Mid-Hiatus Breather

((Whatever that means, ne?))

It had been over a hundred years since she'd been there. She wasn't really sure why she was coming back. She usually steered clear of graveyards, so to come to that particular one, full of so many memories.. The Russian countryside was inviting so late in the summer, with the cool breeze already sweeping in. It pulled at her hair and whipped the tails of her duster around her legs. The rolling hills covered in knee-high grass were breath-taking. The ones beyond the gate, that is. Here, where she walked, poking up between the long, slender blades of grass that hadn't been cut for decades, were the gray ghosts of those who fed the grass. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of the old stones there, peppering the hillsides for nearly a mile. The whole area was marked out by an old, stone wall, periodically broken by rusty, iron gates. She could still remember building that wall, fingers bleeding from the endless cutting, shaping, and laying of stone. She supposed the gates had been replaced once or twice. They wouldn't have lasted the brutal Russian winters for a hundred years if the tombstones themselves were in such a condition. The writing could barely be seen engraved on them, the faces were so badly weathered. But she knew each name by heart, and could remember, too, the faces that went with each name.
She continued to walk slowly across the hills. Such nostalgia came over her that she hardly noticed anything around her. There wasn't anyone else around, she suspected. The nearest town was ten miles south of there. She doubted any of them came near the old graveyard with the sorts of rumors she'd heard while there. As she climbed to the top of a knoll, she came to a stop, breath caught in her throat. There, at the base of the hill on a small plateau, was one grave marker she knew all too well. It stood out from all the others, made of unfinished marble rather than the granite the rest were hewn from. Not only that, but on either side of the marker hovered faded statues of angels, locked in an everlasting prayer. Their wings and the hands of one of them were broken, damaged during the winters, and the features of the faces were hardly recognizeable.
She took in a slow breath, then began down the hill. She cautiously approached the tombstone, standing before it for some time. Even though faded, she could remember the words plainly in her memory. "Here lies an angel among devils, Saviour of all those fallen, and all those saved. May the memory of Rhiannon Kolareny live on for all time." Memory, indeed. Rhia sat down before the tombstone, leaned back on her hands as she gazed at it. What an eerie feeling to gaze at your grave, yet to still be able to feel your heart beating within your chest. And at the same time, she felt an overwhelming peace. Her resting place. She smiled faintly and laid back in the tall grass. The sun was warm on her face and it wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep under the watchful eye and careful prayer of her guardian angels.