Phantom Hollow a slab in the morgue

Even if he had a - what? You're -- you're not even making any sense anymore! Who the fuck are you? For someone who was so high-and-mighty it seemed reasonable that this might be someone important, but from all he could discern (through the fog of his inferno-like anger) she was just a rogue who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; she was exactly like him except her face was still, regretably, intact.

She was getting too close - no, she was too close! Whatever had possessed her to vault through the dark forest seemed to have made her linger too long, and now she was in his face and shouting as if that would change anything. Couldn't she tell when she was wrong?! Evidently not; but the boy wasn't sure how to proceed. He was just as irascible in his current state. They were separate dumpster fires burning deep in to the night.

Y'know what, I don't actually care, he cut in whether she started to explain her pure-blood lineage, royal status, sainthood, or whatever the fuck delusion seasoned the bullshit falling from her mouth. Taking a cue from the girl, Screech lurched at her so they were almost nose-to-nose (luckily he didn't slam his face against her's due to a lack of depth perception), and cut in hastily: I hope you do run across Moonspear because then we can match; fuck, I'll go back there just to -- just to -- aw, crap, he was running out of steam.

The mere thought of going back set Screech's mind in to a deeper tizzy. He turned as if he'd heard something in the dark of the wood, as if mentioning Moonspear three times would summon the Cerberus to him to finish the job, but he was naturally looking in the direction of the caldera and suddenly everything was fresh in his mind again.

No more home.

No more siblings.

No more family.

Yeah, he'd lost it - fuck, he all but gasped, and fell back in to the snow as if she'd managed to backhand him into submission. I'm so fucked.