She felt him before she heard him, a presence so utterly significant because it was so vibrantly alive in a place of the dead. Even if he was dark, a shadow on the happiness of the world. He was perched there, like a crow, watching. Rowan's green eyes slid left, just over her shoulder, Seeing without really seeing the haze of energy around him. The pressure between her eyes throbbed and the girl looked away, lightly settling the last of her limited blooms on the nearest marker. Her fingers slid over the surface, brushing away the snow.
"Hello, Theodore," she said gently, turning at last to observe the Watcher. "You oughtn't be out in the cold today, you'll catch a sickness. That wouldn't do." She paid no mind to his particular limitations, as plenty of gentlemen walked with a cane. She approached him, a wraith of a girl herself, her shroud of dark hair blowing about her shoulders in whipping strands of sable.
She paused, looking right.
"They're angry today, I tried to make them happy."