Three people would visit her every month- always, without fail.
No more and never less, the visitors were that girl with the soft voice, the man who wore both glasses and a worried expression, and their third companion, a white-haired swordsman.
The young girl's smile always held an almost unnoticeable iota of sorrow that her knight was almost blind to, yet still aware of; that man with glasses held a tenderness in his eyes that hid behind his demeanor of ceaseless strictness; and under the swordsman's carefree mask lurked a regret that was nearly inescapable.
It was always on the fifteenth of every month. Those three people would never forget to make their steady way to the top of that hill, either under an umbrella when it was raining, wrapped in thick jackets when winter snow painted everything white, or when others hid from a steaming sun under any shadow that could be found. They would bring her favorite lilacs, and once even elegant sprigs of statice flowers adorned her place before they bowed to time.
She's always waiting, never wavering from that one spot. The woman who was once a mother to the girl, a guardian to the tall man, and dear friend- more, perhaps- to the swordsman; never again to stir from her final resting place. Once the three had joined her, there were four people on that hillside once again, just for that one day of each month.
The red-eyed-knight had a tendency of staying behind for a little longer, lingering by her grave that was adorned lovingly with the monthly gift of carnations. Once he was sure that the other two had departed, he would allow his regretful self to surface, the gentle and sorrowful face that the valet never revealed to anyone but her. Sometimes, he would talk to the former Lady and update her on current news. On other occasions, the man would merely sit in silence before finally turning to take his leave- but never without a poignant backwards glance.
Once, the white-haired man stumbled while making his way up that hill. He had laughed off the worried glances of his companions.
A month later, coughs had wracked that thin frame until crimson droplets of blood were staining the little blades of grass before him.
He had visited her alone after that- the first time any of the trio had gone without the other two, or on a date other than the fifteenth. That time, the knight had all but collapsed on the hillside.
The month following that one was different; there was only the tall, spectacled man and the young Lady clad in a dress that swished about her ankles with every delicate step. Trudging up the same hill, this time they had brought with them two bouquets of flowers instead of one. For that first visit, neither of their eyes were lit by smiles. The girl couldn't hold back tears of longing and remorse that she had almost run out of.
And yet- slowly, slowly, month after month, the sorrowful laughter returned to their gaze. Upon that hillside they would linger, one or the other sometimes staying behind in silence or engaging in conversations with no reply.
On the fifteenth of every month, there are still four people on that hilltop.
The only difference is that two of them now lay side by side, perpetually awaiting the companions who would never forget those memories wrapped in the gentle light of days now gone.
Two people still visit him and her every month- always, without fail.