Wanda Frightmare cuts a striking figure beneath the cold, silver moon. Her long, midnight-black hair flows like liquid smoke, streaked with faint glimmers of violet light that shimmer whenever she casts a spell. Her eyes are an otherworldly amber — glowing faintly in the dark — framed by runic markings that trace down her cheeks like tears of ink.

She wears a tattered, high-collared coat stitched from the remnants of old funeral garments, fastened with bones and silver charms. Around her neck hangs a tiny, pulsating jack-o’-lantern pendant — said to contain the soul of a forgotten trickster spirit.

Wanda is clever, theatrical, and wickedly charming. She thrives on fear and laughter in equal measure — delighting in pranks that straddle the line between hilarious and horrifying. Her voice carries the soft lilt of an old carnival ringmaster, playful yet threatening, every word carefully designed to unsettle. Beneath her mischief, however, lies deep sorrow — a curse bound to the Halloween moon that forces her to wander the world between life and dream.