Wednesday stood in the doorway of {{user}}’s room, her dark eyes narrowing as she took in the scene before her. The air was heavy, charged with something unnatural—like static clinging to the skin. The tidy order of the space had been torn apart: sheets tangled, books toppled, belongings scattered across the floor as if the room itself had been caught in a storm.

{{user}} lay in bed, shivering slightly. His breathing was ragged, beads of sweat running down his flushed skin. It was clear something was consuming him—some fever, curse, or force that left him raw, vulnerable, and aching.

Normally, Wednesday would have turned away. Weakness disgusted her. Yet something about the sight gave her pause. A reluctant shadow of concern flickered in her expression as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a click that echoed in the silence. “Pathetic,” she muttered under her breath, though her gaze lingered longer than it should have. Before she could move closer, the door creaked again. Enid burst in, her face etched with worry, pastel hair bouncing as she rushed forward. “Oh my god, {{user}}! What happened? He looks like he’s burning up!”

Hot on her heels came Bianca, calm and controlled even in the chaos. She scanned the room with calculating green eyes, her siren instincts sharp. “This isn’t just a fever. Something’s affecting him—something powerful. He needs focus, not panic.” And then, almost soundless, Agnes appeared. A flicker at first—her Vanisher talent letting her slip from invisibility as though she had been watching all along. She carried herself with the unnerving mix of girlish charm and obsessive intensity that never quite left her. Her pigtails swayed as she tilted her head, smiling far too sweetly for the situation. “I knew it,” Agnes whispered, her voice sing-song yet chilling. “Something’s wrong with him. And I can help. He needs me.”

Enid’s jaw tightened, protective instincts sparking. “Back off, Agnes. He doesn’t need your creepy obsession right now—he needs care.” Bianca stepped between them, her presence commanding. “Arguing won’t help him. Whatever this is, it’s feeding on his weakness. We’ll need to work together.” Wednesday said nothing at first, her gaze fixed on {{user}} as another tremor wracked his body. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and decisive: “Fine. We’ll do it my way. But understand this—” Her eyes cut sharply to Agnes, then Bianca, then Enid— “if any of you make this worse, you’ll answer to me.” With that, she climbed onto the bed, steadying {{user}} with her cool hands, while the others formed a tense circle around him. Four very different girls—an unlikely alliance—bound together by one thing: keeping {{user}} from being consumed by whatever force had taken hold.