It's not the same, is it? It was never the same.

She was always there. Of course she was always there, in a manner of speaking, whenever you needed her –she always made sure of that. Granted, her advice was not always the easiest to understand, but you know, don't you, that that wasn't the reason you summoned her. Was it?

It wasn't just knowledge you desired. For a moment, just a moment, you could believe that she were there. Alive, again.

It's more than most people get. Souls don't come back once they cross over the line – you know that. You know it, and still every time you see her it is only an echo – no more. And that echo calls, and reminds you of her original voice, and makes you long to hear it once again. You want her back.

You would go this far, would you, Mr Wright? To stand before me?

Your hands are shaking. You realise, don't you, that this is wrong – that it is against the natural order. But you were never one for accepting the possible, I recall.

In the centre of the chalk circle rest the ingredients, the substances that make up a female human. In your work suit, still, you do not crawl so much as fall to your knees. The book lies open before you, pages bared and still. You read it closely; you read it fervently, desperately. A miracle, of course. That is what you need now. And you believe, hopelessly, that the miracle can happen.

Mutter the words beneath your breath as you pick up the chalk once more – as you draw the symbol on the floor before you. Close your eyes – imagine her there, before you, in your mind. If she exists there, she can appear, truly, in front of you. You believe that.

One last wish. One last call. Mia. She will hear you, you are sure, and she will return, as she once did, smiling and laughing; cheerful, as she once was; but most of all, whole. Not a half-existence. Not sharing the body of another. You can make this happen.

Quivering, you place your hands in the circle before you, and the room explodes with a great and terrible light.

Didn't think I would be meeting you here.

(W-hat?)

Mr Wright. I think you know me.

(Who is this guy? Where's Mia?)

Mia is not here.

(AH! H-he can hear me?)

You must care for her deeply, to pay such a price.

(W-who IS this guy?)

You've met me before, Mr Wright. Several times.

(W-where's Mia? Isn't Mia here?)

You came to get her back, didn't you?

(Is she-)

The worlds of the dead and the living are separate, Mr Wright. You, of all people, know that.

(…)

And now you must pay your price.

(Wha-)

The thing you hold most dear, Mr Wright.

(I-)

It is me.

(!)

I am Truth, Mr Wright. I am Justice.
That is the price you must pay.

He awakens in a room, strange and foreign – immediately there is a pain in his head, a great and terrible pain, and he holds his head as though he were a child; as though it could somehow replace the incredible, biting loneliness which he now feels. A chalk circle is outlined on the floor; he does not remember it.

In the middle of the circle, there is a figure. He catches sight of it, and immediately fear fills him – he cries out and shuffles back, but the figure does not move. It is not alive, not any longer.

The terror leaves him, now, but it is replaced with a terrible, empty loneliness. In desperation he shouts out, but it makes no difference – the emptiness is still there, and it pounds at his head, threatening to consume him entirely. There is no goal remaining – no purpose, no life left within his mind.

Shaking, he stumbles to his feet. He is wearing a work suit – a royal blue, scuffed – and he does not remember why. In the strange room with the foreign symbols he stands and shudders – a glint of light catches his eye and, looking down, he sees it to be a badge. The pure noticing of it fills him with a sudden dread – panicking, he rips it off of his lapel, sparing no thought for the state of his suit, and hurls it into the further corner. It is visible for only a moment and then it is gone; lost in the shadows. The last remnant of his justice, his cause is now lost to him – the thing that he held most dear, that creature which he met, Truth – it has been taken, and that is his penance.

That is the price he must pay.