Chapter Three
Sleep.
It was something unnatural to Pitch, it was simply something that he never did. He had no need to, or rather he simply didn't want to, sleep took up time. Time that could be used for plotting and planning domination, perfecting his beautiful nightmares, defeating the guardians and how to escape this blasted sealed palace.
Yes, he was the King of Nightmares. Yes, it was his duty (in his eyes anyway) to petrify mortals in fear by infecting their precious dreams with a single touch, among other things.
No, he did not sleep.
Lately, ever since his defeat by the Guardians, he would feel fatigue and sheer exhaustion. His razor sharp mind would grow weary, his eyelids feeling as if stones were placed in them, his once fluid and swift movements were sluggish, as if he was swimming in molasses.
It sickened him, to feel this weak and human.
He told himself that sleep would only be a means of killing time as there was nothing to do while he was sealed away. He told himself that he could not plan his escape and revenge on the Guardians and his old friend if he wasn't able to focus on something in this exhausted state.
"Sleep, my love. I'll be here to protect you," whispered nobody. Nobody tangible, nobody that anyone or anything could see. Nobody but Pitch could hear and understand.
Pitch shivered at the thought of the darkness whispering sweet words to him, sweet words that he longed to hear from someone else. It was comforting, in a twisted way, that the one thing would no longer find solace in telling him that it would protect him. This must have been what Jack Frost had felt when the children who at first could not see nor believed in him swore to protect him and the other Guardians.
Regardless, sleep would be the best idea. It would refresh his brilliant mind and body, it would kill time, it would save him from the fear. Just for a little while.
"Sleep," He murmured, finally succumbing to the act and his eyelids fluttering to a close.
End Chapter Three