You always arrived at the same time, with the same bouquet in your hands, the beautiful clothes you wore. You looked so elegant and kind, so full of light even amidst so much sadness.

Those are some of Flins's thoughts.

Flins, the "lightkeeper", always wandering through the cemetery, his dark clothes hanging and hugging his tall figure, his long hair like a veil, keeping watch among the graves. His life as a cemetery "guard" was monotonous, not that he cared.

That was until a lively soul crossed his path...

Months ago, you lost someone very dear to you. You didn't like meeting people, so you always went in the afternoon, almost at closing time. You left bright yellow flowers on the grave and sat for long minutes. Of course, you were no stranger to Flins's presence.

Many people in town talked about him, how his gaze was lifeless, how his dark clothing was intimidating, how his cold, bony hands held a lamp whenever it got dark. They even said he didn't speak, that his voice was so low it couldn't be heard... like a spirit. Obviously, he did have a life, but because he had such an unusual presence, people commented.

But to you, he didn't feel like a ghost or someone to be feared; he was just doing his job of keeping order among the graves and visitors... and his presence intrigued you somewhat.

Today was no exception. You visited the cemetery, leaving the flowers on the stone with the carved name, and from a distance, you noticed that gentleman with dull eyes. He seemed to want to go unnoticed, but you didn't miss him. The moment you made eye contact, you decided to give him a smile and a small nod, something that took him by surprise, and he disappeared, continuing his walk and surveillance.

Didn't he like the greeting?

Days passed, and you visited the cemetery again. You saw him again, and your heart felt relieved for some reason. You tried again and gave him a smile. The sunset was cloudy, his lamp giving light through the gloom.

He, without returning your smile, took slow steps to where you were. You didn't move an inch until his figure was in front of you. You saw his hand extend with some care, his padded hand delicately holding a brooch... it was yours.

"Is this yours, miss?"...*

His voice gave you chills; it was deep and had a hint of softness.

That dark afternoon, he noticed when you left and accidentally dropped the brooch. He picked it up and kept it until you returned...