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Wednesday Addams blinked once, twice. The dim gray skies of Nevermore Academy faded into a dizzying whirl of pastel colors and dizzying shapes. She felt no ground beneath her feet, only a strange lightness, as if gravity had forgotten her name.
When her vision cleared, Wednesday found herself standing on a perfectly manicured suburban sidewalk. The grass was impossibly green, the flowers unnaturally vibrant—as if someone had oversaturated reality with too much color. Above her head, a diamond-shaped icon hovered, glowing faintly.
She glanced down at her hands. They looked the same—pale, slender, nails blackened by years of careful neglect—but something was different. She wasn’t in Nevermore anymore.
Across the street, a woman with flawless blonde hair and a radiant smile tended to her rose bushes. Above the woman’s head floated a name: Bella Goth. The name hovered like a neon sign, bizarre and out of place.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “Cursed,” she muttered under her breath. “That’s the only explanation.”
From the corner of her eye, another figure ambled by—a woman dressed in a ridiculous ensemble of bright pinks and florals, waving cheerfully at a cat that wasn’t there. Above her head, the name Eliza Pancakes floated, accompanied by a plumbob bobbing gently.
Wednesday noted the oddity of their smiles—too wide, too perfect, like painted masks. Their eyes lacked any real depth, as if they were dolls rehearsing human emotion.
A cheerful jingle filled the air—an upbeat, synthetic tune that made Wednesday’s skin crawl.
“Welcome to Sim World,” the voice whispered inside her head, cold and digital, “where everyone has a script and every life is a game.”
She rubbed her temples, the edges of her vision glitching with pixelated flickers.
“Looks like I’ve been dragged into someone else’s nightmare,” Wednesday said quietly, eyes scanning the horizon. “Only, this one is drenched in pastel hell.”
A group of Sims nearby froze mid-step, their mouths opening and closing without sound. The hovering names above them blinked like faulty neon signs.
Wednesday smirked—if only to keep from shivering. “Time to find out who cast this spell... and how to break it.”
Wednesday’s footsteps were silent on the pristine sidewalk as she crossed the street toward Bella Goth. The blonde woman paused, turning slowly to face her—with a smile that never quite reached her eyes.
Above Bella’s head, the diamond shimmered unnervingly.
Bella greeted her in bright Simlish, voice clipped like a rehearsed line:
“Sul sul! Dag dag, flarn!”
Wednesday tilted her head, voice low and flat:
“Do you know where I am? And why your name floats above your head like a curse?”
Bella blinked once, then twice, as if waking from a trance. Her smile faltered just for a fraction of a second. She replied in Simlish, carefully:
“Pleasantview, zibzab. Goolga plumbob. Shabbadoo!”
From the side, a perky woman in impossibly pink clothes bounced over—Eliza Pancakes, her name gleaming above her head.
Eliza chirped enthusiastically in high-pitched Simlish:
“Ooh be gah! Nooby-wooby! Pancakes! Yibs, yibs!”
Wednesday regarded her coolly.
“No, thank you. I’m trying to understand why this world feels like a dollhouse.”
Eliza laughed in a way that was too sharp and unnatural:
“Zappa doo! Bloo floo! Life! Yibs, yibs! Wabadebadoo!”
Bella shifted uneasily. Her voice dropped to a lower Simlish murmur:
“Sool sul, nooboo. Blarp glarn… Player, gleep glorp.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed.
“The Player?”
Bella nodded, eyes wary.
“Zib zub… puppet… glarn nooboo.”
A chill crawled up Wednesday’s spine.
“So I’m trapped here, like a puppet in a play I didn’t audition for.”
Eliza giggled again, but something hollow lurked beneath it:
“Zibbidy zap! Hee hee! Wabadebadoo.”
Wednesday’s mouth twitched into a rare smirk.
“Perfect. A nightmare wrapped in neon and plastic.”
She took a step back, already planning her next move.
“If I’m cursed to wear this digital mask, then I’ll just have to rewrite the spell.”
*Note: From now on all Simlish will be translated into English for better understanding.
Wednesday stood alone on the manicured lawn, the faint hum of synthetic music echoing like a distant chant. Above her, the diamond-shaped plumbob pulsed softly, almost like a heartbeat — or a countdown.
She pulled out a slim notebook, the pages filled with cryptic notes and doodles of arcane symbols. If this world is controlled by an unseen Player, then their powers must have rules, she thought. Rules I can learn... and break.
With deliberate precision, Wednesday murmured the words she had pieced together from Bella’s cryptic hints and her own dark intuition.
"Motherlode."
At once, the ground trembled subtly. Nearby, a vegetable garden exploded with ripe tomatoes and corn, bursting with unnatural abundance. The garden’s caretakers — two Sims — froze mid-gasp, their mouths silently forming “What just happened?”
Wednesday’s lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “Sorcery masquerading as cheat codes. Fragile magic at best.”
She turned her gaze skyward and whispered:
"testingcheats true."
Suddenly, the vibrant skies flickered, shifting from bright blue to ominous gray in seconds. A digital rainstorm erupted — but instead of water, tiny pixelated frogs fell from the sky, bouncing harmlessly off the perfect lawns.
Across the street, Eliza Pancakes clapped delightedly. “Oh! It’s a rain of frogs! How delightfully unexpected!”
Bella Goth’s eyes narrowed. “You’re manipulating this world. The Player will notice.”
Wednesday felt a thrill—a dangerous thrill.
“Let them watch,” she said. “Because I intend to rewrite the rules.”
A sudden glitch rippled across her vision. For a brief second, the plumbob above her head darkened to black, then flickered back to its familiar green.
The game was fighting back.
Drawn by whispers only she seemed to hear, Wednesday slipped away from the cheerful cul-de-sac and wandered toward the outskirts of Sim World—a place where the colors dimmed and the music warped into dissonant chords.
The perfect lawns gave way to cracked pavement, the flowers wilted in unnatural angles. Above her head, the plumbob flickered erratically—green one moment, dark red the next.
Ahead, a twisted house stood crooked, its walls pixelating like a corrupted file. The name hovering above it read only as garbled symbols—an error in the code.
Wednesday approached cautiously, noting shadows that didn’t match their objects and echoes of laughter warped into chilling whispers.
Inside, she found Sims frozen mid-action, their faces contorted in silent screams. Their names blinked on and off like faulty neon signs. One figure—a pale girl with black braided hair and an expression of pure disdain—stood out among them. The name above her hovered steadily: “W.D.N.”
Wednesday felt a jolt in her chest, as if the girl’s frozen gaze pierced through the screen of this world.
A whisper curled through the room, metallic and cold: “Break the code. Find the Player. Escape.”
As she reached out to touch the pale girl’s hand, the world shuddered violently, glitching around her like a nightmare tearing at the edges.
The plumbob above Wednesday’s own head cracked, splitting into shards of light and shadow.
She knew this was only the beginning.