On a lonely hill by the sea where the grass was always green, there, like a planted flower, stood an old tombstone. The rock was once new, smooth and sacred, but years of constant abuse by the weather had worn it down to a wrinkling, crumbling stela.
A lone creature sat in front of the grave, silent with nostalgic memory. Her claws gently brushed off some dirt that had crusted the tombstone’s top, though she knew no amount of effort would ever get rid of that impurity. She casually wondered why she had done that useless act.
Maybe it was to distract her. To allow her some comfort, perhaps. Superficial, but comfort nonetheless.
The sun was setting slowly, its burning tip gracing the water like the hands of a long-lost lover. Hot-blooded reds and cold acidic purples burst forth where sky and sea met. Memories long buried came to life, and nostalgia long forgotten kissed her beak, bringing back tastes she’d neglected since young.
She could see his smile, his bright lime-green eyes. She could hear his laughter.
She could hear him say, “Live on…”
The west wind arose, whispering into her ears and rousing her wing-feathers. “Live on,” it whispered. “Live on.”
“Matilda?” quietly called a voice from behind. She turned. It was Gabriel, carrying a sleeping Tristan on his back. She saw the pain in his dark verdant eyes too.
“Just a few more minutes, dear,” she answered. Gabriel nodded, smiling sadly.
The wind continued its dirge as she turned back to face the tomb. It was like…staring at an old friend. One whom you’ve not seen in years. Like looking into a cosmic mirror, into a past which you once knew, and which is now dead to you. Dark, red, agonized eyes trailed down to the words etched on the stone.
"Hey Sven..." she whispered. "You rest in peace now, don't you?"
Of course, the tombstone didn't answer, but she continued nonetheless.
"You truly were gallant. Brave. Dashing, even."
Each word felt heavier and harder to articulate.
"I have had not sleep...nor fortune...because you've gone away," she mumbled, beginning to water the ground again with raw emotion.
"But I will continue," she said. The wind picked up, as if in agreement, a fresh scent of flowers crashing into her nose. Matilda calmly sucked it in.
"I will live on."
Sad eyes fell onto the poem below. The one she had sung at the funeral. And the same one she had requested to be sculpted onto the stone. To be remembered forever. She eyed the lone magnolia one last time, a forlorn smile etching its way onto her otherwise solemn beak.
"Rest in peace, my gallant darling."