She wasn't the only one seeking a connection. Because as Dao was devouring her with kisses, finger nails clawing at her clothes and teeth drinking up of her what he could-
There was an old woman, accompanied by her young grand son who appeared several years younger than Dao (assuming Dao was the actual age he looked..). She carried a ripe oil lit lamp in her old hands, and as she made her way through the crypt, her noises were graveled as they began to echo- closer and closer....
But his face was buried deep inside Gwen's freshly unbuttoned front, and his cold hands were hungry, moving, making just the slightest warmth from their friction- seemingly unaware completely anyone would be there- so deep in the dark in a crypt so late at night.
"Gods and demons," he moaned, working at his own clothes to be rid of them.