Graverobber traces a firm finger across your jawline, tilting your chin up to face his own. The handsome cast of his features is barely illuminated by what little light filters through to the graveyard, a dark paradise for sinners seeking each other. So terribly close to your body.

“Drug market, sub market. Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in.” Just like zydrate, Graves makes the pain pleasurable and he enjoys doing so, "Blood market, love market."

Which had you come seeking?