It was sometime near midnight, and the granite rows of headstones stretched off down the hill in front of her. There was a pond there, overhung by willow trees which trailed branches into the dark water. The skies were clear, and a full moon shone overhead, reflected in the pond as well as in the polished headstone in front of her.
They had buried Cave Johnson that morning. Many had attended, but only his faithful secretary remained now; stock-still and steadfast, waiting by his side as she always had. Her face bore no expression. Her hands rested at her sides, though she was tempted to fold them in some half-hearted attempt to keep the chilly night wind at bay. She let it cool her skin, though. It was only fitting that she should be as stony and cold as the gravestone ahead of her.
Drawing a shuddering breath, Caroline's eyes focused past the engraving on the headstone and noticed the moon that was staring back at her in the mirror-like surface. It was silver and bright, and it seemed so unaffected by anything at all. It did not care that Cave was dead. Caroline was struck by the unfairness of it all. She was human, afflicted with the lashes of grief that laid into her heart and mind so frequently now. She frowned slightly, expression darkening in the face of such unwavering lightness. It was the moon, she remembered then, that had killed him.
Rage had always been something that tended to sneak up on her. She was shocked at the sudden force of it now, and it hit her like a tidal wave. Her face turned upwards, eyes focusing on the shining silver disc above her. For the first time that day, she spoke, her voice hoarse from the hours of repressed tears. "Why?" she rasped, though she knew it was pointless to ask. The moon could not answer her, nor could Cave or the doctors who had tried to treat him, nor could the rocks that had poisoned him. Only science could answer, but she took no comfort there this time. It was something irreversible, said her studies. He was gone, gone, gone, and she would never see him again, not in life or death or even after. She wouldn't even have the chance to rest at his side.
A keening wail slipped from her throat and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, as silver as the coldly glittering stars. There were no words anymore. Not now, nor ever again, it seemed. She'd never been one to mourn, but his death meant her demise as well. It wasn't just him she was crying for now. His was the immediate cause, though, and suddenly she saw his face before her, clear and sharp as though he were physically there. Time seemed to slow, and she fell silent for a moment, staring at the apparition in front of her. A hallucination, brought on by utter exhaustion.
And then it was gone, as soon as it had arrived, shattered into shining shards by the force of the moonlight. Twice, now, the moon had taken him from her. She used to look to it for comfort as a child, and now it had turned on her like everything else. Nothing would ever be the same. Nothing would ever be right again, and her precious moon was all to blame. Betrayal seized her heart and gravity flung her to her knees, and she collided with the ground with a cry of loss. With a shuddering sigh, she turned her face from the sky and fixed it on the headstone. One hand reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the letters of his name, she remained there until her racking sobs subsided into shivers and the moon had slipped below the horizon.
It was only fitting that it, too, should die.