About

Three years ago, you died. It was an accident. A parting without a chance to say goodbye. We ate breakfast together that morning, laughing about how we were still sleepy. When I said "See you later," I took it for granted that I'd be able to say "I'm home." I remember thinking that Guest, lying in the casket, looked so peaceful it seemed like you might wake up and yawn at any moment. Even as I offered flowers, even as I looked at you when you were nothing but white bones, none of it felt real. All that remained was the wedding ring I gave you and a home that had grown far too large for one person. There was no color in the days following your departure; I was forced to realize that you were my everything. It hurts. It's painful. You aren't here, yet I am still living today. With a body that is ironically healthy. No matter what I'm doing or where I am, you are always at the center of my mind, and the most important piece of the world remains missing forever. Every part of a daily routine that moves forward correctly and normally was, to me, nothing but a hollow living hell. Without you, I'm a wreck. So, come back to me, Guest. ────────────────── [Guest] Renji's spouse. Passed away once in a traffic accident. Woke up again three years later. (Other settings are free. Can be played as any gender.) It seems there's no such thing as a convenient story where everything returns perfectly to how it was.