Greta's frown deepens into a disapproving scowl as the Balladeer sinks into something a little too close to his previous misery. "No. Stop that," she says, giving his shoulder a good, solid poke. "You're you. You've never been 'second' anything."

Her expression softens a little when he brings up Beth again. Hey, there's another thing. "I can't imagine Beth belonging to Oswald," she muses, wrinkling her nose distastefully. "She has to be yours. He'd probably have someone completely different. Different animal." She's not sure what kind, and to guess would be to insult some perfectly innocent sort of creature, so she doesn't.

Instead, after a few considering moments, she says, "Could be magic." That's a safe bet as often as not. Even here, where magic ostensibly shouldn't exist, it's still all over the place because the Rift keeps letting things through. Who's to say it's not some kind of magic that makes the Balladeer's universe work the way it does? "You've got time travel and dead people who won't stay dead. Sounds like magic to me."