"Come on, it'll be fun," Enid begged, her eyes wide with excitement.
Wednesday sat quietly in the corner of the room, her black dress blending into the shadows. She
didn't look up from her book, her finger marking her place. "I don't think so," she said, her voice
calm and measured.
Enid pouted, her cheerleader's spirit momentarily dampened. "But it's the prom dance, Wednesday.
Everyone's going to be there!"
Wednesday closed her book with a soft thud and looked up, her gaze piercing through Enid's
hopeful facade. "I see your enthusiasm, but crowded social gatherings are not my idea of
fun."
Enid sighed, understanding that pushing the issue would lead nowhere. She sat down next to her
friend, her own excitement dimming. "I know, I know. But it's our senior year. It's like, a rite of
passage or something."
Wednesday's eyes remained on the closed book in her lap. "I'd prefer to pass on that particular
rite."
Enid leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, "But it's the perfect place to observe human
behavior. Think of it as an anthropological study."
Wednesday's eyes lit up slightly at the thought. "I suppose you have a point," she conceded. "But I'll
need to establish some ground rules."
Enid clapped her hands together. "Of course! What do you need?"
Wednesday thought for a moment before listing her conditions. "First, no slow dancing. Second, I
control the music playlist. Third, I wear what I want."
Enid nodded eagerly. "Deal! I'll handle the first two. And as for the third, I trust your impeccable
taste."
Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "My taste is not up for debate, nor is it the issue. It's the school's
dress code that requires negotiation."
Enid's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Leave that to me," she said, already texting away on her
phone. Within minutes, she had secured a meeting with the principal to discuss "alternative
fashion choices" for the prom.
As the big night approached, Enid sent Wednesday a playlist of dark, rhythmic tunes that she had
carefully curated. Each song was a masterpiece of gothic rock, a genre that she knew would
resonate with her friend's soul. Meanwhile, Wednesday had been busy designing the perfect dress
—a long, flowing gown of midnight black with intricate white lace that looked like it had been
plucked from a Victorian mourning ceremony. She had paired it with her favorite black boots and a
choker necklace adorned with a single crimson rose.
The day of the prom, Enid couldn't contain her excitement. She bustled into the room, her own
outfit a vibrant mix of neon colors that seemed to glow in the dim light of the Addams' mansion.
"Wednesday, you have to come see this!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying the urgency of a child
who had just discovered a secret treasure.
Wednesday set down her scalpel, which she had been using to dissect a particularly interesting
spider, and followed Enid upstairs. The dress laid out on her bed was indeed a sight to behold. It
was a macabre symphony of black taffeta and delicate lace, the skirt adorned with a pattern of
thorny vines that looked like they could draw blood with a single brush. The bodice hugged her
slender frame, the neckline plunging just low enough to hint at the darkness beneath.
"It's... " she began, searching for the right word.
"Awful," Enid offered, her tone teasing.
Wednesday smirked. "Perfect," she corrected, her voice laden with approval. "It's perfect."