Your mind is meant to be yours, but something dark and terrible can always occupy it. You can always have nightmares.

Just planned as a one shot, might add to it with popular demand or if I feel like it, but I think it's quite good as is (though I would, I wrote it.)

Thanks all :)


And there was darkness.

She lay there, fighting off the chill and losing so terribly, her body succumbing to shivering violently, and her lips trembled as she tried to find the words. Any words. Just something to say, to spit out, to make her look less weak. In the strangest sense, it seemed almost ethereal, which she knew it wasn't. It was the complete opposite, and she could not have thought of a word to contrast so powerfully to what it actually was. But large blue eyes looked about the room she was in... the cavern of sorts, the bottom of a pit she could not climb up from, and she saw how light pooled in around the top, so brightly white and glistening in the most beautiful, unobtainable way, and how cold it looked.

Cold and dark. How well they went together.

Her lips felt oh, so very numb. She knew there were no words to say, nothing she could whisper in defiance of what had happened or shout to the shadows around her to fight them off. Her strength went from her a long time ago. He'd been very clever about it really, starving her to make her weak, hurting her to break her spirit, break her belief that she would be rescued. And then he'd come as a comforter, whisper apologies she knew were false and hold in her with such fake tenderness that it made her feel sick, but she couldn't refuse him at those moments, he wasn't hurting her now, and he'd slip her a sip of water and a piece of bread and she would pray for that moment again. He got her to the point where she would beg for those moments again, weeping and grovelling just like he wanted her to, because the pain was too much to bare, and she would rather do anything he wanted and be granted a moment to cuddle up to him, steal warmth and be rewarded with a little sustenance that be beaten again, have it forced from her. It was easier to give it away that have it stolen, and that was just what he wanted. The easier it was to get, the better, right?

She knew how it worked, knew his sick twisted mind in a way she'd never wanted to... but if you're held in a nightmare, in your own personal hell, then you get to know the person holding you there.

Especially if nightmares are where he resides... Oh, you get to know him like you know yourself.

Shifting slightly, she rolled from her back, where she felt too vulnerable, to her side. Curling into the foetal position, she held herself still, holding back sobs and chokes of anger and frustration, and stared at the wall opposite her. At least, she thought it was a wall... she didn't know where the walls started and the floor ended, and she was too weak to go and find out. It was just all dark, and that was all she knew, and she'd rather keep it that way than go and find out otherwise. Find out it was possibly far worse over there than it was where she lay. Or perhaps that's all she had to do. All she needed was to gather herself together and move, and then she'd be granted her freedom. But that seemed too easy, didn't it? She could be killed if she left this spot, he was that cruel a man, he might take joy from slitting her throat or pulling her so deep into the shadows nobody would hear her screaming any more, not that there would be any screams left to rip from her throat.

Blue eyes wandered, piercing the shadows, and then in a blink there were hundreds of golden eyes staring back at her, and she gulped slightly, but she knew what was coming, and she was ready for them this time. It was one cackle first, then another. They surrounded her, one by one, laughing at her and mocking her, calling her out and whispering such hateful things it would make her heart hurt. As they started she tried to reassure herself that it was all just nonsense, all just a bad dream and she knew it wasn't true, so it shouldn't bother her, but psychologically, it was damaging. This happened everyday. Every time she noticed the light and longed to be free, the darkness just seemed so much more intense, so much thicker and stronger and more cruel to her. It was worse than when he took her body from her, because this was taking her soul...

"No," she whispered, finally finding her voice. But it was so broken, so quiet, it only made them louder. The cackles redoubled, the jests became louder, and then the roaring started, and the snorts of wild animals that would kill her... That she hoped would kill her, because now after so long it seemed death was the only way out, the only kind end to this nightmare. She felt the tears slipping down her cheeks before she was aware she'd begun crying, her thin body shaking from the cold, the fear, and from her sobs. But this only spurred them on, which she knew. The fed themselves on her fear, and she couldn't do anything to stop that. She couldn't be brave any more. She couldn't stand up and fight them away with what little happiness she had had. There was none left in her to do it, and she felt her lips moving, mouthing the pleas for help she begged for everyday, mouthing her apologies and promising she'd be good.

'You can have anything... anything! Just please, please make it stop.'

Over and over and over.

Again and again.

The screams got louder, and louder and her ears hurt and her body trembled, and then after minutes she realised the voices were gone, the shrieks were ripping themselves from her throat, and her body twisted painfully, fighting away the beings that were no longer there. Screaming louder, longer, tears streaking down her pale cheeks, dripping onto her bare chest as she bolted upright, some force baring her upwards, holding her up, and she felt his warm hands, heard him shushing her, and she tried to push him away in his panic. His calm was what scared her most, the way he conducted himself. Only ever appeared when she was in such a state as she couldn't do much else, and she was trying to fight him away, trying to be strong for once. If she were strong, it would all stop. It had to stop.

"Hush now, please," he said quietly, and he screams died a little in her throat, and with each soothing word, each time he rocked her thin body in her long arms, as he cradled her, they died more and more, and her dignity died with them, and she huddled against him, sobbing, clinging to him, the only source of warmth there was, the only comforter in this dark place. She knew why he was here, and she would give him her body again if it meant the voices were gone for a few more hours, perhaps even another day if she were lucky. He would show her that affection she sorely longed for right now, would kiss her broken body and hold her.

"What are the screams for, my darling?" he asked quietly, his voice soothing, but it made her tremble in fear.

"The voices," she whispered hoarsely, blue eyes darting to the dark walls. He tutted and brushed her long brown hair back, placing a soft kiss upon her temple and shushing her.

"There are no voices, my darling, you're imagining them," he told her, and she shook her head in defiance, the rare time she ever did.

"They, they scream, and say hor- horrible things," she sobbed, her voice weak and her throat so sore it hurt to talk. "They're real," she pressed, and she heard him keep tutting, humming softly to quieten her and her sobs. Stop her grievances.

"They're only in your mind, my darling, there are no voices here, no monsters lurking in the dark," he whispered, and she seethed silently, tensing up in his arms as she did, so angry she wanted to burst, but she couldn't, she couldn't outwardly defy him, not again. The only monster here was him, and he had come into that small stream of light that had always illuminated her. Always told her where she could lay and could not. Always kept her in her place. It was a cruel mind trick he played on her, because light was meant to be freeing, was meant to be warm. This light kept her prisoner, kept her cold.

"You're just imagining it, my darling," he said softly, repeating himself over and over until she stopped shaking her head, until she was still in his arms, until she nodded in agreement, unsure of what to think for herself. He was always so sure... he could be right, couldn't he?

"There is nothing to fear, my darling, do you understand?" he asked, and she nodded slowly, unsure if he was right or not, and he sensed the uncertainty in her, sensed the fear.

"Repeat it," he hissed so suddenly it made her jump and her blue eyes darted from the wall where they'd been fixed for a long time to his face, to his golden eyes, and she nodded again, acknowledging the command.

"There is nothing to fear," she whispered slowly, and he nodded, smiling widely, his golden eyes growing brighter, and he praised her with a kiss.

"Good girl, now say it again," he said slowly, his lips awfully close to her ear, making her shiver slightly. She knew what was coming.

"There is nothing to fear," she whispered again, only quieter, her eyes shutting as she anticipated what would happen next. And as always he threw her from his lap, stood above her angrily, staring down. Of course she was wrong, there was always something to fear, and that was him. She should fear everything about him. Absolutely, undeniably, he was the essence of fear... she should have told him that before, but he'd have punished her for saying other than what he told her to say. Now she hadn't said it, he would still become angry. She was damned either way. Before he could become so irate she pushed herself to her knees before him, looking up at him with tears in her blue eyes, pleading with him silently, begging him not to hurt her, and then she spoke up, trying to redeem herself;

"Except you!" she cried, and his eyes narrowed at her, and he looked down with such contempt... but curiosity. "There is nothing to fear... but you."

She was stroking his ego now, she knew, but it was her only chance and she'd take it if she had to. She didn't want him to beat her again, she couldn't take it at this moment.

He looked at her with curious eyes, but the smirk was playing at his face, and then he stooped so his face was level with hers, smirk still in place and he chuckled slightly, bringing his hand up and wiping stray tears from her cheeks and caressing her face gently.

"You're learning now, how not to be punished... clever girl," he said smugly, and she broke eye contact, looking at the ground she sat on. He didn't like her looking away though, and pulled her chin back up forcefully so her eyes were looking into his. "Come now, don't be so shy. Such a beautiful girl... shame you're trapped in such an ugly nightmare... come here," he whispered, hissing through his teeth, and she had no choice but to let him scoop her up into his arms and hold her on his lap. She felt his hands wandering, across her chest and then down to her stomach, rubbing his thumb along her concave stomach that only showed how malnourished she was. Then he let his fingers trail lower, and she hissed and looked away.

"My darling, what's wrong? Are you defying me, now? Should I punish you instead?" he whis[ered, his voice terribly cruel. She shook her head, allowed him to carry on, tears streaming down her face as he went about his nightly ritual. And after a few moments, he made love to her... if she could call it that. She stayed quiet, looked away, let him do it because she'd grown tired of resisting him and being beaten because of it. She didn't care any more, why should she? The more she cared the harder this all seemed, and she was past giving a damn because that only ever seemed to get her into trouble with the man... the monster.

He'd taken her childhood from her, her innocence and wonder and it was the only thing she'd been really proud of, how she was able to see the magic in things. He'd stripped her bare of all of it. Her wonder, her innocence, her dignity, her pride... it all went with her virginity. At least theoretically so. He'd taken it all in one fell swoop, and he'd never let her forget, not in this lifetime. She was his favourite play thing, she always would be, she knew.

When he finished he left her, moved to the doorway and chuckled cruelly. She looked around at him, at his tall thin frame, at his golden eyes and cruel smile... how she hated Pitch Black... how she always found herself drowning in it though. The darkness around her was him, he had consumed her so... and he laughed cruelly, as if knowing her thoughts, and said;

"You can wake up now."

"Wake up..."

"Wake up."

"Wake up!"

And she started awake, crying out in panic as strong hands shook her, and she gasped in fright before her father pulled her into his arms. She trembled and cried, and he rocked her back and forth, not unlike Pitch had done, but his embrace was truly loving. His warmth made her know he cared, whereas Pitch's had been false. She was only safe in his arms, because he could chase the bad dreams away... she wasn't safe in her own mind. She wasn't safe in her sleep.

"Daddy," she whispered, clinging to him, holding onto him for dear life, and he cradled her like he had done when she was a child, like he had for years as she grew when she'd fallen and scraped her knee, or when she'd been tormented... those things hadn't mattered to her though, because she could get over them, escape them. There was no way for her to leave the confines of her own mind, to escape the prison Pitch had set up for her inside herself...

"Bad dream?" her father asked, and she nodded mutely, and he stemmed the river of tears with a small kiss to her cheek, took her to the kitchen and made her hot chocolate – the best she ever had was what he made for her, and he asked her what it was about, and she shrugged.

"Can't remember," she muttered, lying, brushing a strand of chocolate coloured hair from her eyes and looking down into her drink. "I just know it was bad."

"You're lying to me," he said gruffly, and she looked up sharply into his blue eyes just like hers, and after a pause she shook her head. She wasn't afraid to defy her father... he couldn't read her mind.

"No, it's just like the others... it's really bad when I'm there, but it doesn't matter, I'm awake now."

"Nothing will hurt you," he soothed, reaching across the kitchen table and taking her hand in his, smiling at her. "Not while I'm here."

She smiled back at him, squeezing his hand in return before she sipped her hot chocolate, and he chattered on about work, trying to take her mind off things. It didn't help much, but it was nice to listen to something that wasn't Pitch... nice for something kind and happy.

When she finished her drink, they pair of them stood to go back to their rooms, and she paused at her door along the hall, feeling awkward and tense, but she turned around anyway, called her dad back,

"Papa!" she shouted, and he stopped at his door, looking back at her with attentive eyes, "Do you... do you think you could ask Sandy to stop by, really quickly, to make sure I don't have bad dreams again?"

She'd never asked for him before, though her dad had often suggested it. She couldn't do it any more, she couldn't be Pitch's slave another night. Her father was beaming at her now, nodding enthusiastically.

"Of course, I call him now. You go rest, goodnight."

"Night papa," she whispered, going into her room and sighing, laying down on her bed and letting exhaustion tug at her eyes.

And with that, Sarah St. North closed her eyes, and within moments had the most blissful nights sleep she'd ever had in her nineteen years...