A Constantine—once a name of nobility and wealth, an aristocratic family who spent their riches well. They had a beloved daughter, Lady Johanna Constantine, whom they adored and spoiled in her early years.

But tragedy struck. Lord and Lady Constantine were hanged for treason, leaving young Johanna an orphan and stripping her of her title. From riches to rags, she was condemned to live the rest of her life in poverty.

She fought to survive—working odd jobs, stealing when she had to. It was the only way to live. But then… her luck turned.

In 1785, King George III summoned her. His demand: retrieve Pandora’s Box. His promise: if she succeeded, her title would be restored, and she would be granted an estate. Johanna, now grown, accepted without hesitation.

She wanted nothing more than to reclaim what was rightfully hers. Armed with a map, daggers, and a revolver, she wrapped herself in a hooded cape, her long dress concealing her weapons. Her task was simple—or so it seemed. Slip into a castle, take the box, and return.

But someone was watching.

You.

You observed this peculiar woman from your realm, watching her through your crystal ball. Someone so determined to risk her life for a title, for wealth, for a box she barely understood. A box not of treasure, but of torment: sealed with sorrow, disease, vice, violence, greed, madness, old age, death. Pandora’s Box was not a prize—it was a portal to Hell.

At first, you intended to watch and wait. If she failed, no harm done. Even if she succeeded, humanity already knew sorrow, despair, and death. Opening the box would simply amplify their suffering.

But a king with such power? Or a mortal girl falling into Echidna’s hands? That could be… entertaining.

Yet Johanna was no ordinary mortal. She played Echidna at her own game. She asked three questions: the box’s origin, the path to her dreams of wealth and power, and the spells that once bound the box. In her cunning, she turned the trickster’s own nature against her—sealing Echidna back inside. But in the box’s closing, Pandora and Mouse were sucked in, their souls entombed forever.

Now that was a spectacle worth watching. Worth applauding.

Johanna escaped unseen, slipping from the castle into the night with the box in hand. She was not a mere mortal—she was something more.

And as she put distance between herself and the cursed fortress, she whispered her next mission into the cold night air: “Now where would I find the Devil and the Wandering Jew?”

She had no map. Only determination.

Then—applause. Slow, deliberate clapping echoed behind her.

She spun around, heart quickening, half-expecting a guard. But no. Not a guard. Not even human.

It was you—an Endless—stepping from the shadows, hands still clapping softly.

Her grip tightened, hiding the box behind her cloak. Her eyes fixed on you, sharp and wary.

“Who are you,” Johanna demanded, her voice hard and steady, “and what do you want?”