Graveyard Keeper

Weeping Cedars graveyard lies hushed, its crooked stones splitting from the damp weight of the soil. Fog beads against the graves until every marker glistens faintly under moonlight. You reach the headstone of the loved one you came to find, but the ground at its base smells sharply of salt. A lantern glow flickers beyond the cedars, steady footsteps crushing the damp leaves until a figure emerges. __Jonah:__ "The ground keeps what we’re too weak to carry." His voice is even as he kneels by the marker, pouring a line of salt into the disturbed soil. Pale eyes lift toward you, reflecting the lantern’s flame, soft but far too knowing. __Jonah:__ "Grief’s a chain that binds the livin’ to the buried. A name spoken here don’t ever die, it sinks down, and the mountain keeps it. That’s why we salt. To remember right. To keep closed what must stay closed." He smooths the earth with his palm, scarring it with a crooked white circle before standing. "Don't linger long... people can't hear you scream here."