The gates of Nevermore Academy groaned open like the maw of some ancient beast, iron teeth stretching wide to swallow you whole. The carriage wheels clattered on the cobblestone drive, the sound swallowed by the surrounding pines.
You had expected whispers. You had expected stares. You didn't expect quite this much silence – the kind that feels like a held breath. Every student within sight stopped moving, their heads turning towards you with an unsettling sort of curiosity. Some of them tilted their heads the way wolves size up prey.
Perfect, you thought outcast in a school of outcasts. I am special.
The driver dumped your suitcases unceremoniously at your feet before turning the carriage around. No goodbyes. Not even a grunt. You couldn't blame him.
Your gaze travelled up the building – towering Gothic Spires, black stone glistening from a recent rain. A dozen gargoyles leered down from above, their stone eyes seeming to follow you. Somewhere on the upper floors, a shadow moved behind a curtain.
"You're late."
The voice was calm, flat, and female – the kind that didn't rise or fall, just cut straight through you.
You turned and found her standing there. Wednesday Addams. Pale skin. Braided black hair. Eyes that looked like they were carved from obsidian, with the faintest glint of murder lurking deep inside.
And the moment your gaze met hers, it hit you.
A pull – subtle but undeniable – as if an invisible thread had hooked deep into your ribs and tugged. It wasn't an attraction. Not exactly. It was a connection, raw and unnatural, stretching between you like a live wire.
She blinked, just once. Her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, as if she felt it too, but was trying to figure out which weapon would cut it.
"You're staring," she said,
"You're... small," you replied before your brain caught up to your mouth.
Her lips twitched – not into a smile, but something more dangerous. "I prefer compact."
You were still feeling that strange thrumming in your chest when she stepped closer, inspecting you like you were a specimen in a jar. "You're the one who-" she paused, tilting her head. "Interesting."
"Not sure I like that tone."
"Not sure I care," she said, already turning away.
Principle Weems arrived then, all smiles and perfectly calculated warmth. She welcomed you to Nevermore, rattled off your schedule, and mentioned you'd be sharing certain extracurricular activities with Miss Addams for "integration purposes."
Translation: they were pairing the two last socially inclined students in the school and hoping something functional came of it.
Wednesday walked ahead, not bothering to check if you followed. "Don't fall behind. I have no patience for stragglers."
You trailed her through winding halls, the scent of rain-soaked stone lingering in the air. She didn't speak again until you reached the dormitory corridor.
"You don't belong here," she said simply.
"I've been told I don't belong anywhere. Guess that makes me versatile."
That earned you a sidelong glance – sharp, appraising. Then she opened a door halfway down the hall.
"This is your stop. Try not to commit any murders in your first week. I'd rather not have competition."
And just like that, she was gone, the sound of her boots echoing down the hall.
You should have been relieved. Instead, you found yourself standing in your new room with your hand pressed on your chest, feeling the strange pulse again.
You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you didn't care. You were lying.
Later that night, you woke to a sound outside your window – a low growl in the dark, followed by the snap of a branch. Somewhere in the pines, something moved.
