Monuments to the dead always carry a certain gravity.
Be they the grandest of sculptures or a simple plaque; someone lived, and someone is remembered, in spite,
in spite,
in spite.
A graveyard on the edge of Manehattan is no different, dusted in snow and a reprieve from the city sprawl.
One mare walks alone through the field, mindlessly tracing the paths between graves.
A thick jacket draped over her shoulders, feathered wings held tight against her back, all to keep the cold at bay as she thinks.
Once, twice, thrice around the fence she goes, keeping her loop steady.
Many times, she'd been told not to wander this sacred ground, to not disturb the dead.
And yet, she found comfort here in the quiet solace. In the space of death and grief, where remembrance holds the power. In spite,
in spite,
in spite.
Just as she started to go for a fourth loop, a gentle knock on a low wall startled her.
Metal on stone was drowned out by a yelp, drawing pure bemusement from the gray-furred face that looked up at her.
A unicorn in black armor, highlighted in purple, sat on one of the dividing walls, left ankle over her right knee, with her helmet beside her. Slate gray locks rolled over her shoulders, framing the spear and shield mark on her breastplate, and a tilt of her head brought a jagged patch of dark fur into the moonlight, covering the right side of her face. “Come here often?”
Slit, lavender eyes lit up with amusement as the guard stood from her seat, hooking her helmet to her hip. “Sorry, get too much of a kick for doing that. Stalwart Lance.”
A gauntleted hand held out in offering, and a hand wrapped in a knitted mitten met it with a small shake. “Chilled Vapor,” the pegasus offered in return. “Sorry; I usually come out here to think.”
“No worries, you’re not in any trouble.” Lance turned, following the loop Vapor had traced in the snow, and the pegasus followed after. “You really come to a graveyard to think?”
“Just about the more important things.” Not everything; just the deep things. The things no-one ever spoke to Vapor about. The uncomfortable things.
How to feel. What to let go of. What to leave behind.
How to remember. How to be remembered.
Lance simply hummed in thought.
“Certainly not a bad place to do it.” She glanced over her left shoulder with a small smile. “Weight from a place like this certainly helps force everything into clarity, huh?”
Vapor could list a few things.
Childhood friendships withering away.
Her grandparents’ illness.
What was left of her parents’ relationship.
“It can,” was all Vapor said.
Lance let her smile drop and looked forward again. Neither of them said anything for a while after that.
About halfway through Vapor's loop, Lance spoke up again. “I'm sure you could guess, but I wasn't sitting there for fun. People have been weird around graveyards lately. Not many, but enough to draw suspicion. Wanted to make sure you weren't one of them.”
Vapor shrugged, well out of Lance's sight. “I just walk and think.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
It wasn't biting, nor judgmental, but it stung in spite of that.
“I wanted to ask, though, just in case—you don't let your guard down here, do you?” Lance tossed over her shoulder.
As if on cue, a cold wind swept through the graveyard, nipping at Vapor; Lance seemed unbothered. “I–I guess?”
“Just making sure. Don't want anyone getting swept up in trouble from people trying to go graverobbing.”
Lance went quiet again. Vapor let her gaze wander.
Under the striped shadows of the graveyard’s bare trees, rows of headstones lay plain, polished and cared for by the groundskeeper. Here and there, a rare few would be spaced away from the others, giving room to the more prominent figures in the area.
Vapor was following Lance through one such space.
Her gaze drifted slowly from the full moon cradled in an oak’s branches to the headstone set apart, and came to a sudden stop.
A cutie mark of a spear crossed over a shield was engraved and painted onto its face.
Below it, the epitaph:
“What’s the matter, Vapor?” asked the mare named Stalwart Lance.
Vapor wrenched her gaze over just in time to watch her turn around in the moonlight. Silver light streaked across her face, revealing a crack running down the right side of her horn. And where there was dark fur, rough, scarred flesh and a blind eye was revealed.
Lance’s fangs flashed in a grin. “Why, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Vapor could hardly breathe, shock beyond all, gripping her heart in icy claws. A half-stammered noise was all she could make, stumbling back a few steps.
And Lance just laughed again.
The unicorn shook her head, still chuckling to herself, and her wounds were covered once again between gray and lavender. “I’ll have to ask for your forgiveness, I wanted to be a little extra sure. I’ll leave you to your thinking, just—don’t end up like me, eh?”
Vapor was sure her expression still bore terror as Lance turned and walked on, disappearing from sight like a mirage.
It took her a few moments to get her breathing back under control.
Vapor let a shiver run down her spine, ruffling her fur and feathers as it turned into a full-body shake.
And then, she thought.
For as blunt as she was, that advice held some merit.
Vapor wasn't dead, not even close. But she lingered among them all the same, wandering among the dead.
This would always be her space to think. Always the place she would come to for comfort, in spite,
in spite,
in spite.
But, perhaps, she could be more than a lost ghost wandering the graves.
Written January 9, 2024