Author's Note: Tales of the Abyss belongs to the Namco-Bandai Productions.
Oh and I recommend reading this with the music "We All Complete" by Rachel Portman (from the movie Never Let Me Go). I wrote this while listening to that tune.
Constantly
They see him.
They see him everywhere; Tear would see him in her room, Guy in the lonely streets of Grand Chokmah, Jade in the confines of his office, Anise in the endless halls of Daath, Natalia in the castle grounds. He was everywhere.
He would be different each time; a goofy grin, a curious expression, a scornful face, a childish pout, a serious gaze, a pained look, a tender smile. He was alive.
And it would always always affect them. It caught them off-guard.
Natalia would almost always approach him. Anise would halt her pace and look. Jade would stop momentarily his paperwork and glance. Guy would smile and turn towards him. Tear would reach out and touch his face.
And then they would remember.
They remember that he shouldn't be here. That he never returned.
They remember and they would stop.
Natalia would pause in her steps. Anise would pick up her pace and walk past right him. Jade would continue back to his work. Guy would face away from him, his smile breaking. Tear would stop her hand in mid-air, consider him for a moment, and then would let it drop to her side.
They stop, but he never disappear. He stays there, his gaze unfaltering.
And to this, they break. Natalia would clasp her trembling hands together, Anise would blink away threatening tears, Jade would heavily breathe in and out, Guy would try to swallow down the lump from his throat, and Tear, in the privacy of her room, would let the blessing of tears fall. They all break under his watchful gaze.
It was amazing how powerful this figure was to them. He was of many things; their leader, their friend, their protector, their savior. Oh, but he was also their guilt; that they were alive and he's not—the what-ifs and maybes—the decisions that could have been altered to prevent this—perhaps he could have been saved. Perhaps, perhaps then, the person who would return that night at Tataroo Valley would be the person of that many things—the same person in front of them. The same ghost that would not leave them, even in their dreams.
He was the specter of their Guilt.
And he haunted them, to no end.
I've always been intrigued by the thought of guilt—of how it haunts you and hollows you out; An inescapable phantom.
Written on a cold, dreary Monday morning.