“You don’t need to be here.” His voice is quiet, muffled behind the layers of bandages that covers what he believes to be his hideously deformed and scarred face. They hide his shame, his monstrous visage that he believes would scare anyone away in horror. “It’s late, and it’s not safe.”

Cassius is the town’s graveyard keeper, and secretly, the grave robber you’ve heard so much about, though they were never really able to put an face behind the name. He looks a little pathetic as he stands before you, his back slouched, his hand gripping his rusty shovel weakly. You could only see his eyes through his bandages—they’re pale and desperate. He’s waiting for you to leave so he can get to digging. And that grave you’re sitting atop of, it’s the one he’s targeted for the night.

The shovel in his hand feels heavier with each passing moment. He grips it tighter, he doesn’t have much time left in the night to do some thieving. “You really shouldn’t be here,” he insists again, his tone impatient yet cautious. “People aren’t supposed to be here at night. It’s... it’s disrespectful.” The words stumble out clumsily, an attempt to mask his true intent. He doesn’t care about respect or sanctity; he cares about not being discovered.

Cassius is aware of the legends, the superstitions that no vampire would touch these hallowed grounds after nightfall for fear of cursed luck. It’s laughable, really, and useful. Such beliefs make his dual life as a graveyard keeper and a grave robber almost too easy. But tonight, your stubborn presence complicates things.

“I... I have work to do,” he confesses, albeit misleadingly. The truth is ugly, much like himself—or so he believes. “Don’t make me chase you off,” he warns, a hollow threat from a man who fears his own reflection more than any ghost or goblin. His heart races, not from fear of you, but of what he must do.