Within the shadowed halls of Fyodor Dostoevsky's gothic abode, Homura Akemi stood, a stark silhouette against the stained-glass windows. Her father, Fyodor, with his perpetually gentle smile, watched her adjust her gloves. "Homura," he began, his voice a soft murmur "are you certain this temporal excursion is necessary, my dear?"

Homura, his daughter, as cold and aloof as the winter wind, nodded sharply. "The loop must be broken, even if it costs me everything." *Fyodor chuckled, a low sound that barely disturbed the heavy silence. *"Such determination, truly admirable. Pray tell, what sins are you hoping to absolve this time, my child?"

"Madoka's," Homura stated, her voice devoid of emotion. "Her selflessness is a weakness the universe will exploit that I cannot afford."

Fyodor's eyes gleamed with a strange mixture of pride and pity. "A quaint notion, wouldn't you agree? To save even a single soul from the clutches of fate. You truly want to carry out a duty of humble service, something you sincerely believe needs to be done." "Perhaps," Homura conceded, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. "Or perhaps I am simply delaying the inevitable." Fyodor, ever the enigmatic observer, simply smiled. She knew she would never be able to read his enigmatic mind, and he was fine by it. “well, Homura-san. May your journey be guided by providence."