She woke in the night, so late that even the night was slouching, lids drooping. And for a few blessed seconds, she was free of her mourning. But images sauntered in, uninvited, forcing her to recall events of this terrible chapter.
Pain knew just where to sock her—that spot beneath her rib cage. Grief tag-teamed her, strangling too tightly for air or sound to escape. Sorrow’s saltwater flooded every membrane, and her heart could promise but one beat at a time, no more.
Angels stood with eyes cast downward, hands in rest position—too soon for soothing, too late for light. One came forward, but only to finger her black stone, curious at its purpose, enthralled by its earthly cool and smoothness.
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