday could feel the weight behind the words, the quiet judgment hidden beneath the surface.
She rolled her eyes. âI didnât know he was the Hyde back then.â
Enid grinned. âYeah, yeah. To be fair, it was a shocker. But I beat him, you know!â She puffed out her chest, absolutely radiating self-satisfaction. âWolfed out for the first time and tore that guy apart!â
You tilted your head. âReally? You? With what? All your sunshine and rainbows?â
Wednesday almostâalmostâsmirked.
âNo,â Enid huffed, placing her hands on her hips. âI beat him with friendship and LOVE!â
Wednesday caught it. Something flickering behind your eyes. It was gone in an instant, but she saw it. It wasnât loud. It wasnât obvious. But Wednesday noticed.
You repeated Enidâs words, but softer, almost⌠distant. âFriendship and love?â
âDuh!â Enid beamed. âWhat else are we supposed to fight for?â
Your reaction was briefâso brief that Enid didnât even register itâbut Wednesday did. The smallest flicker of something worn, something almost bitter.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
Your mask slipped perfectly back into place, and you gave a simple nod, offering nothing else.
But Wednesday had seen it. And wondered, what exactly had you lost?
Wednesday barely had a moment to register the scene before Enid latched onto her wrist and yanked her away from your side.
"Alright, spill it!" Enid practically vibrated with excitement as she dragged Wednesday toward a less-crowded corner of the room. "Whatâs the plan?"
"There is no plan," Wednesday deadpanned, prying her wrist free from the werewolfâs overly enthusiastic grip.
Enid gave her a knowing look. "But Plan Six is aboutâ"
"I donât care," Wednesday interrupted, voice sharp as a blade.
Enid narrowed her eyes suspiciously. âSo youâre just gonnaâwhat? Wing it?â She looked genuinely disturbed by the thought. âThatâs so not like you, Wens.â
Wednesdayâs patience was running thin. âI fail to see why my actions, or lack thereof, are of any concern to you.â
âBecause youâre you, and sheâs her, and you two are justââ Enid waved her hands wildly, as if trying to pluck the correct words out of thin air. âYou know! And I know youâre, like, emotionally stunted or whatever, but donât tell me you havenât thought about it!â
Wednesday arched a brow. âThought about what exactly?â
Enid let out a strangled noise, clearly resisting the urge to shake her. âYou like her, Wednesday! And no, I donât mean in your usual âI tolerate their existence more than mostâ way. I mean actually like her.â
Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "Donât be absurd."
Enidâs grin only widened. "Oh, please. You so do. And if you donât do something about it soon, someone else willâ"
"Let them try," Wednesday said flatly.
âOh my god. You have no idea what youâre doing, do you?â Enid clutched her chest dramatically.
"Wait, you really don't!" Enid gasped again and before she could revel in her discovery any further, the unmistakable sound of upbeat music shifting into something slower caught her attention, and she immediately perked up. âOoh! This is my song! Okay, okay, Iâll leave you to your brooding or whatever, but just think about what I said, okay?â
Without waiting for a response, she turned and practically skipped off into the crowd, leaving Wednesday standing there, irritation simmering beneath her skin.
With a sigh, she turned back toward where she had last seen you, only for her gaze to freeze.
The siren stood before you, her arms crossed, her expression neutral yet unreadable. The two of you werenât bickering.
Bianca had never liked you. That much had been clear from the very beginning.
And yet, here she was, standing in front of you, speaking in low tones that Wednesday couldnât quite make out from this distance.
She had always assumed the hostility was mutual, a silent agreement between two people who simply had no desire to tolerate each otherâs existence.
She had spent enough time around Bianca to recognize her mannerismsâthe way she spoke when she was attempting diplomacy, the way she shifted when she was preparing to manipulate a situation.
And she didnât like it.
She was still debating whether she should intervene when an annoyingly familiar voice cut through her thoughts.
âSo⌠you and Y/N, huh?â
Wednesday didnât even have to turn to know who it was. Instead, she merely narrowed her eyes and leveled Xavier with a glare. "Leave."
Xavier, of course, completely ignored her warning.
"You know, I shouldâve seen this coming," he mused, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward where you stood. "But, what can I say? Itâs my bad for always falling for the odd, dark, unattainable ones."
Wednesdayâs fingers twitched toward the knife strapped beneath her dress.
Xavier, either suicidal or just entirely too used to her homicidal tendencies, only smirked. "I guess sheâs all yours then."
Wednesday had already reached for the knife when Xavier bolted.
Her irritation barely had time to settle before her attention was drawn back to youâback to Bianca, who was still standing in front of you, speaking in low tones.
ââguess we got off on the wrong foot," Bianca was saying. "Are we good now?â
You held her gaze for a moment before nodding.
"Since when did you two become acquaintances."
The words left her mouth before she could stop them, sharp and cutting as a blade, her presence slicing into whatever conversation had been occurring.
Both you and Bianca turned toward her at the same time.
There was no flicker of surprise in your expression as if you sensed her coming.
She wasnât sure which part of this conversation annoyed her the mostâthe fact that you had been standing here with Bianca in the first place, the fact that she had no idea what you had been talking about, or the fact that you seemed entirely unmoved by the situation while she, for some godforsaken reason, was very much not.
Bianca sighed, shifting her weight as she glanced between the two of you. âItâs nothing dramatic, Addams. We were just discussing how we donât need to be at each otherâs throats all the time. It's not like we are best friends now.â
"A riveting discussion, Iâm sure," Wednesday said flatly.
Bianca rolled her eyes. "Relax, Addams. Iâm not trying to steal your girlfriend."
There was a beat of silence.
Wednesday felt her jaw clench.
You merely blinked. "I didnât know I was something to steal." Wait why didn't you deny the.. "girlfriend" part?
Bianca smirked. "Exactly my point."
Wednesdayâs grip tightened at her sides. "If youâre done wasting both our time, I suggest you leave before I decide Iâm in the mood for violence."
"Fine. Iâll let you two get back to your whatever this is." She sent you one last glance. "Just donât make me regret this, Y/N."
"I probably would." you said flatly.
Bianca groaned before finally turning and walking off, disappearing into the crowd.
Wednesday exhaled slowly, turning to you fully now. You were watching her, gaze steady, unreadable as always.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, a new song started playing.
And still, you stood there, watching her.
And Wednesday too found herself uncertain of what to say.
You werenât supposed to dance.
Yet there you were, standing alone in the eye of the storm, unmoving at firstâunblinking, your gaze tethered to hers
You say you're not afraid to die.
But take off the armor 'round your chest
What's left inside?
It starts slow. A shift of your shoulders, the roll of your neck. Controlled. Calculated. The crowd doesnât notice at first. But Wednesday does. The way your foot drags against the floor, deliberate, the way your spine curvesânot yielding, but commanding.
Li-li-lion licking your blade
Do you really bleed if it washes away?
The music grows teeth. The beat snaps, and you move with it.
Your arm jerks upward, before your body twists. Not fluid, not elegant
Take a ride, rough as you can
Tell you a secret, right as your dogs are closing in
You were doing it to be visceral.
I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin
Your chest rises and falls with the rhythm, your fingers twitching, slicing through empty space. The lyrics carve into the air, and you let them shape you.
I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.
Your head jerks to the side in sync with the words, as if something unseen has struck you. Then, a collapseâyour body folds inward, a marionette with cut strings, only to snap back upright in the next breath.
Tell me the walls are closing in
Into the fire and born again
Wednesdayâs pulse hammered against her skull. She had never been one for frivolity, for mindless displays of social pleasantries. And yet, Her legs moved before she could rationalize it.
She stepped into the eye of the storm.
Taste the pain and drink it in
I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin
The first onlookers take notice. A few heads turn. Murmurs.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the world condensed to the space between the two of you. You tilted your head, watching her approach, your lips barely parting as if in amusement.
Lou-louder the bark and the bigger the blade
One seat on a throne, one foot in the grave
Wednesdayâs body responded before her mind did. Her movements were sharp, calculated. The macabre fluidity of her limbs fell into step with yours, a duet that somehow, made perfect sense.
Lou-louder the moth then the bigger the flame
Do you really bleed if it washes away?
Wednesday is struck with something she does not understand.
You lifted your arms, crossing them over your chest in a sharp X before suddenly letting yourself drop.
For a second, Wednesday expected you to hit the ground.
But you were gone, as if the ground itself had opened to devour you.
Her breath hitched. She hadnât seen where you had gone. It wasnât possible.
Wednesday turned slowly, and there you were.
Wednesday felt something strange claw at her ribcage. It was not fear, nor disgustâshe knew those feelings well. This was something else. Something far more dangerous.
You turned again, your body rolling, shiftingâyour hands dragging down your face as if peeling away a mask. Then you tilted your head, eyes locking onto hers once more.
I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.
Your bodies circled, inches apart but never touching, two predators weaving between the spaces left by the other. When your head snapped to the side, Wednesday followed suit. When you twisted, she mirrored, but it was not mimicry. It was a battle. A silent war waged between motion and breath, between two creatures who did not yield.
Tell me the walls are closing in
Into the fire and born again
Wednesday is struck with something she does not understand.
She knows of death. She has danced with it since childhood. But this? This is something else. This is not a dance. This is a ritual. A possession. And she is the one ensnared.
Taste the pain and drink it in.
Noâshe would not allow it.
Wednesday lunged, a sudden, sharp movement that brought her directly in front of you. For a moment, the two of you were impossibly close, the air thick with something electric, something raw.
She could feel your breathing, you could feel hers.
I like it when the bite marksÂ
Your lips were too close... almost... almost brushing...
I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.
Wednesday stood in the wreckage of what remained. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her fingers twitched at her sides. Wednesday remained standing in the same spot long after the music had faded, her breath just slightly uneven, her pulse just slightly too fast.
She despised you. She wanted more.
No word, no parting glance. Justâgone.
But her feet were already moving.
She scanned the crowd. The sharpness in her stare sent some students skittering out of the way, but she ignored them. Her focus was singular. Methodical. If you were going to disappear on her, then she would simply find you herself.
The first stop was Enid because Enid had an unfortunate tendency to be in everyoneâs business. If anyone had seen where you had gone, it would be her.
The werewolf was perched by the refreshment table, downing an energy drink with alarming speed.
Wednesday wasted no time.
âWhere is she?â she demanded.
Enid choked mid-sip, coughing as she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. âHuh?â
âYou heard me,â Wednesday snapped. âWhere is Y/N?â
âI donât know, she kinda just vanished? I was watching the whole time, and it was like one second she was there and then poof! Super ninja mode activated. It was actually kinda scary.â
Wednesdayâs lips pressed into a thin line.
âWell,â Enid continued, her grin shifting into something more knowing, âyou could always ask around. But considering how you two were dancing, Iâm pretty sure sheâs off somewhere sharpening a knife and brooding about you.â
Wednesday did not dignify that with a response.
The next stop was Eugene. She found him near the entrance, âEugene.â
He flinched. âOh, uh, hey Wednesday.â
Eugene looked at her like she had just asked him to walk into a hornetâs nest. âUh⌠do I have to answer?â
Wednesdayâs gaze sharpened.
âI-I mean, I donât know! I saw her leave after the dance butâuhâI didnât follow! Sheâs⌠kind of terrifying?â He rubbed the back of his neck. âNot in a bad way! I mean, okay, kind of in a bad way. But not, like, the murder-y bad way. Well, maybe the murder-y bad way. Are you sure you even want to find her?â
Bianca was next, and Wednesday already anticipated the headache that would come with it. She found her near the courtyard, casually leaning against a stone pillar, talking to Xavier.
"Shit, you have that face on. The âIâm about to interrogate someoneâ face. Am I gonna get arrested again? â Xavier said as soon as he saw Wednesday.
"Where did Y/N go?" Wednesday asked completely ignoring Xavier.
Bianca arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Wow. No hello? No please?"
Wednesday's patience, thin at the best of times, was rapidly eroding. "I do not have time for pleasantries."
Bianca smirked. "Shocker."
Wednesday simply stared, unblinking.
With a dramatic sigh, Bianca relented. "Last I saw, she was heading outside. Maybe she needed air. Not that I blame herâthis place reeks of teenage desperation."
It was the most useful information she'd received yet. Without another word, Wednesday turned.
"You're welcome," Bianca called after her.
She had followed Biancaâs lead, stepping outside the hall without fully understanding why she was still searching for you.
Why was she looking for you?
The question clawed at her, demanding an answer she wasnât prepared to give. Normally, when she pried into someoneâs secrets, it was with the cold precision of a scalpel, detached, methodical, unyielding. People were puzzles to be solved, mysteries to be unraveled, nothing more. She had never once cared about their comfort, their feelings, or whether she had the right to pry. The idea of restraint was laughable.
But there was something different about this.
And then there was that momentâthat nearly catastrophic, almost unforgivable momentâwhere the space between you had shrunk to nothing. Where she had nearlyâ
Her fingers twitched at her sides. She would not dwell on that.
Her gaze swept over the landscape, the silver-blue light of the moon illuminating every detail, but what caught her attention was the lack of light, a void, a shadow.
It slipped just at the edges of her vision, moving toward the forest. Almost imperceptible, but Wednesday had been watching.
She recognized the way you movedâtoo fluid, too controlled, like a predator that knew exactly when to make itself known and when to disappear. Even now, you were almost gone. If she had blinked, she would have missed it.
Wednesday inhaled sharply and moved.
Her instincts screamed at her to be careful. She had seen firsthand what happened when someone tried to sneak up on you. Xavier almost learned it the hard way.
You were fast, impossibly so, and lethal when you needed to be.
Which meant that Wednesday had to be better.
She moved with practiced precision, keeping her distance.
Your black attire blended effortlessly into the darkness. More than once, she had to pause, reassess, find you again among the trees.
She was following a monster into the abyss. The thought should have unsettled her.
It didnât. It never did.
Instead, her chest tightened with something else. Something she refused to name.
Wednesday halted instantly, slipping behind the cover of a wide oak, sharp eyes watching as you stepped into a clearing.
At the center of it lay something wrong. Some sort of summoning circle. Its symbols twisted into unnatural shapes, burned into the ground with something that shimmered like embers.
You stood at the center, utterly unbothered.
For the first time since she had met you, Wednesday felt something close to unease.
The glow of the circle intensified, the embers shifting, moving, as if alive. It painted you in crimson light, casting harsh shadows over your face, making you look like something out of a nightmare. Or perhaps, something meant to hunt nightmares.
She had known that you were dangerous. That you were more than just another student at Nevermore. That you were something other.
Wednesdayâs heartbeat remained steady.
She should have walked away, returned to the safety of the school, and let you do whatever it was you did when you vanished into the night.
She had spent so much of her life uncovering the grotesque, the horrifying, the things that lurked in the dark. And yet, for the first time, she found herself hesitating, not out of fear, not out of uncertainty, but because something else was clawing at the edges of her mind.
A hesitation she did not understand.
A rift tore through reality itself, opening into something that should not exist, a swirling abyss of pure darkness, something alive and moving, something that watched.
You were swallowed by it.
Wednesdayâs breath hitched, but her body moved before her mind could catch up.
The ground was cold beneath her.
Damp earth pressed against her palms, the scent of moss and decay thick in the air. Wednesday inhaled slowly, her lungs adjusting to the weight of it.
Her eyes opened to absolute darkness.
For a moment, she remained still, allowing her senses to recalibrate, to process. She was lying on her side, her body stiff from the impact of the fallâif it had even been a fall. Had she fallen? Or had she simply ceased to exist for a moment before reappearing here?
She had woken in a jungle. It felt different...
The thought sent irritation curling through her chest. She had never liked being disoriented. Uncertainty was an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation. She pushed herself up, wincing as her limbs protested, but forced herself steady. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of unfamiliar flora curling at the edges of her senses.
This wasnât anywhere near Nevermore.
Wednesday stood, brushing the dirt from her skirt. The realization settled in her chest like a slow-moving stormâshe had no idea where she was.
She turned, eyes scanning the darkness, but it was too deep, too complete. The moon was absent here. No soft glow to guide her, no stars above, she couldn't even see your footsteps.
She couldnât even be sure how long she had been unconscious.
That should have unsettled her. It didnât. It never did. Panic was for the weak.
She would find you. She moved carefully, her fingers brushing against the rough bark of trees as she navigated blindly. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Time felt different here. Stretched, distorted.
Faint. Just at the edges of the horizon, cutting through the trees.
Wednesdayâs pace quickened, her steps deliberate but silent as she pushed through the thick foliage. The jungle began to thin, the oppressive darkness easing as she approached a clearing.
Not a decrepit ruin, not some abandoned structure swallowed by time, but a home.
Warm light spilled from the windows, illuminating a well-kept courtyard. The architecture was sturdy, lived-in, its exterior worn with time but undeniably occupied. The furniture on the porch, the faint glow of a lantern swaying in the breezeâit all spoke of something human.
Standing just outside the house.
Wednesday froze, pressing herself against the nearest tree, her breath slowing.
What were you doing here?
Before she could begin to piece it together, the door creaked open.
Tall, bearded, his eyes sharp as they settled on you. Behind him, a woman lingered in the doorway, a small girl at her side.
Wednesdayâs breath slowed, her fingers curling against the bark of the tree she had hidden behind.
"You are her, arenât you?"
The manâs voice was steady, but there was something beneath itâa weight, an understanding. It wasnât fear. It wasnât anger. It was acceptance. Like a man who had spent years looking over his shoulder, only to finally turn around and see the shadow looming over him.
He sighed, exhaling as if he had already made peace with what was to come. "I thought you would be olderâŚ"
The moment the words left his lips, Wednesday watched as you lifted your hand, your katana materialized in your grip. Wednesday felt her breath still in her chest.
It was happening again. That pull. That same, dark magnetism that had drawn her to you in the first place, something deeper than fascinationâa warning.
"Tell your daughter to go inside," you said, your voice calm, cutting, spoken with the certainty of someone who had already seen the end of this story. "You donât want her to see this, Kalzorran."
The man flinched. Visibly. As if the name itself had sharp edges, slicing through the years he had tried to bury it beneath.
"I left that name," he muttered, his jaw tightening. "That life. Long ago."
"Yet, you live free of consequences."
"There is no life free of consequences from him!" Kalzorran snapped, his voice suddenly raw, desperate, heavy with something dangerously close to fear. "I escaped. I earned it. We all did."
"You have lived free enough," you said. "Lived good enough. But it's time you returned to him. Keep your part of the deal."
Wednesday observed everythingâthe shift in his stance, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands hovered near his sides like a man prepared to either fight or plead.
Wednesday saw something shift in his face.
"Get her inside, Laura," he ordered, his voice firm but not unkind.
His wife hesitated, sadness pulling at her features. She understood. She knew what was about to happen.
Kalzorran exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face before letting out a bitter chuckle.
"You," he muttered. "You are his greatest hunter, arenât you? Death's very emissary."
Wednesday felt her heart slow. She saw the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, the way his throat bobbed as if he was trying to swallow something heavy.
"You alone, all by yourself⌠hunted so many of us," Kalzorran continued, his voice quieter now. "Killed our greatest defenders. No other hunter has done that. Ever." He let out another hollow laugh, shaking his head. "You made us all go back into hiding, living like animals again."
You only stood there, katana in hand, the blade reflecting the dim light.
Kalzorranâs voice turned sharper. "So you have potential. More than any of us. More than me. And you sold your soul for it, just like we did." His gaze locked onto you, something desperate, something searching flickering behind his eyes. "For what? Power? Wealth?"
"Revenge." Your answer was immediate.
Wednesday felt her breath catch.
The word landed with the weight of a tombstone.
Kalzorranâs lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable. He let out a slow, exhausted exhale before shaking his head.
"And was it worth it?" he asked. His voice was softer now, almost... mournful. "Tell me, oh great huntress... how much of his soul, his torment did he give you for yours? Maybe a dozen of his billions?"
Kalzorran went completely still.
For a moment, there was no sound but the distant hum of the jungle, the whisper of leaves rustling in the wind.
Wednesday watched as the color drained from the manâs face. His bravado wavered, his stance stiffenedânot in preparation for a fight, but in something closer to dread.
Kalzorran staggered a step back, his breath coming out uneven. "That's not possibleâŚ" He swallowed, his expression flickering between disbelief and something far worseârecognition.
"NoâŚ" He shook his head. "No, that would mean⌠youâŚ" His eyes widened. His lips parted, struggling to shape the words he didnât want to say.
"The prophecyâŚ" he whispered. "You⌠you areâŚ"
His eyes widened and Wednesday saw fear. Not the fear of death. Not the fear of you. But the fear of what you were.
"Lucifer's chosen oneâŚ"
She only stared. It didnât make sense. It shouldnât make sense. The pieces didnât fitâexcept they did.
The shadows. The power. The way you moved, the way you hunted, the way people feared you in ways they couldnât explain.
"I am the Maiden of Death."
[End note: Yeah, things are gonna get real from here lol. Enid wasn't scary when she said "Sheâs not just like Wednesday. Sheâs way scarier"
Comment who would win a fight Her Heartbeat's Y/n or Tmod's Y/n đ pookie y/n vs spooky y/n.]
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