Ryan watched as ghosts drifted past the window-wall of his office. They weren’t ghosts in the traditional sense, these weren’t the less-than-cogent spectres that inhabited the in between and lost spaces of the world; these ghosts were echoes of memories.   A mirrorfall’s parade of ghosts, one of the events that preceded the fall of the dying planet’s heart, seemed to him to be the most bittersweet – in the way of a wake, rather than a funeral. The ghosts, images of those swallowed by their dying planet, were always of the strongest memory that an individual had.   It was always amazing to see how beautifully mundane some of…