She had asked of him the same question. His Christine, that was. "It's Donna, isn't it?" he asked, softly. "Or is it Victor?" Which Victor? Did it matter?

"You know it's Donna," the disembodied voice hissed. "You're here to talk me out of it and you can't stop me."

"Okay." Frankly, Stephen Strange, who spent centuries, calculatingly absorbing enough power, disagreed. But he didn't say so yet.