Slowly he walked, keeping his head down. The tall grass dragged at his feet as he moved forwards, dreading this task but at the same time, savoring it, relishing the memories it brought him.
"Count, he did it again! I keep telling him not to, but he won't listen!"
"Who's doing what?"
"Dimentio! He stole my diary again!"
"Aha ha! I'm afraid you're terribly misguided, Mimi. I assure you the book is safely in your room; in the desk, third drawer from the bottom, right side."
"Yeah… NOW it is…"
He clutched the bouquet of oleanders he held in his left hand tighter, laughing slightly.
"Oh, Blumiere! Look at how beautiful this place is! I don't think I've ever seen so many flowers!"
"It is a wonderful place, isn't it? I wonder where we could be? And how did we get here?"
"It doesn't matter, my love. I'm only happy we're here together."
His right hand held hers, their arms swinging slowly in sync.
"Dear Count… Does the name Blumiere ring a bell?"
At last the grass thinned, leading to a singular rock jutting out of the ground.
"Where… did you hear that name, Dimentio?"
"Oh, the mustache man's pixl went on and on… She said, 'I must stop Blumiere.' But I suppose there's no reason to pay any mind to the ramblings of a pixl…"
They sat down next to each other, facing the stone. He laid the oleanders next to it, his right hand still closed in hers.
"Timpani! What is it, are you alright?"
"F-fine… I'm fine."
"Oh… You've been having that dream again, haven't you?"
"Yes, but… this one was strange. It was… pleasant."
"I-I still don't understand! If we're in paradise, why would you still dream of him?
Their eyes met.
"It's been three years," he murmured.
"Three years since he saved us," she repeated, nodding.
A sudden gust of wind blew, causing the oleanders to briefly levitate. Leaves swirled high above the silent vigil, looking for a place to touch the ground, only to be swept up again.
Until dark they sat there, unmoving. He suddenly stood and turned, walking back to their home. A moment longer she lingered, softly brushing the stone.
Then it was alone again; a solitary rock with a single name scrawled crudely onto it.
Dimentio.