Phantom Hollow a slab in the morgue

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He walked until he couldn't anymore, at which point Screech was hidden within yet another forest. The cold had dissipated with his activity but had not wholly left him, although he still felt numb and empty. The pain in his face had begun to creep back in as his shock wore off too, which was a strange sensation. The wounds upon his face itched and burned in equal measure, but that was almost a pleasant reprieve from the icy snowscape that had become his new home.

Home. The thought made his skin crawl, his chest ache, and there was a part of him that wanted to defy everything that dark girl had said - return to the caldera and beg forgiveness, promise to be better and to be good, as if that would make everything go back to the way it was before.

Screech sagged against the snowcapped roots of some ambiguous trees; their shadows sheltered him for now, welcomed him, urged him to sleep. Despite how worn out and wrecked his entire self was, Screech remained in a heightened state of stress: he was alert, and would not sleep for some time yet. Perhaps the shadows would come back and finish what they had started.