The dark haired girl sat in front of ten plots with nine graves. On each there was a small bouquet of flowers. She dressed simply wearing a green dress with a dark blue cloak. Despite the slight chill and going against the normal dress, she still wore the medieval looking clothing. Her ebony hair draped into her eyes causing slight blindness, and there was no fire in her azure colored orbs. Two streaks on her face wiped it clean with the water from her tears. She sniffled and decided on one last look before she left. Before she left and rejoined society for a while. Society who didn't understand why she still mourned, because it was quite past time, a month was really all one needed they told her. She had nodded like the good little girl she was, and silently grieved. No one knew about her visits except the old man who tended to the cemetery. He wouldn't tell, and he always gave her a small smile when she entered and left. He was her hope, he was the one to gave her the courage to leave, and he was the one who encouraged her not to die along with them. Just a smile…
Each grave was special. The first one, all the way on the left belongs to Father. She had had the grave maker engrave the British flag onto his grave. He was a soldier, a fighter, and a patriot.
The next to the left had a daffodil engraved on it. Mother's favorite flower was passed down to her daughter. They had shared many things, like the responsibility of being Mother, and the daffodil was special.
The next grave was peculiar, for on it was the hilt of a sword with a lion's head as the pommel. Her brother was Magnificent, and his sword represented all that he stood for: truth, justice, and the Lion.
There was no grave on this next plot, for its owner was sitting and staring at it. One day there would be grave with a hunting horn on it and it would be of a lion's mouth.
Like the Magnificent before him, the Just also had his sword on the grave, though his also had a strange carving. Unless one knew, like the girl, one could never guess that it was the broken shards of an icy wand, destroyed by the Just's sword.
A bottle appeared on the next grave, with the engraving of a bird flying with the clouds and sun appearing on it. The Valiant almost always had it on her, for not only did it heal illnesses, wounds, and broken limbs, but it had once healed a broken family as well.
A rather meek looking dragon appeared on the next grave. The Redeemed was once such a nasty creature, and he swore never to be it again. The girl felt guilty and glad all at once when she remembered that she had actually read the long letter the Valiant had sent her. She also remembered her lies when she said she hadn't read it and lost, and later when she lied again and "admitted" that she had tossed it in the fire. The girl's head hung lower, but it was high enough to see the next grave.
An arrow graced the grave of the Archer. It was of finest design. The Archer hadn't known that the girl had crouched in the doorway, her hanging onto every word the Archer said. She had heard the whole story, and the longing of the Archer to become a toxophilite. The girl wondered if the Archer ever achieved her dream.
The wardrobe decorated the grave of the Nephew. For it was he who was allowed the apple. For it was he who brought it back. For it was he who made the wardrobe. It was rightfully the Nephew's.
A lamppost was put at the top of the Adventurer's grave. She was delightfully brave, and motherly. She nurtured, and was the light in the time of darkness. She drew them all to safety, to home like the lamppost.
On the bottom right of the graves was the Lion. It was facing straight as though looking out from the grave. It was on every single grave, and the girl wasn't sure why she put it there. She certainly didn't like it or at least thought she didn't and she knew it probably didn't like her. Still she hoped that perhaps it would bring those dear souls luck, comfort, or something…anything. She had one more bouquet in her hand, and she placed it on the third to the left's grave. It was the Magnificent's grave. She wished him a silent happy birthday. It was then she decided – she needn't come every day. Perhaps a visit once a month would be sufficient, but she mustn't forget holidays and birthdays. She thought the plan sounded all right. She knew the road ahead would be rough, but she would survive. Besides it was time to move on, they in the graves would agree. She saw the attendant to the cemetery give her a small smile. Her eye caught what looked like the little lion roaring on the Valiant's grave. For the first time, the Gentle smiled back at him.