Chapter Text
According to Wednesday, her first year at Nevermore Academy went well. She got herself tangled in a bloody and brutal mystery that she "brilliantly" solved—though she admits she might have been a bit too reckless to be entirely proud of the outcome. She must also admit there were some side effects. Chief among them: the flock of sheep that made up Nevermore's student body now feared her less—or worse—admired and respected her. A situation she intended to correct at the start of the new semester.
Another unfortunate aspect of the experience was that she nearly became romantically involved with another human being, who—at the time of their kiss—she believed to be a mere normie. Fortunately, he turned out to be the monstrous creature she was hunting, and those horrible romantic feelings vanished in a puff.
On the plus side, she could now say she'd indirectly caused the death of her school's principal—an accident, of course—but still a potentially powerful threat when used against those who knew little about what actually happened.
But a dark cloud lingered in Wednesday's mind—and not the sort she usually enjoyed. Since returning home, she hadn't felt the freedom she expected after leaving Nevermore. She'd tried to escape the place from the very moment her parents first mentioned the academy following her expulsion from normie high school. Yet now, back at Addams Manor, back to what she hoped would be a solitary and properly morbid life... she felt like she'd left something behind.
Maybe it was the thrill of a savage creature on the loose. Maybe the whiff of a deadly mystery. Whatever it was, it haunted her. And the only real clue came when she said goodbye to her now disgustingly best friend, Enid Sinclair. After what had been her first real and sincere hug in the forest, Wednesday had expected they'd share another at their final parting. But the werewolf girl had made it clear: that hug had been a one-time event. They would return to their tradition of not hugging.
It was in that moment—strange and horrifying—that Wednesday Addams realized she missed being hugged.
She hadn't dwelled on it at the time. Enid had, after all, yanked her from Hyde's deadly claws, and her wolf form had undeniably caught Wednesday's attention. She could only admit to herself—silently, begrudgingly—that she was drawn to her roommate's wild, lupine nature. And as the days passed after leaving Nevermore, she began to miss even that nauseatingly cheerful, rainbow-colored, sugar-coated side of Enid that used to occupy the other half of her room.
A new clue came about a month later, during the first full moon since she'd left school. Wednesday heard something she hadn't heard at Addams Manor in years: wolf howls. Wolves and werewolves had long vanished from the estate, ever since the Addams family turned some of them into fur coats. Not out of hatred—heavens no—the Addams had nothing against wolves. Long ago, a particular pack had antagonized the family, and the consequences had been... unpleasant. Since then, no wolf had dared approach the surrounding woods.
But Wednesday was certain: a lone wolf was nearby. Its howl had kept her awake—not annoyingly, but in a haunting, nostalgic way. The sound echoed in her mind like a memory she never made. Something in her chest ached. And that irritated her profoundly. She was a staunch believer in the fact that Wednesday Addams did not have a heart. But that night, after hearing that howl, a thought crept into her analytical mind: perhaps the much-despised Addams family curse hadn't skipped her after all.
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The next morning at breakfast, Wednesday decided to consult the one person she considered the foremost expert on such matters: her mother, Morticia Addams.
"Mother, I have a question," she said.
Morticia looked up from the obituaries, delighted and surprised. Her daughter hated asking for help—especially from her. Yet this morning, something in Wednesday's eyes hinted at turmoil, which both thrilled and worried Morticia.
"Of course, my daughter. Ask away."
Wednesday sat in the chair next to her mother—an act shocking in itself. She usually sat at the far end of the dining table, as far from the rest of the family as possible.
"Did you happen to hear howling last night? More precisely, from a werewolf?"
It was her father who answered, in his usual cheerful tone. Only now did Wednesday notice him, standing by the buffet table with a plate of eggs and bacon.
"My dear storm cloud of doom, there haven't been werewolves—or any wolves at all—on Addams property for generations, which saddens me deeply, as they are such beautiful, deadly creatures."
Wednesday turned to him, intrigued. Werewolves were among her father's favorite species. If one had been nearby, he'd surely have noticed.
"And yet," she said, "I am quite sure I heard a howl—a she-wolf, from the sound of it. It kept me awake all night. Not because it was disturbing, but because I couldn't stop listening. It sounded distant and close at once. I almost went searching for her. Then, the song changed slightly... as if she were telling me not to come. That we would find each other, somehow."
Morticia's loving smile faltered. Never had she heard such sentimental words from her daughter. Not in seventeen years.
"It's not what you think," Wednesday added quickly, reading her mother's expression. "Yes, I didn't sleep and yes, I'm exhausted. But the howl... was magnificent. It lulled me. It was beautiful."
Her father's shocked face slowly transformed into one of cheerful pride.
"My dear dark speck of doom, my little bringer of death," he said warmly. "You too, despite all your resistance, carry the Addams family curse—the love we offer the world. Our love. Our heart. And it belongs to only one person. Her, and her alone."
Wednesday's face remained blank to the untrained eye. But to her family, it spoke volumes: terror, horror, dread. This was not an experience she welcomed. And yet... she missed it. She missed *her*. She'd already pieced it together.
"And from what you've told us, my dear," her father continued, "it sounds like it must've been one of Nevermore's young wolves who captured your heart. Or rather, one young she-wolf in particular—one you're especially fond of."
Wednesday sighed. There was no use hiding it or changing the subject. She might as well take advantage of her parents' encyclopedic knowledge of love, if only to survive. An Addams who denies the curse... is doomed. And she refused that ending.
"Yes," she said. "It's probably her. I did some research on werewolves. During their first transformation—and every transformation under the full moon—they develop an unnatural instinct to find and protect their mate, if they've met them already. It's understandable that I didn't realize it. An Addams' love doesn't come with clear warning signs. The line between love and hate is thin. Easy to mistake one for the other.
"For werewolves, it's rare not to notice. But it can happen—especially if they've never transformed before. Like Enid. Thing already confirmed that her first instinct after transforming was to find me. She faced a Hyde—a creature capable of killing an adult werewolf—and she won. Just to protect me.
"That would make her the ideal match, wouldn't it? What better partner for life than a savage, cruel killing machine? If only she didn't have that unbearable side made of sweets, plushies, and rainbows..."
Her father nodded enthusiastically in agreement, while Morticia remained quiet, thoughtful. Her daughter hadn't said she'd accepted it. Or that she would act on it. A mother-daughter conversation would be needed—before Wednesday tried anything dangerously foolish... even by Addams standards.