When it happened, he rarely expected it. She called to him in his quiet moments, when he was alone and his thoughts were free to drift not to the conflict he felt, or the guilt and sorrow he warred with in his every waking moment, but to her and the peace he seemed to only be able to achieve when she was near him.

This was no different. The evening, a Friday, was a quiet one for him. He sat in the moderately comfortable chair in his living room, flipping through a book of Greek Mythology, when she stood before him, as clear as if her presence were physical. Her back was turned, but he could tell by the set of her shoulder that she was unhappy.

Closing the book with a snap, he stood from his chair. "What's wrong?"