You see an item nearby. Whatever this item is, you don't really recognize it. Still, you feel as though it's important. You pick it up, and memories flood into your mind.

But they aren't yours.

They are all dead. These beautiful, pitiful creatures, your charges, your wards…they are all dead. And there is a feeling of emptiness in this loss, a well of sorrow you did not know you were capable of feeling. But…

But this doesn’t have to be the end.

You can do this.

Little by little, you gather the strings of information, sorting out what belongs to whom, assembling your best guess at consciousness. You’re not quite sure what you’re doing, but by the end of this process, they are there, in front of you, as if they had never died to begin with. If you can bring them back, then everything will be fine.

They will be fine.

Your relief and joy at seeing them again is short-lived. They begin to stagger and groan, pieces going out of place, dissolving into the data you constructed them from. Eventually, they all expire–and their faces are so agonized in their last moments that you wonder if maybe they were better for it.

You cannot let them down, though. They are in your care, after all. You did not protect them well enough, and so, it is your responsibility to fix this.

You try again.

The memory comes to an abrupt end there.