Morticia leaned in elegantly, lowering her voice with a dark, effective wisdom that only mother and daughter could understand:
"For example, how to precisely pierce his little schemes when he tries to use those 'wet puppy eyes' to get away with things;"
"Or how to set boundaries that make him itch with desire yet afraid to cross easily, rather than crudely drawing lines with a dagger—though, a dagger is necessary as a final deterrent;"
"And even, how to utilize his rebellious 'try it because it's forbidden' psychology to make him fall step-by-step into your carefully designed... 'obedience' trap."
Wednesday still hadn't turned around, but the tips of her ears twitched slightly under her mother's low, seductive "teaching."
Morticia saw her daughter's subtle reaction with satisfaction and added more weight, her tone full of confidence:
"Trust me, Querida. When it comes to 'taming' overly lively, curious partners, we Addamses... have ancestral, time-tested methods. After all, your father back in the day..."
"Enough."
Wednesday interrupted suddenly. Her voice was colder than before, but if one listened closely, it seemed laced with a trace of barely perceptible... wavering?
She finally turned around slowly, her eyes meeting her mother's all-knowing gaze.
Her face remained expressionless, but her tightly pressed lips betrayed the unrest within.
Silence spread through the room filled with cloyingly sweet pink air.
A few seconds later, Wednesday squeezed a sentence through her teeth, her tone sounding like she was grinding them yet forced to compromise:
"Tell me about that 'reverse psychology trap' first."
---
After chatting with her mother for a long time, Wednesday walked aimlessly through the woods on the edge of the Nevermore campus, hands in her pockets. This part of the woods always seemed gloomier than elsewhere.
The afternoon light was shattered by layers of twisted branches, casting shifting spots on her pale face.
Echoing repeatedly in her mind were Morticia's lazy, smiling "husband-taming tips"—
How to guide, how to set boundaries, how to seize the initiative while seemingly making concessions...
Wednesday stopped. Not because she had figured something out, but because the abrupt scene in the clearing ahead attracted her attention.
Flashing police lights, cordon tape, busy figures, and... outside the tape, a figure standing on tiptoes, neck stretched long, watching with relish.
Who else could it be but Vic?
"Tsk tsk, my god, eyes eaten like snacks. The crows around here have real taste, don't they, Venom? Venom? ...Still throwing a tantrum?"
Vic was fully focused on the "excitement" ahead, trying to communicate with his sulking symbiote in his mind, but receiving only a deliberate dead silence.
He completely failed to notice the approach from behind.
"Vic, what are you doing?"
Wednesday's cool voice rang out behind him, like a drop of ice water falling into the noisy environment.
"Wednesday!"
Vic whipped around, a huge smile blooming on his face instantly, as if he discovered a great treasure and couldn't wait to share it.
He pointed excitedly inside the cordon.
"Look! heard this guy was attacked by a murder of crows and killed! That method—wild enough, right?"
Wednesday walked closer slowly, her gaze sweeping lightly over the scene.
Seeing her approach, Vic habitually—almost subconsciously—reached out, wanting to take her hand hanging by her side, which looked a bit cold.
Normally, Wednesday might have discreetly avoided it or let him hold it without much response.
But right now, her mother's words flashed through her mind like a ghost—"Turn passive into active."
So, just before Vic's fingers could touch hers, instead of dodging, Wednesday raised her hand proactively and grasped Vic's hand precisely.
Her movement wasn't exactly gentle—it carried her usual unquestionable decisiveness—but the initiative was real.
This completely threw Vic off.
His hand froze in mid-air for a second before being fully held by Wednesday.
Feeling the cool, smooth touch against his palm, so different from his own heat.
Vic froze completely. He blinked twice, his face written with disbelief and flatter.
He looked down subconsciously at their joined hands, then up at Wednesday's still-expressionless profile. His throat moved, but no sound came out.
"What is it?"
Sensing his stiffness, Wednesday glanced at him sideways, her tone flat.
"N... nothing."
Vic shook his head hurriedly, but his ears turned red uncontrollably.
He immediately reined in his earlier loud demeanor, becoming exceptionally "well-behaved."
Just like that, quietly, even a bit cautiously, he let Wednesday lead him by the hand.
Like a human cub suddenly grabbed firmly by a parent in a strange environment, he followed her step-by-step, crossing the police line in a daze.
The officers busy with the investigation—either because they recognized Wednesday or were intimidated by her aura of entitlement—didn't stop them.
The corner of Wednesday's mouth curved up by an almost imperceptible pixel.
It works.
Mother's experience... seems not entirely without merit.
Once close enough, the bloody details of the scene were revealed without reservation.
The body bag was only half-zipped, revealing the corpse of a middle-aged male.
Most shocking were his empty eye sockets, the edges showing signs of tearing, as if pecked by birds.
Not only that, but his exposed skin was covered in various scars of different depths, old and new crisscrossing, telling the story of a likely turbulent life.
"Wednesday, need any help?"
A voice interrupted their scrutiny.
The speaker was a black female sheriff, Santiago.
Wednesday remembered her. She used to be Donovan's deputy. After Donovan was dismissed, she took over as Sheriff.
"Just admiring the view, Sheriff Santiago."
Wednesday's tone was cold, carrying her unique talent for making polite words sound sarcastic.
Sheriff Santiago seemed used to it, her expression unchanged: "I promise I will do better than my predecessor."
Wednesday responded expressionlessly: "That is an exceptionally low bar."
Her words were blunt to the point of being mean.
Sheriff Santiago didn't mind. She just nodded and turned to continue directing the scene.
She had clearly heard from Donovan how difficult this girl was and chose to keep a respectful distance.
Just then, Wednesday narrowed her eyes. Her sharp gaze shot toward the edge of the crowd watching outside the line.
There, a hooded, sneaky figure was trying to blend into the crowd, but that deliberate posture of lowering their presence made them stand out even more in Wednesday's eyes.
The hooded figure seemed to keenly sense Wednesday's stare. They jolted violently, turned immediately, and hurried into the deeper woods, moving so fast it looked like panic.
Almost simultaneously, Wednesday instantly released Vic's hand. Like a black cat spotting prey, she chased after them swiftly and silently.
"Eh? Wednesday, wait for me!"
Vic felt his hand go empty. The tender moment vanished instantly, leaving only Wednesday's rapidly retreating back in his vision.
He froze for a second, shouted immediately, and without thinking, took off running after her.