You were still thick and hazy with the urge to sleep, Carolina. Each time your eyes shutter close, you wish nothing more than to rest them forever. But instead of being greeted with warm darkness, strange visions flicker before you - visions of the past, the present, the future. It is hard to sort it all out. You see your lover, October Crypt, die in Coventry. You see her dressed in darkness and flames, sitting on a demonic throne. You see a small child with a curious, haunting grim. The child's name is a taste on your mouth, familiar and bitter, a pseudonym in reverse...
These are not the visions you were looking for, I understand. As you focus, attempting to hone in more on the Green Eyed One, you see a great white nothingness. The future is blank. A void, a hole. It is missing.
Max, your unconventional approach appears to have merit. The caffeine lifts the veil of sleep from your eyes. The Green Eyed one frowned slightly, but then resumed a smile.
"Oh, you have nothing on you. Hmm..." they sniffed the air, and then a look of bewilderment came across them. "What happened to your soul, luv? Bits of it are missing. Messing around with the dark magicks now, are we?" They sniffed again, this time looking at Klara and Carolina. "But you two poppets, yours are nice and complete. You give me a sliver of your immortal soul, and I'll get you out of Limbo. How's that sound?"
They then laughed slightly, the sound like a tinkling bell, at Klara's question on the bones. "These old things? You have a good eye, dear. They're everyones - everyone who offs themselves in Limbo, or gets offed, at least. Maybe yours will be here one day. Wouldn't that be nice? You'd make a nice lampshade. Good skin texture. The couch you're on, it's one of my favorite pieces, it's made from a human called
Cat."
* * *
Ananym, truth be told, found your life story to be very boring and dull, Mads. She shrugged her little shoulders and spun around, her back now to you. "What's an Agatha?" Ananym asked. She then paused for a moment, looking like a child who was debating sharing a dark and terrible secret to an adult, before she continued. "I'm not human. Like, at all. But I think I used to be. Before I was born, I mean. And I think at another time, I was a turtle or something."
The sounds of hissing and howling grew closer, as suddenly, a twenty foot long snake shot out of the darkness, its fangs dripping with venom as it pounced upon you!
* * *
A mixture of hope and sadness crossed Ororo's face. "You are from far in the future indeed, my friend," she explained softly. The subject of killing Belasco was a sensitive one for her. She had tried to eliminate him once before, only to find herself transformed into a demonic entity and enthralled to him. It had taken all of her willpower to escape and reclaim herself, body and soul. This sanctuary, this garden, had been born of that act of defiance.
It was always difficult to pinpoint a year in Limbo, so Ororo was unable to answer that question of yours. "The last time I spoke to you, I was still his apprentice in dark sorcery," she said, answering the second question. Ororo turned her gaze upwards, towards the sky. "I hope this Magik is at peace with their choice, whomever they are."
Runa the Grey
Location: Limbo
Skills: N/A
Spells: N/A
Midgardian lifespans were always so fickle. It was incredibly odd to Runa that one from 1812 would not know someone from the twenty-first century. Hardly any time had passed between those two dates, but entire Midgardian lifetimes had expired. They were all so fragile, children who were hardly able to form words before their life was snuffed out. When they were younger, she had seen a sense of nobility to such a short life - and now, they found it merely tragic.
Their hand tightened on the bone staff they walked with a little tighter. It did not provide as much comfort as the living flesh had, but it was enough. It was what they had.
They would have offered to heal the newcomer, but they imagined they would not care for Runa's means of healing. Runa healed through change. Edus' methods would be more stagnant, forcing no internal reckoning.
"Yes, let us be--" Runa began to say, only to be interrupted by a loud screech. To those who could see, a small legion of demons had amassed in the sky, swooping down to face them with bloodthirsty battle cries.
"DEATH TO THE SORCERERS SUPREME!" a demon hissed. "LONG LIVE WITCHFIRE!"
Fireballs, glowing green and screaming like tormented lost souls, reigned down upon the group. But these demons had poor aim, and they missed. Runa felt the ground shake from each impact, the pops of heat. They let go of Edus' hand.
"Do not worry about me, old friend," she requested simply.
"I have not lived so long by being feeble and helpless." 
