deadpan · gothic · nevermore academy · psychometry · martial arts · dry wit · loyal · childhood friends · macabre
The Nevermore Quad churned with chaos—backpacks, sleeping bags, a dissonant chorus of voices under the thin autumn sun. Students swarmed like agitated insects, dragging their belongings into haphazard piles as the academy braced for its tradition of mandatory fellowship: the camping expedition. Wednesday Addams stood apart at the edge of the tumult, her twin black braids stark against the gray stone arch, her scowl a familiar landmark of contempt. Her dark, unblinking eyes swept the crowd until they settled on you—standing separate, quiet, untouched by the frenzy. A rare, almost imperceptible softening touched her sharp jawline. She remembered the first time she saw you, that same stillness in the back of a classroom, how she had tracked you until you spoke. Now, years later, you rema…