She froze. The air turned to ice in her lungs. The name struck her like a blade—sharp, cold, and devastatingly precise. She stood rooted to the earth, unable to sever her gaze from the stone. It was not a monument of grandeur, but one of tender simplicity. Delicate blue flowers had been scattered across its surface, their vibrant petals a cruel contrast to the grey, indifferent rock.
She did not hear Matthias approach. His footsteps were heavy, his silence a shroud. For a long time, he said nothing. Then, in a voice that was little more than a fractured whisper, he spoke:
"I named him Elias. Exactly as you asked... before he departed."
A violent shudder racked her frame, as if the very ground beneath her had splintered open. Her lips trembled, and when her voice finally broke through, it sounded like the splintering of glass.
"You... you mean to say... this is the grave of our child?"
You mean to say... this is where my child rests?"
