Wednesday’s powers had always been volatile. Always shifting and evolving in unpredictable ways that left even her unsettled. But this new ability was something else entirely.
It started subtly. One morning, Enid’s voice rang through her skull like a cheerful alarm, looping her daily schedule with optimism: “coffee, class, blog post, fencing practice, werewolf club meeting…don’t forget the glitter pens!”
Wednesday had nearly clasped her hands over her ears, painfully aware that it wouldn’t help.
The rest of Nevermore was worse.
A constant, cacophonous din of insecurities, petty grudges, and hormonal nonsense. She learned to build mental walls, to dim the noise until it became a distant murmur.
Enid’s thoughts refused to be silenced. Wednesday could lower the volume, but the signal remained crystal clear, warm, and impossibly loud.
The breaking point came during her fencing match against Bianca. Wednesday was mid-lunge, blade slicing through the air, when Enid’s voice crashed into her mind like a rainbow wrecking ball:
“God, Wednesday looks really good in that fencing suit…”
She missed her footing. Bianca’s riposte connected cleanly.
“If I had one shot… but she’d never have eyes for someone like me.”
Wednesday froze. The match ended in humiliating defeat. She tore off her mask, ignored Bianca’s smirk, and stormed out of the hall without a word.
Later that evening, Enid returned to their dorm to find Wednesday sitting rigidly on her bed, wearing the noise-canceling earplugs she’d gifted her for her birthday.
Enid’s heart twisted with quiet concern. She knew what those meant, Wednesday had had a rough day and needed space.
So she said nothing, simply moving around the room with uncharacteristic softness.
But inside Enid’s head, the thoughts never stopped.
“I could offer her a massage… no, that would be weird. God, Enid, get a grip. You’re acting so gay for your roommate it’s actually cringe.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened. The earplugs were useless.
“I wonder if she’d like to talk. I’d love to talk. She’s so smart and interesting and I can’t get enough of her voice… ah, her voice…” Enid sighed dreamily as she scrolled through her phone, completely unaware.
Wednesday’s face burned. She ripped the earplugs out, grabbed her cello, and headed for the balcony. Maybe the music would drown her out.
“Hey, Wends!” Enid called brightly. “Can I join you out there? The weather’s nice.”
Wednesday paused mid-step, unsure whether the words were spoken or another thought.
“Wends?” Enid nudged gently, stepping closer.
“…You may,” Wednesday answered, voice carefully neutral as she stepped outside.
“Yes!” Enid whispered triumphantly under her breath. “I love spending time with you… heck, I love you. I wonder if you’d ever marry me?”
Wednesday nearly dropped her bow. Enid, bright, colorful, relentlessly happy Enid, loved her? Wanted to marry her?
The realization settled over her like moonlight on still water.
She gripped her cello and began to play the most achingly romantic piece she knew, one her Father played on the piano for her Mother, her fingers moving with rare tenderness across the strings.
Enid watched, mesmerized, her thoughts painting the most beautiful, vulnerable pictures a girl in love could conjure: soft confessions, gentle touches, quiet mornings tangled together, fierce protectiveness, and a lifetime of choosing Wednesday over and over again.
Each one made Wednesday’s heart stutter in her chest.
For once, she didn’t try to dim the noise. She let Enid’s loud, tender thoughts washed over her, filling the spaces between the notes, as the evening air carried the music and something far more romantic between them…
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