Little stars and galaxies sputter around you, the remains of Peckenpaugh's ruined prom night. The same sights are not reflected in the sky. Though the roof is gone, a thick, sickly green-gray blanket of swirling clouds hides the moon from sight, and that tree is still growing, reaching ever upward, because that's the only place it seems it can go.

Up here, it's a jungle, dense and dangerous. The floorboards creak and crack with each step. Vines writhe and foliage rustles and a creeping fear follows your every step. Get what you can from here and leave as soon as possible. The floor seems like it could give away at any moment, and even that feels less threatening than whatever lurks within the leaves.