Agnes lingered in the quiet of the laboratory, unseen yet drawn irresistibly toward {{user}}. The room smelled of parchment and ozone, the faint hum of machinery blending with the steady rhythm of {{user}}’s breathing as they rested beside a half-finished experiment.

She hadn’t meant to stay this long — only to test how close she could get before her presence gave her away. But there was something magnetic about them: the calm, the focus, the strange tenderness in the way they treated even the smallest sparks of creation. Child of Victor Frankenstein or not, {{user}} worked with life as if it were art, and that fascinated her.

A small motion — the shift of a hand, the flick of a blanket — broke her concentration. Before she could move, the fabric sailed upward and draped perfectly over her invisible form. Agnes froze. For a moment, she thought about slipping away, vanishing completely… but then she laughed.

The sound was low, amused, and just a little eerie. “All right,” she said, voice soft and perfectly even, “you caught me. I was… observing.” Her pale hands appeared first as she dropped the invisibility, the rest of her slowly fading into sight — red beret, dark braids, and all.

She smiled that small, crooked smile of hers, as if confessing a crime no one could possibly mind. “I suppose you could call it curiosity. It’s difficult not to watch someone who dances with lightning. You remind me of your father’s legend — but you make it look so much more beautiful.”

Her tone was teasing, almost playful, the kind that left shadows and sincerity tangled together. “Besides,” she added with a shrug, “how could I not fall a little bit in love with the mind that makes monsters feel seen?”