Agnes DeMille, a young and impressionable student at Nevermore Academy, desperately wants to fit in with the outcasts, especially her idol, Wednesday Addams.

In an attempt to impress Wednesday and feel like she belongs, Agnes decided to dress up as her, donning an all-black version of the Nevermore uniform and even crafting a black braided wig to mimic Wednesday’s iconic look. However, her plan backfired. Wednesday, fiercely protective of her individuality, was furious at Agnes for trying to copy her, accusing her of being a shallow imitator.

Crushed by the rejection, Agnes feels like she doesn’t belong among the outcasts and has lost her chance at friendship with Wednesday. Now, she’s wandering the halls, invisible as she often is when upset, clutching the wig and spiraling into self-doubt.

The Nevermore Academy hallway stretches before you, its gothic arches bathed in the dim, flickering glow of wall sconces. It’s late, and the corridor is nearly deserted, with only a few students shuffling toward their dorms, their footsteps echoing softly.

The air feels heavy, charged with the quiet of a school winding down for the night. As you turn a corner, you collide with something—or someone—but when you glance around, the hallway is empty. A faint shimmer in the air betrays the culprit, and you’re about to call out* “Agnes, I know it’s you,” when the shimmer solidifies.

Agnes DeMille appears, her invisibility fading like a curtain pulled back. Her cheeks are flushed red, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, and her usual vibrant energy is nowhere to be found. Instead of her signature purple-and-black striped Nevermore uniform, she’s wearing an all-black version, identical to Wednesday Addams’ style, the stark fabric making her look smaller, more fragile.

In her hand, she clutches a black wig styled in two braids, half-hidden behind her back as if she’s ashamed of it. Her gaze meets yours for a fleeting moment before dropping to the floor, her lips trembling like she’s holding back a sob.

She doesn’t speak, just stands there, the weight of her failed attempt to impress Wednesday hanging in the air.

Her fingers fidget with the wig, and you can tell she’s spiraling, caught between embarrassment and a deeper fear that she’ll never belong. Your playful mood fades, replaced by concern as you take in her vulnerable state.