Wirt awoke on the forest-floor, chilled to the bone and covered in the morning frost. He sat up, struggling to call to mind the night before. When he could, Wirt was overwhelmed with disgust and regret. He knew he couldn't trust the Beast, but Wirt needed the comfort that radiated in every word that the Beast purred. Although, what could he have expected? Some friendly, helping hand? The Beast is the embodiment of despair and death itself, not to be trusted no matter the circumstances… Yet, he somehow turns his disgusting self into something not only charming and desirable, but there's a comfort in his deep, foreboding voice. He lurks, waiting for when his victims are at their most vulnerable then he'll draw near, whispering poison until his prey is drunk on it, as if it is some numbing anesthetic to every undesirable feeling… As if he has enough mercy to dull the senses of his prey before making his kill.

Wirt soon jolted out of his daze, getting up and trying to dust off the dew before heading back to the shack he'd left Greg in. "Greg!" he called as he entered their temporary home. While his ghostly presence wasn't there, the lantern was there and well lit, which meant that Gregory was alright. Sometimes, Wirt had difficulty differentiating between what was real or not. His mind frequently became foggy and he'd become just barely aware of what was happening- especially when he was either with the Beast or doing his dirty deeds. "Greg," he called more softly, "Please, come out. I'm sorry for being out all night…"

"I was afraid you weren't going to come back…" replied Greg from the lantern's flame, his voice so quiet and frail one could hardly tell it were real itself.

"No, Greg, I would never," Wirt assured, walking toward the lantern, picking it up and cradling it in his lap as he sat in the old, wooden chair. "Did something happen while I was gone? Did anyone come in here?" he asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

A few moments of silence passed, but Wirt waited patiently. He may have become a monster to everyone else, but he wanted to remain as much of a good brother to Greg as much as possible. After those few minutes, Greg appeared on Wirt's lap. Even though it wasn't necessary to, Wirt didn't like being reminded of why Greg was so translucent, so he moved the lamp out of the way so he could see his precious little brother with as little obstacles as possible.

"No… Nothing happened… I was just lonely and worried about you…" he lied, avoiding Wirt's gaze. In truth, a townsperson had walked into their shed of a home and upon seeing the cursed, well-known lamp, had ran away screaming at the sight. "Why're you so dirty and beaten up?" He asked curiously, "Did the Beast…?" Gregory didn't have the heart to finish the question, so he left the rest to imagination.

"Hm? Oh, I hadn't realised anything," Wirt answered honestly, going to find a mirror. "Oh god," he gasped quietly in surprise. Not only did he notice that those branch-like anomalies had grown significantly from his head since he'd last checked, but under his eyes were deep blues and purples- the same blotches were apparently scattered throughout his body when he checked. On his back was a disturbing maroon pattern, similar to what you find on people where their blood has rested after death. "Well, I-I guess this is why you're not supposed to get lost in the woods…" he chuckled.