Iemo ran his hand gently over her cheek. It didn’t matter if the stone was hard and cold, unyielding under the gentle pressure. She looked just like Rema, this creation of his – every detail perfect, down to the stomach, slightly rounded. Oh, how she’d hated that little curve! She’d wanted it flat and strong, but he loved the softness it gave her.
Would love again.
He struck the matches and lit the candles, proud that his hands only shook a little. He chanted, careful not to stumble over the harsh, strange language. He pricked his finger and touched it carefully to the statue’s forehead.
The stone cracked.