Author's Note: I wrote this about a year ago and I decided to touch it up and post it. To make a long story short, Pitch Black created the Beldam much like the Man in the Moon created Jack Frost. Takes place shortly after the events in RotG, with a hearty dose of GoC thrown in. Pitch is getting awfully tired of his creations failing him."Beldam," A rich voice purred from beyond the door.
The world that the Beldam had created consisted only of the walls and ceiling of the room she was in. The floor had fallen away, with only a crooked spider's web preventing the room's contents from plunging into an empty white void.
The Beldam scrambled to her spindly needle legs, turning blindly towards the unexpected voice as a shadow stretched along the wall from the frame of the door, tall and thin. A man leaned out of the shadow, his cold silver-gold eyes half lidded as he gazed down at the pitiful thing crawling blindly in the center of her web.
"You! You came back for me!" The Beldam exclaimed, sounding teary with relief, scuttling up the web with alarming speed. Her spidery limbs spread out to embrace him only to fall on empty air. She caught herself on the wall, her head weaving to locate the Bogeyman who had retreated into his shadow and swept to the opposite side of the room.
Her eyes were gone, Pitch noted. Clawed out, if the faint scratches that scored her already broken face were any indication, and she was missing a hand as well. He wasn't the only one recovering from defeat, it seemed.
"I did not come here to play house," Pitch told her, his upper body reemerging from the shadows. "Where are they, Beldam?" The Beldam turned jerkily, the sharp points of her remaining hand scraping across the dilapidated wallpaper.
"Where are… who?" She asked haltingly, cocking her head to one side innocently as she gave him a fractured grin.
"Where are the children?" Pitch's eyes narrowed at the way the broken smile fell from her face. "You've had more than enough time to collect them," He said, sweeping the room in search of some small nook where she might have hidden them and finding nothing.
"I don't—" she began, and it sounded to Pitch as though she might dare lie. His expression darkened and he whirled on her suddenly.
"It's been one hundred and fifty years. You would have me believe that in all that time you couldn't spare a single child?"
"No, no, it's not that! I—"
"I gave you what you wanted. A home. And you promised to fill it," He interrupted. "One child is all that I ask for. Just one." His voice wavered with some barely contained emotion, and the Beldam's legs tapped nervously. Surely she hadn't eaten them all.
"I know, but—"
"Were you too caught up in your foolish little games to remember what you owed me? Who was it that gave you new life? Who was it that guided your hands as you wove your first web? I gave you power. I gave you purpose. I gave you a home. And you have given me nothing. Is one child really so much to ask for?"
"I had a child for you!" She insisted desperately, because of course she was desperate. Even a spirit as young and isolated as her knew better than to displease the Nightmare King. "A perfect little girl, but—" her face twisted with rage, "—she was an ungrateful brat! She left me! All alone …" The Beldam trailed off in dismay. Even blind, she could sense the bubbling rage that seethed beneath Pitch's skin.
"You've betrayed me," He said at last, something like a vice closing around his insides.
"No! I would never!" She cried hastily, crawling along the wall to reach him. He slipped away from her clutches like smoke, an impassive mask settling over his already stony expression.
"I asked for a child, a little boy or girl to make my own, and after all I've done for you, you couldn't even manage that," he hissed.
"It wasn't my fault! She ran away!" She protested, reaching for him helplessly.
"You've failed me. I trusted you, and you failed me." Pitch towered over her. He had enough strength, at least, for this.
"No, no, no! It wasn't my fault! Please, don't leave me here!" The fear that the Beldam felt now tasted bitter sweet. She feared that he would leave her trapped in her own web forever. As powerful as that fear was, it was not the fear that Pitch hungered for at that moment. He didn't want to leave her in eternal solitude. He wanted something a little more… horrific.
"Oh, I would never leave you."
It was a shame the Beldam had lost her eyes. She couldn't see the shadows that crept along her web, and so she had no way of knowing that they were slowly surrounding her. So when she slumped in relief, the last thing she expected was for the shadows to lunge and overwhelm her.
The world that the Beldam had created—that Pitch had helped her create—fell apart behind him as he emerged from underneath the door to the real world, brushing a bit of dust and cobweb from his robe with a frown.
So many years… and for what? It had been nothing but a waste of time and energy.
He tucked what was left of the Beldam into his pocket, paying little mind to the stray fearlings that retreated into his shadow while he walked, and turned to cast one last look at the ancient mansion behind him.
He remembered the Pink Palace in its prime. It had been magnificent back then, so full of possibilities and ripe with potential. It had aged well. Hardly a shingle out of place, and barely a chip in the paint. The current owner was doing a remarkable job of maintaining it. He was going to miss having an excuse to visit the place.
"Meow."
Pitch narrowed his eyes at the creature twining itself between his legs, scowling in disgust as it moved to sit directly in his path.
"You again. What are you doing here this time?" it asked coldly, lifting its paw to groom delicately.
"Just picking up the pieces of a failed investment," Pitch answered dully, stepping around the cat.
"You're taking that woman with you then?" it asked, walking beside him.
"Yes." Pitch smoothed the front of his robe, feeling the lump in his pocket under his fingers. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with her failure, would you?"
"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I'm sure you're just waiting for an excuse to kick me across the yard," the cat drawled.
"Who says I need an excuse?" Pitch asked, making as if to lunge at the cat. He smirked when it jumped skittishly out of kicking range, arching and spitting defensively. Pitch used the opportunity to walk ahead, still grinning. "Scaredy cat," he snickered.
"Hmph," the cat huffed, the tip of its tail flicking irritably as it sat back and glared as the Bogeyman disappeared into the shadows. "Good riddance."