The scene was surreal, a macabre painting coming to life. The shadow smiling mischievously, Noah smiling the same way, in perfect sync. It wasn't an illusion; it was a tangible manifestation of his power, and it made Wednesday realize it was something inherent to Noah, an extension of his own inner darkness. And then came the sensation.
The world around her began to distort. Wednesday felt time dilate, each second dragging like thick molasses. The air grew heavy, hard to pull into her lungs, charged with a static, oppressive energy.
And, out of nowhere, in a perfectly sealed room, a Mist appeared in Noah's room. It wasn't simply damp; it was gray and alive, dancing with energy particles. And his shadow stretched, detaching from the wall and encircling the environment like a black and silent serpent, enveloping everything in its animated gloom.
The blade in her hand, once a promise of vengeance, suddenly seemed like a joke in poor taste. The real weapon was the environment itself, manipulated by that boy.
"Interesting..." Wednesday commented, her voice a tone lower than usual, as she lowered the dagger. It was an admission of tactical defeat, an acknowledgment that a physical fight, for now, would be futile.
The reward for her surrender was a confidence.
"Did you like it?" Noah commented, his smile remaining intact, a beacon of arrogance in the mist. "It was a spell that took some time to create. Vivat Umbra."
He shared his achievement like an artist displaying his masterpiece, and his smile continued, broad and self-satisfied.
Wednesday was beginning to hate that smile. It was the source of all her recent frustration, a symbol of her own inability to decipher or dominate him.
"A spell?" she retorted, raising an eyebrow with glacial skepticism. "I thought you were a Seer, not a magician." The mockery was there, cold and monotone as always, a desperate attempt to regain some control through disdain.
Noah's response wasn't one of irritation, but of amusement.
"Hahaha." He laughed lightly, the sound echoing strangely in the dense mist. "Magicians are Seers, just at different levels."
Noah's comment was intriguing, a clue about a power hierarchy she didn't fully understand. And then, the demonstration became even more disturbing. His figure began to hide in the mist, dissipating like smoke. And before she could process his disappearance, another voice came from the haze, a deeply familiar voice.
"Just like you, my little spider." Gomez emerged from the Mist, materializing like a smiling ghost. His mustache was perfectly trimmed and his smile was mischievous, but his eyes carried a rare seriousness. "You are a Seer, but you are a level below your mother."
The declaration echoed in the room, a painful truth delivered by her own father. And then, as quickly as he appeared, Gomez stepped back into the Mist, being swallowed by the gray darkness.
The gray mist seemed to breathe, a living pulse of pure psychic power. And from it, a new figure emerged, as graceful as a whip.
"Or perhaps," Morticia's voice echoed, soft as velvet over a blade, "you are merely a small shadow of mine."
She materialized completely, and there was a presumptuous smile on her lips, a look of superiority not malicious, but factual, like someone stating an obvious and somewhat tedious truth. Her figure loomed larger over Wednesday's, an elongated and dominant silhouette that swallowed the daughter's, perfectly encapsulating the core of the young girl's internal complex conflict.
"The little Wednesday," the apparition continued, each word an ice needle studded with truth, "Who cannot escape my shadow, and tries to run the opposite path to mine so she will never be compared to me."
Wednesday watched everything with her cold eyes, the same eyes that defied death and normality. But behind the icy facade, she felt her will slowly weakening. It was as if every syllable of that perfect illusion tore away a piece of her determination, exposing the primordial fear she wouldn't even admit to herself: that of never being more than an echo, a distorted and rebellious version of her mother.
And then, the vision transformed. Morticia's figure never vanished, it merely changed. The transition was grotesque, a twisting of forms that defied anatomy. The matriarch's slender elegance dissolved, assuming another form, a smaller, fuller, rounder one.
It was Pugsley, or an aberration resembling him. Half of his face was still transformed into Morticia's, one dark and knowing eye beside his own soot-stained cheek. His voice oscillated between Pugsley's, hoarse and broken, and Morticia's, mellifluous and cutting.
"Or just a sister," the hybrid creature spoke, the mother's voice coming from the deformed side of its mouth, "Who tries to teach her brother to fend for himself..."
Pugsley's face yielded for a moment, and his own voice, laden with painful confusion, completed: "...But leaves him aside as much as the parents do."
The mist seemed to contract, the heavy air sucked back into a single point. The grotesque, hybrid figure of Pugsley and Morticia dissolved like smoke, the features recomposing, the bodies detaching in a smooth transition that was, somehow, more frightening than the previous distortion.
And then, where the aberration had been, now stood Noah.
This time, however, there was no smile on his lips. No trace of provocation or perverse amusement. His face was a mask of quiet seriousness, and his bicolored eyes, free of the defiant gleam, now held a sad gaze that fell over his features like a veil.
The Mist gradually vanished around him, dissolving into the air without a trace, and the living shadow that had encircled the environment, that serpent of animated darkness, began to return to its origin, retracting and reintegrating into Noah's normal silhouette until it disappeared completely.
The silence that settled was thick, laden with the echo of the illusions and truths that had been hurled at Wednesday.
"Tell me, Wednesday..." Noah's voice broke the silence, not like a blade, but like a weight. "Do you prefer to see these weaknesses and fears head-on, or do you prefer not to look at them and remain stubborn and arrogant?"
The question wasn't an attack. It was an invitation. An offer of a different path. He had forced her to face her own most distorted reflection, and now he gave her the choice: to learn from it, or to bury it even deeper.
Noah sighed. The sound was laden with a complex emotion, something between resignation and a hint of genuine disappointment.
"You know," he continued, his voice softer, almost a confidential murmur in the room now empty of illusions. "I like you." The declaration was simple, direct, and for that very reason, shocking. "I would like to have you for myself, as a part of me."
He extended his hand, not in a gesture of dominance, but almost of reverence. His fingertips stopped inches from Wednesday's face, not touching, an act of respect and manners that contrasted violently with the psychological invasion he had just committed.
But then came the caveat. The final blow, not of anger, but of a cold and implacable judgment.
"But..." he said, and the word hung in the air like a guillotine blade. "...I am not interested in those who are made of so many errors."
It was the deepest possible rejection. He wasn't rejecting her for being dark, for being strange, or for being dangerous. He was rejecting her for being flawed. Too flawed. For being a heap of arrogance, stubbornness, and unresolved fears. He saw the potential in her, the darkness he so admired, but judged it corrupted by her own inability to confront herself and grow.
And then, his hand withdrew. He had shown her the path, offered a form of connection, and then declared her unworthy of it. Not for who she was, but for who she refused to become. The lesson was over. And the loneliness Wednesday felt in that moment was vaster and more terrifying than any mist or shadow he could conjure.
Noah leaned back, sitting on the bed. The movement was that of someone withdrawing, perhaps hoping the storm he himself had provoked had passed. A moment of truce.
However—
Baam!
The sound was sharp and decisive. Wednesday was suddenly above him, not as a threatening shadow, but as an overwhelming physical presence. Her hands pinned his against the bed, not with brute violence, but with a firmness that brooked no argument. Noah's world now consisted solely of that figure with black hair and burning eyes.
Wednesday's ebony eyes were no longer cold and distant. The ice that always coated them had cracked, revealing a maelstrom beneath. They seemed more... Close to sentimentality. There was vulnerability there, yes, but also a latent fury and a fierce determination.
"Weakness..." Wednesday spoke, her voice a hoarse whisper carrying the weight of her own contempt.
"I despise it... Just as I despise you." Her eyes focused on Noah's gray eyes, challenging him, trying to read any trace of triumph or falsehood.
"But..." She paused, swallowing dryly, forcing the words out. "I can recognize that you are right. I have weaknesses that will make me weaker and more vulnerable to others."
It was a monumental admission. An earthquake in the foundation of her identity. Wednesday felt something rise in her chest, a heavy and unknown feeling – forced humility, mixed with an urgent need.
"That's why," she continued, her voice gaining a feverish intensity, "I need your help... To overcome them and understand how I am erring." Her focus alternated between Noah's eyes and lips, an unconscious movement that betrayed the confusing nature of her plea. It wasn't just a petition for knowledge; it was a test, a provocation laden with something more.
Noah remained still, studying her. The mask of sadness was still there, but now tinged with surprise.
"Is that so...?" he commented, his voice soft. His gray eyes seemed to make Wednesday's gain more brightness and color slowly, as if his very attention was feeding the fire she could barely control.
"Yes..." Her reply was a breath. The grip on Noah's hands tightened, and then something changed. Their fingers interlaced in a gesture that was both a confrontation and a capitulation.
"Is that all..?" Noah's question was a provocative whisper, a thread of doubt cast into the charged air.
Little by little, Wednesday descended towards his face, her body drawing closer to Noah's.
"Yes." The distance between them evaporated, replaced by the heat of their bodies. The outside world ceased to exist.
"Then why are you so close?" Noah asked, his voice still a murmur, but now laden with an understanding that made Wednesday's face burn. He knew of her aversion to touch.
Her reply was the last word spoken in that room. "To test something."
She closed her eyes and descended.
Wednesday's lips, cold, met Noah's warm lips. It was an electrifying contrast, a clash of temperatures and intentions. At the moment of contact, Wednesday's temperature rose suddenly, a wave of heat that swept over her pale skin.
She sat on his lap, adjusting to him, while her hands descended, bringing his with them. She guided them, placing them on her waist with a pressure that was both permission and a command.
And then, her own hands reached Noah's neck, not in a gesture of violence, but of a chilling intimacy. Her fingers caressed the spot, feeling the accelerated pulse under the skin, exploring the curve of his neck while her lips remained sealed to his.
The silence was broken by soft, wet sounds, whispers of an unexpected surrender.
Between one kiss and another, a timid exploration that quickly became confident.
"Cara mia..." Noah whispered lightly against Wednesday's lips, a term of endearment that seemed both a question and a statement.
Before she could process the meaning or formulate a response, his hands, already resting on her waist, gripped her firmly, a gesture of possession that, instead of provoking her fury, made her gasp against him.
He then moved his kisses down to her neck, a sensitive territory. Noah's warm lips met the cold skin of her neck, and the sensation was so intense, so overwhelmingly new, that a light moan escaped Wednesday's lips before she could contain it.
The sound, fragile and surrendered, echoed in the silent room and made her heart beat faster against her ribs, like a trapped bird trying to escape. It was the sound of her own fortress crumbling.
And with it came the awareness of the feeling of love, the one she had always totally despised. She had always seen it as a useless feeling, the origin of all weakness, a pathetic vulnerability that made people predictable and controllable.
Yet, in that moment, Wednesday could no longer despise that feeling. Not with him there. Not with his hands shaping her waist, with his mouth tracing lines of fire on her neck, with the complete absence of any barrier between them.
Logic, disdain, self-preservation—all of it dissolved in the heat consuming her from within. The weakness she so feared didn't make her fragile; it made her alive, in a way she had never experienced before.
And then, in an act of total surrender, in an impulse that sprang from the ashes of her destroyed defenses, she tilted her head back, her black eyes, now clouded by a haze of desire and raw emotion, met Noah's.
She saw in them the same storm, the same deep understanding of what was happening. And, with a voice that was a hoarse breath, laden with a tenderness she didn't even know she possessed.
"Mon Cher..." Wednesday murmured, returning the affection with a French term that echoed his.
The last vestige of resistance dissolved. She moved, kissing him again, but this time with a different intensity.
____
Hey, how are you? Well, I just wanted to say that in about 2-3 chapters, Volume 1 will be finished, and I also wanted to say that I don't want to get arrested because of this chapter... Don't ask why.
With Volume 1 finished, there are two possible scenarios: a pause for a set period of time or an immediate continuation. It will all depend on my focus of ideas. The chapters will be released in the following days, sequentially, no joke.