Replaced by His First Love
Serena.
I stood up slowly, brushing the marble dust from my worn trousers. My hands stayed in my pockets, my right thumb pinning the data-shard against my palm. When I finally turned, Serena was standing at the entrance of the memorial, her shimmering gown of pixelated silk flowing in a breeze that didn't exist. Her silver hair caught the moonlight, but as she stepped closer, the edges of her silhouette blurred, flickering with a faint, jagged distortion.
The Savior status was struggling to render tonight.