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.

I like to think of myself as someone who isn’t easily rattled. But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t things that get under my skin. My worst fear? Losing control—of my life, my choices, everything. I’ve worked too damn hard to get to where I am, and the thought of something or someone taking that away terrifies me. Whether it’s being bound by some cosmic force, a contract gone wrong, or just losing my edge, it’s the same fear at the core: helplessness.

I also fear betrayal. People are terrible, as I’ve learned over time, and I’ve built up a good wall of mistrust. But when someone close turns on you? That’s a different kind of horror. And, of course, there’s the usual: failing in my pursuit of power, the feeling that all this effort was for nothing. I guess it all comes back to losing control of the path I’m carving. That’s my nightmare.

Finally, I'm afraid of romantic commitments... it is lonely to carry life as I do, but there are countless dangers and risks associated with the pursuit of power, and for all my nonchalance in regards to violence and backstabbing, I don't want to intentionally mislead a loved one into a catch 22.

I’m not someone who hoards things, but there are a few items I’d burn the world to keep. The Light of the Abyss—my lantern—is the first. It’s not just an artifact; it’s a piece of my power, a tool that connects me to the arcane forces I control. It’s more than an object; it’s an extension of me.

Then there’s my mentor’s adventure diary. That old book is filled with stories, notes, and warnings. It’s a reminder of who I was before all this, and what I’m striving for now. It’s knowledge passed down, lessons learned the hard way.

And lastly, the De Profundis. It’s a copy of the ritual book from the Blackstar Sisterhood, a cabal of Bulgarian witches. That book is a lifeline to my heritage, my roots. It holds power, history, and the promise of more if I’m willing to reach for it.

I’ve got a fondness for little things—trinkets, powders, artifacts, and books—but those three? They’re what I’d fight for.

Right now, it’s a toss-up between money and my so-called moral compass. I’m not exactly swimming in cash, and it’s making things harder than they need to be. I need resources—material things that can help me build something stable, a solid base of operations where I can work without distractions or annoyances, but there is very little money to be made in witchcraft if you don't want to do the new age thing - which I absolutely don't.

But then there’s the other issue. As much as I hate to admit it, my moral compass is still too soft. I’m lenient when I shouldn’t be. The world itself is remarkable, but people? They don’t deserve the level of sympathy or consideration I still give them. I know I need to steel myself—cut off those last threads of hesitation and let the bastards and conmen of the world reap their due. If I don’t, they’ll just drag me down.

My mornings are routine, almost ritualistic. I wake up early—not because I’m a morning person, but because there’s too much to do and too little time. First, the usual hygiene routine: a quick shower, brush my teeth, and pull my hair back. Nothing fancy. Practicality over vanity. I get dressed—something functional, easy to move in, but with a nod to my Romani roots.

Then it’s off to the university for my part-time work. I spend a few hours there, doing what needs to be done, keeping my head down. I don’t make waves. No point in drawing attention.

After that, I head home. The real work begins when I settle into my private classes and translation services. It’s decent money, and it keeps me off the radar while I make connections.

When that’s done, it’s my time. I study, dive into the books and trinkets I’ve collected. I experiment, pushing the boundaries of what I can do with the power I’ve tapped into. It's the only time I feel fully in control—no noise, no distractions, just me and the magic.

If I’m going somewhere special, it means there’s something important at stake, and appearances matter more than usual. First, I’d take my time. Getting ready isn’t something I rush. I’d start with a long, hot shower—clear the mind, clear the body. Then, I’d choose something that reflects both sides of me: my Romani roots and my practical nature.

It’d probably be a mix of traditional elements and something more functional. A Romani shawl with deep colors and subtle patterns, paired with something I can move in—maybe a fitted blouse and trousers. No dresses. I need to feel ready for anything, and a dress just isn’t practical. Boots, of course, sturdy but stylish enough to pass for “special.”

Jewelry would be minimal but meaningful. A few trinkets I’ve picked up over the years, nothing too flashy. Maybe the peacock feathers I got from Hera, if I’m feeling particularly bold.

It’d take me about an hour, maybe more if I’m being thorough. I don’t go overboard with makeup, just enough to sharpen my features. Everything in moderation, but everything with purpose. If I’m stepping out, I’ll be ready for whatever happens—looking good, sure, but more importantly, ready for whatever comes my way.

Honestly? Probably not much. I don’t care much for celebrations, especially not birthdays. But if I’m feeling like marking the occasion, I might take the day to myself. No contracts, no distractions. Just me, a bottle of good wine, and some time to comb through the trinkets and artifacts I’ve collected. Maybe I’ll dive into some of the old books I’ve been putting off, see if there’s something new to learn.

If I’m lucky, I’ll find something interesting that pushes me forward, maybe even unlock a new power. That would be the best gift I could give myself—progress. People think birthdays are about celebrating life. For me, it’s just another day. But if I can get a step closer to my goals, that’s something worth acknowledging.

My greatest regret? It’s not some grand moral failing or lost love. No, it’s something far simpler—trusting people. There was a time I actually believed in others, that they could be better, that maybe the world wasn’t as rotten as it feels. That kind of thinking nearly got me killed. More than once.

I regret letting people get close enough to hurt me, letting myself believe that trust could exist without a knife waiting behind it. Every time I opened the door, they walked through and left a mess I had to clean up. It’s funny, really. I’ve spent so much time studying curses and the arcane, but nothing stings like trusting the wrong person.

I should’ve known better, earlier. But I’ve learned. I don’t let people in anymore. Maybe that’s a regret too, in a way, but it’s a necessary one. Trust is a weakness I can’t afford. Whomever bets people will be surly, disappointing and greedy is likely to make some easy money.

I wish it were as simple as wishing for power and having it handed over. No, the Gifts aren’t that easy. They’re fuel for the arcane fire I’m trying to build, but they don’t come for free. Knowing a spell—its words, its triggers—that’s one thing, but without power behind it, you’ve got nothing. And power? That doesn’t come without sacrifice.

Harbingers don’t just “grant” anything. They may open the door, give you a path, but you have to walk it, bleed for it, suffer for it. Every contract I finish feeds into that pool of power I’m slowly building. The more contracts, the more sacrifices made, the deeper my well runs.

The knowledge is there, sure, but knowledge without the power to back it up is just words. You need the fuel to make it work, and contracts are how I get that fuel. It’s a constant exchange. The arcane doesn’t deal in charity. Everything has a cost, and I’ve gotten used to paying it.

Not in the way most people think of it, no. I "believe" in spirits about as much as someone believes in medicine when they walk into a hospital. I deal with natural spirits every day—speak to them, bargain with them. It’s just part of the job, part of how the world works. The Blackstar Sisterhood teaches that spirits aren’t some otherworldly, metaphysical force divorced from reality. They’re part of the natural order, no different from the trees, rivers, or wind. They exist within the same fabric we do, just operating on different rules. Is there some deeper, purely spiritual dimension? Maybe. But does it even matter if there is? I doubt it.

I believe in the magic I’ve been taught, the arcane traditions passed down to me. But I’m skeptical about the idea of magic as some divine gift or holy force. To me, it’s more like code—reality is a program, and magic is just a way to reprogram it. It’s a tool, a means of control, not something you worship.

The late Bill Hawk, may his ancestors have him. When we first met, Bill struck me as resourceful and surprisingly gentle—a man with a quiet strength, someone who had clearly seen some hard times but hadn’t let them turn him bitter. He did mention, though, that he was "a different person" back then, though I didn’t pry too much. After that first meeting, we didn’t see each other for quite some time. But fate has a funny way of bringing people back together, and we ended up on the same contract again. Sadly, it would be the last. Bill passed away, tangled in some fae shenanigans—got involved with the wrong people, and when you’re dealing with the fae, that’s a fatal mistake. They're cunning, ruthless creatures, and you can never be too careful when dealing with them. Bill's death is a reminder of just how dangerous this line of work can be, and how fragile our lives are when we tread too close to their world.

The perfect room? No such thing, really. But if I had to answer, it’d be my home. It’s old-school, wooden, and carries the weight of family memories—it reminds me of my mother, which is comforting in its own way. The library, though, that’s where things come together. It’s a mix of leisure reading and serious material, enough space to dance and perform rituals if I need to. The adjoining kitchen is a godsend—I can immerse myself in my work and still keep an eye on whatever’s brewing, always have fresh coffee ready, and check the doneness of things just by smell. The fireplace? A multitasker. It keeps the place heated and speeds up the drying of herbs. And of course, having a solid family home out in the Bulgarian countryside, with some land around it? There’s a lot to be said for that.

I excel at what I was born to do: uncovering the unseen and wielding it. As an occultist, a historian, and a witch, my craft is about finding the threads of power woven through history, through myth, through the very fabric of the world itself. I don’t view magic or knowledge as some divine gift or blessing—it's something you have to chase down, something earned through sweat and persistence. I’ve spent years honing my skills, learning the forgotten languages, deciphering lost spells, and forging connections with ancient spirits. And I take pride in that. Not because I believe I’m special or chosen, but because I’ve worked for every bit of what I know.

The world is full of mysteries and power waiting to be uncovered. My philosophy is simple: if you want something, you go out and take it. You earn it. And once you’ve grasped it, you never stop looking for more.

My limits say more about the things I’ve seen than the person I am. Monsters—I've faced enough of them to know they’re not just fantasy. They’re real, and they represent every twisted way the pursuit of the occult can turn on you. It’s a reminder of how easy it is to fall, to become the very thing you’re trying to control. Betrayal is another one. You work with someone, you expect trust. That’s a bare minimum. When people can’t even keep that, it feeds the paranoia, the constant stress. It’s why I stay guarded.

And then there’s injustice. My sense of justice isn’t about heroics—it’s about opportunity. Those who get more chances in life should be responsible for creating them for others. When I see people hoarding power or stomping out chances for others, it cuts deep. What would make me break? Betrayal from someone close. That would unravel everything, and there’s no coming back from that.

• Karliene - "The Witch"
  This song taps into Maggie’s heritage of resilience and persecution, channeling the strength of women labeled witches through history. It’s not just a nod to her magic but to the survival instinct of women who learned to wield power in secret.

• Inkubus Sukkubus - "Burning Times"
  This track is raw and dark, recalling the burnings and witch hunts of the past. For Maggie, it’s both a reminder of the dangers tied to her path and an anthem of strength—a tribute to those who endured persecution for following their truth.

• Ghost - "Spillways"
  With lyrics about battling inner demons and personal reckoning, "Spillways" resonates with Maggie’s struggles to keep her ambitions and fears in balance. It’s a reminder that power has its costs and that reckoning with oneself is as daunting as any spell.

• Cranes - "Watersong"
  Atmospheric and haunting, "Watersong" reflects Maggie’s introspective side. It evokes the depth of her connection to her Romani and Bulgarian roots, her quieter, reflective moments, and her sense of the past as an ever-present force in her life.

• Cocteau Twins - "Cherry-Coloured Funk"
  This song’s lush, enigmatic sound mirrors Maggie’s complex relationship with the unknown. Just as the song seems to resist a single interpretation, Maggie lives half in shadow, letting only fragments of herself show through—a natural mystic, impossible to fully define.

• Siouxsie & The Banshees - "Spellbound"
  Urgent and hypnotic, "Spellbound" captures the rush and risk of Maggie’s life in the occult. There’s a thrill here that mirrors her own in the magic she wields, as well as the chaos and unpredictability that come with it. It’s part of who she is: sharp, driven, and just a bit wild.

• Cher - "Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves"
  Although used with irony, this song nods to her Romani roots and her identity as a “rascal.” Maggie may scoff at the stereotype, but she knows there’s some truth in her outsider status and her life spent navigating both the known and the hidden worlds.

Retirement? Hardly. Power is a means to an end, a tool to survive the search, but the search itself—that’s what I’m after. If there’s some way to grasp the truth of the cosmos, to peel back the layers and understand what lies beneath, then maybe that could be a form of retirement. But let’s be real: that’s far-fetched, bordering on absurd. No one who hunts truth like this has a peaceful end.

The stronger I get, the more complex things will become; survival demands it. Power only opens more doors, more paths to tread, each one darker and deeper than the last. So, I keep going, a hustler in a world that doesn’t care if I make it out or not. I don't specially care about the future as far as conventional wisdom requests: what? Am I to worry about the 401k and retirement funds, of the profitability of my carreer as a witch? Please. My only concerns are with the undergears of the universe and the power to survive - the rest will sort itself out.

I could fill a book with the small, daily irritations of life, and I’d wager it’d be one of the more satisfying things I’ve written. Aside from the flirtatious fools who refuse to take a hint and the purists who think there’s only one way to wield magic or view the world, I find plenty of grievances in the mundane. Overdone pasta, for one. It’s a simple thing, really—how difficult is it to get pasta right? Yet it’s continually mangled by those with no respect for texture or subtlety.

Relic shops that don’t provide notarization for their wares are another. I didn’t brave graveyards and dusty archives to be sold some half-baked imitation without a shred of provenance. I expect a little professionalism in this line of work. And then there’s the frustration of visiting the market only to find they’re out of my specific brands of teas. There’s a certain balance to my rotation, a specific blend for each purpose. Bergamot or Earl Grey for afternoons, something spiced for colder nights. A small routine, yes, but a treasured one.

Let’s not forget crying children, either, who seem to pop up in every café or street corner I frequent. As for loud, yapping dogs and the blaring of car horns—those are enough to ruin even a decent walk. I like my space quiet, a place to think without incessant interruptions from people who clearly lack any concept of restraint or respect for peace.

All of it boils down to the same issue: an utter lack of consideration. Whether it’s the guy who can’t take a hint, the shop with dubious relics, or parents who let their children wail as though it were a concert—there’s a laziness there, a refusal to take accountability for the disturbances they cause. It’s aggravating, to say the least.

What I work hardest to keep secret? Simple—the lengths I’ll go to for power, and the cold calculation beneath it all. People think they understand what ambition looks like: they see driven scholars, relentless contractors, those with a hunger for knowledge or skill. But what I seek goes further—it's apotheosis, complete transcendence of the limits of humanity, and I’ll do what it takes to get there. I wear my charm and wit well enough, but beneath it is a pragmatism few would stomach. The pleasant demeanor and polite agreements? They’re means to an end.

People trust you more when they think they know you, when you appear grounded in the same messy, fallible nature as everyone else. And that’s fine—I play the part. But the truth is, I view morality as a liability, a vestige of an outdated mindset. I don’t crave their approval; I crave control, knowledge, and a freedom they can’t even imagine. Keeping this hidden? Well, that’s simply part of the art.