Deep midnight, the dormitory.
Candlelight flickered, illuminating Wednesday's pale, focused face. Spread open before her was the Book of Shadows, a tome containing endless mysteries and dangers.
Enid gripped the hem of her shirt nervously, her azure eyes unblinking as she stared at the eerie runes flowing across the pages.
"Are you sure this spell is safe, Wednesday?"
Enid's voice carried a barely perceptible tremor.
Wednesday didn't lift her head. Her slender finger traced a particularly complex incantation, her voice as cool as ever:
"There is no such word as 'safe' in the Book of Shadows. Only 'price' and 'consequence'."
"According to this record, we can project our consciousness to a specific time anchor. The duration depends on our mental strength. Theoretically, it will not interfere with the current timeline. We are merely... observers. Or perhaps, temporary spectral assistants."
"I just... wanted to see what Vic was like when he was little," Enid said, her cheeks slightly flushed.
Wednesday's lips hooked up imperceptibly.
"Agreed. Furthermore, I am... highly interested in the cultivation of his early survival skills. Are you ready?"
Enid nodded vigorously, took a deep breath, and placed her hand over Wednesday's cold one.
Low chants were recited. The candlelight flared up violently, then abruptly extinguished.
Their consciousnesses were pulled away by an invisible force, plunging into a bizarre tunnel of time.
---
Ten years ago. An abandoned logging camp somewhere in Transylvania.
Cold wind whipped snow into every crack of a dilapidated wooden cabin.
A young Victor Black was curled up beside a dying fire, wrapped in a noticeably oversized, stain-covered coat, shivering so hard his teeth chattered.
His face was dirty, but his eyes were shockingly bright in the darkness, like a stubborn, wretched little wolf pup.
"Hiss... so hungry..." He clutched his growling stomach, muttering softly.
On his shoulder, a mass of pitch-black, living viscous substance squirmed, emitting a raspy, low voice: "Wait here, kid. I'll go get you some 'protein'."
Before the words faded, the black substance shot out of the cabin like an arrow, merging into the night.
Not long after, a short burst of flapping and a muffled thud came from outside.
Venom's tentacle retracted, curling around a disheveled, dead bald eagle.
"Here. High protein, rich in various trace elements."
Venom sounded smug. He skillfully used a tentacle to start another fire and, without plucking a single feather, roasted the poor bird over it.
Little Vic wrinkled his nose, watching the "food" turn charred and emit a strange smell over the fire. His small face was filled with disgust:
"Venom, are you sure this thing is edible? It smells like burnt rubber mixed with... uh, bird poop."
"Picky brat! This is a rare delicacy!" Venom retorted dissatisfiedly, but still carefully controlled the heat.
However, when Vic managed to tear off a piece of meat and stuff it into his mouth, his face scrunched up instantly, and he spat it out.
"Ptooi! Ptooi! Tough and fishy! It tastes like death! Venom, your cooking skills are definitely the worst in the universe!"
"Stinking brat! Be grateful you have food! Don't waste it!"
Venom flew into a rage out of humiliation, waving several tentacles threateningly in front of Vic before taking a huge bite of the roasted meat himself.
Two seconds later, Venom spat it out.
"The creatures on this planet taste terrible."
"No, I don't think it's the species' fault."
Just as the pair were glaring at each other, about to start their daily bickering, two blurry, translucent figures quietly emerged like ripples in water from the shadows in the corner of the cabin.
It was Wednesday Addams and Enid Sinclair, projecting their consciousness here using the power of the Book of Shadows.
Unable to interfere with reality, like ghosts, they could only watch silently.
"It seems we arrived at the right time." Wednesday crossed her arms, commenting calmly. Her deep eyes swept over the charred food. "This method of cooking is a double murder of the ingredients and the digestive system."
Enid looked at the scrawny, shivering, yet stubbornly fierce Vic. Her heart felt pricked by needles, aching intensely. She instinctively wanted to go hug him, but passed futilely through his cold body.
"He's so small... all alone here, he must be so scared..." Enid's voice choked up.
Wednesday's gaze landed on Vic's green eyes, which looked exceptionally large due to malnutrition. After a moment of silence, she spoke:
"Fear will not kill him, but Venom's 'protein' might."
In the days that followed, Wednesday and Enid's projections silently accompanied Little Vic in this spacetime.
When Venom excitedly brought back a squirrel, ready to repeat his mistake, Wednesday's cool voice rang in Little Vic's ear, even though he couldn't hear it:
"Aim for the neck, a fatal blow. Skin it, remove the organs, wash with clean snow water. Find some pine branches, slow smoke it, do not throw it directly into the fire."
Little Vic was grimacing at the squirrel Venom brought back when, inexplicably, a flash of strange inspiration crossed his irritable mind. He grabbed the squirrel, mimicking a blurry shadow in his memory, handling it clumsily but with unusual precision. This time, although the roasted meat was still crude, it was at least edible.
Venom circled the roasted squirrel in surprise: "Hey! Kid, when did you steal this skill?"
Vic was a bit confused himself, muttering: "None of your business! Still better than your cosmic poison cuisine!"
Nights were the hardest.
Vic often woke up from nightmares, cold sweat soaking his thin clothes. The cold of the lab, the fear of escape, his parents' abandonment... haunted him.
Whenever he curled up, trembling silently, Enid would kneel beside him. Though unable to touch him, she softly hummed an ancient lullaby passed down in wolf packs to soothe cubs, watching him tenderly with her azure eyes.
"It's okay, Vic, it's okay... You're safe, you're brave..." She whispered over and over.
Miraculously, the nightmares seemed to fade. Little Vic's furrowed brow would slowly smooth out, and his breathing would become steady.
Occasionally, in moments of lucidity brought on by extreme cold or hunger, Little Vic would hug his knees and talk to the air, his tone sharp and mocking beyond his years:
"This damn weather, trying to freeze me into a popsicle?"
"Those bastards in white coats better not let me run into them again!"
Wednesday would stand expressionlessly in front of him, "responding" in her unique way: "Cursing is inefficient. Surviving and becoming stronger is the best revenge."
Enid would add softly from the other side: "You will grow up, Vic. You will meet many friends, and you won't be alone anymore."
One day, Vic fell from a tree while trying to steal bird eggs, gashing his knee badly. Blood flowed freely.
He didn't cry. This level of pain was merely a massage for someone accustomed to torture.
Little Vic just glared viciously at the wound.
"What are you looking at! Keep looking and I'll gouge you out!" He threatened his own injury.
"Venom, help stop the bleeding!"
Wednesday raised an eyebrow: "Threatening one's own tissue is an early symptom of schizophrenia."
Enid couldn't help but laugh, then quickly said with heartache: "Blow on it, Vic, blow on it and it won't hurt."
Vic inexplicably blew a few breaths on the wound, then turned his head away awkwardly.
And so, under the silent companionship and guidance of two "ghosts" from the future, Little Vic and Venom survived toughly but tenaciously in this wilderness.
His eyes remained vigilant, his mouth unforgiving, but occasionally, in unnoticed moments, a trace of faint dependence and confusion would flash in those eyes.
He always felt like... there was something warm beside him.
Until that evening.
An unexpected visitor arrived outside the cabin.
A man in a well-tailored black suit, pale-faced, elegant and mysterious—Count Dracula.
His gaze swept over the dilapidated cabin, finally landing on Little Vic, who stood blocking the door like a bristling little beast, face full of wariness.
"Hm? An abandoned little monster?" Dracula's voice was deep and magnetic.
Little Vic stared at him nervously, Venom poised to strike.
Dracula smiled slightly, revealing sharp canines, but without any sense of threat.
"Child, it seems you need a decent place for a hot bath and a real dinner. Interested in coming with me? My daughter happens to need a playmate."
Little Vic stared dead at Dracula, seemingly assessing the danger. Finally, hunger and cold overcame vigilance, and he nodded slowly.
Just as Dracula turned to lead him away, Little Vic suddenly stopped. He whipped his head around, looking toward the empty shadowed corner of the cabin.
His eyes were filled with an intense, indescribable intuition.
He couldn't see them, but he could feel... that "warmth" which had accompanied him through many cold nights was disappearing.
"Hey!" He shouted at the void with his raspy, pre-pubescent voice. His tone was as abrasive as ever, but carried a trace of imperceptible panic and... pleading.
"Will I... will I see you again?"
The cold wind howled, kicking up snow.
Silence.
Just as the light in Little Vic's eyes was about to dim, two overlapping female voices—gentle yet firm, seemingly from a distant future—clearly pierced the barrier of time and space, ringing in his heart:
"We will meet again, Vic."
"In the future."
"At Nevermore."
Little Vic froze. He blinked, seeming to digest this illusory promise.
Then, he wiped his face hard, turned around, and stubbornly followed Dracula without looking back.
Only no one saw him whisper a sentence to the wind and snow in a tiny voice:
"Hmph, Nevermore, huh? ...Just wait."
In the corner of the cabin, Wednesday and Enid's projections smiled at each other, slowly dissipating in the ripples of spacetime.
They knew a brand new story had already planted its seed in the river of time.
---
Ten years later. The roadside leading to Nevermore.
Tall coniferous forests cast dappled shadows on both sides of the road. The air smelled of pine needles and earth.
A tall boy wearing a black leather jacket was leaning bonelessly against a rough tree trunk, carelessly tossing a smooth human skull in his hand.
"Walking is so tiring, Venom."
Vic dragged out his tone, full of laziness and complaint. He caught the falling skull, tapping it with a fingertip, producing a hollow sound.
"I feel like the soles of my feet are protesting."
On his shoulder, the pitch-black symbiotic substance squirmed, whispering raspily: "Then stop walking, kid. Find a ride, how about hitchhiking?"
Vic's emerald green eyes lit up instantly, like a cat finding a new toy.
"Great idea, buddy!"
He jumped down nimbly from the tree trunk, dusted off his pants, and looked toward the winding road where vehicles occasionally passed in the distance.
"But," he tilted his head, lips hooking into a sly grin, "which car is going to Nevermore? This is a tough choice..."
He pretended to raise a finger, chanting a nursery rhyme in a childish tone at the sparse traffic: "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..."
His fingertip stopped precisely on a black, stretched hearse driving slowly toward them, looking solemn and even a bit ancient.
The car body was sleek, exuding a solemn aura of death. But in Vic's perception, that aura wasn't rotting; instead, it carried a... fresh, tranquil charm.
"Hey!" Vic grinned, showing two sharp canine teeth. "Looks like Lady Luck is on my side today. This hearse is nice; the scent of death is fresh. Perfect for hitching a ride."
He moved as lightly as a black cat, climbing up a perfectly positioned large tree by the roadside in a few moves. The dense foliage concealed his figure perfectly.
Crouching on a thick branch, he looked through the hearse's wide rear window.
The interior was spacious, the decor simple and solemn.
A girl in a black dress sat there alone, her back to the window.
She wore exquisite double braids, the ends resting on her shoulders. Her posture was upright; even sitting, she exuded a cold aura that warned strangers away.
She seemed to be looking down at something on her knees. Her profile was beautiful but expressionless, like fine porcelain.
"Good eye, Vic," Venom praised.
It was unclear if he was praising the car or the girl.
The story began here.