The two walked along the stone path towards the west side of Nevermore Academy, their shadows overlapping behind them like a peculiar yet harmonious pair. In the distance, Wednesday stood at the academy gate, looking back once. "Shadows overlapping like a clumsy paper-cut," she thought to herself. The setting sun quietly sank below the horizon amidst the playful noise and whispers. The Gothic spires of Nevermore Academy were gradually swallowed by dusk. The clamor in the corridors faded, replaced by the unique silence of night. Only the faint chirping of unknown insects rustled from within the stone crevices. Moonlight flowed like water, slowly spilling over the windowsills, casting a cold silver glow upon each room.
In the dorm room, Vic had already curled up asleep in his "kingdom."
Venom wrapped around him like a black blanket, occasionally emitting contented purrs. Enid wore headphones, barefoot on the floor, swaying gently to the music in her ears. Her short blonde hair bounced with the rhythm. Her pink nightgown shimmered with a soft glow under the moonlight. She was completely immersed in her own world, tiptoeing, spinning in a circle, her fingers tracing smooth arcs in the air— Clack, clack, clack.
Wednesday Addams sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers flying across the keys of an antique typewriter. Her eyes glinted coldly in the candlelight. Each key press sounded like the stamping of an execution order. Enid's dance steps grew increasingly unrestrained. During a spin, her heel thudded against the floor. Wednesday's fingers froze mid-air. "Enid," her voice seemed to drift from an ice cellar, "If you make one more sound, I'll fashion your headphone cord into a noose."
Enid removed one earpiece and blinked: "What? I can't hear you!"
Wednesday slowly turned her head. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on her face, making her look like an avenging ghost freshly crawled from an ancient tomb. "I said—" her fingers lightly stroked the small knife beside the typewriter, "—quiet."
Enid pouted and turned her headphone volume down just a tiny bit—but her foot still tapped the beat, her toes gently tapping the floor. Clack, clack, clack. Thump, thump, thump. The two rhythms intertwined in the room like a silent war. A vein throbbed at Wednesday's temple.
She suddenly stood up, walked over to Enid, and looked down at her imposingly. "Do you know how the protagonist in my novel dies?"
Wednesday asked softly. Enid tilted her head: "Of old age?"
"Torn to shreds by a pack of monsters because she was too noisy,"
Wednesday smiled, revealing pale teeth, "The description is very vivid."
Enid swallowed hard but soon straightened her back: "You can't deprive someone of their right to listen to music just because you want to write a novel!"
"I can,"
Wednesday's fingers lightly tapped the small knife, "Especially when the 'someone's' taste is so—" she glanced at Enid's playlist, "—nauseating."
Enid's cheeks flushed with anger: "This is Beyoncé!"
"Sounds like a cat being strangled."
"You—"
Enid extended her sharp claws. "Chocolate, don't run!"
An abrupt shout suddenly came from Vic's direction. Both girls turned their heads simultaneously. Vic was sprawled out in his "kingdom," eyes closed, yelling at the ceiling. "Chase it!"
Venom poked its head out from his body and then retracted. Wednesday and Enid looked at each other in silence. "At least he's sleeping soundly,"
Enid whispered.
Wednesday stared at Vic for a few seconds, then suddenly turned back to her typewriter, her fingers flying across the keys. Clack. Clack. Clack. Enid hesitated, then silently turned off her music. She curled up on her bed, fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of her blanket. Moonlight streamed through the window, painting a silver dividing line on the floor—one side was Wednesday's domain of darkness, the other was Enid's rainbow nest. A few minutes later, the typing suddenly stopped.
"If you must listen to music,"
Wednesday said without turning her head, "you can use my record player."
Enid looked up, surprised. Beside Wednesday's bed, an ancient gramophone stood quietly, a thin layer of dust on the black vinyl record. "...Really?"
Enid asked cautiously. "Better than your 'strangled cat,'"
Wednesday said indifferently, but the hostility in her tone had lessened slightly. Enid ran over barefoot, curiously flipping through Wednesday's record collection. "Mozart... Chopin... 'Danse Macabre'?"
Her finger stopped on a pitch-black record. "That's my favorite,"
Wednesday's voice held a trace of barely perceptible pride.
Enid hesitated, then placed the record on the player. The deep sound of a cello slowly flowed out, like mist spreading through the night. Enid unconsciously swayed gently to the rhythm, but this time, her movements were as light as a feather. Wednesday's fingers fell upon the typewriter keys again, but this time, the rhythm merged strangely with the music. Clack, clack, clack. Thump, thump, thump.
The two sounds intertwined, no longer in opposition but in an eerie harmony. In the corner, Victor Black turned over in his sleep. Venom poked its head out to glance at Enid and Wednesday. "Humans are so strange," it muttered, closing its eyes.