THE SCARLET ANGEL
SUMMARY: In which Wednesday Addams returns to Nevermore-not to resume her studies, but to bend the school itself to her will. Yet she finds herself ensnared in another mystery, one that bends her resolve and forces her to confront the very nature of her humanity. A mystery which, if left unsolved, will herald not only her undoing, but the ruin of the world she so longs to command.
WARNING: This is my first time writing, so I hope you’ll bear with me. English isn’t my first language (literally), so I ask for your patience as well. The story features a slightly out-of-character Wednesday and an original character with considerable power.
CHAPTER THREE
PART 2 / PART 4
BREAKING NEWS: Tyler Galpin Escapes Willow Hill Psychiatric Hospital
Tyler Galpin—the Hyde who terrorized Nevermore Academy and was responsible for multiple murders—has escaped confinement.
Galpin, who was subdued in a fateful battle against Nevermore student and werewolf Enid Sinclair, was later transferred to Willow Hill Psychiatric Hospital under heavy security. Authorities had hoped that the facility would be strong enough to contain the creature within him.
But last night, something inexplicable occurred. According to George Cornell, a guard assigned to Galpin’s cell, an unknown figure visited the boy during the late hours. This stranger entered the chamber with ease and severed the chains that bound the Hyde.
Cornell claims he was powerless to resist. Under what he described as a hypnotic influence, he obeyed every command the mysterious visitor gave him.
When asked to identify the intruder, Cornell was unable to recall their face. The only details he could provide were unsettling: the figure wore a hooded red coat and carried a flaming sword. How this stranger managed to infiltrate Willow Hill remains unclear. What is clear, however, is that the Hyde has been unleashed once again.
---
Sneaking out was the easiest thing Wednesday Addams had ever mastered. At six years old, Uncle Fester had already drilled her in the art of slipping past locks, alarms, and armed guards. By seven, she could vanish from a crime scene without leaving a trace.
It wasn't merely a skill-it was a delight. She adored the night air pressing against her skin, the whisper of danger coiling in the dark, the thrill of knowing something lethal might be waiting just beyond the next shadow. Most children collected dolls. Wednesday collected escape routes.
So when she heard the news-that Tyler Galpin, the Hyde she'd once unmasked and delivered into justice's eager claws, had slipped his cage-Wednesday's heart did not quiver with fear. No, it thrummed with anticipation.
The only thought that possessed her was simple, singular, and absolute: Find him. Break him. End him. Not the endearing kind of torment she reserved for people she tolerated, like Enid or Thing. But the other kind-the one that meant ruin. That meant punishment carved into the marrow of his bones.
Nevermore's security had grown tighter since the Hyde fiasco. Twice as many guards, twice as vigilant. A lesser soul might have fretted. Wednesday merely considered it sport.
She packed her bag with surgical precision:
• Flashlight.
• Rope.
• Taser.
• A collection of knives, all sharpened to scalpel-fine edges.
• And, for flavor, one of Pugsley's smoke bombs-ingenious little things that could render a room unconscious within seconds.
"Efficient," she murmured as she snapped the clasps shut. Thing perched on her desk, drumming his fingers like a conductor counting down. He already knew the choreography of their exit. Wednesday adjusted her satchel, eyes glinting like blades. "Let's hunt."
And so they followed her plan. The door was far too obvious-predictable, sloppy, practically begging to be caught. Wednesday did not make sloppy mistakes.
Instead, she stepped onto the balcony, rope coiled and tied by Thing with the precision of a hangman's knot. The silk-black curtain of night swallowed her figure as she descended, one pale hand sliding down the rope with effortless grace. For anyone else, it might have been an escape. For Wednesday, it felt like rehearsal.
Boots touched earth. No sound. Not even the crickets dared chirp. She lingered, sharp eyes sweeping the dark grounds, dissecting every shadow for signs of movement. Nothing stirred-no guards, no curious students, not even a stray breeze.
Amateurs. With a flick of her braid behind her shoulder, she cut across the lawn in quick, deliberate strides, her gaze fixed on the iron gates. Each step was calculated, each breath sharpened into silence.
The hunt had already begun. It was far too easy to slip past Nevermore's defenses. Guards or no guards, Wednesday dismantled obstacles with the elegance of someone folding laundry. The inhale of success sent shivers down her arms, gooseflesh rising like a small standing ovation from her nerves.
If only the night were proper-storm-lashed skies, thunder crawling over the horizon, lightning tearing apart the dark. But no. The stars winked prettily, the moon glowed like a sentimental painting. People would call it beautiful. Wednesday called it an insult.
She didn't hate the heavens. She simply preferred them bathed in crimson, wolves howling to accompany human screams, prayers answered by silence and blood. A perfect cinematic evening.
"Breaking the rules, emo Barbie?" The voice slipped into the night like a blade against her throat. Wednesday froze, irritated at herself. She had anticipated guards-useful, disposable, taser-ready. What she hadn't accounted for... was her.
She turned. Nothing. A warm breath brushed the back of her neck. Wednesday spun again-and there stood Ezra.
The werewolf girl's smirk curved, not cruel but inevitable, as though it belonged on her face the way fangs belonged to a predator. Confidence draped her like silk. Even her simple attire-black sleeveless turtleneck, gray pleated pants-looked less like clothing and more like a declaration. Wealth couldn't buy presence like that.
The red tattoos etched across her exposed skin flared under moonlight, flames carved into flesh. Wednesday found them... distractingly aesthetic. And her eyes-those impossible green eyes-burned brighter than the stars overhead. Mockery of nature itself.
"What are you doing here?" Wednesday asked, voice sharpened into a glare.
"I could ask you the same," Ezra said, straightening, sliding her hands into her pockets with the ease of someone owning the night. Then she leaned closer, her breath a whisper between them. "But I'd wager this little escape has to do with a certain boy."
Her smirk widened, brows lifting in smug anticipation. "Tyler Galpin. Did I get it right?"
"I want to see the guy with his heart ripped out, screaming in pain. That's my lullaby." Wednesday didn't bother with excuses. Caught was caught, and she saw no reason to lower herself to denial.
But she did see options. She could threaten Ezra, force her into silence with the promise of slow dismemberment. Or better-slit her throat here and now, wipe the blood from her boots, and stroll back inside before anyone noticed. Neat, efficient, and oddly therapeutic.
Or...
"I know." Ezra tilted her head, lips curling in that infernal smirk. "But you're breaking the rules." Her voice lowered, commanding but not unkind-an alpha's tone. "Pardon me, but I need you to march back to your dorm. Now."
Wednesday's fingers twitched around the strap of her bag, itching for a knife. She hated the way Ezra spoke-like she had authority, like Wednesday wasn't already calculating ten different ways to make her regret it.
And yet, under the irritation, a flicker of something unfamiliar sparked. Ezra didn't sound like a tattletale. She sounded like someone who had no intention of letting Wednesday out of her sight.
"Addams." Ezra's voice had weight, warning carried in two syllables. Arms folded across her chest like stone gates, immovable.
The shorter woman-choosing peace over murder (which in her case was practically blasphemy)-turned on her heel and walked back toward her dorm. Strange, how her feet obeyed before her mind allowed it. Stranger still, the steady sound of Ezra's steps trailing her all the way back, not pressing, not speaking, just there.
Ezra's silence was loud. It clung to Wednesday's ears like static, pressed down on her lungs until her irritation grew claws. The she-wolf's presence was a chain she hadn't agreed to wear. It's suffocating-no, maddening.
Maybe something worse. At Ophelia Hall, Wednesday pulled the door wide, retreating into familiar shadows. Ezra lingered outside, leaning casually against the frame, her smile an uninvited guest.
Wednesday opened her mouth to strike with words sharper than her knives-then stopped. Her stomach twisted, a strange churn she despised. An intruder, lodged somewhere between her ribs. Unfamiliar and unwelcome.
"Look," Ezra said gently, breaking the quiet, "I know we got off on the wrong foot. But I'm not your enemy." Wednesday frowned. The very statement was proof enough Ezra was one. Ezra tilted her head, eyes never leaving hers. "I'm just a girl doing my work of keeping you alive."
"Keeping my soul," Wednesday said flatly, "is none of your business."
"I know." Ezra's smirk softened, replaced with something rawer. "But I want to. Let's just say I'm the nondescript character who keeps trying to write herself into your story."
Wednesday's glare sharpened. "And for what reason, exactly?" For the first time, hesitation cracked Ezra's face. She drew in a long breath, her chest rising with something unsaid. Then-quiet, vulnerable, almost shameful-
"Because I can never be like you."
For a brief moment, Wednesday felt a pang of pity for Ezra. Confusion stirred in her mind, and she almost wanted to question the woman standing before her about the meaning of her words.
But she remained silent, her dark eyes scrutinizing Ezra’s face, searching for deception. None appeared. Instead, sincerity shone clearly in Ezra’s green eyes—too clearly—before the she-wolf swiftly masked the emotion and buried it beneath her usual composure.
Wednesday looked away, her gaze wandering anywhere else, avoiding Ezra’s piercing stare.
"I am someone you cannot replicate." she murmured, her voice laced with hesitation. She didn’t quite know what else to say. She caught herself on the brink of offering comfort—an alien impulse she quickly smothered.
Comforting the emotional was not her skill. Words or gestures, it didn’t matter—when it came to the realm of feelings, Wednesday was like a child lost in a foreign world, clueless and unwilling to learn its language.
"I know," Ezra replied with a small chuckle. Straightening her posture, she gave Wednesday a playful salute. "Have the worst night, Addams... And do not sneak out again." The taller woman turned on her heel and walked away.
Slowly, Wednesday closed the door, her eyes trailing Ezra until the girl disappeared down the corridor.
"I told you she’s sweet," her roommate chirped. Wednesday didn’t flinch at the sudden voice behind her; she had sensed Enid’s approach long before.
"More like walking diabetes," Wednesday muttered coldly, retreating to her side of the room. A moment later, the disembodied hand emerged from her coat, leaping onto the bed with a faint thump.
"Where did you go?" Enid asked, following after her.
"Thing. Follow her," Wednesday commanded, and the loyal hand obediently scuttled out in pursuit. Enid’s voice piped up again, asking who Wednesday was talking about, but the goth ignored her. She walked instead to their balcony, her eyes fixed on the night, watching for any sign of Ezra leaving the building.
Her jaw tightened when her gaze caught the half-moon gleaming above. Its glow hung suspended in the heavens, cold and watchful. The chill of the night air was familiar, unsettlingly so. It dragged her mind back to that night a few days ago—the strange circumstances, the unanswered questions.
She longed to unravel its connection to Xavier’s dream. Was it coincidence? Or something far more deliberate? And above all, she longed to discover where Tyler was hiding. To find him. To end him.
The Hyde’s freedom was dangerous. He could return to Nevermore. He could come for Enid—the one who had nearly ended his monstrous life—or worse, he could seek vengeance by targeting her family. And while Wednesday often claimed disdain for her kin, she loved them fiercely, more than she would ever admit aloud.
Even if at times she wanted to bury her parents six feet under for their relentless public displays of affection. Even if she frequently entertained the thought of detonating one of Pugsley’s bombs—preferably with Pugsley strapped to it.
Even if she was often tempted to stitch Enid’s mouth shut just to end her endless chatter. There were people she held close, whether she acknowledged it or not. And deep within her blackened heart, she knew it to be true.
"Is there something bothering you?" Enid asked, suddenly appearing at Wednesday’s side.
The goth girl turned her head toward her roommate, giving her only the briefest glance before her eyes drifted back downward. She scanned the grounds below, puzzled. The girl she had been waiting for had yet to appear.
Instead, her gaze caught another familiar figure—someone else entirely. Iris. The young woman walked the path leading toward Nevermore’s gate, then slipped into the shadows and vanished.
Wednesday waited for her to return. But she didn’t. Ezra eventually emerged and was plainly visible to everyone, but Iris… Iris seemed to have slipped beyond Nevermore’s walls without a trace.
Wednesday’s dismay only deepened when her eyes landed on Thing, who was now conversing with Ezra as though they had their own private universe.
"Look at her. She’s basically guarding the gates tonight," Enid pouted, her voice tinged with pity. "I just hope she gets some time to sleep tomorrow."
Her words only sharpened Wednesday’s curiosity about the she-wolf.
"For a student, she certainly has far too many responsibilities," Wednesday remarked coolly.
Enid nodded eagerly. "Right? She doesn’t get a break. She’s already our dorm supervisor. Then the new principal found out she’s possibly the strongest werewolf here—maybe even the next alpha. So now she’s been assigned as a night guard, too. And I heard her aunt went missing just yesterday, but she hasn’t been able to go look for her at all. She’s just… too busy."
Enid leaned her arms against the balcony railing. Both girls stared out into the night, their eyes tracking Ezra until the tall figure melted into the darkness.
"I feel so bad for her," Enid whispered.
For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Wednesday felt the same. Though, she reminded herself—it was only slightly. Probably.
"By the way, why were you with Ezra?" Enid asked suddenly, spinning around to face her roommate. Wednesday turned her head, only to be met with Enid’s widened eyes and an accusation that bordered on absurd.
"Don’t tell me you tried to threaten her? Wednesday, I told you—she’s nice! You just have to—" The she-wolf’s panicked rambling was cut short when Wednesday rolled her eyes and looked away.
"Enough, Enid," she snapped. "If I wanted to make her feet cold, I wouldn’t browbeat her. I’d make them literally cold." Her tone was sharp, her gaze returning to the pale moon that loomed above them.
The drive to hunt Tyler had vanished from her mind for a second or more. Instead, her thoughts circled relentlessly around one person—the werewolf. What had Ezra meant when she said: “Because I can never be like you.”?
Was it meant literally? Figuratively? Something more cryptic? Nobody knew.
While Wednesday was lost in her own thoughts, she failed to notice the subtle shifts in her surroundings. Then, without warning, a gust of wind swept through—sharp, cold, carrying with it the weight of an oncoming storm.
The moon, once pale and white, began to stain itself crimson. Wednesday didn’t notice until Enid’s startled voice broke the silence.
"Oh my god—what the hell is that?" Her attention snapped upward to the heavens. The stars were vanishing, swallowed by the dark, as the blood-red hue consumed the moon.
A tightness gripped her chest. From beyond, the beating of wings filled the air—crows, hundreds of them, scattering into the night with frantic cries as though fleeing from something unseen.
And then came the silence. Heavy. Suffocating. The atmosphere was thick with dread, a creeping sensation that slithered into Wednesday’s bones. Ordinarily, she welcomed such thrills—she even craved them. But not this. Not tonight.
This was no ordinary omen. No. This was not a good sign. Not even to someone who adored mysteries.
---
By morning, the blood-red moon had already bled into whispers. Nevermore’s students couldn’t stop talking about it—half in fear, half in awe.
Enid admitted she was terrified, clutching her tray. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”
Pugsley, meanwhile, grinned with delight. “It was darker than human blood. Way cooler.”
Xavier only brooded, silent, chewing like each bite was heavy with thought. And Wednesday—of course—was threading the omen into a thousand other mysteries inside her skull.
"What if it’s already happening?" Xavier finally spoke, his voice dropping like an anchor at their bench in the cafeteria. Their group was oddly and almost complete: the Nightshades, Enid, Eugene, and even Pugsley—who sat across from his sister, stabbing his food with unusual enthusiasm. The only absence was Ajax, keeping his distance from Enid. Wednesday neither blamed him nor cared.
She hadn’t come here for the food anyway. She was here to watch the new principal—the coffee-obsessed creature of habit Thing had reported. Since guards now patrolled his office door, the cafeteria was the only window to his routines.
"What’s happening?" Bianca asked, but Xavier didn’t answer. His gaze only locked on Wednesday. The goth girl opened her mouth to dismiss him, but her words were severed.
"It is."
The voice came from behind her. All eyes turned. Iris. The girl strode forward, arms locked around a thick crimson-covered tome that looked more curse than book. She let it crash onto their table, silverware jumping, utensils clattering to the floor.
Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked down. The cover was stamped with a moon—red ink, old as dust. The pages breathed strange symbols, sketches half-rotted in the margins. Not a book of knowledge. A journal.
"Where did you get that dusty old book?" Asked Xavier.
"This is from the Nightshade library," Iris said, flipping to a marked page. Her finger stabbed at a drawing—a figure with long hair, a narrow waist, and wings unfurling like a cathedral of bones.
"This… is Eiseth. Death herself, walking in flesh, but with the wings of an angel." The cafeteria’s buzz thinned. Students craned to listen. "They wrote that Eiseth was slain by a witch. But before she died, she swore she would return. One way or another. To end the world."
Wednesday leaned closer. The text was Greek. Ancient. She could read it fluently, and Iris—nervous as she was—had translated correctly.
"She didn’t just die," Iris continued. 'Her soul was sent to Hell. And she ruled there, though weakened. But—" She flipped to another page, revealing a crude sketch of an eclipse. "—any powerful witch could revive even dead gods… if the ritual is done beneath an eclipse. A hundred eclipses from the day of her fall."
Her words struck like a bell in the silence. And then, inevitably—
Yoko laughed. A sharp, mocking crack through the tension. "You actually believe that? Eiseth is like… the outcast version of Lucifer."
Iris flushed scarlet, shame smearing across her cheeks. But Wednesday didn’t laugh. Because somewhere, in the part of her brain that never let mysteries go, the pieces were beginning to align.
"Wait—what are we even talking about?" Enid frowned, her wide-eyed innocence darting between Iris and Wednesday.
"Yeah," Davina added from beside Yoko, her brows knitting. "why are we talking about some made-up villain from a bad myth anthology?"
Bianca smirked, propping her chin on her palm. "Oh, I get it. Wednesday’s just crushing on the main character. Death personified? Kinda her type. I heard Eiseth loved killing for fun."
Wednesday didn’t lift her eyes from the page. Her tone was colder than steel dipped in ice.
"I could hardly care for the impending doom that will erase you all. I’m only curious as I’m condemned to live among you. If not…" She finally glanced up, black gaze like a blade. "…let the world burn, and let me watch."
The table hushed for a beat. Even Pugsley stopped poking at his food. And there—just at the end of the passage—her eyes snagged on something. A sentence written in the same Greek script, but twisted, unfamiliar. Not the words themselves, but the syntax—like a phrase that shouldn’t exist at all.
It wasn’t in her own book about Eiseth. Which meant—someone had altered this one.
Each mother hath her child in hand,
Each child a mother close at hand.
If mother’s lost, the child shall rise,
If child be gone, the mother cries.
By blood the scales are held aright,
Yet in power, the child holds more might.
"Eiseth… had a child?" Wednesday’s whisper was meant only for herself, yet Iris caught it.
"You didn’t know?" Iris’s voice carried both surprise and hesitation. Wednesday’s eyes snapped to her, brows furrowing in irritation. Iris lowered herself into the seat beside her—close, but carefully distanced, as though the Addams girl might bite.
"My mother told me," Iris continued, voice soft but steady, "that Eiseth bore a child with the very human she elevated into a powerful psychic. But the child never drew breath—it died within her. The father, disgusted, turned his love into hatred. When the witch struck Eiseth down, he stood there. He watched the mother of his unborn child reduced to ash… and did nothing."
A ripple of unease passed over the table. Iris’s tone darkened. "But death was never the end for her. When she descended into Hell, she cursed him. Him—and every bloodline that would come after. His children, and their children’s children, are still marked."
"Damn," Eugene muttered, wide-eyed. "That’s… way more brutal than I expected."
Wednesday’s gaze sharpened on the page. "How come the book of Eiseth never mentioned it?"
"If you're talking about the ones in 1840's, sad to tell you but it is rewritten. They didn't mention that parry to protect his descendants," Iris answered, almost apologetic. "If people knew, they’d hunt his line until none remained. Or bother them by whenever they want."
Wednesday’s hand curled into a fist, the leather of her glove creaking. Rage simmered in her blackened heart—not at Eiseth, but at herself. To be ignorant of something so crucial felt like being played for a fool.
"So… how’s the red moon connected?" Kent blurted. Half the table groaned, Wednesday included, rolling her eyes with venom.
"Death is coming back to end us all," Pugsley said matter-of-factly. His grin stretched wide, unnervingly delighted. A murmur of discomfort spread across the group, while Wednesday privately wished she could shove him back into their mother’s womb and seal the exit.
"Isn’t it exciting?" he added, voice almost gleeful.
"Your family is so freaking weird," Bianca whispered under her breath.
Iris pressed on, undeterred. "What I mean is… Eiseth’s return isn’t just possible—it’s probable. The red moon last night and the other nights, and the dreams Xavier’s been having, they’re not coincidence. They’re signs. And the book states clearly: whenever Eiseth killed, the moon turned red."
Wednesday’s lips tightened. Another fact, another link in the chain binding them all to an omen she refused to accept. Because if Iris was right, then the apocalypse wasn’t just a story. It was scheduled.
And it wasn’t exciting—it was insulting. If the world must end, it should be by her hand. Not as some unwilling victim dragged into someone else’s catastrophe. That, she decided, she would never allow.
"Uhm… Wednesday?" Enid’s voice snapped the goth girl out of her spiraling thoughts. Wednesday lifted her head, catching Enid’s wide-eyed stare—not at her, but past her.
She turned. There, across the hall, stood her parents, conversing with the new principal. The woman was elegance embodied, her smile radiant, her presence impossible to ignore. Her red hair cascaded in fiery waves, eyes as blue as the ocean depths, and her tall frame nearly matched Morticia’s.
"What are you two doing here?" Wednesday asked, suspicion sharpening her words.
"My little raven!!" Gomez exclaimed, bounding toward her with arms wide. He embraced her warmly—but the moment their skin touched, something snapped.
A force yanked Wednesday—not through space, but out of existence itself. Her vision warped. The world dissolved. And suddenly, she was in a forest. Dark. Wet. Oppressively hot.
Above, no stars—only a swollen, blood-red moon. Then, movement: a figure hovered in the air, cloaked in a long crimson coat. Its hood shadowed its face, but the fire-wreathed sword in its grasp burned bright enough to scar the sky.
The blade lowered, pointing—not at her, but into the distance. Screams followed.
Wednesday’s chest tightened as the cries rose and multiplied. She stumbled toward them. Each step made the air hotter, heavier, until breathing felt like swallowing ash.
The trees ahead blazed, flames consuming everything. And within that inferno—faces. Her family. Her classmates. Every soul she knew. Her father writhed, reaching toward her. "My little tiger—help me, please!!"
His agony split her in half. Morticia’s elegant frame was crumpled in flame, Pugsley begged in a voice that was never meant for begging, Eugene, Bianca, Xavier, Enid—burning, screaming. Even Ezra, weeping softly as fire ate her alive, unmoving, resigned.
Wednesday staggered forward, determined to cross into the inferno—until a voice thundered from behind.
"You can never save them."
She whirled. The floating figure had landed. Cloaked, faceless, its fiery sword crackled as it raised it.
"Petty humans. Pathetic outcasts. Wastes of a beautiful world." Fear lanced through Wednesday—not from the voice, not from the blade, not even from the faceless shadow. "It's time for a new beginning."
It was the power. Vast. Endless. Ancient. She felt it pressing on her bones, smothering the air. Her voice nearly broke. "Who are you?"
The figure stepped closer, heat radiating off its weapon.
"Death’s heir. Death itself. I am your doom... I am the Scarlet Angel."