"There are babies in Dianne and Jimma's grave!" she shouted through the streets, eyes wild, breath shallow.
People stared, confused and terrified. But something in her voice the desperation, the conviction pulled them in. One by one, villagers followed her.
When they reached the grave, silence fell. The air was thick with disbelief.
Elders wept. Children clung to mothers. Some whispered of ghosts. Others crossed themselves, fearing curses or magic.
But there they were: two infants, warm and alive.
A midwife stepped forward, hands steady. She lifted the girl first Liora. Then the boy Jalen. Their skin was healthy, eyes bright. They didn't cry. They stared at the willow above them as if it were a long-lost friend.
No one could explain it. Not even the oldest priest.
"Love brought them back," someone whispered.
Or maybe… love never left.