Chapter Text
Enid practically dragged her across the festival grounds, her grip firm on Wednesday's wrist as they approached a tent adorned with gaudy, flashing lights and strings of beads that clinked together in the breeze. 'Fortune Teller' was painted in bold letters on a wooden sign above the entrance, and the whole setup exuded an air of false mystique that almost made Wednesday laugh.
"Come on, Wednesday! Let's get our fortunes read!" Enid beamed at her, eyes sparkling with the kind of optimism that made Wednesday's teeth itch.
There wasn't much Wednesday would rather do less than sit through some amateur charlatan's theatrics. But Enid's relentless enthusiasm proved harder to ignore than usual. There was something in the way she looked at Wednesday, hopeful and almost pleading, that tugged at a part of her Wednesday would rather not acknowledge.
"This is a waste of time," she muttered but allowed Enid to pull her inside anyway.
The interior of the tent reeked of incense—cloying and sweet, designed to add a layer of mysticism where none existed. Candles flickered on every available surface, their weak light barely illuminating the fortune teller sitting behind a round table draped in velvet. She was exactly what Wednesday had expected: draped in dark, flowing clothes, her face hidden behind a veil of predictability.
"Welcome, young ones," the fortune teller intoned, her voice low and gravelly, as though she was trying to sound more mysterious than she really was. "I see you've come seeking knowledge of the future."
"I just want to know if I'll find love, success, or... well, everything!" Enid said with a grin, completely at ease as she plopped down in front of the woman. Her happiness was tangible, and for a second, Wednesday wondered what it would be like to feel so unburdened by doubt.
The fortune teller shuffled a deck of tarot cards with deliberate care, the shuffling sound nearly drowned out by the incessant clinking of beads hanging from the tent's entrance. She laid the cards out in front of Enid, one by one, each symbolically vague enough to apply to anyone with a pulse.
"The future holds much joy for you," the woman said, her tone a little too rehearsed for Wednesday's liking. "A life of beauty and happiness awaits, but you must remain true to yourself."
The wolf's eyes were wide, her lips curving into a soft smile. She leaned in, hanging on every word. "That sounds perfect," she whispered. "Does it say anything about... love?"
The fortune teller paused, her hand hovering over a card that looked like it had been pulled from a children's deck of medieval fantasy. "Love will come to you, yes," she said, her voice layered with practiced mystery. "Unexpected and bright, it will light your path."
Wednesday rolled her eyes, already anticipating Enid's reaction. As if on cue, Enid squealed quietly, her excitement almost infectious. Almost.
But then, the fortune teller's gaze shifted to Wednesday, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. "And you, my dear?" she asked. "Would you like to know what the future holds for you?"
Her first instinct was to scoff, dismissing the notion outright. She had never been interested in the predictable performance of false prophets. But Enid's wide-eyed excitement seemed to latch onto her like a particularly stubborn parasite. She sighed. "Fine," she muttered. "If only to ensure I'm not subjected to another round of overly saccharine predictions."
The fortune teller shuffled the cards again, the rhythmic motion doing little to quell Wednesday's rising skepticism. She was prepared for the woman to tell her something equally saccharine—perhaps that she would live a long life of darkness and solitude. But as the woman dealt the cards, her brow furrowed ever so slightly.
"You are...different," she said, her voice quieter now, almost as though she was speaking to herself. "Your path is shrouded in mystery, but there is one thing that stands out."
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Let me guess. Unexpected love?"
The woman didn't smile. "Yes," she said simply. "Love that will surprise you. A deep connection that will defy expectations."
For a moment, Wednesday felt a strange tightening in her chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. The way the fortune teller said it, as if it wasn't just a line from her usual script, made Wednesday pause. She glanced at Enid, who was staring at her with open curiosity, her blue eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight.
Wednesday flinched inwardly, wondering if the fortune teller had somehow managed to see through her carefully constructed defenses. Her mind raced back to the way Enid had smiled at her earlier, her excitement lighting up the dark corners of Wednesday's thoughts. No. This woman couldn't possibly know what was going on beneath the surface. She was a fraud, after all.
"That's hardly surprising," Wednesday said flatly, trying to brush off the moment with sarcasm. "People tend to get attached whether I want them to or not."
The woman's lips curved slightly, but she said nothing more. Wednesday took that as her cue to leave, standing up before Enid had a chance to ask the woman anything else.
They stepped outside, the cool night air a welcome reprieve from the oppressive air inside the tent. Enid was unusually quiet, her steps slower than before, as if something was weighing on her mind.
"So," she started, her voice tentative. "Do you think...I mean, do you think that unexpected love she mentioned could be... I don't know, Tyler or Xavier?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Wednesday sensed the unease in Enid's voice, the flicker of jealousy that she probably didn't even realize she was showing. It was almost endearing, in a way.
"No," Wednesday said firmly, more certain than she had ever been. "It's not them."
Enid looked up at her, surprised. "Really? But how do you know?"
Wednesday didn't answer. Because she did know. She knew exactly who the fortune teller had been talking about. But she wasn't ready to tell her. Not yet.
Instead, she offered Enid a small, rare smile. "Let's just say I have my suspicions."
Enid blushed slightly, her eyes darting away, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Wednesday thought she might actually enjoy being wrong.
As they continued walking through the festival, Enid's mood seemed to brighten again. The jealousy that had flickered in her earlier was gone now, replaced by her usual energy. She chattered about the tarot reading as they passed by different stands, but Wednesday only half-listened, too aware of the way the lanterns cast a soft glow on Enid's hair. It shone in the moonlight, and the thought crossed Wednesday's mind again—how effortlessly Enid embodied everything bright and warm in the world. Everything she had trained herself to avoid.
But then, Enid stopped abruptly, tugging on Wednesday's sleeve, and she followed her gaze to a shooting game stand just ahead. In the center of the display was a large, ridiculous plush dragon. Its oversized head was tilted to one side, bright green fabric shimmering under the string lights. The thing looked absurd, but the way Enid's eyes widened, sparkling with delight, told Wednesday exactly what she was thinking.
"Oh my gosh, look at that dragon!" Enid exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. "It's so cute! I want it!"
Wednesday glanced at the game—a typical carnival setup. Knock over all the bottles with a toy gun to win a prize. The dragon, predictably, was the grand prize. She calculated the odds immediately. The bottles were set up at an angle meant to mislead, the air pressure likely inconsistent. For an average person, it would be impossible. For her? Child's play.
Enid was still staring at the dragon, practically drooling over it, when she turned to Wednesday, grinning. "I'm gonna try! Do you think I can win?"
The answer to that question was a resounding no, but Wednesday didn't say that. Instead, she stepped up to the booth before Enid had the chance to waste her money.
"I'll do it," she said, already reaching into her pocket to pay for the round. Enid opened her mouth to protest, probably insisting she could pay for herself, but Wednesday silenced her with a glance. "I know how to shoot."
The booth operator, a man whose face screamed exhaustion, handed Wednesday the toy gun. It was light, cheap, clearly designed to throw off anyone who dared to try. But she had handled worse.
As she lined up the shot, she felt Enid beside her, leaning in with excitement. Enid was watching closely, her eyes wide with anticipation, and for a moment, Wednesday felt something strange twist in her chest. She wanted Enid to be happy. The thought was startling in its clarity. She didn't care about the dragon. She didn't care about the carnival or the ridiculous prizes. But she cared about the way Enid's smile would light up when she won this for her.
Wednesday aimed carefully, adjusting for the imbalance in the gun's weight, and with a single pull of the trigger, the bottles clattered to the ground in a neat line. The booth operator looked mildly surprised, but she didn't bother acknowledging him. She handed him the gun, expression blank, and he nodded before retrieving the dragon plushie from its perch.
Enid's reaction was immediate. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth as she bounced up and down in excitement. "Wednesday! You did it! Oh my gosh, you actually won!"
The man handed Wednesday the dragon, and she passed it to Enid without a word. Enid hugged it immediately, burying her face in the soft fabric, but before Wednesday could process what was happening, Enid threw her arms around her. It was brief, just a quick, tight squeeze, but it was enough to send a bolt of something unfamiliar through Wednesday.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Enid gushed, pulling back slightly but still holding onto the dragon. "I can't believe you did that! You're amazing!"
Her eyes were bright, her smile radiant as she clutched the absurd plush creature to her chest. Wednesday couldn't help but watch her, the way her happiness seemed to radiate outwards, filling the air around them. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be the source of that happiness more often. To be the one Enid turned to, the one she looked at with that same wide-eyed wonder.
But then Wednesday remembered who she was. What she was. And she forced those thoughts back into the shadows where they belonged.
"It wasn't difficult," she said, her voice as deadpan as ever. "The game was clearly designed to take advantage of people with poor hand-eye coordination."
Enid just laughed, not even slightly fazed by Wednesday's lack of enthusiasm. She squeezed the dragon again and beamed at her, and despite herself, Wednesday felt the faintest flicker of warmth in her chest.
"Still," Enid said softly, "you didn't have to do that. But you did. And it means a lot."
Her words hung between them for a moment, and Wednesday was struck again by the depth of her sincerity. Enid was so open, so unguarded in her emotions, and for the life of her, Wednesday couldn't understand how she did it. How she could be so vulnerable without fear.
The raven cleared her throat, trying to push away the thoughts swirling in her head. "It was just a game."
But as Enid leaned into the dragon, smiling at her like she had done something extraordinary, Wednesday couldn't help but think it wasn't just a game. Not for Enid. And maybe not for her, either.
As the night deepened, the sky shifted from the soft hues of twilight to a velvety darkness, lit only by the glowing carnival lights that illuminated the festival. The air cooled slightly, and Wednesday could hear the low hum of activity around them—laughter, music, the steady rhythm of footsteps crunching over hay-covered paths. Enid walked beside her, clutching her dragon plushie, still beaming like the world was bathed in endless sunlight.
It was unsettling how much Wednesday found herself glancing at her, catching the way the moonlight reflected in Enid's eyes, or how her smile seemed brighter than any of the festival lights. She was the antithesis of everything Wednesday had built her persona around, and yet she couldn't seem to stop orbiting her.
A soft, unmistakable sound interrupted her thoughts: Enid's stomach growling.
"Hungry, are we?" Wednesday remarked, raising an eyebrow at her.
Enid blushed slightly, her grip tightening on the dragon. "I guess I forgot how much walking and plushie-watching makes me hungry."
"An understandable affliction," Wednesday deadpanned, then glanced around the festival. "Let's find something to eat before your stomach embarrasses itself further."
Enid laughed, nudging her lightly with her elbow. "You're so considerate, Wednesday."
It was strange how Enid's laughter didn't irritate Wednesday the way everyone else's did. In fact, she found herself almost waiting for it, like the sound of a familiar melody. They wandered through the festival together, and soon enough, they stumbled upon a stand selling hot dogs. Enid's eyes lit up, and she practically pulled Wednesday toward the counter.
"They smell so good!" Enid exclaimed, already digging into her pockets for cash.
"I've never understood the appeal of a food item so misleadingly named," Wednesday said, stepping ahead of her and paying the vendor before Enid could argue. "It's not a dog. And it's certainly not hot. Yet we continue the charade."
"Wednesday, you really didn't have to—" Enid began, but Wednesday silenced her with a glance.
"Consider it repayment for enduring the Ferris wheel."
Enid bit her lip, clearly holding back another argument, but then shrugged. "Okay, fine. But next time, I'm paying."
Wednesday doubted it, but she let Enid believe she had a chance. They took their hot dogs and found a wooden table nearby, sitting across from each other as the festival continued its buzz around them. The air smelled of autumn and grilled food, and for a brief moment, Wednesday allowed herself to enjoy the simplicity of it all—the cool night air, the distant laughter, and Enid sitting across from her, her dragon plush propped on the bench beside her like a loyal companion.
Wednesday picked up the hot dog, examining it with mild distaste. "The real mystery isn't why it's called a hot dog, but why anyone would willingly consume it." She glanced at Enid, whose cheeks were already stuffed with a bite. "I assume you have no such reservations."
Enid giggled, her eyes sparkling as she swallowed. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad! You're just being dramatic."
"I prefer the term 'realistic.'"
They continued eating, Enid talking between bites about the festival, the tarot reading, and how much fun she was having, while Wednesday offered occasional sarcastic remarks in response. It was surprisingly comfortable—like they'd done this a thousand times before. Wednesday would never admit it, but sitting there with Enid, in the midst of something as ordinary as a festival, felt almost... right.
Just as Wednesday was starting to tolerate the warmth building in her chest, a group of boys from Nevermore walked by. They were loud, obnoxious, the kind of group that reveled in their own mediocrity. Wednesday recognized them immediately—jocks, easily amused by their own crude jokes.
One of them slowed as they passed their table, eyes locking onto the plush dragon that Enid had set beside her. He snickered, nudging his friends as he nodded toward her.
"Hey, Enid," one of them called, his voice dripping with condescension. "Nice dragon. Didn't know we were still in preschool."
The others laughed, and Wednesday felt the familiar stirrings of irritation rising within her. Enid's face fell slightly, her grip on her hot dog tightening as she glanced away, clearly embarrassed.
Wednesday set down her hot dog carefully, the motion deliberate. "I see your intellectual capacity hasn't evolved since kindergarten either. How unfortunate for you."
The boys exchanged looks, surprised that she had spoken, but one of them—clearly the leader of their little group—smirked at her, unfazed. "Oh, relax, Addams. Just having a little fun. Didn't know you were Enid's babysitter now."
His friends snickered again, and Wednesday could feel the rage simmering beneath her skin. But before she could respond, he glanced at Enid, then back at her hot dog, a lewd grin spreading across his face. "Bet she's good at handling that, huh?"
The insinuation was clear, and Wednesday felt her blood turn to ice. Enid's face went pale, her eyes widening in shock and hurt.
Without thinking, Wednesday stood from the table, her voice colder than the night air. "Leave. Now."
The boys hesitated, but the leader raised an eyebrow, still grinning like he was invincible. "What? Can't take a joke?"
Wednesday took a step toward him, and despite the fury roiling beneath the surface, she kept her voice low and calm, knowing it would unsettle him more. "You should leave while you still can. Before you find out how much I dislike cowards who hide behind crude jokes. Or how much damage I can do in less time than it takes you to run."
He blinked, clearly weighing his options. She could see the calculation in his eyes—the realization that maybe she wasn't bluffing. Finally, he scoffed, motioning for his friends to follow him.
"Whatever. Enjoy your night, Addams," he muttered, and they slunk away, their laughter fading into the distance.
Wednesday sat back down, the tension still coiled tightly in her chest. Enid was quiet, staring at her hot dog like it had suddenly become unappetizing. For a moment, Wednesday wondered if she had overstepped—if maybe she should have let it go. But then, Enid looked up at her, her eyes shining with gratitude, and Wednesday knew she had made the right call.
"Wednesday," Enid said softly, "thank you."
Wednesday shrugged, trying to act as though it was nothing. "They were wasting oxygen."
Enid smiled at that, her face brightening again as she hugged the dragon close to her chest. "Still, I appreciate it. I don't know what I'd do without you."
As the night continued, Wednesday couldn't help but think that maybe she didn't want to find out what it was like without her, either.
Enid tries to cut her hot dog into small, manageable pieces, as though the delicate maneuvering of her fingers might somehow evade the lingering sting of the boys' crude comments. Without cutlery, her efforts are as chaotic as they are futile. Ketchup stains her hands, the red smudges spreading like the aftermath of a poorly executed crime scene. She frowns as she attempts to balance the hot dog on her napkin, which is quickly becoming an abstract piece of art with its splashes of condiments.
WEDNESDAY'S POV
I watch her from across the table, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite the irritation bubbling under my skin. My initial impulse to defend her is long gone, replaced by a more subtle act of consolation. As I slip a black handkerchief from my pocket—a tissue embroidered with the initial 'A'—I can't help but feel a twinge of something unexpected. It's not simply sympathy; it's a peculiar blend of care and affection that I rarely extend to anyone outside my immediate family.
"Enid," I begin, my tone steady, "you shouldn't worry about what those boys said. It's perfectly fine to have a plushie at your age. Some of us have more unconventional companions." I dab at her hands gently, erasing the evidence of her struggle with the hot dog. Her eyes flicker with surprise and gratitude, and she doesn't pull away.
I continue, "Take Marie-Antoinette, for example. She's my very own beheaded doll. A gift from Uncle Fester. Not exactly a typical choice for a bedtime friend, but she's always been there for me. Sometimes, a little eccentricity is what makes things interesting."
Enid's gaze softens as I wipe the last remnants of ketchup from her fingers. The dim glow of the festival lights seems to highlight the intimacy of the moment. There's a warmth in her smile that reaches beyond mere appreciation, and I find myself unexpectedly touched. It's as though, in this small act of service, we've established a silent bond that transcends the trivial cruelties of the evening.
Her hands, now clean, rest on the table, and she glances at me with a mixture of relief and something akin to affection. "Thanks, Wednesday," she says softly. "I guess Marie-Antoinette sounds kind of like the best kind of friend."
I nod, allowing myself a rare, genuine smile. "Indeed. Sometimes, the world needs more beheaded queens and fewer judgmental fools."
As we return to our hot dogs—mine unblemished and without the clumsy chaos of condiments—there's a quiet understanding between us. The festival noises fade into the background, and for a moment, it feels as if the entire evening has conspired to give us this shared moment of solace.
After we finish eating, the Harvest Moon makes its grand entrance, a beacon of silver light that seems to pull the night sky closer. Enid's gaze drifts upward, and I watch the shadows of disappointment settle over her features. The howling of wolves, distant but distinct, carries through the crisp night air, a haunting reminder of the shift she still can't seem to achieve. It's clear the night, which should be a celebration of her nature, has become a poignant marker of her struggle.
I can see the frustration in her eyes, the way her fingers clench and unclench, still smeared with the remnants of ketchup from earlier. I rise and extend my hand toward her, a gesture that feels more intimate than I initially intend.
"Come with me," I say softly, offering a comforting pull.
Enid looks at me with a mixture of surprise and relief, her sadness momentarily eclipsed by the warmth of my touch. She takes my hand, and together we step away from the festival's clamor, walking in silence toward a secluded clearing. The moonlight bathes the path, and I can't help but notice how the silver glow accentuates the delicate beauty of her features, making her look almost ethereal.
When we reach the clearing, it's as though the world has slowed down to accommodate our private moment. The moon hangs low and full, its light casting an otherworldly sheen across the grass. We settle down, the quiet of the night wrapping around us like a soft, protective shroud.
Enid's gaze remains fixed on the moon, her voice barely a whisper when she finally speaks. "Why did you bring me here?"
I take a deep breath, feeling a vulnerability I don't often allow myself to experience. "The moon," I start, my voice tinged with an unexpected tenderness, "is constant yet always changing. It shows us that even something so eternal has its cycles. It's a reminder that change is not always visible, but it's always there."
She turns to look at me, her eyes searching for something more. "But tonight, I didn't shift. The Harvest Moon is important to me, and I feel like I've failed."
I let my gaze soften as I take her hands in mine, my touch gentle and reassuring. "You haven't failed," I say earnestly. "The moon is just a symbol. It doesn't define who you are. Even when you can't shift, you are still a werewolf. That doesn't change because of one night."
As I speak, I find myself admiring her in a way that goes beyond the usual. Her beauty is undeniable, even under the harsh light of truth. The moonlight makes her features glow, and I can't ignore the deepening feelings I have for her. It's strange, but in this moment, I find myself thinking how much I cherish her presence, how she seems to fill a void I didn't realize existed.
"It's utterly disgusting," I confess, feeling a rare honesty bubble to the surface, "how much I think about you. I find myself preoccupied with you, with your smile, your laugh, and even your struggles. It's... unexpected."
Enid's expression softens, the sadness in her eyes giving way to a glimmer of hope. "Thank you, Wednesday. That means more than you know."
We sit together under the moon's gentle glow, the silence between us now filled with an unspoken understanding. The Harvest Moon remains a symbol of change and growth, not just in her life, but in mine as well. The night feels infinite, our shared quiet a testament to a bond that, even in the dark, shines brightly.
OMNISCIENT POV
Wednesday let the silence linger between them, the cool night air mingling with the warmth of the emotions she struggled to contain. The Harvest Moon cast its cold, indifferent light, but it only intensified the warmth that bloomed in her chest. She realized that this moment, bathed in moonlight, was more than just a gesture—it was a declaration of feelings she had wrestled with and tried to suppress.
Enid's eyes reflected the moon's pale glow, filled with a vulnerability that mirrored the emotions Wednesday had been grappling with. It was clear now that revealing her feelings was not just an act of honesty but a necessary step to bridge the emotional distance between them.
"You know," Wednesday started, her voice softer than usual, "this moonlight reminds me of that night when we first met. I remember being here, feeling out of place, much like you did when you tried to shift and couldn't. I shared with you about Nero, my scorpion, and I've realized that tonight, under this very moon, my feelings have only grown clearer."
Enid's expression shifted from surprise to disbelief. Her eyes searched Wednesday's, reflecting both fear and hope. "Why me?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm not pretty. I didn't even shift tonight. I'm a disappointment."
Wednesday's heart clenched at Enid's self-doubt. It pained her to see Enid question her worth. She gently took Enid's hands in hers, her touch firm yet tender. "Enid," she said, her voice steady with the gravity of the moment, "you are not a disappointment. Your beauty goes far beyond physical appearance. You light up the darkest corners of my world in ways words cannot describe."
She paused, her gaze never leaving Enid's. "The Harvest Moon, as indifferent as it may seem, doesn't change what I see in you. Even if you didn't shift tonight, it doesn't alter who you are, or how I feel about you. I love you, Enid. I tried to deny it, but the truth is, I can't."
Enid's eyes widened, and a tear escaped down her cheek. Wednesday sensed her fear and vulnerability as she processed the confession. "But what if you don't feel the same?" Enid asked softly. "What if you regret this?"
Wednesday drew Enid closer, the space between them diminishing until there was no distance left. "If you don't feel the same way," she said, her voice gentle, "it's okay. We can forget about this moment. I would understand. My feelings won't change regardless of your response. What matters to me is that you know how I truly feel."
Enid's eyes filled with tears, but this time, they were tears of relief and joy. She took a shaky breath and looked directly at Wednesday, her voice steady. "Wednesday, I feel the same way. I've been trying to understand my feelings, but you've always been there, even when I didn't know how to explain it. I'm in love with you too."
Wednesday felt a profound sense of relief and happiness wash over her. Without hesitation, she leaned in, their lips meeting in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a kiss filled with the weight of their shared emotions and the understanding that had finally come to light.
When they parted, Wednesday rested her forehead against Enid's, the world around them fading into the background. She saw Enid's smile, a mixture of confidence and joy that made her heart swell. She leaned in again, their second kiss deeper and more assured, a silent promise of the feelings they had just shared.
The Harvest Moon shone down on them, its light a witness to their declaration. Hand in hand, they stood in the clearing, the night echoing their quiet contentment. The moonlight, indifferent and cool, only served to highlight the warmth and truth that now bound them together.
---
They kissed again, this time with newfound certainty. The warmth and tenderness of Enid's lips were a revelation, far softer than Tyler's, and infinitely more pleasant. There was a softness here that surpassed anything Wednesday had ever experienced with a boy. It felt like an affirmation of something she had been grappling with, a stark contrast to the numbness of her previous encounters. Enid's kiss was a delicious promise, one that made Wednesday yearn for more.
But then, without warning, Enid's lips pulled away, her face contorting in sudden pain. She collapsed onto the cold ground of the clearing, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Wednesday's heart clenched, and she quickly knelt beside Enid, the serenity of the night suddenly shattered by her distress.
"Enid, what's wrong?" Wednesday asked, her voice trembling with worry. Enid's pain was palpable, a sharp contrast to the intimate moment they had just shared.
Enid's eyes met Wednesday's, wide with fear and tears. Her transformation was beginning, her werewolf ears sprouting from her head. It was a sight that hit Wednesday like a sledgehammer—both awe-inspiring and heartbreaking. "It's happening," Enid choked out, her voice a tortured whisper. "I'm shifting... for the first time."
The sight of Enid's bones beginning to crack and reshape was almost unbearable. Each crack was accompanied by a pained cry, each shift a reminder of her struggle. Wednesday's heart broke with each sound, each agonized cry. She gripped Enid's hand tightly, trying to offer solace through her presence.
"Just breathe, Enid. Focus on me," Wednesday murmured, her voice a fragile thread of reassurance amidst Enid's suffering. "You're doing great. This will pass."
Enid's body contorted painfully, her bones shifting and breaking with each agonizing moment. Her once-familiar shape warped into something unrecognizable, and with every painful sound, Wednesday's heart ached anew. The sight of Enid in such distress was almost too much to bear. Wednesday tried to keep her voice steady, holding Enid's hand as tightly as she could without causing more pain. "You're strong, Enid. Stronger than you know. I'm here with you."
As the transformation progressed, Enid's clothes began to tear, unable to contain the shifting form underneath. Her skin stretched and rippled as her body grew, her blond hair merging with the changing hues of her fur. The transformation seemed almost endless, and Wednesday could see the anguish in Enid's eyes even as they shifted to a brilliant, intense blue.
Finally, with one last agonizing cry, Enid's transformation completed. She became a giant wolf, her once-torn clothes now completely shredded, her fur a striking blend of blond, pink, and blue. The sight of her, now a magnificent, majestic creature, was breathtaking. Despite the earlier horror of her transformation, Wednesday couldn't help but smile as she took in the final result of Enid's shift.
Enid's fur was a stunning mix of colors, each shade blending seamlessly into the next. The pink and blue highlights in her fur were a reminder of her uniqueness, her beauty even in this form. It was a powerful testament to who she was—someone who, despite her fears and doubts, shone brightly in her true form.
Her wolf eyes, though still filled with remnants of pain, now held a softer, more serene expression. Wednesday reached out, her fingers gently brushing the soft fur of Enid's muzzle. "You're amazing, Enid," she said, her voice filled with awe and tenderness. "Even in this form, you're more beautiful than I could have ever imagined."
The transformation had left Enid exhausted, and Wednesday could see the strain in her powerful frame. She sat beside her, her hand resting lightly on Enid's fur. The night sky above seemed to embrace them both, the Harvest Moon casting a gentle light over their small, intimate world.
Enid, now calm and lying on the ground, looked up at Wednesday with an expression of profound relief and gratitude. The pain of the transformation was still present, but there was a sense of peace now that it was over. Wednesday remained beside her, her presence a quiet comfort.
"You did it," Wednesday whispered, her heart swelling with affection and pride. "You've come through it all. And no matter what, you'll always be incredible in my eyes."
Enid's eyes, still large and glowing in their wolf form, held Wednesday's with an intensity that spoke volumes. Wednesday continued to caress her fur, her touch gentle and loving. The night air felt warmer, and the moon above seemed to shine just a little brighter, reflecting the extraordinary bond between them.
Minutes drifted by in quiet companionship as Enid began to adjust to her new form. Her breathing slowed and evened out, the initial shock of transformation giving way to a calm acceptance. Her large, expressive eyes found hers, filled with a blend of fatigue and an unspoken need for reassurance. The night air was crisp, and the glow of the Harvest Moon cast a silvery light across the clearing, highlighting the delicate hues of her fur. Her once bright blue hair now appeared as a streak of color amidst the rich, golden-blond fur that covered her body.
"Do you want to be petted?" she asked softly, her voice a gentle murmur that barely broke the stillness of the night. She was drawn to Enid, unable to resist the urge to comfort her in this vulnerable state. Her fur, now so much softer and fluffier than she had ever imagined, invited touch, and she found herself reaching out to stroke it. Her fingers sank into the plush coat, each stroke smoothing out the last remnants of tension from Enid's body.
Enid responded with a low, contented whine, leaning into the touch with an endearing trust. Her large, dark eyes closed as she savored the sensation, her body relaxing under the rhythmic caress of the hand. The serene silence of the night wrapped around them, a comforting cocoon that shielded them from the outside world. For a moment, everything felt suspended in this shared tranquility.
After a while, Enid stirred, her ears perking up with a hint of excitement. She spotted a sturdy branch lying nearby and, with a careful bite, picked it up. She trotted over and dropped it at the other's feet, looking up with a playful glint in her eyes. Her tail wagged energetically, betraying her eagerness.
"Are you trying to play fetch?" she asked, a bemused smile touching her lips. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on her, and she couldn't help but laugh softly at the sight. Enid's eyes gleamed with anticipation, and her body quivered with the excitement of the game.
She picked up the branch and gave it a light throw, watching as Enid sprang into action. Enid raced after the branch with a joyful abandon, her powerful legs propelling her effortlessly through the grass. The sight of her bounding back, branch clenched in her jaws, filled her with a mixture of amusement and affection.
When Enid dropped the branch at her feet and looked up with a hopeful expression, she felt a surge of warmth. Her playful demeanor was a stark contrast to the earlier tension, and it made her appreciate the beauty of the moment even more. She picked up the branch again, throwing it a little further this time. Enid chased it with renewed vigor, her fur catching the moonlight in a shimmering display.
As they continued their impromptu game, the distant howling of wolves punctuated the night. The mournful yet beautiful sound filled the air, blending with the ambient noises of the forest. Enid paused, her ears twitching as she listened. With a sudden, joyful howl, she lifted her head to the sky, joining the chorus of the night. Her howl was both primal and pure, a testament to her newly embraced nature.
She watched with a swell of pride and affection as Enid's howl echoed through the clearing, mingling with the distant howls of the pack. It was a raw, uninhibited expression of who Enid was, and it struck a chord deep within her. The sight of Enid, fully in tune with the moon and her werewolf self, filled her with a profound sense of wonder.
"You're incredible," she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that reflected the affection she felt. "Even in your wolf form, you're more beautiful than I could have ever imagined."
Enid turned her head to look at her, her eyes glowing with joy and a touch of mischief. She let out another soft, happy howl, and she found herself swept up in the moment. Her heart swelled with love and pride, and the connection between them felt almost tangible.
The moonlight bathed them in its ethereal glow, the night becoming their playground. She sat beside Enid, her hand resting gently on Enid's soft, warm fur. The world beyond the clearing faded away, leaving only the two of them, the moon, and the comforting presence of each other. Enid's contented breathing and the soft rustle of the trees created a soothing symphony, and she relished this rare and precious moment of peace and closeness.
As the night progressed, Enid's tail wagged rhythmically, and her eyes shone with a contentment that matched the serene beauty of the moonlit clearing. The playful exchange, the howls of the wolves, and the moon's gentle light combined to create a night that was both magical and deeply intimate. In this moment, surrounded by the wonders of nature and the warmth of their connection, she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging and joy.
The transformation back was worse than she had anticipated. Enid's bones cracked and snapped, reforming into something smaller and more fragile. Her cries of pain pierced the night air, each one like a needle through her chest. She didn't feel fear—no, that emotion had never found a home in her—but she did feel something. Something unsettling and far too tender as she knelt beside Enid, watching her body shift and break. Her limbs grew shorter, her fur receded, and with every convulsion, she found herself leaning closer, as if proximity alone could ease Enid's suffering.
When it was over, Enid was left trembling, naked under the moonlight, her skin pale and glistening with sweat. She moved without thinking—an action she wasn't particularly familiar with—shrugging off her black wool coat and wrapping it around Enid's shivering frame. The fabric looked enormous on Enid, swallowing her small figure, but she curled into it like it was the only thing tethering her to this world.
"How do you feel?" she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet night. She kept her tone flat, neutral, though inside, she scanned Enid's every movement, every breath, for signs of lasting damage.
Enid's eyes fluttered open, glassy and distant. "Exhausted," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everything hurts."
She nodded, watching the way Enid's body slumped against her. She had expected Enid to be drained—after all, she had read enough on werewolf transformations to know that the first one was always the hardest—but seeing it firsthand, watching Enid so vulnerable, was... disconcerting. She hated it. She hated that she cared. She hated that Enid's pain stirred something deep within her that she couldn't quite name.
"Sleep," she told Enid, pulling her closer. The weight of Enid's head against her shoulder was heavier than she had expected, but she didn't move. She could feel Enid's breath against her neck, uneven but slowing as exhaustion overtook her. Enid's body curled into hers, and though she was not a fan of prolonged physical contact, she allowed it. Enid was warm now, wrapped in her coat, her fingers clutching at the fabric like a lifeline.
Eventually, Enid's breathing steadied, and she drifted into sleep. She didn't move. She didn't dare. Not because she feared waking Enid, but because there was a certain peace in the stillness of this moment. The moon above cast a pale glow over the clearing, illuminating Enid's soft features. She studied them, as she had so many times before, only now it felt different. Enid's beauty had always been obvious, in the annoyingly radiant way she smiled or the vibrant color of her eyes. But now, in her vulnerability, in her quiet exhaustion, she seemed... ethereal. Fragile, yes, but also strong in ways she hadn't fully understood until tonight.
She brushed a strand of hair from Enid's face, watching as she sighed softly in her sleep. There was a part of her that wanted to stay like this forever, with Enid's warmth pressed against her, her breathing slow and steady. She told herself it was because she was intrigued by the physicality of it, by the way Enid's body fit so neatly against hers. But deep down, she knew the truth.
Enid had become something more than just a friend. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying realization of all.
For now, though, she allowed Enid this rest. She had earned it. And maybe, just maybe, she had earned a moment of peace too.
So she sat there, watching Enid sleep under the light of the Harvest Moon, holding her close and knowing that whatever came next, they would face it together.
A few hours must have passed. The sky remained cloaked in the dark velvet of night, but the edges of the horizon began to show faint hints of the coming dawn. She opened her eyes slowly, disoriented for a moment, feeling the warmth of something soft and breathing pressed against her. Then she remembered.
Enid.
Enid was still curled up in her arms, her head resting on her shoulder, her breath slow and steady against her neck. Her body, wrapped in the black wool coat, was so small and fragile in this moment that it stirred something inside her—something that felt almost protective. It was a foreign feeling, one she had never entertained before, but with Enid, it lingered, refusing to leave. She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Enid too much, but the soft murmurs told her that Enid was still deep in sleep, her exhaustion gripping her tight.
For a moment, she just looked at Enid. The moon, still hanging in the sky above them, cast a pale light on Enid's features, and in the quiet of the clearing, she looked more peaceful than she had ever seen her. Beautiful, even. And it wasn't just Enid's physical beauty, though that was undeniable. It was the way Enid looked vulnerable, yet somehow stronger than anyone she had ever known. It was the way Enid had endured so much pain that night, yet still found her way through it.
Her eyes traced the contours of Enid's face, the soft curve of her cheek, the way her blonde hair, streaked with those ridiculous pink and blue colors, fell messily around her. A strand of hair rested on Enid's lips, and without thinking, she reached out and gently pushed it aside, her fingers brushing against Enid's skin. Enid stirred slightly but didn't wake.
There was a quiet intimacy in that moment, something she had never expected to feel—something she had never wanted to feel. And yet, there she was, unable to look away, unable to stop thinking about how much Enid meant to her. How much more Enid meant than she had ever anticipated.
She didn't want to wake Enid. She wanted to stay there, holding her close, but she knew they couldn't linger. The night had already stretched on too long, and soon, the others would realize they were missing. She whispered Enid's name, softly at first, then again a little louder.
"Enid."
Enid stirred in her arms, her eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. For a moment, she just blinked, as if she wasn't quite sure where she was. Then she seemed to remember, and a soft, tired smile spread across her lips.
"Wednesday?" Her voice was groggy, barely a whisper.
"We need to head back to Nevermore," she said, keeping her voice as gentle as she could manage. "It's late. You need rest. Proper rest."
Enid blinked again, clearly still groggy, and tried to push herself up. But the moment she moved, a sharp wince crossed her face, and the strain in her body was evident. Every muscle must have been aching, every bone still sore from the transformation. She could barely sit up, let alone stand.
"I can't... I can't move," Enid whispered, her voice tinged with pain.
She frowned, watching Enid struggle. Her mind immediately began calculating the best course of action. Enid was too weak to walk, too exhausted to manage on her own. She knew Enid would try, out of stubbornness, but there was no way she was letting Enid push herself like that.
"You don't have to," she said, standing up and brushing the dirt off her clothes. "I'll carry you."
Enid blinked at her, her eyes widening in surprise. "Carry me? Wednesday, no. I'm too heavy."
She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of Enid's protest. "You are not heavy. I've carried weapons heavier than you before. Now, stop arguing and let me help you."
Enid opened her mouth to protest again, but she could see that Enid was too tired to fight her on this. Her resistance crumbled, and she nodded, though she still looked unsure. She knelt down in front of Enid, offering her back, and Enid hesitated for a moment before slowly, painfully, climbing onto it. She felt the weight of Enid's body as Enid settled against her, Enid's arms weakly wrapping around her shoulders, her legs draped around her waist. She made sure her coat stayed securely around Enid, covering her naked frame, protecting her from the cold and from any wandering eyes.
Enid felt so light, almost weightless. Her body pressed against hers, warm and fragile, and she could feel the steady rise and fall of Enid's chest as she breathed. For a brief moment, she stood still, letting the sensation of having Enid so close wash over her. It was an odd feeling—intense, unsettling, but not unpleasant. She could feel Enid's heartbeat against her back, slow and steady, and it calmed something deep inside her, something she hadn't realized was restless.
She began walking, the familiar path back to Nevermore winding through the forest. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the ground, and the night was eerily quiet, save for the soft sound of Enid's breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. As she walked, she couldn't help but think about how strange all of this was. How strange it was that she was carrying Enid, that she even cared enough to do so. She had never thought she'd find herself in a situation like this—never thought she'd care this much about anyone, let alone Enid.
And yet, there she was, carrying Enid through the woods, feeling Enid's warmth against her, thinking about how lucky she was to have Enid in her life. How much Enid had come to mean to her, even if she refused to admit it aloud.
Enid shifted slightly on her back, her cheek resting against the side of her neck. Her breath was warm, soft, and she could feel the gentle rise and fall of Enid's chest as Enid struggled to stay awake.
"Thank you," Enid murmured, her voice barely audible, filled with exhaustion.
She didn't respond, because she knew Enid didn't need her to. Instead, she just kept walking, holding Enid a little tighter, making sure she was secure, making sure Enid knew, even without words, that she was there.
Eventually, she felt Enid's body relax completely against her. Enid had fallen asleep again, her weight becoming heavier as her muscles went slack. She smiled, just a small, private thing, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the physical closeness.
She thought about how beautiful Enid had looked earlier, even in the midst of pain, and how, even now, with her body weak and trembling, she still had this undeniable strength about her. She thought about how ridiculous it was that Enid thought she wasn't pretty, when she was the most captivating thing she had ever seen. And she thought about how lucky she was, how lucky she was to have someone like Enid in her life.
When they finally reached the dorm room, the familiar creak of the door felt louder in the stillness of the night. Wednesday stepped inside, the weight of Enid still on her back, Enid's breath warm against her neck, slow and steady in her exhaustion. The room was dimly lit, with a soft glow from the moon filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. Wednesday walked toward Enid's side of the room, where Enid's obnoxiously colorful bed sat in stark contrast to her own. Gently, she eased Enid down, carefully laying her onto the bedspread.
Enid stirred, her eyelids fluttering open as Wednesday stepped back, watching her. Her eyes, heavy with fatigue, blinked up at Wednesday as she tried to sit up, only to wince as a sharp pain coursed through her body.
"Wednesday," Enid mumbled, her voice rough with exhaustion, "I should change."
Wednesday nodded, glancing at her. Enid was a mess—branches caught in her hair, dirt smeared on her skin from the forest floor, and remnants of the transformation clinging to her like the weight of a burden she had never asked for. It was unlike Enid to look so disheveled, but tonight had taken its toll. She needed to clean up, to get comfortable, but the way Enid looked at her told Wednesday that Enid was too drained to manage it herself.
"You should also shower," Wednesday said, her voice calm but firm. "It'll help you feel better. Warm you up."
Enid looked at her, her brows furrowing in a mixture of frustration and helplessness. "It hurts too much," she whispered, barely able to move without wincing. "I'm too weak."
Wednesday regarded her quietly for a moment, her mind weighing the options. Enid needed rest and warmth, but she was in no state to stand under a shower, let alone wash herself. The idea of leaving her like this felt wrong—unnatural. There was something deep inside Wednesday that refused to let Enid suffer like this, to let her feel so vulnerable without help.
"I'll prepare a bath," Wednesday said, her voice softer than she intended. "I'll help you."
Enid looked at her, startled by the offer, her blue eyes wide with hesitation. "You don't have to do that," she mumbled, but Wednesday could hear the exhaustion in her voice, the weakness. Enid wanted to refuse out of pride, but she knew she couldn't.
"I'm not offering out of pity," Wednesday said, her gaze locking with Enid's. "You need help, and I'm offering it. Besides, I've already seen you at your most vulnerable tonight. What's one more step?"
Enid looked at her for a long moment, searching her face for something, though Wednesday wasn't sure what. Finally, Enid nodded, her reluctance melting into acceptance. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Without another word, Wednesday moved toward the bathroom, filling the tub with warm water. The sound of the water rushing into the basin filled the small room, and she glanced back at Enid through the open door. Enid was sitting up slightly now, watching Wednesday, her face a mixture of exhaustion and something softer—something Wednesday couldn't quite place.
Once the bath was ready, Wednesday returned to Enid, extending a hand to help her up. Enid hesitated again, her vulnerability weighing heavily on her shoulders, but she took Wednesday's hand, allowing her to guide her to the bathroom. Her steps were unsteady, her body trembling slightly as Wednesday helped her to the edge of the tub.
"Let me know if you need anything," Wednesday said quietly, turning her back to give Enid some semblance of privacy as Enid slipped out of Wednesday's coat and lowered herself into the water. A soft gasp escaped Enid as the warmth hit her skin, and Wednesday glanced back to see her leaning back against the edge of the tub, her eyes closed, a look of relief slowly spreading across her face.
For a moment, Wednesday just watched Enid. Her hair, still tangled with bits of leaves and twigs, clung to her neck and shoulders, the tips dipping into the water. Her skin, usually so vibrant, was pale and drawn from the strain of the night, but there was a softness to her now, a vulnerability that made Wednesday's chest tighten.
"Thank you," Enid whispered, her eyes still closed as she sank further into the water.
Wednesday nodded, though Enid couldn't see her. "Just relax," she said, moving closer to the tub and kneeling beside it. "I'll help you clean up."
Enid's eyes fluttered open at that, surprise flickering in them, but she didn't protest. Wednesday reached for a washcloth, dipping it into the warm water before gently wiping away the dirt and grime that clung to Enid's skin. Her movements were slow, methodical, and as she worked, she couldn't help but notice the way Enid's breathing evened out, the way her muscles slowly relaxed beneath her touch.
Enid's vulnerability in this moment was palpable, and yet, there was something strangely intimate about it—something that made Wednesday's chest ache in a way she couldn't quite describe. As she cleaned the last of the dirt from Enid's arms, she gently worked her fingers through Enid's hair, untangling the leaves and branches that had lodged themselves there. Enid winced slightly as Wednesday tugged at a particularly stubborn knot, but she didn't complain.
Once Wednesday was done, she sat back on her heels, watching as Enid relaxed further into the tub, the tension slowly draining from her body. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, yes, but also so undeniably strong—stirred something deep inside Wednesday, something she had spent far too long trying to ignore.
After a long while, Enid opened her eyes, looking at Wednesday with a softness she had rarely shown before. "You didn't have to do this," she whispered again, her voice barely audible.
"I know," Wednesday replied, her voice low. "But I wanted to."
Enid looked at her for a moment longer before finally nodding, the exhaustion overtaking her once more. Wednesday helped Enid out of the tub, careful to keep her steady as she dried off and changed into her pajamas—soft, comfortable, and warm. Enid was too weak to protest now, too tired to argue, and once she was dressed, Wednesday guided her back to her bed, gently lowering her onto the blankets.
Enid's eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, the warmth of the bath and the comfort of her bed pulling her into sleep. Wednesday pulled the blankets up over her, tucking them around her to keep her warm, and for a moment, she just stood there, watching Enid.
The room was quiet, the soft sound of Enid's breathing filling the space between them. And as Wednesday looked at Enid, peaceful and asleep, she felt that strange, unfamiliar ache in her chest again—the one that told her she cared far more than she ever wanted to.
Wednesday sat down beside Enid on the bed, her hand resting lightly on Enid's arm, just for a moment. She had never been one for sentimentality, but as she sat there, watching Enid sleep, she couldn't help but feel... grateful. Grateful that Enid was here, that she was safe, that Wednesday had been allowed to see this side of her.
Eventually, Wednesday lay down beside Enid, careful not to disturb her as she wrapped her arm around her, pulling her close. Enid instinctively curled into her, her body warm against Wednesday's, and for the first time in a long time, Wednesday felt a strange sense of peace. She knew Enid was hurting, that her body was sore and weak from the transformation, but as she held Enid in her arms, she knew that Enid would be okay.
Enid was strong. Stronger than anyone Wednesday had ever known. And as she watched Enid sleep, her soft breath against Wednesday's skin, she realized just how lucky she was to have Enid in her life.
Slowly, Wednesday's own eyes began to close, and as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, she had finally found something worth holding onto.