The location of your grandfather's tomb

For this city your grandfather's downfall was a day of celebration. Back then he was known as the "Wraith of the grey mist", the leader of a infamous cult dealing with everything dark and sinister. A veritable bogeyman, the kind of figure mothers used to scare their children. One virgin every fortnight, it was said, and the lucky ones would return alive.

Davon didn't have a clear memory of how the Wraith met his end. He did receive a body wrapped in a grey cloth, with specific instructions to bury him at one past midnight, and cover the grave with heavy stones. There were dire threats and pleas on his civic duty for him to follow the instructions carefully, but the young Davon though he already knew a dead body, and all this nonsense was just a bother.

At midnight, Davon had already dug the grave. You feel inebriation as the strong liquor he drank that night goes into your head. He was tired, exhausted, and excited. You feel the imaginary cool mist hardening your nipples, and your sex damp sensibly as you become fully submersed in the memory.

"Is he really dead?" Davon turned to see a nubile sweet thing, a fragile girl barely past her teens. "Dead as he gets" Davon answered with bravado, hitting the corpse with his spade "what are you doing here?" Davon tone was suspicious, and you cant help but share his lust towards the woman.

She made to escape, but he roughly grabbed her. Davon didn't remember his words, what he remembered was the contour of her milky neck as he unlaced the front of her dress. She had small perky breasts, and rosy small nipples. Her hair was perfumed, he didn't remember ever meeting another woman who had perfumed hair in all his life, and he loved yanking her back, forcing her to kiss him as his other hand mauled her body.

The cotton that dressed her felt good, and better as it served as a sheet for the two nocturnal lovers. As you delight in his memory, you mildly wonder if indeed the pliant touch of an innocent beauty can ignite such a flame. She moans loudly as you... Davon... left nail marks on her back, and you almost orgasm as an entirely different sensation takes over your mind. It takes a few moments to understand the flame burning deep in your pussy is actually his memory of penetrating her, the tightness around his cock, the wetness dripping along his shaft, stretching her limit again and again with each thrust.

Davon's mind is in bliss, but you have a clarity like never before. The girl... Carla... was a noblewoman that came to say goodbye to her lover. She cried even as she massaged her engorged clit, her words of forgiveness and sorrow. The grave, even if unmarked, you feel sure you can find it already.

Much later you feel Davon awakens, and with panic notices it must be just a little until dawn. Hurriedly, he throws the body in the grave, tosses some stones, and then cover everything with earth and dirt. You feel outrage, but also disquiet. This gravedigger failed to comply with simple, common wisdom... what sort of implications could it have?