Never seemed to fit in

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

𝕋ℍ𝔼 Addams family's black hearse slithered through the iron gates of Nevermore Academy, its tires murmuring against the gravel like whispered warnings from the dead. The towering gates groaned in protest as they closed behind them, sealing the family within the academy's grasp.

Morticia gazed out the window, her dark eyes sweeping over the ivy-choked grounds, where statues stood half-consumed by creeping vines, their stone faces frozen in silent despair. Beyond them, the academy loomed-its gothic silhouette carved against the storm-lit sky, turrets reaching like skeletal fingers toward the heavens. A smile, slow and knowing, curved Morticia's lips as she breathed, "At least it's turning into a beautiful day."

Thunder rumbled in reply, a deep, guttural growl that sent a shiver through the twisted trees. Wednesday, seated in his customary corner of brooding silence, exhaled a slow sigh-one of resigned acceptance rather than irritation. The air inside the hearse was thick, steeped in unspoken history, as though the very ground of Nevermore carried the weight of a thousand forgotten stories.

As the car rolled forward, the mansion revealed itself in full-its spires clawing hungrily at the sky, stained-glass windows flickering with unseen movement behind their darkened panes. The closer they drew, the heavier the air became, thick with the scent of damp stone, old parchment, and something faintly metallic-perhaps a whisper of past misdeeds lingering in the foundations.

Wednesday's gaze caught on a lone statue standing near the drive, its weathered features obscured by shadows. Perched upon its outstretched hand was a crow, its black eyes like polished onyx, gleaming with something almost knowing. It did not flinch as the hearse approached; instead, it held Wednesday's stare, unblinking, unafraid. A silent challenge.

Then, with a sharp crack of its wings, the crow took flight, disappearing into the mist like a ghost retreating into the abyss. The hearse came to a final, hushed stop before the mansion's darkened doors, and the silence that followed felt almost expectant.

Nevermore had been waiting.

🥀

The warmth of Principal Weems' office wrapped around the Addams family like an unwelcome embrace. The crackle of the fire filled the silence, the faint scent of aged wood smoke lingering in the air. Principal Weems, tall and commanding with snow-white hair that matched her immaculate white attire, sat behind her desk, her sharp eyes studying Wednesday with curiosity. "Wednesday is certainly a unique name," she remarked, her voice measured and smooth, like a blade concealed in silk. Wednesday stared back at her with the blank intensity of a storm gathering at sea.

Morticia, ever the portrait of dark elegance, smiled faintly at her son. "His name comes from a line in my favourite nursery rhyme: 'Wednesday's child is full of woe.'"

Principal Weems tilted her head, intrigued. "I take it Wednesday was the day he was born?"

"No," Wednesday said flatly, his gaze unwavering. "I was born on Friday the 13th."

Morticia's smile deepened as she cast a proud glance at her son, her crimson lips curving in approval. Principal Weems chuckled softly, the sound light but carrying the weight of old memories. "You've always had a unique perspective, Morticia," she said, her gaze momentarily drifting to the mother. Turning her attention back to Wednesday, she added, "Did your mother tell you we were roommates once, back in the day?"

Wednesday's expression remained impassive. "And you graduated with your sanity intact? Impressive." Morticia shot her son a frown, but he didn't notice-or didn't care. Principal Weems, however, smiled faintly and opened the file on her desk. "You've certainly had an... interesting educational journey. Eight schools in five years."

Gomez, beaming with pride, chimed in, "They haven't built one strong enough to hold him. I'm sure this place won't be any different." Wednesday glanced at his father, his tone dry. "What he means to say is I greatly appreciate the opportunity."

Principal Weems arched a brow, unbothered by the boy's barbs. "Nevermore doesn't usually accept students mid-term but given your impeccable grades and your family's history with the school, the board made an exception."

Morticia and Gomez exchanged looks of pride, while Wednesday's gaze dropped to the fire, his thoughts dark and unspoken. "Shit..."

Morticia's voice broke the moment. "Larissa, about Wednesday's... therapy sessions. The court ordered them." Principal Weems nodded, her smile calm and unshaken. "We've arranged for a therapist in Jericho to meet with him twice a week."

Gomez clapped a hand on Wednesday's shoulder. "Did you hear that, my storm cloud? You're in excellent hands."

Wednesday's dark eyes flicked to the principal. "We'll see if she survives the first session." The room fell into a momentary silence, the tension as sharp as a knife. Principal Weems, ever composed, leaned forward. "I've assigned you to your mother's old dorm-Ophelia Hall."

Morticia gasped, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Ophelia Hall! How nostalgic!"

Wednesday turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Ophelia... she's the one who kills herself after being driven mad by her family, isn't she?"

Morticia's smile didn't falter as she nodded, while Gomez furrowed his brow, trying to recall the reference.

Principal Weems stood, motioning toward the door. "Shall we meet your new neighbours?"

They followed her down the winding halls until she opened the door to Wednesday's dorm room. The space was sharply divided. On the left, an explosion of colour-plushies, rainbows, and vibrant hues that seemed to mock the surrounding gloom. The window at the centre, shaped like a spiderweb, was half-stained in kaleidoscopic colours, casting prisms of light onto the floor.

But it was the right side that caught Wednesday's attention. A realm of dark elegance, rich purples, blacks, and forest greens swathed the space in shadowy splendour. An antique bed draped in velvet dominated the room, surrounded by shelves brimming with ancient books, jars of herbs, and gleaming crystals. Candles flickered softly, their flames casting waltzing shadows across the floor. The air smelled faintly of incense and dried lavender, the atmosphere steeped in mystery and magic.

Wednesday stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the room before he finally turned to Principal Weems. "It'll do."

The dorm room was alive with contrasts-an explosion of colour on one side and brooding elegance on the other-but Wednesday's attention was drawn to the black cat curled up on the shadowy bed. Its sleek fur shimmered like polished onyx, rising, and falling with the rhythm of its sleep. He was intrigued, his dark eyes tracing the animal's serene form, but his thoughts were interrupted by his mother's audible gasp.

"Oh, my," Morticia murmured, her gaze fixed on the riot of rainbows across the room. Gomez, less discreet, rubbed his chin as he stared. "It's so... vivid."

Before Wednesday could respond, a burst of energy entered the room. A girl with short blonde hair streaked with pink and blue dye bounded toward them, her bright smile practically illuminating the space. "Howdy, neighbour!" she exclaimed, inhaling as if trying to absorb the moment.

Wednesday regarded her blankly, his expression void of amusement or interest. Principal Weems, ever the mediator, stepped forward. "Wednesday, this is Enid Sinclair, one of your new neighbours. I thought Enid and her roommate might help you settle in."

Enid tilted her head, concern flashing across her face. "Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."

Gomez, clearly pleased with himself, replied before his son could, "Wednesday always looks half-dead."

"Oh," Enid said, her smile faltering briefly. She recovered quickly, stepping forward with her arms wide. "Welcome to Ophelia Hall!"

Before she could close the gap, Wednesday instinctively stepped back, his icy glare enough to halt her in her tracks. "Not a hugger," he stated, his tone flat. "Got it." Enid dropped her arms, her smile faltering but undeterred.

Morticia, observing the exchange, chimed in with a faintly amused tone. "Please excuse Wednesday. He's allergic to colour." Her eyes flicked toward the rainbow-drenched half of the room with feigned disdain.

"Oh, wow," Enid said, her curiosity piqued. "What happens to you?"

Wednesday's gaze settled on her, his expression deadpan. "I break out into hives, and then the flesh peels off my bones."

Enid stared at him, wide-eyed, but before she could respond, a soft, melodic voice cut through the room like a breeze that carried the scent of night-blooming flowers. "Well, that sounds very interesting."

Everyone turned toward the doorway, where a figure stood cloaked in shadow and intrigue. A girl, hauntingly beautiful, with long, midnight-black hair spilling over her shoulders like ink in water. Her silver eyes shimmered with an ethereal glow, reflecting the light like moonbeams rippling across a midnight lake. In her hands, she cradled a basket filled with books, berries, and delicate bones-an offering to the unknown, or perhaps a collection of whispered secrets.

Principal Weems smiled, the warmth in her expression a rare contrast to the storm that seemed to gather in the girl's presence. "Ah, there she is. Addams family, Wednesday, this is Lilith Winters-the witch of Nevermore."

Lilith stepped into the room with a grace so effortless it was almost otherworldly. Her movements were fluid, measured, as if she drifted rather than walked, the hem of her cloak barely skimming the floor. With deliberate care, she placed her basket down and unfastened her cloak, letting it slip from her shoulders to reveal a dark, flowing dress that shifted like liquid shadow beneath the dim glow of the chandeliers. Light bent toward her, drawn by some unseen force, accentuating the pale contrast of her skin and the enigmatic depths of her silver gaze.

She approached Wednesday with a quiet confidence, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that was neither confrontational nor passive-just knowing. There was a strange gravity in her presence, a pull that whispered of hidden truths and veiled mysteries. She extended her hand, fingers cool and elegant. "Hello, Wednesday. Welcome to Nevermore."

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. His gaze flickered to her outstretched hand, something in the gesture disarming yet unreadable. When he finally placed his own hand in hers, a peculiar warmth travelled up his arm, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. It wasn't unpleasant-just unexpected, a sensation foreign and unsettling in its depth. He withdrew his hand quickly, expression carved from stone, but Lilith only smiled, lowering her hand with no sign of offense.

Wednesday studied her in silence, noting the striking contrast between her raven-dark hair and those luminous silver eyes, the way they seemed to hold the weight of centuries. She was captivating in a way he refused to acknowledge, an enigma wrapped in moonlight and shadow. But if she expected a reaction, she would find none on his face.

Principal Weems broke the moment. "Luckily, we've special ordered your uniform." She turned to Lilith and Enid. "Lilith, Enid, please escort Wednesday to the registrar's office to collect it along with his schedule. Perhaps you can give him a brief tour on the way."

Lilith's gaze shifted toward Enid, a soft, unreadable smile playing on her lips. "I need to change into my uniform first. I'll join you later for the grand tour."

Enid nodded eagerly, practically vibrating with excitement, while Wednesday cast a dark, lingering look at his parents before striding toward the door. As he passed Lilith, his gaze flicked toward her one last time. Her lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile, a silent farewell wrapped in something unspoken. He said nothing-just stepped into the hall, Enid's cheerful chatter already filling the air as she followed behind him.

Once the room was empty, Lilith turned back to her belongings, unpacking her basket with deliberate, almost ritualistic care. Each item was placed with precision-an offering to the unseen forces that wove through the air like threads of an unfinished tapestry. She unrolled a velvet mat across the wooden floor, its deep indigo hue absorbing the flickering glow of candlelight as she arranged small vials of herbs, polished stones, and bones of creatures long departed.

With a graceful flick of her wrist, she struck a match, bringing flame to a circle of black candles. Their soft, golden glow licked at the walls, shadows stretching and twisting as if they, too, were listening. Lilith settled herself in the centre, cross-legged, her dark dress pooling around her like ink spilling into water. The air thickened with the scent of burnt sage and something more-something ancient, electric.

She reached into her basket, drawing forth a deck of tarot cards bound in worn leather. With practiced hands, she shuffled them, the soft whisper of paper against paper a language only she could understand. Slowly, methodically, she arranged the cards in a circle, each placement deliberate, a story unfurling in symbols and fate. At the centre lay the 13th card, its presence looming over the rest like a spectre in the night.

Lilith's silver eyes clouded, shadows pooling beneath them like ink bleeding through parchment. She murmured in a voice both low and melodic, an incantation not meant for human ears. The air crackled, candle flames flickering in response, bending toward her as if drawn by some unseen force.

"This one seems... interesting," she whispered, her breath barely disturbing the stillness. The cards stirred, edges lifting as if caught in a phantom breeze, revealing their secrets in the glow of the candlelight.

A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. Fate had begun its dance, and Wednesday Addams had just stepped into the waltz.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

By: SilverMist707

I hope you all are alright <3