Shilo

Kissing Shilo is… like drinking fresh water when you're parched. She's so pure, so natural and her lips, her lips, look like rose petals and they're just as soft.

It irritates me that I can't seem to get enough of those lips. They're just so foreign to me. I'm used to dealing with scalpel-sluts, the taste of plastic, cold, industrial. But she's so warm, and that's something else I find alien.

I once asked her what she wanted from me; I'm so accustomed to receiving lip-service – in every sense, I assure you – in exchange for Zydrate. My life-long saying is: nothing in life is without charge, nobody wants nothing for something, but she's just blasted that whole philosophy of mine out of the water. She sat in front of me looking perplexed, her little face bearing a frown, before answering, "Nothing. I don't want anything."

I'm kissing her again. All she needs do is look at me with those naïve brown eyes and I'm diving in to take her lips captive.

She's spoiled me for ever finding someone else. Every moment I spend with her, the more that this world seems brighter, the less I smell the stench of the dead, upon which this city is built. It's hard to believe that one girl – because that was she was, a girl – could change the Graverobber so much.