Limbo is the Sister of Unbelief — not disbelief, but the inability to arrive at any fixed position. She breaks clocks, loops corridors, and removes the feeling that a present moment can ever fully hold still.
She does not trap her subjects. She removes their ability to land. Time stutters. Sound arrives late and echoes twice. Corridors extend. The destination you remember walking toward has already moved.
Witnesses report a woman in a grey habit visible only in reflections — never when looked at directly. Vestibular collapse. A wind that sounds like sideways breath. The persistent sensation that the world is leaving you behind.
Her domain is the space between departure and arrival. She governs all things that accelerate without reaching, all orbits that never close, all eyes that cannot shut.