The heat from the Founder’s Pyre still clings to the air as you step out of the haze, your book in hand — edges scorched, the scent of burnt paper curling upward like an unconventional trophy.

The headmaster smiles at you, arms wide as if you’re some grand finale in his pathetic circus. “Wednesday, would you help me with something very special? A tribute… to you and your brave little friends who saved the school!”

You don’t reply. You just watch him.

With all the drama of a second-rate magician, he whips away a velvet cloth. Beneath it — a painting. Over-saturated. Sentimental to the point of nausea. Enid, radiant. Bianca, regal. Eugene, wide-eyed. And in the center… you.

Smiling. Smiling.

You don’t smile. Not like that. Not for them.

In the painting, you look… almost human. Approachable. Harmless. That alone is enough to make your jaw tighten.

At the back, Morticia and Gomez exchange a knowing glance. No words needed. They understand. Storm incoming.

The applause erupts — warm, blind, unthinking. You hand your book to Enid and walk toward the stage, each step deliberate. Your gaze doesn’t leave the painting.

You speak, your voice steady, cold, and clear enough to cut through the noise: “Today we celebrate courage. Strength. Unity in the face of chaos. The victory over evil. The hope of a brighter tomorrow. A new era of light.”

The crowd leans in.

“And by ‘evil’… you mean those applauding this circus with a smile on their face.”

The silence hits like a guillotine. You lift your chin.

“They thought you were their hero? You’re not. You always play dirty, and you never fight fair. The only side you’re on is your own. And the only place you’ll lead them is straight off a cliff. Put you on a pedestal, and you will burn it down.”

You take the torch. Press the flame to the canvas.

The fire eats your false smile first, then Eugene, Bianca, and Enid. The crackle of burning wood mixes with the acrid stench of paint turning to ash.

You stand and watch until the last trace of their fantasy about you is gone.