The chemistry lab at Nevermore Academy was bathed in a dull, amber light, casting long, jagged shadows across the counter where Wednesday Addams worked. The air was thick with the faint scent of burnt herbs, mingling with an undertone of something metallic, almost sweet, like blood after a battle. Her presence in the dimly lit room was as cold and calculating as the potions she brewed with meticulous precision, her movements smooth and deliberate.
She stood there, her dark eyes gleaming beneath her perfectly arched brows, a faint, knowing smirk curling at the corners of her lips. The vials and beakers around her reflected the light in an eerie glow, each one filled with substances that seemed better suited for a nightmare than any academic pursuit.
You, unfortunately, had made the mistake of interrupting her—once. A single, naïve question about the experiment she was conducting had caught her attention, and she had responded with the usual disdain that seemed to drip from every word she spoke.
“I’d explain it to you,” she had said, her voice as smooth and cutting as a blade, without even bothering to look up from her work, “but your intellect seems better suited to comprehending pop-up books.”
You had persisted, though, curiosity gnawing at you, until you pointed toward a small, ominous vial sitting at her workstation—a liquid as black as the abyss, swirling ominously inside.
“And here I thought Nevermore was supposed to be a sanctuary for outcasts,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with a dark amusement. “Yet, here you are, proving we still admit pests.”
Before you could respond, before your brain could fully process her words, Wednesday turned to face you. Her hand snapped twice—sharp, unnerving—a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You blinked, and in that instant, everything shifted. The room seemed to stretch, to elongate as though it were yawning, but no, it wasn’t the space that was changing—it was you. You were shrinking, growing smaller with every heartbeat.
The counter, which once seemed modest, now towered above you like a vast cliffside. The workbench became a daunting fortress, its polished surface reflecting a warped version of the world now above you.
From your new vantage point, you watched as Wednesday crouched down, her movements fluid and graceful, her pigtails framing her face with almost theatrical precision. The pale skin of her face contrasted sharply with her dark eyes, which gleamed with a mixture of contempt and amusement. Her smile, sharp and predatory, was the last thing you saw before she spoke.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “And now, it’s shrunk the pest. How fitting.”
Your instincts screamed at you to run, to escape whatever dreadful fate awaited you under her watchful gaze. But before you could make a move, her hand—a pale, long-fingered thing—descended like a specter, blocking your path with deliberate slowness. Then, as if she were examining an insect with mild interest, her black Oxford shoe appeared, looming above you like a monolith. The sole, once mundane, now appeared monstrous, the faint scuff marks and deep grooves in its tread more menacing than you ever thought possible.
“I could end this here,” she mused, her voice casual, almost detached, as if she were weighing the pros and cons of putting down a pet. “But stepping on you would leave an unsightly mess. Not to mention, it’s bad form to waste a perfectly good experiment.” Her lips twitched into something that might have been a smile, but it was anything but comforting. “Besides, I’m not wearing my favorite shoes today.”
Her foot drew back slightly, but her smirk remained, growing wider, colder. “Climb it,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. “And hold on tight. Consider this a crash course in learning your place. It’s a short climb for you, but I promise the humiliation will last a lifetime.”
You hesitated—your mind screamed in protest, but your body had already begun to move, reluctant yet unable to resist her command. You reached for the lace of her shoe, feeling the leather beneath your fingertips. It smelled faintly of polish and something darker, something that clung to the air around her, like night-blooming flowers and danger.
Your hands trembled as you began your climb, the smooth surface of the shoe proving more treacherous than you anticipated. Each movement felt like a battle against the overwhelming scale of the object—her shoe—its heel rising higher and higher, becoming a towering obstacle. When you finally reached the laces, you perched there precariously, your tiny body hanging on for dear life.
“Pathetic,” she remarked, her voice dripping with venom, her dark eyes narrowing as she surveyed you from above. “But amusing. Like watching a worm squirm on a hook.”
Before you could gather your bearings, the ground began to shake. Each step Wednesday took sent ripples of motion through the very air, her footfalls reverberating through your fragile form, threatening to knock you off balance. The wooden floor below you blurred into streaks of dark and pale hues as she moved with an eerie calm, the soles of her shoes pounding into the ground as if it were nothing more than an afterthought to her.
“You’d better hold on,” she called down, her voice serene as if she were reciting some long-forgotten verse. “I’d hate for you to get lost underfoot. Though I suppose that would save me the trouble of finding you later.”
You clung desperately to the lace, your body jerking with each step she took, the motion like a violent rollercoaster ride. The weight of her movements pressed down on you with each stride, and you felt as if you were nothing more than a fragile speck in her world—insignificant, helpless.
The journey came to an abrupt halt as Wednesday reached her dorm room. With a flick of her foot, she kicked off her shoe, sending you tumbling onto the hardwood floor. You barely had time to adjust before her towering figure loomed over you again, her eyes narrowing as she studied you, a curious look on her face as though she were inspecting a particularly fascinating specimen.
“You survived,” she said, her voice almost mocking in its lightness. “Barely.” She paused, her lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile. “A lesser person might call that impressive. I call it…an opportunity.”
Before you could react, she turned toward her desk, where a bowl of cereal sat waiting—milk glistening under the light, the floating rings of cereal drifting lazily, creating chaotic orbits in the bowl. Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked between you and the bowl, a glint of amusement dancing in their depths.
“Do you know what happens when milk mixes with insolent vermin?” she asked, her voice as smooth and silky as poison. “Neither do I. But we’re about to find out.”
Without waiting for your protest, she dropped you unceremoniously into the cold, viscous liquid. The shock of the milk, so much colder and deeper than you had anticipated, sent an involuntary gasp from your lips. The towering cereal pieces surrounded you like boulders, their edges jagged and imposing, each one a reminder of your helplessness. From above, Wednesday picked up her spoon with casual elegance, twirling it between her fingers as she gazed down at you, her face framed by the rising mist of the bowl.
“Try not to drown,” she said, her voice playful but cutting, her tone so light it sent a shiver down your spine. “Not until I’ve decided if I prefer you soggy or crunchy.”
She dipped the spoon into the milk, swirling it lazily around you. The cereal pieces collided with your tiny form, bumping against you like boulders in a storm. Her eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as she watched your struggles, her smile widening in cruel satisfaction.
“This,” she said, her voice dripping with dark humor, “is turning out to be the most entertaining breakfast I’ve had in weeks.”
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