SEPTEMBER 2, 2018
Ashford settles back in his chair. He adjusts his glasses.
ASHFORD: You believed that silencing the song would destroy the echo worlds. Destroy the connection between the Seraph’s realm and ours.
SOPHIA: Yes.
ASHFORD: But it did not succeed.
SOPHIA: It did. Or it seems to have.
ASHFORD: And yet you are here. How is that possible?
SOPHIA: Is it really the first time you’ve heard someone narrate their own death, given your line of work?
ASHFORD: No, I suppose not. You do not, however, appear to be a ghost, given that it is broad daylight and I can’t see your bones, so I must ask—how did you get out?
SOPHIA: I didn’t. Haven’t you been listening?
Ashford does not seem shocked by this information—it is as if he knew it but hoped to be contradicted.
ASHFORD: You’re Sophie.
SOPHIA: My name is Sophia Novak.
ASHFORD: But you are an echo. Correct?
SOPHIA: Maybe. Or maybe she was. You’re not afraid of me now, are you?
Ashford raises an eyebrow.
ASHFORD: No. Did you think I would be?
SOPHIA: She said you wouldn’t be.
ASHFORD: Sophia did?
SOPHIA: No. Abby.
ASHFORD: Where is she, Ms. Novak? Please. Just tell me that she’s all right.
Sophia looks down at her hands.