The car rumbled down the winding road, shadows from the thick trees stretching across the path like grasping fingers. Aleksander leaned back in his seat, eyes drifting toward his mother.
"So… where exactly are we going?" he finally asked.
Cassandra kept her eyes on the road, her tone flat but with the faintest curl of amusement. "We're going to meet the Addams family."
Aleksander blinked, taken aback. He knew his mother had connections, but this one was… unexpected. He recalled stories from her time at Nevermore, whispers of her elusive friendship with Morticia Addams.
"Interesting," he muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Minutes later, the car slowed, and through the gaps in the towering trees, Aleksander caught sight of it—the Addams Family mansion.
The Mansion (based on Wednesday show)
The house loomed at the end of a long, fog-draped drive. A Gothic behemoth of spires and shadow, its jagged rooftop bristled like a crown of thorns piercing the sky. Weathered stone walls were darkened by years of rain and ivy that crept hungrily across its surface. The tall central tower rose higher than the rest, crowned in ironwork that seemed more like a sentinel than decoration.
Every window was draped in heavy curtains, their glass panes reflecting dim, fractured light that gave the eerie impression of eyes watching from within. Balconies jutted out at odd angles, railings twisted in ornate iron curls. The front doors, massive and arched, were carved black wood, their frame lined with gargoyle-like figures that seemed to grin as the car approached.
A wrought-iron gate had already groaned open at their arrival, and the driveway curled past a tangle of dead trees and overgrown shrubs that looked carefully unkempt—manicured chaos, perfectly in place for the Addams aesthetic.
Towering against the gray sky, the mansion radiated a strange allure: beautiful, menacing, and timeless, as if it belonged to another world entirely.
As the car rolled to a stop before the looming front steps, Aleksander spotted three figures waiting patiently at the grand double doors.
Tall, statuesque, and impossibly elegant, Morticia stood with an almost spectral poise. Her long, ink-black hair cascaded straight down her back, shining like polished obsidian. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain, making the dramatic sweep of her dark eyes and crimson lips stand out all the more. She wore a sleek, form-fitting black gown that trailed against the stone steps, the fabric hugging her frame before spilling into flowing sleeves like ribbons of night. Even standing still, she seemed to glide, exuding an otherworldly grace that carried both warmth and something faintly unnerving.
By her side was Gomez, shorter and stockier, his energy a lively counterpoint to Morticia's calm presence. He wore a dark pinstripe suit tailored to perfection, complete with a crisp white shirt and a deep tie. His slicked-back hair shined under the gray light, his mustache neatly styled, giving him that trademark dashing roguishness. His eyes glimmered with playful sharpness, and his smile seemed permanently etched—a mixture of charm, mischief, and affection especially obvious whenever he looked at Morticia.
Beside the waiting Addamses stood their ever-loyal butler. Lurch loomed silently, his black-and-gray striped blazer and matching vest so stark it seemed carved out of shadow itself. His blank stare was as heavy as his frame.
From the car, Aleksander smirked to himself. "This is going to be very interesting," he muttered.
The doors opened. Aleksander and his mother stepped out. Cassandra swept forward with warm familiarity, embracing Morticia.
"Morticia," Cassandra said with delight, "it's been far too long."
Morticia's lips curved into her signature, languid smile as she returned the embrace. "Far too long, indeed. Time seems almost unkind in how quickly it passes when one is apart from dear friends."
Cassandra laughed softly. "And yet you've hardly changed. Still as striking as ever."
Morticia tilted her head, her eyes glinting. "Flattery suits you, Cassandra. Though I suspect you've come not just to reminisce, but to conspire—like the good old days."
Stepping back, Morticia's gaze fell on Aleksander. Her expression softened, if only slightly. "And look at you—so grown. You carry your father's stature, but those eyes… unmistakably Cassandra's."
Aleksander smiled, while Cassandra rested a hand lightly on her son's shoulder. "Go on ahead, Aleksander."
He gave a small shrug, then disappeared into the Addams home.
Gomez and Morticia exchanged a curious glance as Cassandra lingered behind. She sighed before speaking, her tone carrying both pride and weariness. "He's… different, Morticia."
Morticia arched a brow, voice soft with intrigue. "Different can be a compliment, Cassandra. Explain."
Cassandra hesitated, then spoke slowly. "He inherited the Morozova family's Darkling gift…the shadows bend to him. But he also carries something else. An unusual agility—and something rare among outcasts. Versatile, but isolating."
Morticia tilted her head, curiosity sharpening. Cassandra continued, her voice lower now. "Empathy. Telepathy. He sees through people too easily—the envy, jealousy, and small deceits that come with friendship. It disgusts him. Makes him recoil. He's grown used to being alone."
Cassandra's voice lowered, almost cautious. "There are other… manifestations you should know of. The shadows are not the only inheritance he carries. At times, the wings appear—black as midnight, unmistakably not human. And horns that emerge when his powers peak. They frighten those who see them."
Don't mistake her unease—Cassandra loved her son deeply. It was just his powers that haunted her thoughts. She knew better than most that psychics without training could be undone by their own minds. Visions left unchecked could consume, twist, or drag them into madness and shifter gifts sometimes becomes permanent.
Her worry was not abstract. Aleksander's powers were formidable, dangerous even to himself. And lately, the world had reminded her just how vulnerable he was. Only months ago, his paternal grandparents had been caught in what authorities called an accident—though Cassandra suspected it had been a murder attempt by a radical normie. Aleksander's grandparents had survived the attack—barely. It was not luck that saved them, but Grigori Morozova's constant vigilance. The old man was never without a Darklings at his side, a shadow-forged sentinel that served as both protector and weapon. When the strike came, the creature had intercepted it, its inhuman form shielding them from certain death.
The effect on Aleksander had been immediate and terrible. He had been close to them. When he heard the news, grief collided with fury. The sky above their home had blackened without warning. Thunder rumbled with a ferocity that shook the earth, lightning splitting the heavens open. Inside the house, the walls trembled, the floor itself quaking beneath their feet.
Cassandra never forgot the image of her son then—his eyes glowing vibrant green, his powers lashing wildly. That was the day her worry turned into fear. Not of Aleksander, but of what might happen to him if his gifts spiraled beyond control.
For the first time, Morticia's usually unreadable composure shifted, the faintest flicker of surprise tightening her gaze. "Wings and horns… how striking. Your son is an amalgamation of gifts and burdens. Not confined to one lineage, but something altogether… singular."
Her head tilted slightly, the curiosity in her eyes gleaming sharp as polished obsidian. "Of course, such a combination doesn't invite acceptance from the Outcast community."
Cassandra's shoulders dropped with the weight of truth. "It doesn't. The children he's met see only a monster when his powers surface. The adults see a danger. He has learned to withdraw."
Morticia was silent for a moment, then inclined her head ever so slightly. "Wednesday will not see a monster, Cassandra. She sees people as they are—often more honestly than they want. If he unnerves her, it won't be because of wings or horns." A faint smile traced her lips. "It will be because he tries to be normal."
Cassandra let out a small breath, almost a laugh, tempered with hope. "That, at least, won't be a problem."