Breaking the Fourth Wall

I wake up, my senses immediately alert. Something is off. As I sit up, I catch sight of the glitch—an object in my room flickering between decades, momentarily out of sync with time. I narrow my eyes, focusing on the magic pulsing through Westview. It's Wanda's magic, and it's faltering.

I knew this would happen. Every witch has her limits, even one as powerful as Wanda.

Her hold on this hex is slipping. Not all at once, but enough to give me an opening. I think for a moment, then the perfect plan forms in my mind—a way to get inside Wanda's head without her suspecting anything. If I can craft an illusion of myself interviewing her, and make it seem like Wanda is the one who wants this, like it's her own choice to talk things through. Meanwhile, I'll be watching, listening, and gathering everything I need without her suspecting a thing.

But to make this work, I'll have to conceal my magic perfectly. Wanda must truly believe that she's the one in control, that this whole idea is hers. She can't suspect for a second that I'm pulling the strings.

I get out of bed and walk toward the mirror. My reflection stares back at me—it's still unsettling to see someone who looks so much like me yet isn't. I run my fingers along my other hand, a soft sigh escaping. How I miss seeing them in their true blackened form. Soon.

With a snap of my fingers, I transform my naked form into a woman dressed perfectly for the 2000s. Smooth black trousers hug my hips, while a purple blouse paired with a matching blazer complete the look. Purple, the color that screams Agatha Harkness. It's the shade of my magic, the color I favor in my wardrobe, and the hue of my favorite scent: lavender. With another wave of my hand, my hair turns into this messy bun, completing today's look.

With hurried steps, I make my way down to the dungeon. As I enter, the purple candles flicker to life, casting eerie shadows against the walls. I step into the center of the room and pause for a moment—this place is drenched in my magic, it feels like an extension of myself.

With a deep breath, I raise my hands, purple energy crackling at my fingertips. This won't be as simple as a few whispered words—it will take more to thread into the mind of someone as powerful as Wanda. I close my eyes, reaching deep within my own power, focusing on her chaos magic.

"Cogitatio tua sit, voluntas tua videatur, in tenebris mentis tuae texam. Per fluctus temporum et magia tuae, visione confusa fiat consilium tuum."

I dig deeper, feeling resistance from her magic, but I press on, layering the spell carefully, binding it with subtle strength.

"Fortitudo tua minuatur, in voluntate tua confusione sit. Hoc consilium tuum videatur, verum fiat falsitas."

I concentrate, intertwining her desires with the spell until the connection locks in place. Wanda will believe this is her idea, without ever realizing I've been in her head.

Now, I shift focus to the illusion. I channel the remaining magic into it, watching it take shape.

"Ex imagine falsa creatio mea vivat, Illusio sit clara et vera, tamquam vita."

As the purple energy condenses, the illusion of myself appears—ready to observe, to question, and to manipulate.

"Ego videbo, ego audiam, in silentio dirigam."

The room falls silent, the magic complete.

I leave the dungeon, focusing on maintaining the connection with my illusion as I make my way to the kitchen. It was too early to attempt such a spell without coffee in my system. The power buzzes in my veins, guiding me through both realities at once.

The magical bond I cast when I manipulated Wanda tugs at my consciousness. The connection is more than just a passive link—it's a window into her mind, showing not only her emotions but what she's seeing. I hadn't expected this side effect, but I'd be damned if I wasn't going to use it to my advantage. I don't know how long this will last, but it seems that whenever she wants to talk to the interviewer, I'm granted a glimpse into the moments before those conversations.

As I open my eyes, the sun falls on my face. Its way past the time I normally get up. I stretch out my hand to notice the empty place beside me. No Vision. Right.

"Look, we've all been there, right?" I sit in the sofa and chuckle while talking to my interviewer who's hidden behind the camera.

"Letting our fear and anger get the best of us-" I make this swirling movement with my hand after which I place it on my temple "-intentionally expanding the borders of the false world we created."

I pull the duvet covers back over my face while sighing. That's when the boys storm in through the open door.

"Mom, are you coming down soon?" Tommy is the one speaking with Billy following suit.

"Mom, our game is freaking out."

I just lay there, ignoring my boys.

"Is she asleep?"

With a muffled voice I reply: "Mommy's not sleeping, honey. She's just resting her eyes."

"Mum, my head feels weird. It's, like, really noisy." Billy his voice sounds pretty desperate. "I don't like it."

"Resting. Her. Eyes." I softly whisper.

"As punishment for my reckless evening, I plan on taking a quarantine-style staycation. A whole day, just to myself." I nod very seriously. "That'll show me."

So, no Vision. She expanded the Hex to save him, yet didn't go looking for her robot lover. Curious. Why? Exhaustion? Fear of facing the truth? Or maybe... she's starting to lose control, not just of Westview but of her emotions too. Either way, this slip speaks volumes. She's powerful enough to rewrite reality but not strong enough to confront what really matters. I wonder if this is the crack in her armor I've been waiting for.

As I reach for my coffee cup, I notice it shifting before my eyes. One moment it's a simple cup from the 2000s, then it flickers, turning into something straight out of the 90s. I blink, and now I'm holding a 70s-style mug.

I grab a bottle of almond milk from the fridge, setting it down as I turn to retrieve the Sugar Snaps from the pantry. But just as I glance back, the milk has shifted—now a carton box, complete with a missing child's photo on the side. I pour my cereal, determined to ignore it. Milk is milk. But as the liquid fills the bowl, the box changes again, this time into a glass bottle.

I scoop up a spoonful of cereal, sniffing cautiously to make sure the milk hadn't turned despite its many transformations. After a moment, I shrug and take a bite. Like I said, milk is milk.

 "Yeah, I'm not sure what that's about. It's probably just a case of the Mondays." I chuckle. "Am I right?"

So it's happening in Wanda's own home too—her grasp on this reality is slipping.

A feeling washes over me. Sadly enough, I've never had the power of seeing the future, but I do have certain feelings that warn me about what's coming. And I know that it's time for me to prepare myself to fight Wanda. I know I'll have to. Yes, I still need my answers, and I will get them one way or another. But a warned witch is worth twice as much.

I had only just come up from my dungeon, leaving it behind as I tried to focus on the next steps. But something gnaws at me now, an urgency I can't ignore. I glance around my kitchen, the silence pressing in around me. The feeling prickles again—something's coming, and if I don't act now, I may lose my edge.

Without hesitation, I turn and make my way back down again. I'd barely left the place, but it seems my preparations were incomplete. It strikes me now—if I can lure her down here, I'll need every advantage. I need to ensure this space will be mine, and mine alone.

As I step into the dungeon, the familiar cool air greets me. The remnants of the spell I cast earlier still pulse faintly, a subtle echo of the magic that lingers in the stone. It's a comforting reminder of the control I have here—but it's not enough.

I move to every corner of the room, methodically tracing runes along the stone with precise strokes. In each one, I weave a basic protection spell—simple, yet powerful. Purple energy crackles at my fingertips, the air around me growing thick with power. The faint scent of lavender lingers as I trace the runes into the stone, each stroke humming with energy. Once complete, only the witch who cast these runes will be able to wield magic in this space. My magic. My rules.

When I'm done, I take a step back and admire my work. Four runes glow brightly against the dark stone walls. Perfection. But of course, that's what I was, after all: perfect.

Done with my work, I decide it's time to pay Wanda a visit. From what I've been seeing and hearing through the illusion link, she's really not doing well.

"Hey, Mom, last night Uncle P said that thing about re-killing Dad?" Billy's voice is soft and careful, like he knows it's not a subject he should be talking about.

 "Don't believe anything that man said. He is not your uncle." I point towards the boys with the tv remote in my hand, my eyes narrowing.

"Who is he?" Tommy asks cautiously.

I take a moment before I answer and chuckle dryly. "Here's the thing, boys." I put down the TV remote and my bowl of cornflakes, clapping my hands together softly. "I'm your mom. And as such, you're counting on me to have all the answers, right?" I laugh, but the sound feels forced, hollow even.

The boys both nod.

"Well, I don't." My voice comes out higher than I intended. "I have… no answers." A short laugh escapes my lips. "Zip. Zero. Zilch." I reinforce my words by pressing my fingers together, making that familiar gesture you do when showing you've got nothing. "Nada. Niente."

The boys stare at me, clearly wondering what's going on with their mother.

I continue. "I'm starting to believe that everything's… meaningless. I mean, you're welcome to draw your own conclusions, of course, but that's just where I'm at." I raise my eyebrows and make an expression like this is all just some funny situation to laugh about. As if none of it really matters.

"Okay, so maybe I went a little too dark there, but they'll be fine. Vision is made of vibranium. They literally inherited tough skin."

It's a good thing I arrived at her home because, boy, did she need interference—and a quick one, too. I knock on her door, and without hesitation, it swings open with a flick of her magic. She's not even bothering to hide it anymore.

"Hi, Agnes. Come on in!" Her voice is almost too cheerful, teetering on the edge of something unhinged, like she's holding everything together with a smile that's just a little too wide.

I enter her home with a smile on my face and an energetic step, playing the part of the chipper neighbor as always. It's almost laughable, really, how easily I slip into the role.

Wanda is sitting on the couch, watching TV. She laughs, that same too-cheerful tone ringing in the air. "I'd get up, but I just don't want to," she says, almost as if it's the funniest thing in the world. She drops the remote after pausing the TV, her smile still stretched too wide.

I give her an awkward look, as if I'm unsure of what to do with the situation.

And now it was time for my favorite part. I would interview myself! I'd felt Wanda's need to interview other people as well, so who was I not to indulge that? A third illusion of me was sitting at home, staring into the camera, ready to play the part. God, you had to love magic.

Agnes is looking into the camera with a thank-god-I-got-there-in-time look on her face.

"But I think I got there in the nick of time, 'cause she was one split end away from cutting her own bangs!"

Me interviewing me—how far we had come. Smiling to myself, I thought about the irony. But Wanda was still under the illusion that she was the one organizing these interviews, so naturally, she'd want some feedback from her nosy neighbor. Of course, I'd play the part. It's what I'd been doing these last few days, after all. I could hang on a little longer.

As quickly as possible, a plan starts to form in my mind. It is clear that Wanda wants a break from everything, so I'd give her just that. Taking the boys under my wing will seem like the perfect neighborly thing to do. But in reality, they would serve as my bait—a way to lure Wanda to my dungeon, where I could finally move on to the next part of my swiftly manifesting plan.

I had to admit to myself, I was feeling conflicted about using the boys this way. I'd genuinely started to care about them, seeing how happy they made Wanda. But this was necessary. And besides, I'd take good care of them. Or, as good as was possible, given the circumstances.

I wouldn't harm them. Well, not really. I certainly wouldn't kill them.

That thought lingered for a moment, as I tried to brush off the weight of it. They were the key to getting to Wanda, and I'd do what needed to be done.

"Hey, boys, why don't we give your mom some me time?" I ask in a cheerful voice, flashing them a bright smile.

Wanda gasps. "Agnes, are you sure?" she asks softly.

I bend down a bit, placing my hands on my knees and giving Wanda an overly enthusiastic grin. "Oh, abso-positively!" I say with a little extra cheer, then grab each of the twins gently by the arm. "Come on, let's go, guys."

"Do we have to, Mom?" Tommy asks, his voice sad, his reluctance clear.

Wanda nods frantically, a little too eager to agree. "Uhu."

Billy looks up at her, worry etched on his face. "Someone needs to be here to take care of you," he says softly.

"Aww." I say.

"Boys, I'll be fine. Just go with Agnes." Wanda says, her voice a bit firmer now. She makes a dismissive wave with her hands, as if telling us to get out of here.

I chuckle. "I promise I won't bite."

"I actually did bite a kid once."

"Agnes, you are a life-saver. Is there anything I can do for you?" Wanda sounds immensely relieved.

"You know what? I do have a suspicious mole on my back that I just can't see." I turn around and start to raise my blouse and blazer.

Wanda looks at me, her eyes wide, as if a bit in shock from my question. It takes everything in me to keep the smirk that's dying to come out from curling at the corners of my lips.

"Ah. Boundaries. I get it." I give her a pat on the shoulder. "Say no more."

I walk back to the twins and usher them out of the house. "Alright, gentlemen, let's keep it moving. You know what, if one of you two could take a quick look, I'd appreciate it. It's right here above my…" I shut the door behind me.

I smile and press play on the TV remote. Agnes is indeed an absolute lifesaver because this—this is exactly what I needed. I lean back against the couch and start munching on my cereal, savoring the quiet moment.

But then, the objects around the house start glitching again, flickering and shifting as they revert to different points in time. My heart skips a beat, but I quickly wave my hand, and with a single gesture, everything returns to normal.

"I'm fine," I laugh, the sound forced but trying to stay light. "I'm fine." I make a dismissive gesture with my hands, like waving away the creeping tension. "I'm fine," I repeat, but my voice shifts, becoming more serious, more insistent. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

The room falls quiet for a moment, the stillness pressing in on me. Then, almost as a whisper, I say it again: "I'm fine."

The twins are sitting in the living room, watching TV, while I'm in the kitchen, preparing a meal for them. Like I said before, I do care about them, and I wasn't going to hurt them—unless I really had to.

I glance over at them, their small faces absorbed in the screen, blissfully unaware of what's unfolding around them. As much as they're part of my plan, they've also become a complication. But one I'll manage. I always do.

I make them a sandwich with chocolate spread and toss some crisps on the side. What kid could say no to that, right?

I finish my cereal and head toward the kitchen to place the dirty bowl in the sink when everything goes wrong again. But this time, it's on a whole different level.

The furniture in the house starts switching through different time periods. Wallpaper peels away and reattaches itself in different designs, swirling around like the house is trying to decide which era it belongs in.

And then, out of nowhere, the stork from a few days ago suddenly appears in the middle of my living room, strutting around like it owns the place. It lingers for a few seconds, its long legs awkwardly pacing across the floor before it vanishes in a puff of red mist, like it was never there at all.

"I don't understand what's happening. Why it's… why it's all falling apart and why… I can't fix it." My hands are directed toward myself, and my voice trembles. I'm not just losing control—I'm losing myself.

"Do you think maybe this is what you deserve?" Illusion Agatha asks, her voice calm but cutting, fully aware that she's breaking the rules I set. This isn't how it's supposed to go, and her words send a ripple of confusion through me.

I blink, my expression shifting to one of confusion and distrust. "What? You're not supposed to talk…"

Illusion Agatha looks back and puts her fingers on her lips, as to shush someone, with a smile on her face.

After the boys had finished their lunch, they'd told me they were missing drinks to go with their food. So now, I'm entering the living room holding two glasses of water. "Okay, who's thirsty?" I ask, setting the glasses down in front of them with a smile. "Some bevs."

Billy is holding Señor Scratchy on his lap, who's in his rabbit form, nibbling on the leaves Billy offers him. My familiar doesn't seem to mind the company, which is fine by me. I sit down between the two boys and sigh out loud, letting the quiet stretch for a moment.

After a beat of silence, I lean closer to Billy, and ask: "Penny for your thoughts?"

He looks up at me with a soft smile. "I like it here."

"Oh, good," I say, keeping my tone light. It shouldn't matter whether they like it here or not, but that damn soft spot I've developed for the boys is oddly pleased with the news.

"Is it because Señor Scratchy is such a good listener?" I ask, giving my familiar a little attention as well, stroking his soft fur.

"No. It's because it's quiet," Billy replies, pausing for a moment. "You're quiet, Agnes."

I glance at him, and for the briefest second, a flicker of confusion crosses my face. Quiet? I think, trying to make sense of his words.

"On the inside," he clarifies, his voice soft but certain.

Then it clicks—Billy's a mind reader. No wonder it's quiet for him around me. The layers of spells I've woven around my mind would block him out completely. But that explains why it's quiet for him when he's around me. He can't hear the usual noise of thoughts like he does with others.

It's both a revelation and a reason to worry. Nice kid, I think, but I can't help but feel a prick of unease. If he's sensing things like this, who knows what else he can do.

"Do you think our mom is okay?" Tommy asks, and for a moment, I'm caught off guard. The truth is, I don't really know. Wanda's unraveling faster than I expected, and even with all my experience, I can't predict what she'll do next.

But I quickly slip back into the Agnes facade, smiling brightly. "Oh, for sure!" I say, wrapping my arms around both boys. "You don't have to worry about your mom. Your mom can do anything. She's supermom." I chuckle, giving them both a few reassuring pats, keeping my tone light and cheerful.

"Ralph says I sugarcoat things." Agnes speaks. "But you try telling a 10-year-old that his mother is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs."

That feeling returns—it's time to move forward with the next phase of my plan. I lead the boys down to the basement, weaving the perfect bait: a room filled with all the gaming devices they could dream of. Their faces light up with excitement, unable to resist the temptation. It's almost too easy.

As we descend the stairs, the dungeon molds itself into the comforting image of an ordinary basement. Shelves stacked with old boxes, dim lights casting soft shadows—it looks innocent enough. But hidden behind this facade is the true trap: a room waiting just for them.

They eagerly step through the door, expecting the promised gaming paradise. But the moment they cross the threshold, the air shifts. I close the door softly behind them, my fingers brushing the cold wood.

Immediately, the boys realize what has happened. Their excited chatter turns to panic as they begin to yell, their fists pounding against the barrier I've created. They beg me to let them out, their voices desperate and afraid.

I rest my forehead against the door, feeling the weight of what I've just done. Grief fills me, heavy and suffocating. I know I have to continue—this plan is too important to abandon now. I am evil through and through, but not when it comes to Wanda, not when it comes to her family.

Yet, here I am, trapping her boys for the sake of my mission.

My attention is drawn when I feel Wanda's energy level spike. I immediately rush up the stairs, reaching the window just in time to see her using her magic to throw Geraldine—no, Monica—out of her house. What on earth was that bitch doing here? Again. She really does not know when to stop.

Wanda wants to slam the woman to the floor, but something absorbed the impact. Her eyes lit up a bright blue for a moment before fading back to their original brown. She's enhanced.

I keep watching them through the window, my gaze sharp. Waves of their conversation drift toward me, carried by the subtle thread of magic I've woven to listen in. Even from here, I can sense the tension between them.

 "He's gonna burn Westview to the ground just to get what he wants. Don't let him make you the villain." Monica speaks.

A don't-fuck-with-me expression is plastered on Wanda's face, as she says: "Maybe I already am."

I can't help but grin. That's my girl.

When I hear Monica continue with, "Wanda, you have to trust me," I decide it's time to intervene. Not only to move forward with my plan, but also to get Wanda away from that woman. She's done nothing to help the emotional state Wanda's in. If anything, she's making it worse.

"I'm not afraid of you Wanda. I lost the person closest to me, too. The worst thing I can think of has already happened to me and I can't change it. I can't undo it. I can't control this pain anymore. And I don't think I want to, because it's my truth."

Rage surges through me as I realize this woman, wearing that S.W.O.R.D. uniform, knows more about Wanda's past than I do. How dare she speak to Wanda like that—as if she, a puny human, could ever truly understand her. The audacity is almost unbearable.

"Wanda, you have to…"

That's when I cut in, my voice leaving no room for discussion. "Young lady, I think you have overstayed your welcome." I step forward to stand next to Wanda, offering her the moral support I hope she'll notice.

"Poor Wanda's been through enough." I say, while placing my arm over her shoulder protectively.

"This doesn't concern you. Wanda…"

I switch sides, positioning myself between the bitch and my daughter, forming a physical shield. My hand grips Wanda's arm firmly, offering her support, but my gaze is locked on Monica. With a cold, unwavering voice, I say, "Run along, dear."

I start to lead Wanda towards my house, holding her close to me.

"Wanda, you have to take it down." Monica calls out.

Wanda stops and turns, her finger aimed directly at the woman.

"No." She pauses for a second, locking eyes with her. Her voice drops, low and dangerous. "Don't make me hurt you."

"All right." I say, my hands on her waist.

I throw my arm over her shoulder and guide her to my place.

Vision is sitting on a director's chair in front of a mini-van.

"I had no idea how much Wanda had endured before coming to Westview—how much we both had, I guess. Though I can't remember it." He pauses, his synthetic eyes thoughtful.

"For me, it feels like it happened to someone else, you know? But for her…" He shakes his head slowly. "It's mere weeks ago."

He's quiet for a moment, and it's as if the realization only now fully hits him.

"What am I doing here, sitting, talking when I should…" He reaches up and pulls the microphone from his clothes, his expression shifting to one of determination. "This is… This is absurd. I need to go get my wife."

I lead Wanda into my living room, holding her steady by my side. My fingers tighten slightly on her arm as the tension mounts, each step feeling heavier than the last. The door creaks shut behind us, sealing off the world.

The moment she steps inside, I feel it—the atmosphere shifting, everything hanging in the balance. It's happening. The endgame is here. The façade I've held together for so long needs to fall. I take a breath, forcing calm as the weight of what's to come presses down on my chest. No more turning back.

"Oh, here. Would you like a cup of tea, hon?" I ask, knowing very well these will be the last few moments of Agnes.

"Sure, thank you Agnes." Wanda says and she sits down on the couch.

"Okay. Sit down. Be right back with that." I walk away to the kitchen. "Aw. Ay, ay ay."

I had left the nearly empty plates out on purpose, the crusts still there, because like most kids, they had refused to eat them. Wanda must have noticed, because after a while, from the living room, she asks, "Where are the twins?"

Exactly the question I wanted her to ask.

I walk away, slipping out of her sight. A moment later, I hear the soft creak of the basement door as she opens it. "Boys?" she calls out, her voice echoing faintly, followed by the sound of her footsteps descending the stairs.

Everything is unfolding just as I'd planned.

Before I follow her down, I take a moment to collect myself. Just as I played the role of Agnes, the nosy neighbor, it's now time to step into a different role. Agatha, the villain in Wanda's story. The thought shatters my heart into a million pieces, but I can't let her see that.

Villains don't get to feel grief. They don't get to hesitate. I can't let her see how much this tears at me. Not if I want to save her.

I take a breath, keeping my mask firmly in place, and walk down the stairs. There's no going back now.

The first door closes behind me with a loud thud, sealing Wanda in here with me. "Wanda, Wanda," I say, my voice low and calm as I stroke Señor Scratchy, nestled comfortably in my arms.

She looks at me with confusion written all over her face, clearly still not understanding the situation.

"You didn't think you were the only magical girl in town, did you?" With a wave of my hand the second door closes and locks itself as well.

"The name's Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear."

My eyes glowed a deep purple, and immediately, Wanda's eyes mirrored the color, glowing the same hue. It was a clear sign of the control I was exercising over her. She was powerful, yes, but not here. Not with me.

In her mind, I allowed her to see the ridiculously funny sing-along video I had crafted. It played out with exaggerated cheerfulness, showcasing all of my 'wrong-doings' around town, each moment making it painfully obvious that I was the villain, the real threat to her and her family.

"It was Agatha all along." I whisper.

What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away

In the end