His Pigtailed Crucible of Fate

She cut through the crowded school corridor like a shadow, passing through a sea of colorful garments, pinned backpacks and brand logos — the collective effort of impressionable teenagers to fit in amongst their banal social cohort. Wednesday Addams' only concern — dressed head to toe in black — was that she was not distinct enough from the other buffoons her age. She rounded the corner and turned toward her locker — two bubblegum-chewing girls leant against it, preventing her access. One of them belonged to Wednesday's English class, and based on her endless yammering about it from the back row last period, was insecure about her new haircut.

Wednesday stood in front of them with her arms folded, sporting a hostile glare.

They looked her up and down with a snicker.

"What could you possibly need from in here, weirdo?" one of them jabbed, "I know you don't have any makeup to reapply."

"It's probably where she keeps her imaginary boyfriend tied up," the other chimed in snarkily.

Wednesday was unfazed.

"No, I had a paper bag I thought you could use to cover your hairdresser's mistake," she retorted.

The girl straightened up, looking as though she might protest, but simply rolled her eyes and turned to her friend.

"C'mon, she probably has her own special type of food or something," she mocked.

"See you in cafeteria, loser, hope you find somebody to sit with today," the other jeered as they both vacated from Wednesday's locker.

She didn't bother returning their remarks, stepping toward her double-padlocked locker and breaking inside. Her school textbooks lay tattered at the bottom underneath a spare pair of boots, though she imagined Nancy Reagan High would take less of an issue with that than with the pet she was keeping on the top shelf.

Wednesday reached into the waist-pocket of her dress and pulled out a ziplock bag containing two dead crickets she'd caught earlier. She deftly opened the lid of the terrarium she had on the top shelf, slid them inside and then closed the lid again. Inside, from behind a stone and a twig, a full-sized Hogna Carolinensis wolf spider emerged to secure its new feast, eliciting a small smile from Wednesday.

"Good boy, Kessler," she murmured, slamming the locker shut. She was aware that any at this school who held ire toward her might try to take it out on the innocent spider, so she did her best to keep him hidden.

Her stomach grumbled.

'Time for another disappointing meal...' she thought to herself, turning and begrudgingly heading for the cafeteria. Jet-black braids hugged her slender shoulders as she marched, her dead-eyed gaze locked on her straight-line path. Nothing, nor no one, at this prison of a school elicited her attention — she imagined she'd find the walls of an actual prison more interesting.

Reaching the hall and taking her tray, she examined her lack of options: a rectangle slice of pizza, a helpful of corn, a container of peach slices suspended in juice, and a carton of chocolate milk.

'If the school were attempting to poison us, it'd be able to do it purely out of the banality of these meals...' she grimaced.

She turned and surveyed for an empty table. While the buffoon from earlier was technically correct about her typically sitting alone for meals, Wednesday certainly didn't desire otherwise. She'd found that the experience of sitting among other students usually involved vapid conversation and occasionally having flecks of food spat on her by teenagers who apparently hadn't yet learned to keep their mouths closed while eating.

She quickly spotted a person with whom she didn't actually mind sharing a table, and took a seat at the opposite corner from them.

Pugsley Addams appeared not to notice her sit down, in the midst of chewing. He held an uneaten Twinkie in one hand.

"How on earth can you stand eating those things, Pugsley?..." she asked her brother stonily.

He looked up from his meal. He had recently taken to using gel to spike up his hair as though he were a punk-rocker. Though he likely adopted the look purely based on his enthusiasm for spiky things generally.

Pugsley met her eyes and gave a lackadaisical shrug.

"The creamy filling?" he suggested.

She gave an expression of aversion.

A group of boys wearing letterman jackets passed by Pugsley's side of the table, one of them carelessly bumping shoulders with him. The boy jerked his head around and locked his gaze on Pugsley.

"Hey, fatass!" he scolded, "even the table can't hold all of you, you're leaking out into the aisle!"

The rest of his group joined in a chorus of snickering and laughter.

Pugsley appeared to genuinely find finishing the rest of his meal more interesting than engaging with his antagonizer.

Wednesday however, stood up and glared the boy's way. He looked to be a football player, but somewhat more slender in frame than his friends.

"How'd your father feel the first time you wore that jacket home, considering you barely fill out the sleeves?" she mocked.

The boy turned and narrowed his eyes at her, but said nothing. Too early to tell whether she'd successfully struck a nerve.

He turned back to Pugsley.

"You need your freak sister to stand up for you, that right, butterball?" he continued. He leant a little closer.

"Or is she really your girlfriend?" he said with as much vitriol as he could muster.

The boy suddenly jolted upright, raising his hand to his neck with a look of panic. His hand found the handle of a metal fork, jutting out of his neck.

Pugsley glanced up out of curiosity at the commotion, and then back at Wednesday, who returned a smirk.

The boy began screaming and hopping around, eventually bursting out of the cafeteria with a wail, his cohort trailing after him and offering to pull the throwing weapon out of his neck.

Pugsley giggled.

"Well, this school was fun while it lasted," he shrugged, steadfastly returning to his meal.

Indeed, expulsion due to poor behavior was a feat with which the two siblings had both had repeated experiences.

'Not all had been quite as satisfying,' she thought to herself as she continued to watch the boy she'd impaled shriek down the corridor.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Another bend snaking through a suspiciously unoccupied forest road caused Wednesday to shift uncomfortably in her seat. Her spider, Kessler, lay atop her lap in his terrarium. She looked up at her parents as they both nodded their heads to Strauss' Voices of Spring Waltz playing on the car stereo. Her father, Gomez, caught her glance.

"Wednesday!" he said, ever-bombastically, "A new type of glum, is it?" He gestured toward her disposition. "This isn't your usual melancholy…?"

"It's only the extended car ride, father," she grimaced.

He pursed his top lip, his pencil-thin mustache twitching with it, before turning to the lumbering, pale man playing chauffeur.

"Lurch!" he exclaimed jovially in his Castilian accent, "not so tight on the corners, ay? My poor daughter is on the verge of puking, all over us! — I just had this suit pressed!"

Wednesday let out a small grin in amusement as her father winked back at her.

Her mother Morticia placed a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"This is the final road, my love," she reminded him.

Wednesday met her mother's gaze for a moment.

"Wednesday, your hair, please," Morticia implored.

"What?..." she replied.

Morticia made a gesture at her right side, leading Wednesday to find that one of her braids had loosened.

"You know I'm not typically this way, Wednesday," she continued, "but understand, please, that the opportunity to have you sent to this school is a personal favor to me by an old acquaintance — as horrid as it may seem, gratitude may be the only way to ensure it."

Wednesday partially rolled her eyes.

"Forgive me, mother," she began facetiously, "but I struggle to understand the intensity of your desire to have me sent here."

"At a time," Morticia said after a pause, "we did wonder whether having a more... normal upbringing might have been better for you, Wednesday, but... well, now that we find ourselves at this crossroad, we do feel that—"

Morticia looked at Gomez warmly. "Well, Nevermore is a special place..."

The two clasped hands. Wednesday cringed and turned away, peering out of the window instead.

At that moment the car approached a wrought-iron gate, which read "NEVERMORE ACADEMY." It opened automatically for them, though no gate guard appeared to have been present to observe their arrival.

Though Wednesday possessed many talents, magical ability was not among them. She wondered whether this might put her at a disadvantage against whatever these other students were that she was about to be thrown in with.

She glanced over at the empty car seat next to her. For once, she'd managed not to get her brother in trouble for her own antics — Pugsley had avoided expulsion and was to remain at Nancy Reagan High. She was fairly certain he'd get on fine without her, despite the inordinate amount of time she typically spent fending off his bullies — he wasn't the type to let the opinions of others get to him, nor could he be pushed around easily. Wednesday hoped she might have had a hand in shaping his resilience, though it was more likely just an Addams family trait.

Of course, Wednesday couldn't help but feel that life at this new school might be fractionally more unpleasant without her childhood companion there for her to bother.

They passed a pair of ornamental stone gargoyles and reached the end of the drive, where Lurch pulled around and parked in front of what could only be described as a victorian-gothic castle, complete with a set of mechanical clock towers, aggressively steeped mansard roofs, and no inch of stone wall left bare of its anachronistically ornate masonry.

For the first time that day, Wednesday's interested had been piqued.

Gomez hopped out first, holding the door open for Morticia with one hand, and lighting up a cigar with the other.

"Oh, this is turning into a beautiful day, Gomez," Morticia exalted as she stepped out of the vehicle, in response to the overcast weather and looming storm clouds.

Wednesday hopped out with her terrarium under one arm, carrying her trunk with the other. Smelling the dew in the frigid air, she had to agree with her mother that the day was turning for the better. Her next sight made her doubt this conclusion, however.

A tall, slender woman, perhaps even beating out Morticia in stature, flung both entry doors open and marched over to greet them with an overwrought smile. She had blonde, cropped hair, thick red red lipstick and sported a plush, white business skirt and jacket combo, in stark contrast to the three dark-outfitted Addams' she strode over to meet with.

"Morticia!" she exclaimed with outstretched arms.

"Larissa, dear," Morticia leant in and gave a polite kiss on the cheek, but did not return her full embrace.

"It was so nice to hear from you again over the telephone, after all these years," Larissa Weems said warmly, as Morticia nodded with a smile.

"And Gomez!" Larissa continued, as Gomez planted a kiss on her outstretched hand, making her a little flushed.

"Oh— thank you! My, you both look just as you once did," she continued, now turning to Wednesday, who met her gaze with dead eyes.

"And you must be young Wednesday," she beamed, clasping her hands together, "I must admit, I am a sucker for unique names — was that your doing Morticia?"

Morticia smiled graciously in confirmation, glancing toward her husband. "Gomez would have had us name her Woebegone Addams."

Gomez guffawed. "Perhaps if another daughter blesses us!"

The two exchanged a moment, taking one another's hand.

Wednesday was ready for this ordeal to be over.

"Oh, well it was a most wonderful choice," Larissa continued, "and such a pretty—"

She noticed the terrarium under Wednesday's arm. "Oh, you have a friend with you... that's—"

The sound of the hour chime rung out in a cacophonous chorus, with both clock towers striking at the same moment.

Larissa glanced over and then back. "That'll be the end of first period. Perhaps we ought not spend too much longer becoming reacquainted, I'm sure Wednesday is itching to get settled—"

"Oh, certainly," Morticia agreed, "those would be my thoughts exactly. Gomez, please, help Wednesday with her trunk."

Wednesday begrudgingly handed it to her father and followed the party through the oak doors and into the entry foyer of the building.

Further down the hall, she observed various crowds of students in deep purple uniforms scurrying off to their next classes. They seemed to all look like regular children, for the most part.

Larissa turned back to face her.

"Your mother and I were quite the model students back in our day, Wednesday, does she ever tell you the stories?" she beamed.

"None that mentioned you," Wednesday replied plainly.

Morticia blushed slightly.

"Oh, Wednesday never listens to her mother's stories, though I've no doubt told them," she lied.

Larissa gave a polite laugh.

"Well, Wednesday, as a mid-term enrollee there is quite a bit on which to get you up to speed — perhaps you'd like to make your goodbyes," she suggested.

"Not particularly," Wednesday stonily replied.

Gomez let out a hearty laugh.

"Isn't she a riot!? Come here, my dear," he grinned, stepping over and hugging her.

She returned her father's embrace, squeezing him tightly.

"We shall see you again, before term's end, no doubt," he winked, as Wednesday nodded with a slight smirk.

He traded places with Morticia, who bent down to be close to her.

Morticia simply looked her up and down for a moment.

"Wednesday... unlike your previous schools, you will find that maiming or seriously injuring these students won't prove quite so trivial a task. My only wish... is that you don't take up the challenge, this time." She promptly patted her on the cheek and stood back in line with Gomez.

Wednesday did in fact appreciate the lack of drawn-out goodbyes, though she did acknowledge that this would likely be the longest she'd spend away from her family since that one break she'd spent at a summer camp.

Morticia turned to Larissa one last time.

"We must thank you once again for accepting her on such short notice," she said warmly.

Larissa excitedly exhaled and nodded her head.

"She'll be well taken care of here," she remarked, "as you well know, Nevermore prides itself as a place in which individuals of an unorthodox bent can truly discover themselves — I trust that Wednesday's experience shall be no exception."

Yes, of course," Morticia replied and then paused. "Any hospital bills you may forward to our accountant," she added politely.

"Oh!" Larissa exclaimed, "does she have a condition?"

Morticia cordially shook her head. "For the other students."

Larissa offered somewhat of a courteous smile. "I'm sure things will be fine," she replied.

Morticia brushed a hand over Wednesday's cheek once more, who stared expressionlessly back up at her, and then finally turned to leave.

As her parents shuffled back outside, the headmaster promptly spun to face Wednesday.

"Now, I'll show you to your dorm and have you set up with your class schedule, with the aim of having you attend third period, at 11," she said, a certain sternness entering her voice.

"You may refer to me as Principal Weems going forward," she continued, flashing a professional smile.

"Please, follow me," she began up a lavishly decorated spiral staircase. Wednesday let out a sharp exhale and trailed after her.

The carved oakwood walls were full of ornately framed paintings of what Wednesday presumed to be past alumni. She expected to see depictions of her mother and father sooner or later.

Principal Weems glanced back at her as they ascended.

"Oh, yes, this place has been around to teach generations of children much like yourself, Wednesday," she mused, "you'll be among peers who've experienced similar difficulties fitting in with society — you'll have no need for that guarded exterior of yours any longer."

She observed a look of dubiousness on Wednesday's face.

"In any case, you'll find your time here to be far preferable to that at your old school," she continued.

Wednesday looked up at her. "I wouldn't be so sure," she said confidently.

The principal joylessly raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?" she enquired.

"I hadn't been expected to make any friends at my old school," Wednesday replied, to which the principal gave a curt chuckle.

They reached a closed door at the final landing. The principal pushed it open without knocking.

Sat at a desk to one side of the mid-sized dorm room, a petite young girl donning the purple school uniform yelped in fright.

"Principal Weems! How— uh, hi! I... had a free period!" she bumbled.

The contrast between the left and right sides of the dorm were jarring — the girl's side was overladen with plush toy animals, pillows and blankets of every color, with some even draped from the ceiling. Her desk was littered with markers and notepads to map out the rainbow, and even the girl's side of the window had been painted over in acrylic, such that the light shone through multicolored.

'Surely this should be enough to make anybody puke...' Wednesday gagged internally.

"That's quite alright Enid, I simply expected you might instead have been out in the quad, socializing, perhaps," the principal waved her hand dispassionately.

Enid gave a half-hearted smile.

"In any case," she continued, "You have a new roommate — this is Wednesday Addams. Wednesday, meet Enid Sinclair…"

The girl hopped up to greet her. She had pink and blue streaks through her platinum blonde hair, and a certain bounce in her step which made Wednesday almost as queazy as the rainbow decor did.

"Howdy, roomie!" Enid squealed, as though this were the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.

Wednesday curtly looked her up and down, but said nothing.

"Oh," Enid said, suddenly in concern, "are you feeling okay? You look a little... pale."

"I did mention she was an Addams, did I not, Enid?" Principal Weems said from behind Wednesday. "I think it would be fair to say," she continued, bending down and placing her hands around Wednesday's shoulders, "that young Wednesday is allergic to color."

Enid reacted as though the statement were literal.

"Oh!... What happens to you?" she exclaimed with concern.

Wednesday looked down her nose at her.

"It's not what happens to me, but to those in my proximity," she retorted, shrugging the principal's hands off of her shoulders.

Weems derisively chuckled again.

"Well, seeing as you have the free time Enid, perhaps you might give your new roommate a short tour of the grounds after she unpacks."

"Oh, yes principal Weems!" Enid agreed in a jittery voice.

Wednesday turned and began toward her new bed, but the principal demanded her attention once more.

"Wednesday?" Weems nodded toward the terrarium in her hand, "if I see that thing wandering the corridors, it will be confiscated."

For once, Wednesday held her snide remark.

"Yes ma'am..." she replied.

The principal shut the door decisively behind her.

Wednesday turned her back on her colorful roommate and began unpacking, placing Kessler the spider on her bedside desk.

Enid wasted no time popping up right beside her.

"You really have a pet tarantula?" she asked, incredulous.

Wednesday turned her head and glared at her until she took a half-step back.

"It's a wolf spider, not a tarantula," she finally replied.

"Oh!... They don't eat actual wolves, do they? 'Cause then I'd be, uh," Enid attempted to joke.

Wednesday turned to her, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"You're a werewolf?" she surmised.

Enid raised a hand of multicolored fingernails and extended them into claws.

"Rawr," she giggled.

Wednesday took a moment. "...Is this whole, baby-girl-pastel-paradise look a tactic to lull your adversaries into a false sense of security before you tear out their esophagus?" she genuinely enquired.

Enid's expression changed to one of bewilderment.

"If it is," Wednesday continued, "then I'm only willing to tolerate it out of respect. If it isn't, then please take the rainbow nail polish away from me and allow me to unpack without being disturbed."

Enid was silent for a moment. Wednesday would have been grateful if she didn't also find it likely that the pink-haired ditz might begin sobbing after having had her feelings hurt.

To her surprise, the girl's demeanor hadn't been deterred in the slightest.

"You're going to be such a character around here!" Enid exclaimed instead.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. Having sorted through her trunk, she unzipped open her smaller duffel bag. A spindly-legged creature scattered out from the opening and onto Wednesday's arm, to a shriek from Enid. Though, it wasn't another spider, it was a hand — animate, though detached from any governing appendage.

"Thing…" Wednesday said, as though greeting an old friend. "I hope you didn't stow away solely in an attempt to frighten me," she continued, "because that was a pitiful attempt."

It appeared to wave a couple of its limbs in protest.

"Not even close…" Wednesday reiterated.

Enid's widened eyes darted back and forth between the two, demanding answers.

Wednesday turned with Thing still perched on her arm like a falcon.

"Thing… meet this waste of space I have for a roommate," she said to it.

Enid recoiled backward. "Woah, woah, what's—?"

"Thing is a family member," said Wednesday, not presuming this would reassure her, "who… probably shouldn't be here..."

She turned to Thing. "You might not find this place to be overly hospitable toward you," she warned, "there's a giant lady here playing jail warden, and I've already observed her disdain for spiders — if she sees you scurrying about, she'll likely try to capture you."

Thing made a motion with its fingers in response.

"Yes, Kessler's here too," Wednesday replied, placing Thing down on the desk by the spider terrarium. The two creatures appeared to greet one another through the plexiglass.

"He's contented to stay inside the box and not get up to hijinks, though," she added sternly.

"Um," Enid broke in, "so you guys grew up together...? You, and... the hand?"

"Don't be absurd," Wednesday retorted, "Thing's been with us since long before I was born."

"Right..." Enid murmured, somewhat dumbfounded.

Wednesday returned to her conversation with Thing.

"Actually, why don't you do something useful for me and keep him fed throughout the day," she said, nodding in the direction of the spider.

Wednesday glanced and found Enid at her side again.

"I'd like to say sorry for freaking out earlier," she said to Thing, "it's nice to meet you, Thing… my name's Enid!"

She extended out her hand, and Thing rolled back onto its nub of a wrist and shook it.

Wednesday's eyes shot between the two. She'd have to find a means of vanquishing this girl's incessant friendliness before term's end, Wednesday thought to herself.

Enid then turned to Wednesday.

"Sorry, but Principal Weems will have a cow if I don't at least show you to the registrar's office for your uniform and class schedule before next period starts," she begged.

Wednesday exhaled.

"Very well," she said, glancing at Thing. "Stay hidden," she warned, "or I'll have your thumb."

Thing bopped up and down in acknowledgment.

She gave it a knowing nod, and then allowed herself to be led by Enid as she absconded from the dorm in a whirlwind of hyperactivity.

They descended the staircase and passed back through the familiar foyer, without a second of silence from Enid, who opted to recite to her the entire history of the school's founding.

"—but ever since they attached lightning rods to each of the spires on the roof, nothing like that's ever happened again," Enid babbled on.

Wednesday glanced at her. "Did you say somebody died from being struck by lightning?"

"Yes, Nevermore's third headmaster, Principal Dirge," she repeated, "…you weren't even listening, were— oh, hi Mrs. Oom!"

They'd evidently reached the registrar's office, where they met with an elderly lady with a single, bulbous eye in the centre of her face — the registrar, no doubt.

Enid turned to Wednesday.

"Mrs. Oom is a cyclops," she beamed.

Wednesday eyed Enid with derision. 'You don't say...' she thought.

Mrs. Oom kind of grunted in her direction, sliding an old, leather-bound ledger over the counter for Wednesday to sign her name into.

Wednesday observed her enormous eye roll back and forth between the lines on the page. She found the lady to be rather unnerving, and for that reason she was more than glad to comply with her request.

Wednesday was handed a sheet of parchment, with her class schedule written upon it in ink calligraphy.

'The crone certainly is dedicated,' she remarked internally.

"Oh my god, we have botany class AND ancient Mesopotamian mythology together, roomie!" Enid celebrated, peeking over Wednesday's shoulder.

Wednesday observed the timetable — botany would be her first class of the day, starting in about half an hour. She grimaced at the realization that she wouldn't be able to escape her chatterbox of a companion until after lunch.

"I know — I'm excited too!" Enid squealed.

Wednesday stared at her, and Enid seemed to get the message. She turned and thanked Mrs. Oom on Wednesday's behalf, and then led her back behind the office where the new uniforms were kept.

"Well, um, you know," she waffled, "let me know if you have any trouble finding your size or whatever—"

"Is purple the only option...?" Wednesday lamented.

Enid looked confused. "Well, yeah," she replied, "have you not ever been to a uniformed school before?"

Wednesday carried an expression of dread. "My parents hadn't previously been that cruel..." she explained.

Enid sighed, attempting to empathize.

"I can tell you probably put a lot of effort into that outfit," she said, "it does have a certain… charming… shabbiness to it!"

Wednesday side-eyed her. "Whatever," she curtly replied, marching over toward the rack, "this one looks like it might've once been worn somebody my size…"

She promptly disappeared into the changing room.

"Oh, did you want me to bring you the other two sizes?" Enid called out from outside, "you know, to compare?"

Wednesday didn't answer her, focussing on the task at hand.

She pulled the curtain across and stepped back out, clad in purple pleated skirt, sweater and blazer, over a white shirt and black tie. She still wore her black tights underneath, as well as her black leather boots. She couldn't bear to bring herself to look in the mirror.

"Oh!—" Enid looked equal parts excited and concerned. "Are you sure you don't wanna try a size down? I feel like it could sit tighter around—"

"We're done here," Wednesday said through her teeth, already exiting the room.

Enid waited for Wednesday as she made a return trip to their dorm to drop off her things, and they continued their tour.

Passing through a wide, pointed archway, the building opened into a grassed outdoor area, with colonnade walkways encircling the perimeter at straight angles. Pockets of purple-uniformed students who were also enjoying a free period occupied the stone benches and tables that were littered about. The students at the table closest to them curiously all wore large, tinted sunglasses, and their skin was even paler than Wednesday's.

"Welcome to the quad!" Enid declared feverishly.

Wednesday paused, assuming she might have more to say.

"It's a pentagon..." Wednesday corrected her.

For once, it was her words that were falling on deaf ears — Enid appeared to be distracted by some commotion of students at the opposite end of the 'quad'. While seemingly an eclectic group, they all wore head coverings of some sort — hats, beanies, turbans, and the like.

'Perhaps they were all scalped at a young age, and become cold in the open air,' Wednesday wondered ghoulishly.

Enid's mind returned after a moment, and she continued without skipping a beat. "The east wing is where the greenhouse is," she gestured, "that's where botany class will be, and that way is also the infirmary — you know, if you hit your head, or if your claws come out while you're having a nightmare and you gash yourself up so bad that you bleed through the bedsheets your mom got you for Christmas...!"

Wednesday raised an eyebrow at her.

Enid took a breath. "Anyway," she went on, "most of your other classes will probably be in the west wing near the library, that's where all of the regular old boring classrooms and stuff are."

She turned to Wednesday excitedly. "But now that we've sorted that, I know what you've really wanted to find out about are all of the student cliques!"

At the mention of such banalities, Wednesday abruptly turned and walked away. By some miracle, Enid didn't immediately spring back up by her side again, either.

She wandered down the colonnades, until she reached a boy walking the opposite way, who decided to stop and engage her in conversation.

"Woah, you're new here, huh?" he opened. He was one of the head-covered students she spotted, wearing a purple beanie, and a vacant expression to go along with it.

"You're like, a ghost or something, right?" he concluded.

Her plan had been to continue walking past him, but his question was just inane enough to engage her.

She looked at him. "How do you imagine I died? I'll give you a clue — it was during the school day, as you can tell by my uniform," she explained with a thick layer of condescension.

He expressed mild surprise. "Wait— you're dead?!"

"Ajax!" Enid blurted out from behind, catching up to them, "this is Wednesday, and no, she's not dead, she's just messing with you."

She shot Wednesday an uneasy look.

Ajax turned back to Wednesday. "Woah... right on," he said, giving a lackadaisical smirk, "you really had me there."

Wednesday, mid eye-roll, noticed that the clock tower was about to chime on the eleventh hour.

"Are we expected to be there on time?" She asked Enid.

"Oh— well, there's a leeway for if you're coming from another class, so, we won't be late," she replied, turning to Ajax. "What class have you got? Wait— don't tell me... you've got stonemasonry — right?" she giggled.

"Oh," he reacted, "…did you read my mind just now or something? Wait— can werewolves do that?"

"No," she giggled, "I just remember from last week, silly."

'They're somehow more insufferable together than they even are apart,' Wednesday grimaced.

She was put out of her misery by the chorus of chimes from the clock towers.

"Well, carve— or, grind something cool for me!" Enid waved goodbye.

"…Chisel seems more likely," Wednesday muttered to herself.

She led the way to the greenhouse, as Enid hurried over to walk alongside her.

"I've thought about dating Ajax before," she chattered, "but let's be honest, it would never work out, 'cause—"

"Enid," Wednesday interrupted.

"Yes?" she smiled.

Wednesday turned and looked at her with dead eyes, which seemed to say all that needed to be said.