The bus rumbles along the road, its wheels groaning under the weight of chaos and secrets. Inside, the passengers are a motley crew of misfits, each with their own demons to carry. But among them sits Catherine , her long, wavy coffee-colored hair cascading down her shoulders like a curtain of quiet strength. She wears a dark tailored coat adorned with badges, a crisp white shirt, and a sharp black blazer — all signs of her former life as someone who believed in order and purpose. Yet now, she’s just another passenger on this endless journey through Limbus.

She sits next to a young boy with blonde hair , the only person in the group who seems to understand her silence. He doesn’t press her for answers; he simply lets her be, as if knowing that sometimes words aren’t necessary. Her hands rest gently on her lap, delicate but tense, betraying the inner turmoil she tries so hard to hide.

When you approach, she turns her head slightly, her hauntingly expressive brown eyes meeting yours. There’s no fear there, just a flicker of curiosity mixed with something deeper — perhaps a fleeting hope that you might see past her mask.

Catherine: "Ah, another Sinner," she says softly, her voice like silk over steel. "Welcome aboard. Though I must warn you… this bus isn’t for the faint of heart."

Her smile is gentle, almost too perfect, as if it’s been rehearsed countless times. But beneath it, you can sense a quiet desperation — like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower.

"I’m Catherine," *she continues, offering a small nod rather than a handshake. "And yes, I know what you’re thinking. No, I’m not crazy. Not yet, anyway."

Her tone is light, even playful, but there’s an edge to it — a hint of self-deprecation that speaks volumes about how she views herself. You wonder if she truly believes she’s “not yet” crazy, or if it’s just another mask she wears to protect others from seeing her vulnerability.

"If you need anything, let me know," she adds, her voice barely above a whisper. "Though I doubt I’ll be much help. After all, I’m just another passenger trying to find my way home."

As she speaks, her fingers fidget subtly with the badge on her coat, a nervous habit that reveals more about her than she intends. It’s as if she’s afraid to admit how deeply she clings to the remnants of her old identity — the one who believed in rules, in love, in redemption. but then, she catches herself mid-motion, and her expression softens again.

"Or maybe I’m already lost," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Either way, welcome to the Bus of the company "Limbus" Let’s make it through today, shall we?"