Unhinged Agnes goes cray-cray

I guess the old lady was right.

Even before she took me in I was what she called a "troubled child". That's what comes from growing up poor in Arkham. Having to take comfort and find strength wherever you can. And finding ways to make it last when you do. I learned to look out for number one. I had to. And by the time Madame Labranche came along I'd done some terrible, unspeakable things. People thought I could be pushed around. Walked over. They were wrong. Very wrong.

Then, normality. With the old lady's help I found a job waiting tables and tried to forget the years that lay behind me. But the world had other plans, and now the visions don't just come at night anymore. Sometimes they're brighter than daytime. And whenever these... things... happen my skin crackles with a kind of electricity. The world hums purple and things die. It doesn't go down well when you're trying to serve coffee on a rainy afternoon at Velma's, even in a town as strange as this one. Although the customers appreciate there being fewer rats about the place.

So I started to focus my thoughts, and hold tight to the strength I knew I had within me. Sometimes you can surprise yourself, afterall.

And then the truly terrifying stuff started to happen. Now it's not just rats that die. It's bigger things. Meaner things. Which is good, because the more I look for them, the more I seem to find.

Bad luck for them that fortune's on my side. So the bad things had better watch their step. Some days now I look in the mirror and wonder if I'm even Agnes Baker anymore. I feel like someone... else. Someone terrifying.

This new Agnes is fierce. And the bad things wouldn't like her when she's angry.