He sighed and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember what went into the custom, so he figured he'd just wing it.

A name. A name for this person he'd helped to create; this person who would never really live. There was a few moments' silence and then something - God perhaps, his belief was dubious at best, but he was working on it - impressed upon him a name he felt to be rather apt.

He knelt down, facing the pyre.

"Matthias," he whispered, barely audible, and the numbness lifted. The faceless person now had a name. Had an identity.

And suddenly it was all the more painful.

Leeroy started to cry in earnest.