"But actually, Laurel faked her death. She hid her identity and managed to infiltrate Nevermore, seeking revenge. She found a method to resurrect her ancestor—Joseph Crackstone—from something called 'the dark codex,' wanting to use her ancestor's power to destroy everything."
"She received help from those people wearing bird-beak masks, found Crackstone's buried coffin. Then, through the academy archives, she found the descendant of Hyde—Tyler Galpin, and used a special potion to induce the 'Hyde' within him."
"When Auntie enrolled, she began her plan, making Hyde kill repeatedly to obtain the'sacrifices' needed for the resurrection."
"Finally, all she needed was to wait for the blood moon night and use... the blood of The Addams Family along with those sacrifices to completely resurrect Crackstone."
After finishing, Wednesday let out a long sigh of relief, as if completing a daunting task.
She raised her clear, big eyes to look at Victor and Wednesday, seemingly waiting for feedback.
An eerie silence fell over the scene.
The sheer volume of information, and the manner of its revelation—so... otherworldly—required everyone some time to digest.
After a long while, Victor was the first to break the silence. He smacked his lips, his face showing a disdainful expression as if watching a tacky eight o'clock soap opera:
"How to put it... isn't this just that 'whole family dies, orphaned girl fakes death and returns, turns dark for revenge, wreaks havoc' kind of big female lead drama? So outdated! Even short-video platforms nowadays wouldn't stoop to such clichés; filming it would definitely get them roasted by the audience!"
Wednesday ignored Victor's Make complaints. The cold light in her deep-pool eyes intensified as all the clues finally connected into a clear, icy chain.
Motive, method, target... everything matched up.
Her gaze once again turned towards the direction Laurel Gates had disappeared, killing intent condensing like a tangible substance.
"My blood, the blood of The Addams Family..."
She softly repeated the most crucial line, the corner of her mouth curling into a cold arc.
"So that's it. That's what Goody Addams meant when she said I am the key."
Victor's mouth split into a nearly insane grin, his fingers idly stroking the furry little head of Wednesday in his arms, making the little one hum with comfort, her fluffy wolf tail spinning like a propeller.
"Well, this woman's cards have all been laid bare by us. It's an open hand now."
His voice carried a kind of pleasure and sense of control, like a chess player seeing through all of an opponent's arrangements.
"Now, the initiative is in our hands."
"Victor, I'll help you too!"
Mavis rolled up her sleeves, revealing pale but eager arms, her sharp fangs glinting as if ready to join a grand melee at any moment.
"No, no, no, Mavis."
Victor shook his head, his smile confident to the point of arrogance.
"You protect the family, then just watch me perform."
He slightly lifted his chin, a crazy, excited light flashing in his eyes.
"I shall present to everyone... a spectacular performance."
The moment his words fell—
"I think you'd better hurry."
A cold, calm, utterly flat female voice abruptly cut in.
This voice was too familiar, familiar to the point of being chilling.
Victor whipped his head around. He saw a figure dressed in a pure white gown, with pale skin and meticulously combed white hair, appearing before them silently like a ghost.
That face, that aura, those icy eyes... the spitting image of Wednesday Addams!
No, not an imitation!
It was practically a one-to-one replica!
Just the color scheme changed from classic gothic black to... eye-piercing holy white!
"Holy crap!!!"
Victor was scared out of his wits, letting out a strange cry and jumping up on the spot like a startled cat!
Instinctively, he grabbed and hugged the person nearest to him—
Which was the genuine Wednesday, wearing her classic black mourning dress.
He hugged her tightly, practically hanging his whole body onto her.
Wednesday, squished between Victor and Wednesday's chests, let out a tiny, flattened whimper.
"Awoo..."
"What's happening?!"
Wednesday, suddenly used as a hug pillow, sounded cold enough to crack stone. She tried to break free from this sudden, overly tight embrace, but Victor was holding on too tightly.
"Don't you see?!"
Victor's voice was trembling as he pointed at the white figure, speaking incoherently.
"A white Wednesday! Alive! Good grief! Wednesday, did you secretly drink my good and evil potion?! Split personality? Is this your good-natured self or evil-natured self that ran out?!"
"Get off me now!"
Wednesday felt a mix of faint chocolate sweetness and the unique, indescribable scent of Victor—carrying a hint of manic energy—forcefully rush into her nostrils.
That scent was like a feather, lightly tickling the surface of her heart's lake, stirring a barely perceptible tremor.
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