Most of my life, strange circumstance surrounded me. Shadows creeping in the corners of rooms, figures lurking just out of view, things being moved or hidden. There was no explanation for it that any of my family could think of. I can't say I was ever negatively impacted by any of it. It was just... strange.

I never really believed in ghosts, or any kind of an afterlife. I never worried about what would come, or what I would leave behind. I suppose I could have died at any time, completely regret-free.

Other ponies always found me to be strange. I guess they were right, in some ways. I lived my life alone, after I moved away from my family.

I found a nice little gig as the gravekeeper of a graveyard outside of a small town in the north-west. For such a lively town, it seemed there was not a care in the world, until their final ride to my domain.

Typically, there are no visitors here, save the rare pony that decides to visit a deceased relative. I don't mind when they visit, but I keep myself scarce.

Not because I am strange, but because I prefer to be alone. A self-imposed exhile, one could say.

I never went out of my way to meet the ponies that ventured into my graveyard, be they permanent residents, or merely guests.

Save... once.
He was a strange pony, possibly as strange as I. Something about him captivated me like no other pony ever had.

Every day for a week, I watched him from my small cottage. He smiled to himself as he skipped through the graveyard, not a care in the world. He stopped by the flowers and smelled them. He whistled to the birds and squirrels. He laid in the sun and basked all day.

He was happy. Or, any pony that looked at him would think so. Every day at sundown, he would trot back to the gate of the graveyard and look back, extremely saddened, and leave.

I don't think he was saddened by the graveyard, or all of those ponies sleeping eternally.

I think he was saddened by me.

On the eighth day, he was late, so I took the opportunity to venture out into the open and tend to the graves and the flowers. The sun rose high into the sky, and started its descent as I finished my chores. I almost thought he wouldn't come.

Until there was a tap on my shoulder.

Thinking back on it, I find it hilarious how loudly I screamed.

"What's a pretty young mare like yourself doing in such a bleak place?" He asked, a smile stretched across his face. It was a warm smile, like he knew me, or like he wanted to help me.

"I live here."

"In a way, we all do." In a way, he was right. We make our homes on this earth, and we live our lives as best we can. In the end, the grave becomes our home.

"No, I live in that cottage over there. I tend to this graveyard."

"You do? Well, I guess I'll have to visit more often." I thought he was weird. Charming and good looking, but still weird.

"You've been here from dawn til dusk every day this week. What do you mean 'more often?"

"I mean, I'll be here as often as I possibly can!"
At the time, I couldn't possibly understand what he meant by that. I didn't find out until a few days later that he had been sleeping in the gazebo at the far back end of the graveyard.

This strange, alluring stallion had taken to living in the graveyard. What brought him here in the first place, and what urged him to stay, I would not know for a very long time.

Time passed, and more and more visitors started frequenting the graveyard. Dozens of ponies I had never seen before, came and went. Some were only around for a little while, and some are still around to this very day. Like the stallion, I had never seen any of them prior to the days they first arrived.

It was strange. They were all strange. Yet... alluring.

I fell in love with that stallion. Richet was his name. Days... weeks... months... We were together for a very long time. He was mine, and I was his. He helped me clean the graveyard, and plant new flowers, and polish the gravestones. We made it a beautiful place again.

It attracted more and more ponies.

We were happy.

And that was a bad thing.
We sat on a hill, overlooking the graveyard. Friends came and went, but there were plenty of ponies still around. Plenty that had been there since a short while after Richet had first arrived.

"Richet," I said, as the sun started to dip over the horizon, and the sky set aflame.

"Topple," He responded, in a very teasing voice. There was sorrow, but I chose to ignore it. I wish I hadn't.

Deep down, I always knew. I always knew something was very strange about Richet, and the rest of our visitors. I knew why they were so alluring.

They made me happy. I made them happy.

"I'm sorry."

I pressed against him as he hugged me as tight as he possibly could. I tried not to cry. I didn't know why I felt the urge to.

"Sorry for what? All of the joy we shared? All of the moments of pure bliss? Everything we've done for your graveyard? Don't be sorry, dear. There's no time for that."

He knew. All along, he knew.

I know why he never told me.

That was their home, though some were unaware. Some... are still unaware.

It was his home.

It is our home.

"You've made me so happy, Richet."

"And you have filled my heart with so much joy."

I wish we could have spoken more.

His smile and his touch faded, though I knew I would see him again, some day.

A bright light flashed on my flank as tears fell from my cheeks.

My name is Topple.

And I can see the dead.