Often, Jack woke up early. The room was dark, and he woke in absolute panic. He would franticly reach out for a light, any light. He hated the dark, It was his enemy. He would thrust his arms into the darkness, thrying to find the flash-light he put on his bedside table every night. It seemed to move in the darkness, avoiding his hands. When he finally found it, he would turn it on immediately, thoughts slowing and a healthy colour coming back to his face. He did his best thinking at night, and would often lie back, conversing with himself. On one particular night, he approached a question that had been bothering him.
Aren't villains supposed to love the dark? He thought, closing his eyes. Why don't I? I hate the dark! Perhaps not all villains have to love the darkness? He rolled onto his stomach, opining his eyes and staring at the flashlight.
I'm still evil, right? Yes, I am still evil. And so, Jack made a pact with himself. After some thinking, he decided something.
One more night of sleeping with it on.