Wenclair One-Shots

a bone orchad of hearts

Summary:

Wednesday Addams was being haunted by Goody Addams.

It would make for a delightfully macabre experience if her ancestor didn't insist on giving her advice on how to seduce her werewolf roommate.

Or, five times Goody Addams tried to make Wednesday confess her feelings to Enid, and the one time it actually worked.

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1.

"You should gift her a goat."

Wednesday looks her from her book. Her ancestor is sitting on her bed, illuminated by the moonlight spilling from the window. She looks ethereal, a vision in grey, her sunken eyes boring into hers like poisonous needles.

Wednesday lifts one eyebrow in question. Goody slightly inclines her head toward the other side of the room, where Enid Sinclair is gently snoring, curled up amongst the numerous colourful pillows that litter her bed.

"Why would I do that?" Wednesday asks, whispering. She doesn't want Enid to wake up.

"It's a good gift. It will show her that you can see to her needs." Goody's voice still has that chilling quality to it, like she is talking from under the water. It's wonderfully eerie, and Wednesday wishes she could talk like that.

"If she's hungry, she can go get her own food." Wednesday firmly looks back to her book, signalling to her ancestor that the conversation is over.

"She's a werewolf. She would be delighted to receive a goat."

Goody is even more terrible at picking up social clues than Wednesday.

"I don't think she will. She repeatedly told me how disgusted she was to see other werewolves attack live stock during the full moon."

Enid had been scared to life by the vision of her mother swallowing down an entire cow when she was a child. She had told Wednesday the story at least five times. It should have been annoying; it was endearing. At every iteration, Enid found some small details to add, painting a gruesome and fascinating picture of the scene.

"And I think she wants to try to be a vegetarian" Wednesday adds, and Goody frowns.

"A vegetarian werewolf? That's ridiculous. She needs meat. Look at her. She's too thin. That's probably why she can't turn yet."

Wednesday delicately turns the page of her book. The Deadliest Dishes in the World is a good read, if a bit sensationalised.

"She can't turn because she is not ready" Wednesday notes, because Goody is still here, looking at Enid's sleeping form with a frown on her face. "Her wolf is not ready, as she said. It will come. I can see the beast lurking behind her facade."

Goody smiles. There is water in her mouth, dripping down her chin. Wednesday feels a pang of jealousy at the sight.

"You could keep the goat as a pet" she suggests.

Wednesday looks around the room pointedly.

"There is no space for a goat here. And the smell would be atrocious."

"You are so fragile. Back in my days, we used to sleep with our animals."

"Yes, and you all died of smallpox before the age of twenty."

Goody leaves, finally. Wednesday lets out the tiniest sight and snuggles further in her bed, angling her book to catch more moonlight. Reading under such a beautiful glow is worth the strain on her eyes.