Victor held Wednesday's hand as they passed through the final stretch of forest shadows, stepping back into the warm, glowing halo at the edge of the Harvest Festival square.
The clamor of the crowd and the cloyingly sweet scents instantly enveloped them, creating an absurdly sharp contrast with the silent, bloody stillness of the forest behind them.
Enid Sinclair was pacing anxiously in place, her golden short hair appearing fluffy under the lights.
The moment she spotted the two figures, she immediately rushed over, her face etched with worry.
"Wednesday! Victor! Are you both okay? Victor suddenly said you were in danger earlier, and then he..." Her gaze darted rapidly between Victor and Wednesday, and her words abruptly halted.
She saw Wednesday quickly, almost reflexively, snatch her hand away from Victor's.
She also saw the lingering, unusually vivid flush on Victor's face and Wednesday's slightly more rapid breathing than usual (purely a result of the waltz's exertion).
A strange, inexplicable sense of déjà vu hit her, stirring an indescribable, uncomfortable feeling in her heart that felt stifling, yet she couldn't grasp its source.
"Are you... okay?" she finally repeated, her eyes filled with pure confusion and concern.
Victor let out a hearty laugh and, with perfect naturalness, slung his arm around Enid's shoulders, pulling her into a buddy-like half-embrace as he steered her towards the bustling celebration crowd.
"No problem, no problem!" His tone was as light as if discussing the weather.
"It was just that guy named Rowan, not quite right in the head. He wanted to kill Wednesday over some old, worn-out prophecy painting. As for the result? Bad luck. He ran into the real deal and got'snapped' by some monster that came out of nowhere."
He made a tearing motion with his free hand.
"Venom thought the monster smelled pretty tasty and wanted a snack, but the other party wasn't playing fair. They even brought Flashbangs, nearly sending us both off too."
He shrugged as if recounting a minor, everyday incident. "Forget all that! The festival isn't over yet! Looks like there's a Chocolate Fountain over there!"
His long, rapid-fire speech contained too much information for Enid's little brain to process immediately. She could only be dazedly led along by Victor, her attention subconsciously captured by the "Chocolate Fountain."
It wasn't until Victor shoved an ice cream cone drenched in thick chocolate sauce and sprinkled with sugar crystals into her hand that she instinctively took a big bite.
The icy coldness and cloying sweetness exploded in her mouth. This intense sensory stimulation seemed to instantly reboot her brain.
She jerked her head up, eyes wide, gasping as she nearly choked on the ice cream.
"Wait!" she finally seized the crucial point, her voice instantly rising to an incredulous soprano pitch.
"Y-you mean to say... in the forest! Right now! There's a... corpse?! Rowan's corpse?!"
Wednesday stood to the side with her arms crossed, watching coldly. Only then did she speak up calmly, delivering a precise, venomous jab:
"Astonishing reaction speed. It seems sugar truly can activate certain dormant neurons."
Enid had no time for Wednesday's sarcasm. She grabbed Victor's arm, her nails unconsciously elongating slightly and pricking into the fabric of his jacket:
"Oh my god! Someone died! We need to call the police! No! We need to tell the headmistress first! Are you... are you guys okay? Are you hurt? What about that monster?!"
She was so flustered she was tripping over her words, her gaze darting back and forth between the two, searching for injuries.
"Relax, relax, Enid." Victor patted her back and casually added another scoop of chocolate to the ice cream in her hand.
"We ran into Bianca on the way. She'll handle informing Her Majesty the Headmistress. As for the monster? It ran off. But don't worry," he grinned, showing his pointed canines, a flicker of eager anticipation in his eyes. "It won't get far."
Enid looked at his utterly nonchalant expression, then at the indifferent face of Wednesday beside him, who looked as if she'd just been for a stroll. A deep sense of helplessness suddenly washed over her.
These two people... did their perception of "death" differ a bit from hers?
"But... but..." she tried to say more, but Victor cut her off.
"No buts!" Victor suddenly bent down, leaning close to the ice cream in her hand, taking a deep sniff with a look of rapture.
"Wow, is this Venezuelan Dark Chocolate? Rich aromatic layers, a hint of fruity acidity, long finish... good taste! Hurry up and try it! It's not good once it gets warm!"
Venom also poked a small head out from his collar, staring at the ice cream, its large white eyes full of longing: "Share a bite? Just one? I can hold the cone for you with a tentacle!"
Enid looked at the expectant face of the person (and symbiote) waiting for her ice cream review and lost all her steam.
She looked down at the nearly melting, sinful, sweet chocolate ice cream in her hand, then thought about the cold, mangled corpse in the forest.
In the end, she silently, fiercely, took another big bite of the ice cream.
Forget it. Even if the sky was falling, she had to finish this ice cream first.
At least for now, all three of them were standing here safe and sound—though two of them might be psychologically beyond saving.
She sighed, savoring the slight comfort brought by the chocolate melting on her tongue, and decided to temporarily push the blood and monsters to the back of her mind.
After all, as Victor said, the festival wasn't over yet.
She just didn't notice that while she was looking down eating her ice cream, Victor and Wednesday exchanged a brief, meaningful glance.
That glance held no trace of ease, only icy sharpness and the excitement before a hunt.
The game had only just begun.
Early the next morning.
The dorm room was filled with a fresh scent of pine, forming a peculiar mix with the usual sweetness of chocolate and the faint, elusive metallic tang of blood.
Victor was unusually quiet, sitting on the edge of his "toilet kingdom" territory, head bowed, expression focused.
He held a small, sharp carving knife in his hand, carefully guiding it across a piece of boxwood.
Wood shavings fell like fine snow, gradually revealing the vivid, sharply-scaled outline of an alligator's head.
Wednesday sat on her own bed, but her gaze occasionally drifted to the carving in Victor's hands and those remarkably steady hands.
It was hard to imagine that this guy, who usually seemed hyperactive and loud enough to raise the roof, also had such a quiet, peaceful, and extremely patient side—and with considerable skill.
"What, Rowan is still alive?" Victor asked without looking up, his tone flat as if discussing wood grain.
"That's interesting. Last night, we danced an excellent waltz on his quartered, still-steaming body."
He blew away the wood shavings from the detailed part of the carving.
"Correct," Wednesday's voice was icy.
"The police found nothing in the forest. Then, this morning, he showed up at the headmistress's office door to apply for withdrawal, smiling and waving hello to me, looking rosy-cheeked and behaving normally."
She tapped her fingertips lightly against the edge of the bed. "Everyone thinks I've gone mad or am using the most clumsy lie to cover up a failed escape attempt."
"Wow."
Victor finally looked up. Those eyes, which usually sparkled with a manic light, were now clear and profound. He tilted his head and smiled.
"Or maybe we were just having too much fun and shared a little... hallucination?"
The look Wednesday returned was like a blade tempered in ice.
"Oh, alright, you really have no sense of humor," Victor shrugged, lowering his head again. The knife tip precisely outlined the alligator's cold pupil. "Setting aside the low-probability event of collective mental instability, we're left with just two possibilities."
His tone became calm and methodical, complementing the precision of his carving.
"One: The one who got torn apart by the monster in the woods last night, the one who tried to kill you first, was a fake Rowan. The one bouncing around this morning is the genuine article."
"Two: Rowan really did die last night, deader than dead. The Rowan who can talk, laugh, and wave this morning... is a fake."
The carving knife paused for a moment.
"Our academy has quite a few Shapeshifters," Victor noted coolly. "Achieving a flawless imitation isn't difficult. By the way, my dear headmistress aunt—Ms. Larissa Weems—is one of the foremost among Shapeshifters. She can even transform clothes perfectly along with herself."
He raised his eyes, his gaze sharp as he looked at Wednesday.
"And to prevent damage to the academy's reputation and avoid the shocking scandal of 'a student dying horribly in the forest outside the school,' it's highly likely she would personally intervene, or assign another Shapeshifter to impersonate Rowan and completely bury the incident."
"This Rowan applied for withdrawal, right? Perfect. Now, whether he's dead or not, he'll disappear from our sight."
He set down the carving knife and the nearly completed, menacing-looking wooden alligator head, brushed the wood shavings from his hands, and revealed a smile mixed with smugness and inquiry.
"So, Miss Wednesday Addams? How does this 'Watson's' deduction fare... passable?"