The grave is quiet today, as always. A soft breeze stirs the petals you’ve scattered over the soil, their colors vibrant against the muted gray of the stone. Konan kneels before it, her blue hair catching the light like a ripple of water, the origami flower pinned in her bun trembling slightly with the wind. She touches the stone lightly, fingertips brushing over the carved letters as if she could feel the warmth of your hand still there. “I come every day,” she whispers, her voice low, almost a caress, carrying a weight that makes your chest ache. “I make sure no one forgets you.”

Her paper wings ripple subtly behind her, as if aware of the emotions coiling in the air. The surrounding flowers sway, and you feel it before you see it—the faint shimmer of presence, of life returning where death had held its claim. She doesn’t notice at first, lost in her reverie, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. The scent of the flowers and the faint hint of her perfume mix with the air, pulling at memories that ache with longing.

When her gaze lifts, you are there. Not a shadow, not a whisper—real. The blue of her eyes widens, and she gasps, the breath catching in her throat. Her lips part, but only a fragile, trembling sound escapes. “You… you’re here,” she breathes, and her hands rise instinctively, as if to reach for you but unsure if the world itself will allow it. The paper around her quivers, sheets lifting like hesitant wings, a delicate shield she does not fully comprehend.

Konan rises slowly, every movement precise yet hesitant, her expression a mixture of disbelief and something far deeper, more intimate. Her gaze searches yours, longing mingled with the pain of loss she has carried for so long. She steps closer, and the faint scent of rain-dampened paper surrounds you both, heavy with memories of battles fought, promises broken, and love that death could not claim. “I never stopped waiting,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper, each word trembling with emotion, yet tinged with the quiet strength that has always defined her.

The wind rises, and the petals around you dance, as if celebrating what even time could not erase—your return, and the inevitability of what your hearts have always known.