The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come leads their guest through a dark forest, stopping only when they arrive at a low, earthen hut. It's likely taller on the inside though, judging by the way a dug-out ramp leads to the doorway. The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come gestures toward the doorway -- or, more likely, the two twenty-somethings sitting outside of it. The female of the two lies on her side, half-curled, with her head resting on the thigh of the male. He sits upright, gloved hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie as he sneaks glances at the door.

"What," the female finally says. It doesn't really sound like a question, but the male answers as though it is:

"This feels weird. Kinda wrong." The female rolls over so she can look up at him, frown lines appearing between her eyebrows.

"That she's dead?"

"What he's doing to her body, I mean."