There was nothing gold about her gravestone. A simple unmarked piece of gravel. Rough and rugged and crudely shaped everything she was not. But it was better that way, because the grave was a long ways away from the village and he wouldn't be making it a regular trip like with the memorial stone. He stood on her chest. Then he moved up some and stood on her face. Then he went back to standing on her chest. He like that, how metaphoric it was. He remembered the blade separating his body from his spirit. Cutting him into a lateral two. Her hands in his hair. The sound of her honey voice begging his love. And the soft ire of her sobbing after she'd thought he was asleep, which he had never understood before, but understood now. He put his hand inside his shirt and the scar buzzed under his fingertips. But didn't burn the burning was long gone. The name on the headstone read simply Kuro. Black. He felt a lump in his throat. He put his calloused hands around it and squeezed until he thought his eyes would pop out. Until he feared it lose it all, all that he had left in a fleeting explosion. Like fire and powder.