Magdalene Wheeler's Questionnaire

I live on the outskirts of Burgas, a port city in Bulgaria. It's not the kind of place you'd expect someone like me to settle down, but there's a certain charm to it—a kind of old-world melancholy that fits me just fine. Besides, it’s close to my alma mater, the University of Sofia, where I still have a few professional ties. They don’t know about the more… esoteric aspects of my research, but they’re useful when I need access to more conventional academic resources.

The house I live in was left to me by my parents. It’s a large, old place, probably too big for just one person, but I like the space. It's isolated enough that I don’t have to worry about prying eyes, but close enough to the city when I need to conduct business. The house itself is a strange mix of the traditional and the modern—my mother's touch, I suppose. There are still Romani trinkets hanging in the hallways, charms and wards that she believed would protect us from evil. Funny how that worked out.

The interior is mostly functional—bookshelves filled with tomes, some older than the house itself, artifacts I’ve collected over the years, and more than a few hidden compartments. The basement is where I keep my real work, the things that would make most people lose sleep at night. It’s cold down there, damp too, but that’s just how I like it.

I live here because it’s convenient, practical, and because it's where I was raised. It has history, and that history is something I can use. It’s not exactly a home in the warm, welcoming sense of the word, but it’s mine. For now, that’s enough.

Right now, I make my money through a few different avenues. I offer translation services, mostly from Bulgarian to English and vice versa. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills. I also work as a substitute professor for the Ancient European History chair at the University of Sofia. They call me in when the regulars are out or when they need someone who can talk about the darker corners of history without flinching. Occasionally, I'm brought in to assist with artifact cataloging and investigation—especially when the items in question have a certain… esoteric quality. It’s fascinating work, even if they don’t know just how deep my knowledge goes; finally I am a veteran of excavations and archeological sites, which I've tailored a large part of my skillset around.

I’m not swimming in money, but I make enough to keep the lights on and the house from falling apart. Most of my income goes toward maintaining my equipment, funding my research, and acquiring the odd artifact that catches my eye. A fair chunk also goes toward books—old, rare ones that contain the kind of knowledge you won’t find in a university library. I don’t spend much on luxuries; I can’t afford to, and frankly, I don’t have the time or interest. Everything I do is focused on one goal—apotheosis. And that takes more than money; it takes time, knowledge, and a willingness to get your hands dirty. The money I earn is just a means to an end.

My ambition is simple in its complexity: I seek apotheosis. I want to transcend the limits of humanity, to tap into the power of the alien gods that lurk just beyond our understanding. It's not just about power for power's sake—it's about unlocking the secrets of the universe, understanding the truths that most people are too afraid or too ignorant to even imagine.

How far would I go to achieve this? As far as it takes. I’ve done things most people would balk at, and I don’t lose sleep over it. I’ve already killed for less, and if it means bringing me closer to my goal, I’ll do it again. Killing is just a tool—another means to an end. It’s not something I relish, but I won’t shy away from it either.

As for how close I’d come to death? I’ve danced on the edge more times than I can count. There’s no real fear in it for me anymore. If risking my life is what it takes, then that’s what I’ll do. The way I see it, death is just another barrier—one that I fully intend to break through. My remaining moral limits? They’re just liabilities, relics of a time when I was more concerned with being ‘good’ than being successful. They’re eroding with each step I take toward my goal, and one day, they’ll be gone altogether.

I’ll do whatever it takes. No hesitation, no regrets. The path I’m on is dark, but it’s the only one worth walking.

Ivan Stoyanov

Ivan... I met him back in university, during those first few weeks when everything still seemed possible. We were both drawn to the same things—history, the occult, the mysteries hidden in ancient texts. He ended up working at a museum in Sofia, which keeps him close to our shared academic roots. There’s a kindness in him, a kind of innocence that I’ve long since lost. He’s the one I turn to when things get too dark, the one who listens without judgment, even if he doesn’t always understand or agree with my choices.

Ivan is loyal, almost to a fault. He supports me, even when he shouldn’t, even when he knows I’m heading down a dangerous path. We both love delving into ancient texts, trying to unravel their secrets, but his curiosity is different from mine—less tainted, perhaps. I trust him more than anyone else, but sometimes I wonder if he’s too good for someone like me. He’s the only person who knows as much about me as he does, and that scares me, just a little.

Dr. Velislava Petrov

Velislava... she’s the one who set me on this path, though I doubt she fully understands what she unleashed. She was my professor back at the University of Sofia, the one who handed me that grimoire and opened my eyes to the truth. Velislava is a force of nature in the academic world, highly respected but also controversial. Her obsession with ancient, forbidden knowledge is what drew me to her, but it’s also what keeps us at odds.

Our relationship is... complicated. She’s been a mentor to me, but there’s always been an undercurrent of rivalry between us. We respect each other, but there’s also a distrust that neither of us can shake. I owe her more than I can say, but I know that one day we might find ourselves on opposite sides of something much bigger than either of us. Velislava is brilliant, but she sees too much of herself in me, and that makes her wary. I can’t help but wonder if she regrets ever giving me that book.

Elizaveta "Liza" Dragova

Liza... where do I even begin with her? Our relationship has always been intense, a storm that neither of us can control. We’re too similar, both driven by this insatiable need to dig deeper, to find out what’s really out there. Liza understands me in a way that no one else does, but that understanding is what makes our relationship so volatile. When we’re together, it’s like we’re on fire, but that fire burns us both.

She’s fiercely independent, just like me, and that’s part of the problem. We clash as often as we connect, and yet, I can’t seem to let her go. There’s a bond between us, something that keeps pulling us back together, even when we know it’s going to end in flames. Liza challenges me in ways that no one else can—intellectually, emotionally, even spiritually. She’s one of the few people who can stand toe-to-toe with me, and maybe that’s why I keep coming back, despite everything.

My childhood was… fine, I suppose. My mother raised me on her own, and she did a good job of it. She was strict, but she loved me, and that was enough. My father? Never in the picture. When I was younger, I used to wonder about him, miss him even, but over time, I came to realize that some people just aren’t meant to be parents. I made peace with that a long time ago.

I come from a large family—cousins, aunts, uncles, all of that—but I left my mother’s house early. I needed my independence, and I wanted to study, to find my own way. Even as a kid, I was different—an old soul, my mother used to say. I loved books, puzzles, anything that made me think. I was always perceptive, probably too much for my own good. I learned early on that trusting people wasn’t always a good idea.

School was... alright. I fit in well enough. I wasn’t bullied or anything, but I was never the type to have a lot of friends either. I kept to myself mostly, which suited me fine. I didn’t need anyone else; I had my books, my thoughts. I was strange, sure, but I never minded that.

Yes, I’ve been in love—am in love, if I’m being honest. Her name is Liza Dragova. Our relationship has always been complicated, never simple, but it’s real, more real than anything else in my life. We’re both too similar for our own good—both stubborn, independent, both driven by the need to dig deeper into things most people would rather leave alone.

When we’re together, it’s electric, but that same energy can tear us apart. We fight, we separate, and then somehow, we find our way back to each other. It’s not easy, not by any stretch, but it’s who we are. She challenges me like no one else can, pushes me in ways that are both frustrating and necessary. It’s never been a fairy tale with Liza, but it’s always been something that matters.