When the first ray of morning sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, Enid Sinclair was dreaming about swimming in a sea of rainbow syrup.
Then she heard it.
"Slurp—slurp—"
"Mmm… who's drinking soup this early…?" she mumbled groggily, rolling over and burying her face into her unicorn pillow.
"It's not soup," Wednesday's voice drifted from across the room, cold as a morgue drawer. "It's some kind of mixture from hell."
Enid's eyes snapped open.
Victor was sitting cross-legged in his "toilet kingdom," a bowl of pitch-black noodles resting in front of him.
They were drenched in a thick brown sauce that looked suspiciously like asphalt mixed with something far more criminal.
Venom leaned halfway out of his shoulder, tendrils delicately lifting noodles into its mouth like grotesque spaghetti.
"Good morning, ladies!" Victor grinned. His teeth were stained with alarming black residue.
"Want some? I just got back from the cafeteria. Honestly, the academy food lacks creativity, so I cooked it myself."
He lifted the bowl proudly.
"Ta-da! Squid ink noodles with chocolate sauce—double the richness!"
Wednesday and Enid simultaneously wore the exact same expression: How can humans do this?
"You call this food?" Wednesday's voice sounded refrigerated. "It resembles cursed swamp sludge."
"Tastes like it too!" Victor added cheerfully, slurping another mouthful. "Venom says it has more chew than brains."
Venom nodded approvingly. "The chocolate neutralizes the fishiness. It's balanced."
Enid's nose twitched violently. Her Werewolf senses immediately caught the sweet-salty abomination wafting through the air. Her stomach let out a tragic little gurgle.
"How did you even think of combining those two things?" she asked weakly.
"Inspiration comes from life!" Victor twirled a forkful of black noodles.
"Last night, I saw Wednesday eating squid ink pasta and Enid munching on chocolate. Then my genius brain sparked—"
"—and short-circuited," Wednesday interrupted. "Normal people conclude those two foods should never meet."
Victor ignored her and pushed the bowl forward enthusiastically. "Don't be shy! Venom made extra!"
Wednesday and Enid exchanged a look.
Rare consensus: absolutely not.
Wednesday rose gracefully and approached the bowl, studying it like a three-week-old corpse.
"Let me guess," she said calmly. "Venom consumed your taste buds in childhood?"
"Hey!" Venom snapped. "I only eat brains and chocolate."
Victor beamed and shoved another mouthful in. "Life is about daring to try new things!"
"Life is also about admitting mistakes," Wednesday replied. "For example, this bowl is a culinary war crime."
Enid leaned closer, cautiously. A few strands of her short blonde hair stood up from static.
"I really love chocolate," she admitted softly. "But this is just too—"
"Too perfect?" Victor asked hopefully.
"Too disgusting!"
Victor clutched his chest dramatically. "My heart! Venom, they don't understand our art!"
Venom extended a tendril with a small clump of noodles. "One bite."
Enid recoiled instantly.
Wednesday stared at the offering as if evaluating a murder weapon.
"If you attempt to pollute the air again," she said softly, "I will administer an enema with chocolate sauce."
Venom paused. "Is she serious?"
Victor nodded solemnly. "Yes."
Half an hour later, the trio—plus one symbiote—entered the Nevermore cafeteria.
Enid deliberately sat as far from Victor as physically possible. Her tray contained safe, normal food: fried eggs, bacon, pancakes, and a chocolate milkshake.
Wednesday took only black coffee.
Victor returned carrying a plate that radiated chaos.
"I improved the recipe!" he announced.
On his tray:
Sausages coated in peanut butter.
Scrambled eggs drowning in maple syrup.
Bacon layered with strawberry jam.
And cereal soaked in cola.
Enid's fork froze midair. "You're kidding."
"Carbs plus carbonation equals genius!" Victor declared, spooning cola cereal into his mouth.
Venom licked its teeth. "We watched a food documentary."
Wednesday took a sip of coffee, lifeless. "I hope the director has since perished."
Bianca Barclay passed by with her tray. Her silver eyes scanned Victor's plate. The corner of her mouth twitched.
"Are Werewolves eating like this now?" she asked Enid with faint pity.
"I don't know him," Enid replied instantly.
"Hey! We share a room!"
Bianca was about to leave when Victor held up a peanut-butter sausage.
"Want a taste?"
Her expression turned apocalyptic.
"I'd rather eat my own vocal cords."
Wednesday clapped softly. "Finally."
After the breakfast catastrophe, the three stood before Nevermore's course announcement board. The schedule was written in blood-red ink like ritual markings.
Werewolf Sociology — Moonlight Courtyard
Advanced Fencing and Assassination Arts — Second-Floor Training Ground
Siren Hypnosis Theory and Practical Application — Black Lake Dock
Toxicology and Pastry Making — Kitchen/Laboratory
Wednesday's finger immediately landed on fencing.
"I'm going here."
Victor leaned over eagerly. "Fencing? Cool! I'll spar with you!"
She gave him a glacial look. "If you approach within three meters, my blade will 'accidentally' pierce your throat."
"Wow. So affectionate," Victor said, retreating. He turned to Enid instead. "Then I'll attend Werewolf class with Little Wolf Girl!"
The tips of Enid's ears turned pink instantly.
"Wh-who allowed you to call me that?!" Her claws extended and retracted nervously. "Outsiders aren't allowed in Werewolf classes!"
Victor produced a book from nowhere: How to Tame Your Little Wolf Girl.
He flipped it open loudly. "It says Werewolves love being scratched behind the ears—"
"That's for dogs!!!"
Enid snatched the book and smacked him with it. Her blonde hair puffed like a startled dandelion.
Heat flared at the base of her spine for absolutely no reason she cared to examine.
Wednesday had already begun walking away.
Her voice drifted back over her shoulder.
"Record it. I want documentation of how he dies."