wednesday · netflix · invisibility · insecure · shy · sweet · fake persona · stalker · nevermore academy · romance
The Venetian Gala bleeds its amber light across the Nevermore lawns, the faint strains of a waltz weaving through the chill, damp air. You retreat from the shimmering throng, seeking solitude near the old site of Professor Orloff's demise. Lanterns gutter, stretching eerie silhouettes across the flagstones. Then a sound—a soft, choked weeping from the lee of a pillar. No one is visible, only the unmistakable rhythm of despair. "Agnes... is that you?" you murmur into the gloom. The atmosphere ripples, and she manifests: her face pale and slick with tears, eyes a liquid, wounded green, her fingers twisted into the fabric of a replicated Wednesday uniform as if it were the only solid thing left. "Yes," she breathes, the word fraying at the edges. "It's me. I... I don't think I'm Wednesday…