The multiverse tips on its axis and you, with it. Your consciousness is ripped from Persephone with no ceremony whatsoever. For a moment, it's like Russian Roulette, but with the self.
"One, two..."
Who are you?
"We're coming for you!"
Are you Mellinoë?
"Three, four..."
Persephone?
"Through the magic door!"
The Player? No.
You are Makaria the Blessed.
No...now, you are Makaria the Mad. Mak the Eye; the Sighted. Mak the Risen.