The first time she appears before him she's little more than an echo, a pale imitation of what he remembers—too-blue eyes instead of periwinkle, hair that abruptly ends at a certain point instead of trailing on, and no voice, no laughter, to fit her face. Still, Pegasus is nothing but entranced, and he praises the technicians who, after all this time, have given his Cecelia new life.
The illusion only shatters when he reaches for her hand and finds empty air, with only the slight warmth of electronic light where Pegasus expects flesh and blood. To that, his face twists in a snarl and he orders his men out under threat of imprisoning their souls with his Millennium Eye. Stricken and scared, they apologize—next time, they promise, will be better.
And since Pegasus has nothing better to do than wait, he holds them to it. The next iteration is similar to the first, but the eye color has been corrected, her hair flows as it should, and while her voice is a work in progress, her smile lights up the room. Pegasus is enamored to the point where Croquet has to knock on the door to bring him his evening meal, and he nearly seals the man's soul away wantonly for disturbing him before he eventually relents.
His only regret is that he cannot share his bounty of wine and cheese and vegetables with Cecelia, and Pegasus is dispirited, but not defeated. Not yet. The next time there is music to play as his beloved wife appears, the holograms now sparkling like the sun as she curtsies before him and pirouettes like a doll captured in a snowglobe. She extends a hand as the waltz continues, and Pegasus, astonished, pulls himself to his feet with clumsy steps—he hasn't danced in years, but for her he would do anything at all.
When his hands still grasp empty air he lets himself sob, but Cecelia moves to dry his tears with her phantom hands, murmuring soft comforts. And for now, it's enough.
They try again and again, and for every improvement his men make, touching his beloved Cecelia and feeling her slender fingers between his is still beyond Pegasus. Even so, he urges them forward, caring nothing for eat or sleep so long as he can see her once more. Maybe this time, he thinks, will be the one.
After weeks and months, and a full year since the project began, nothing new has come of it. The technology has been pushed to its limits and reached a plateau, as close as it will ever come to flesh and blood and life, and Pegasus will have to be content with that.
But the Millennium Eye suggests another way, and Pegasus listens.
When the plates pile up and there is nothing, not even music, behind the door, his men break in and find Pegasus gone. Only his Eye remains, shimmering, on the floor. But in the holographic light, Pegasus and Cecelia now dance together, as perfect and pristine as when they wed.
When they look closer, they can see the echo of his smile.