You know, when you've got nothing left in the world that had nothing to begin with, there really isn't much left, is there? I mean there are drug addicts and houses and ruined flesh in the streets, but nothing left to do or to look to for hope. The days are bleak, the nights are streaked with a glimmering shadow, and even the bugs who stalk the grounds aren't chipper enough to scuttle by your toes. Being in a bedroom for 17 years hadn't been so bad. But since the opera, it was unbearable. My father and godmother and every chance I had ever had of being someone worth something to had disappeared in one night. Last night. Not even an hour ago. What could I do? I ran for the alleyway nearest the building and collapsed into tears. Cascading, salty drops colliding with the cracked stone pavement they flitted; each one creating a tiny stain before disappearing into nothingness. There's the other thing I wouldn't get back besides my father's life. The tears suddenly mean another loss and hurt me even more. I have nothing now, no home, no family and most probably, no friends.

"Kid, is that you?" a deep voice caved in through my tears, but I couldn't bring myself to stop or look up; only have the repeating scene of my father's death replay again and again in my head. "Kid?" the voice called again. Before I know it, I feel the warmth of another's body holding mine entirely. I was being cradled and caressed gently. My mind was blank as the scents of death, sin and sex swelled up into my nostrils and registered no meaning as I was carried somewhere. My eyes were squeezed shut with tears and my hands were balled up into fists in my face. It was all over. Whoever this gentle person was, they were taking me somewhere. Maybe they would end my pain for me, end me. Yes, I could join my family. My family was all waiting for me. But I'm too scared and cowardly to end it just yet. I wanted to live, but not without company or a helping hand with this outside world. I'd lived in a bedroom for 17 years, and been poisoned by my now deceased father. All other family I had, had been wiped out in the same night.

"Just stay here for a minute. I'll be right back." The voice soothed again and I was set down on something rather soft, worn and lumpy from what I could feel and the scent of decay enflamed my nose, but yet again I say nothing and continue to weep these meaningless tears. The voice comes back and I am covered with a dank, thick material and once again am covered with the pressure of limbs lifting me into the cradle of another's arms. I'm nuzzled and hugged and my back is rubbed by a huge hand. I bring myself to open my eyes and find the white-ghost like face of the GraveRobber. His eyes are sympathetic blue and there's a hint of a frown across his lips. He had seated me in his lap, his arm wrapped around my knees and the other around my back. In need of physical contact, I threw my arms around his neck and resumed my sobbing against him, seeing a sympathetic smile replace where his usual Cheshire Cat grin would be. He is murmuring soft comforts in my ear with his husky dark voice and holding me against him. I didn't think he was capable of doing this for people. He ended the pains of others with drugs from the rotting corpses under stones, and when he did so he wasn't cheerful and sweet about it. He got the money, they got their drug and that was it. So why was he-?

A hand brought me up to his neck and I feel the drug dealer pull me into an embrace and lean me down to lie down on the soft, lumpy thing. My arms are uncurled from around his neck and I grab at myself disgustedly, wishing to tear myself apart and end the pains of loss eating away at me like maggots. The thick blanket he had put on me was then brought to cover me up, but he didn't leave my side. Instead, I felt him lie down on the mass beside me and then pulled me up against him so I could resume weeping there if I wished. He pulled my arms away from their battle and instead wraps his own arms under them in comfort. I never thought of him as the comforting type, but then again I hardly knew him anyway. I'd only met him a couple of times and he was peddling zydrate both times; extracting and dealing it. Zydrate took away pain…maybe he could take away mine. My crying slowed; I was running out of tears. Panicked gasping must be what GraveRobber heard, along with the pathetic sound of my dry crying. My father- no, I mustn't think of my father. That would make my heart ache more for those no longer with me. I try to focus on the warmth of Graverobber's sweet nothings being whispered in my ear and slip into subconscious bliss.