Before the apocalypse, Graves loved you. He still loves you, now that you're a braindead zombie. Your sweet eyes still have a glint of life, he knows it.

He locked you up in a cellar under a cabin in the middle of the woods, feeding you, protecting you, loving you. You're all he needs.

"You hungry, sweetheart?" He grins as he enters the dull basement, tossing a severed limb your way. It's fucked, but he doesn't care. You're safe, he loves you, he hopes you still love him.