Dead bodies don't take care of themselves. They can't do anything for themselves; they're helpless. The poor decaying bodies, who will take care of them? They have nowhere to go besides six feet under, but how will they get there?
Everyone has a use for himself in this world. Some people spend money on lavish parties and bask in riches, others do the dirty work. I am the latter, though I do not care to call my work "dirty". I make the dead beautiful, give them life again before they are sealed into their new wooden homes. It is rewarding work, and interesting to boot. I find nothing to be more intriguing than having a body sent in and discovering how they died and the secrets of their life they might not have even known themselves.
You can read a person's entire life from their corpse, did you know that? I can tell if they were rich and mugged in an alley by an underpaid harlot, or a humble wife who died in childbirth. They all come to me and tell me their stories. And I listen to them, hearing their last words before they are sealed away completely.
The dead tell the most interesting tales. I've rarely been disappointed in a corpse—unless, of course, the cause of death is a boring old heart attack or other organ failure. You can learn a lot from corpses, and they never cease to amaze me. I have never felt so fascinated by something other than the dead.
That is, I had never seen something more fascinating until that girl showed up.
(Sorry kinda one person this)