Notes: This is probably the last piece of Repo fanfiction I'll be writing for quite some time. It doesn't wrap anything up (not really); True to form it's rather open ended, actually.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and anyone else who will review after this chapter. You guys are and will always be the best.

Also, I apologise for the bad poetry.

-

She lurked in the darkness all pale and sweet,
Standing on dirt with layers of dead underneath.
Her eyes were bright and shone like the moon
As she stood there and smiled in front of the tomb.

With one simple movement the door opened wide,
Exposing rows of headstones stacked side by side.
Coffins dug into walls and named with dainty script
A screwdriver, a crowbar, and they'd be open real quick.

She read each name and each date while her partner made haste
To crack open each coffin with a kiss of steel and weight.
He dragged the wealthy corpses from their final peace
And laid them in rows down on the floor's marble sheet.

She takes a needle from her coat where it was hid,
Uncaps the vicious hollow point that makes the tip;
And slides it deep through brittle bone and skin
To suck up the blue glowing enzyme within.

Twenty-one years until it catches her cold,
Aches made when she was young, brittle and bold.
Immunity cheapened eventually blows away,
Leaves her in the dust. Curtains down. It ends today.

-

The cold marble that made up the inside of the tomb was covered in dust. It had been months since Shilo had set foot inside her mother's resting place but he can still see the faint outline of her footprints in the dust. The Graverobber stood beside the tomb, looking down at the bones within. This was her temple - Shilo's own form of ancestor worship. A family tomb.

It was only right that she lie there too.

He cleared away some of the dust, shifting yellowed photographs and the crumpled suit that she used to imagine was the remains of her father. The altar of her past laid out on the cracked marble of her mother's sarcophagus. He placed her stuffed rabbit beside the portrait of her mother and laid a single red tulip on the stone.

Shilo's body was smaller than he remembered, much more delicate. Her muscles were soft and pliant under her cold skin, rigor mortis had fled the day before and she had begun to smell. The Graverobber dressed her carefully in her best dress and coat. He slid thin cotton gloves onto her hands, smoothing the material over each finger. He used spirit gum to glue the wig in place, so it wouldn't come loose when he carried her. She looked pretty without it, but he had always liked the look of the long black hair framing her face.

He lay her down in the marble coffin beside her mother's bones and gently brushed a lock of hair from her face. The needle looked strange in his hand this time, and surreal when he pushed it through to her brain, careful not to damage her face.

The plunger drew back, filling the syringe with bright, clear liquid with a faint glow. The Graverobber smiled at her. "Here's to you, kid. It's been swell."

He placed the tiny glass vial in one of her gloved hands, tucked away where nobody would see it until the glow was strong enough to bleed through the cracks between her fingers. Nobody would be coming inside this tomb for a long time; Not until someone had the courage to take back the house itself.

The Graverobber knelt down in the dust beside the coffin. He withdrew a small orange bottle of pills from his coat pocket and swallowed as many as he could in one go. Only when his fingers began to feel numb did he take out the pistol.

"Nobody robs the Graverobber," he chuckled to himself.