Rang!
I looked at the bell from the stairs I was sitting on and shifted my gaze to the hall. It was quickly flooded with crowds of students mingling and talking. I merely stared at them. Pathetic. They think anything they do here matters, that their petty victories and whispered dramas will carry meaning beyond these walls. It won't. Not when reality hits them.
Ants—that's how I've always thought of them. They follow the crowd, obeying every invisible signal without question. They chase trends, cling to cliques, and laugh at jokes they don't understand, just to belong. Never finding a way to stand out. Never daring to.
Their faces blur together after a while. Same eyes, same smiles, same cheap perfume and hollow ambitions. I wonder if any of them would even notice if they vanished tomorrow… or if they'd simply be replaced by another drone in the swarm.
I kept writing in my sketchbook, the tip of my pencil scratching against the paper like a faint whisper. My thoughts circled around her—those cold eyes, that expressionless face, the dark aura that seemed to swallow the air around her.
A group drifted past, their footsteps echoing against the hall's marble floor. Some glanced my way—curious, cautious, amused. It didn't matter. I was above them. As Tywin Lannister would say, "The lion doesn't concern itself with the opinions of the sheep."
One of them smirked, leaning to whisper to his friend. The other chuckled, his gaze laced with that familiar flicker of disdain. I shut out their voices, letting the noise of the world fade until there was only the hollow hum of the hall.
Then the crowd shifted. Like ripples pulling back before a wave, they parted—and through the gap walked Wednesday Addams.
The white collar of her black dress framed her pale face perfectly, her twin braids swaying with each step. Her eyes were void of warmth, her presence so heavy it seemed to push people back without a word.
I began sketching her immediately, capturing the stoic lines of her face, the shadows beneath her gaze, the kind of darkness that doesn't just linger
Wednesday arrived at her locker—its surface littered with insults, crude drawings, and half-scratched slurs. Any of these petty vandalisms might have cut into a normie's fragile ego. But not her.
Wednesday Addams believed emotions were weaknesses—soft edges for others to exploit. So she carved them out, leaving only the cold, impenetrable stone of her will.
She opened the locker door.
Pugsley tumbled out, bound in rope, an apple crammed into his mouth.
Unfazed, she removed the apple and rested a hand on his shoulder. For just a moment, her gaze went distant—trance-like. A flicker of something unspoken passed through her expression.
I smirked from my perch. Whatever just happened… it would change everything.
She whispered something to Pugsley, then turned and walked away, her braids swaying like a pendulum.
I rose from where I was sitting. As I moved through the hall, I let my ability wash over me—my presence dissolving, my steps soundless.
The trail led me to the pool area.
Inside, a group of jocks lounged by the water, laughter echoing off the tiled walls. They were loud, arrogant—still bragging about what they had done to Pugsley.
"That should teach those freaks to learn their place," one sneered.
They didn't notice me. They wouldn't. But they should have been paying attention to the door.
It opened.
Wednesday stepped inside. In each hand, she carried an oversized plastic bag—both filled with dozens of thrashing piranhas, their teeth flashing in the fluorescent light.
"Yo, Dalton, look," one jock snickered. "Pugsley's sister."
Dalton, their self-proclaimed leader, smirked. "Hey, freak! This is closed practice!" His friends roared with laughter.
Wednesday walked right to the pool's edge, her voice cool and sharp as ice.
"The only person who gets to torture my brother… is me."
With that, she dropped both bags into the water. The plastic split instantly, and the piranhas swarmed like living knives.
I caught the faintest curve of her lips—an eerie smile.
The jocks scattered in panic, thrashing toward the edges of the pool. But Dalton wasn't fast enough. The water churned crimson where he struggled. His friends yanked him out just before the swarm finished its work, saving him from death.
I lingered in the shadows, debating whether to finish him off for her. But I knew better.
Wednesday Addams doesn't need help.
[POV: Wednesday]
The commotion was almost operatic in its absurdity. Students still dripped onto the tile, some shrieking about "blood in the pool" as if I had summoned the apocalypse instead of a dozen hungry freshwater carnivores. The piranhas themselves had been confiscated, their glass transport case now guarded by a nervous janitor holding a mop like a crucifix.
I sat in the principal's office, the faint smell of chlorine clinging to my skin, and observed the chaos through the half-open blinds. It didn't take long for the parents to arrive.
First came the Daltons—Mr. Dalton was red-faced, puffed up like a poisoned toad, while Mrs. Dalton looked moments away from fainting. Between them, their son—the former captain of the swim team—hobbled on crutches with his calf wrapped in gauze. He looked more embarrassed than injured.
"You need to lock her up!" Mr. Dalton roared, jabbing a finger at me as if I might lunge across the desk and bite him. "She sicced those things on our boy! She's dangerous!"
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said.
The principal, already sweating, glanced toward the door as if salvation might stroll through it. And salvation did—at least for me.
Morticia and Gomez Addams swept into the room like royalty entering a coronation. Mother's black gown whispered across the floor, a velvet shadow that seemed to pull the light out of the air. Father's pinstriped suit was immaculate, his cane tapping against the tile with the rhythm of a slow, amused heartbeat.
"Ah," Gomez declared, flashing the principal a grin that could have sold poison as perfume, "we came as soon as we heard. Our little viper causing trouble already?"
Morticia's crimson lips curved into something both tender and terrible as she laid a hand on my shoulder. "Darling, I do wish you'd invite us to your performances. We could have brought popcorn."
"She attacked our son!" Mrs. Dalton snapped, voice cracking. "She put flesh-eating fish in the pool!"
"Attacked?" Gomez chuckled. "You make it sound so crude. I imagine it was an artistic statement—the kind that leaves an impression. Teeth marks are just... nature's autograph."
The police officer in the corner, who until now had wisely remained silent, shifted uncomfortably. He looked like he wanted to cuff me but wasn't sure he'd make it to the door alive with my parents in the room.
"Mr. and Mrs. Addams," the principal began in a voice like curdled milk, "while we respect your… unique parenting style, this is a serious matter. We may have to consider expulsion, and the Daltons are—"
"—out for blood?" Morticia interrupted smoothly. "How quaint. But really, if Wednesday wished to draw blood, I'm certain she'd do so with a little more elegance."
Father clapped his hands together. "Precisely! Besides, isn't school meant to prepare our children for the real world? And in the real world, one must learn to swim with predators."
The Daltons sputtered. The principal rubbed his temples. And I? I simply watched, my hands folded neatly in my lap, wondering if perhaps next time I should try electric eels.