Kids get eaten. There's your warning, world.
I own nothing.
Shadows crowded the body of their fallen king, a perpetually loyal and fearless subject. Fearlings and nightmares were wary of him now after he'd crushed the insurgents within their ranks. So he spent the days breathing and seeing now, trying to forget the hunger which curled constantly in him.
He grew tired of waiting in his cavern, but a predator is patient. Even when he is wasting away, a predator must wait. Under the shadows, his gauntness was hidden well but this paltry diet of shame, mistrust and hate would not suffice. He could smell the unobtainable, the fear that waited solely for his belly. The heady scent of terror served only to remind him of how long since it'd last been. Pitch grew hungry.
Omnipresent and unending. Thus so is fear. Thus too is hunger.
Pitch swayed lightly on his throne, feet kicked up on what once was a deviant fearling. He knew then, as the scent of his prey grew closer, that he'd last no longer. Now was when he'd strike, while the prey moved in his territory. He gestured casually to Onyx. It would be over quickly.
Six nightmares burst free from their prison like a plague at his command. They chased the lost child through the silent forest and towards its center. Hooves crushing the snow as their master's prey became corralled at the cavern's entrance. The unholy glee in the nightmares' eyes only increased that intoxicating scent. The king would feast well tonight.
He was so starved that once the source of the fear entered the ground he had to fight the urge to sink his teeth into his prey. Patience, he told himself, for the power he gained would be doubled with patience.
Pitch rarely partook of flesh much less live flesh, as he could survive off of fear alone. Living tissue was messy, hard to come by and the patron was often unwilling. However, live food gave off far more fear than the dead, and provided extra nutrients with its consumption. Without the ability to gather fear on the scale he needed, flesh was his last resort. Needless to say, it would be a bad night for the child.
The tendrils of his shadows silenced and restrained the prey diligently while Pitch savored all of his meal slowly(in truth he rather wished to wolf everything down). Soft sighs escaped after every loud swallow, and he worked outward in, avoiding bony parts like fingers and toes. When finally he cracked open his prey, there existed no pity in his addled mind nor remorse as he levered organ after organ up to his mouth rapidly.
Mares of the hunt, posted all around like angels, watched the child pass silently in the night, and drank in its fear of death. Their king would be sated for the first time since his defeat. Thus Pitch devoured what remained, and made short work of bones and cartilage to fill himself. His nightmares would soon get their fill anyway.
The lights on Pitch's iron globe flickered to life behind him. They could taste the fear now.
Yet now as the Nightmare King sat on his throne, wiping his face of blood, he felt a rush of hunger.
"Surely there must be more?"
x~o~~O~~o~x
The scent of fresh snow remained completely forgotten.
An: Welp, hope you enjoyed. It snowed today, for the second time this year here and I just had to commemorate it. Reviews are always appreciated.