"I could corrupt you

In a heartbeat

You think you're so special

Think you're so sweet

What are you trying?

Don't even tempt me

Soon you'll be crying

And wishing you'd dreamt me." Depeche Mode, Corrupt

In the centuries that had passed since the dark ages, humanity had entered what they considered an 'era of enlightenment'. Anything outside the scope of their comprehension was treated as non existent. People no longer believed in things beyond their senses, casting the spirits around them into the realm of superstition and myth. The older these mortals became, the more they would associate the fantastical with the fictional. True, unwavering belief was rare.

Except among the children. The older generation would pass on stories of the spirits they had once believed in to their offspring. Their impressionable minds took every word as fact and the spirits became their reality. Of course they would start to doubt the faith they once held in fairytales as they grew up, much like their parents had before them. However, they were always willing to encourage belief in those younger than them and continue the cycle. Something about preserving an innocence that they regret loosing themselves. It was a fascinating aspect of the human culture.

It was through the children of the world that the Guardians continued to flourish and thrive, meanwhile Pitch languished in the shadows.

Unless as a threat of disobedience, or a rumour used by older siblings to terrorized the younger ones, the belief in monsters and the king of nightmares was discouraged. The children would be constantly reassured by gentle and humouring smiles and a firm declaration: 'there is no such thing as the boogeyman'.

Pitch despised those words more than anything he had ever heard. The flippant erasure of his existence used as a way for parents to placate children so they wouldn't have to endure the tears and screams. He wished they believed in him, for only a moment, just so he could strangle them after they uttered those words.

Though the belief in monsters and living nightmares was repressed greatly, in certain areas the fear was so thick that it didn't matter. Areas where wealth was scarce and starvation was plentiful, and Pitch could remain there for days while feeding off the terror. The state of desolation that these people lived in was easy for him to manipulate; a simple flicker in the shadows at night could pry the most delicious cries from the children. If it weren't for the Guardians hunting him down and chasing him out whenever he settled, paired with his own desire to spread his fear to all corners of the world, Pitch would have stayed in such places indefinitely.

Arendelle was not such a place. A peaceful self sustaining little country, where the citizens enjoyed a life of relative contentment with little unease or struggles. The kingdom didn't breed the terror he craved, so he rarely would have found an occasion to travel there.

The only reason he came there now was due to a rumour. A rumour that may prove fruitless, but alas his curiosity and aching need to acquire more power pushed past his common sense.

Pitch stood to the side, hidden by long shadows of dusk, observing the young princess in her room. He had been watching her with a dwindling interest for an hour or so. Though he could sense anxiousness within her, some vague fear lingering in the background of her consciousness. She was afraid of herself, of a possible mistake she could make and the consequences that would follow. Her fear was constant, but it was only slight and certainly not enough to sustain him.

He had considered abandoning this endeavour when his investigation had turned up no results after the hour passed. Pitch scowled bitterly at the flaxen haired girl who sat stiffly at her desk, writing notes while reading from a thick volume. Not only did she show no signs of her supposed abilities, but she hadn't even turned slightly or acknowledged his presence since he had arrived. He doubted this spoiled child believed in him at all, and the thought made him gnash his teeth in frustration. He had never wasted this much time on such a useless girl.

Just as he was sinking into the darkness, preparing to depart and avoid this frustrating place, something incredible happened.

The child had been struggling to separate two pages that were stuck together, and in an attempt to turn to the desired page she removed her blue satin glove. A pale and trembling hand grasped the corner of the page as the princess quietly whispered a strange mantra to herself over and over.

"Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel."

Despite her attempts to suppress her emotions and maintain whatever barrier kept her powers contained, spiderwebs of ice erupted from her fingertips. Nearly the entire book was frosted over when she sharply pulled her hand away. Even Pitch could feel the temperature of the room drop, and when he glanced upwards he found a light dusting of snow falling from thin air. A predatory grin crossed his features as he stared at the child before him, desperately trying to shove her glove back on while repeating her little words like they formed a broken prayer.

He heartily drank in her terror as if he were a man dying of thirst. She was absolutely horrified by her own power, while Pitch was rather impressed. The winter magic she possessed seemed to manifest through her heightened emotions, her fear especially. Her uneven breathing and quickening heart rate contributed to the spreading of her ice across her desk and the heaviness of the snow.

"How interesting," he mused, stepping towards the child as the last few tendrils of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon. "It seems for once the rumours proved true. But you don't seem to have much control, little princess."

The child shivered as the glove was once again engulfing her hand, and seemingly containing her magic. The ice crackled with the potential to crawl further, but stayed stagnant as her fingers were covered. The snow became lighter, dispersing as her breathing became deep and controlled.

"Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel."

She continued whispering this to herself as she flexed her fingers and took a step away from her desk. The temperature rose as the snow disappeared, and Pitch watched with lingering disappointment as her ice began to slowly recede.

The princess showed no sign of seeing him, and even as he loomed over her shoulder, she didn't have the slightest inclination of his essence. He glowered at her as she eased herself into a state of peace.

A child like her had neither the time nor the perception to believe in monsters or boogeymen. The only monster within her mind was herself.

It was a shame. Pitch could have taught her to discipline herself, reign her powers in until they were truly her own. It was aggravating, to imagine the things he could do with this child under his control. Someone who was so entrenched in their own fear, a terror they could not hope to escape from, would be malleable clay in his meticulous hands. He could show her the true meaning of being a monster, and he would have her take pride in it. Testing the extent of her power would be fascinating, and perhaps she would be strong enough to destroy the Guardians, have them freeze to death within the winter she creates. A vicious smirk graced his lips at the thought.

However, this girl didn't even believe in him. She glanced over him as if he weren't even there, her arm brushing straight through him as she walked towards her bookshelf. A strange numbness shuddered through his body, shaking him like a cold current in his bloodstream. The colour of the room seemed to grow dull as a frightful breath hitched in his chest. But then the moment passed, and Pitch regained the sensation that he was whole, that he wouldn't fade into nothing.

Pitch straightened his back and fixed a glare on the princess, staring her down with all the hatred he possessed. It was a pity she couldn't see him; if she could she would have been struck with horror.

He left the room after that, livid beyond all reason and overcome with the desire to make someone miserable. The boogeyman wished to tear apart the complacent atmosphere of this little kingdom, to destroy the false sense of security the citizens built around themselves. And he decided to start with the youngest princess.

The eldest girl, no more than eight years old, was a rarity if he ever saw one. Humans with magical abilities weren't unheard of, but in most cases the magic within them was more of an untapped potential, lying dormant without the right provocation. This girl seemed to be bursting at the seems with her own power, and every piece that slipped away from her caused her incredible distress.

In contrast the younger princess, a child of only five or so, was painfully ordinary. Pitch hadn't even known of her existence until he heard her insistently knocking on her sister's door. She was turned away almost immediately, and if Pitch had cared enough he might have been curious about the oldest child's cold response.

The Boogeyman had entered the younger girl's chamber with animosity gnawing at his core, ready to be especially cruel and rip a blood curdling scream from that tiny throat. The room was absolutely drenched in blackness due to the red velvet curtains completely covering the window. In such darkness, a normal man would have been unable to even see the little girl curled up in the mass expanse of her bed. Upon transporting himself into the room through the shadows, Pitch immediately noticed the fear that gushed from the child as blood gushes from a wound. He felt it soak into his skin, racing through him like adrenaline and rejuvenating him with new life. He breathed in deeply, greedily taking in all the sweet intoxicating terror that she offered him, and he nearly released a laugh when he sensed the source of her fear.

Her mind was plagued with images of sharp teeth and long black talons as she attempted to sleep. One name rang clearly through her thoughts. The Busemann. One of the many alternative titles he had acquired within his lifetime, and the fact that this was the thought that had her tossing and turning so restlessly made him grin with total abandon. This child was afraid of him, she believed in him, and it made him swell with pride to imagine it.

When the princess caught sight of him, looking directly at him with eyes filled with fear, Pitch nearly shook from the euphoria. He was being seen for the very first time in decades.

He continued to grin maliciously, as the child stared back at him, growing more panicked with each step he took towards her. The nourishment he received from the girl's fear was enough to satisfy his carnal hunger, but he pushed onward anyway. In that moment she was scared of him and only him, and the feeling was too addicting for him to relent now.

He had expected her to cower beneath her sheets and tremble when his shadow finally fell upon her. He had expected her to scream and fuel his strength with her desperate cries. He had not expected her to throw a vase at him with the ferocity of a warrior launching a spear.

The urn ended up shattering about a meter away from him, but the fact that she had the gall to throw it in his direction at all wiped the smile from his face. He might have been enraged by the disrespect had he not been amused by her failed attempt at self defence and impressed by her boldness.

He transversed with the aide of the darkness to the space beside her bed. He watched with a smirk and his hands gracefully clasped behind his back as the girl stared at the space where he once stood in trepidation.

"You missed," he stated simply, revelling in the way she jumped at the sound of his voice and released a shriek.

She immediately bolted from the room, desperately crying for her parents. Pitch watched in silent interest under the cover of the shadows as the royal guards diligently searched the room, though he wouldn't have allowed them to find him even if they had believed in him. Only a few minutes after they departed empty handed, the queen entered with the little princess in their arms. Pitch could only roll his eyes at the woman's attempt to calm her child's nerves with empty words of comfort and assurance.

The queen left her daughter alone when the child was finally lulled to sleep, oblivious to his presence even as he stepped from the shadows and towards the large bed. The princess's breathing was steady and she no longer radiated the terror he craved as she had drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.

Pitch took a moment to look her over, observing her delicate and tiny form within the sea of sheets. How easy it would be to break something so small. He could easily eradicate that false state of peace she entrapped herself within, torment her with his shadows and illusions until she was driven to madness. Though, he stayed his hand. He couldn't rush this and drag everything out of her too soon, leaving only a husk behind. It was best to prolong her suffering and bask in the thrill of finally encountering a child that truly believed in him. He would like to keep her around for awhile, and see if she would perhaps surprise him once more.

He disappeared into the darkness with a wicked smile and the intention of returning the following night. At the time, Pitch had not anticipated just how different and fascinating this girl would prove herself to be.

Upon arriving in her room once more, he was stunned to find the same frightened little girl now wearing a helmet that was much too large for her and a look of fierce determination on her face. Within her petite hands she grasped the hilt of a long sword, though she could barely lift it from her bed. The gathering of lit candles she had on her bedside table created a blinding source of light, and the sight of it made him wince.

Pitch had enjoyed taunting her, even as she showed more bravery than expected, savouring her crestfallen expression when her absurd and laughable plans to scare him off were soundly demolished. She tried to declare that the light of the candles would some how frighten him and save her from his wrath. The idea that he would be cowed by a mere candle made him want to scoff.

Pitch swept towards her and brought his face inches from her own. "Do I look afraid?" he asked with a vicious snarl at his lips.

He grinned with vicious intent, happily soaking in the fear that now radiated from her skin. Then she surprised him again when she looked straight into his eyes, her expression of horror melting away as she seemed to fall into a trance.

There was tinge of intrigue buried beneath his shock when he beheld the bewitchment in her ocean blue eyes. The way she stared at him as if he were the sun had Pitch debating on the sanity of this little girl. That had to be one of the most bizarre reactions he had ever received.

He departed once more when her father along with a handful of guards invaded the room, straying long enough to find how startled she was by the fact that only she could see him.

The third time he came to her room was by far the most eventful. In the beginning, her horror had been palpable, and he fed on it without reserve, doing all in his power to pull more from within her. Though before his hunger was even close to sated, her fear shifted to righteous indignation, and then to genuine curiosity.

Irritation ticked at his mind, causing his lip to curl in distaste. He realized too late that she may be becoming too familiar with him when she dipped into a dainty curtsy and introduced herself as if she were at a ball.

"I'm Princess Anna of Arendelle," she said in a voice that was so sickly sweet that Pitch nearly cringed.

Their exchange continued as Pitch became increasingly annoyed by her brazen attitude and her childish attempts to befriend him. He once again used the shadows as a means to intimidate her and place the fear of him back in her heart. He was pleased with the way she flinched when he threatened to eat her skin, an outcome she was unusually afraid of for reasons unknown to him.

Then, out of nowhere, she made the assumption that his threats were empty, that she had no reason to fear him.

Did this little brat think of him as some weak hearted noble she could charm or shame into obeying her? His anger flared within him like a roaring fire being stoked by a particularly pesky stick. Hot pulsing rage raced through his veins and pushed him to use all his energy to put her back in her place, rightfully terrified of him and only him.

He used the shadows to restrain her as they wrapped around her ankles like tentacles and manipulated the darkness to blind her. Pitch could sense her fear coming alive once more, though she put in a good effort to suppress it. Her heart fluttered like the winds of a hummingbird, but to his surprise she managed to even her breathing and stand her ground. Anna stared up at him with a look that was far too serious for her youthful face, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Do I look afraid?" she asked in response to his previous taunt, echoing his words from the night before.

Pitch was frozen in place, quietly astonished by the wild blaze lighting up her eyes in a way that was almost unnatural. This little girl had more nerve than most of the Guardians on a good day.

With that thought, Pitch couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from deep within his chest. He knew he should have been furious at her stubborn insolence, but he found his anger being overtaken by his mirth. The fact that this princess of five years old thought of herself as a challenge to him was one of the most hysterical things he had experienced in the last century.

Anna had no magic like her sister, and she had no means to even hurt him nor protect herself from him. What threat could she possibly pose to the king of nightmares? He would admit she was a bit more resilient to his tactics than he expected, but no one was without fear and the boogeyman would find hers, as he always did. He would find the best way to smash through her bravado, to snuff out that flare within her and reduce her to a trembling frightful wreck.

It would be dangerous to linger around this kingdom for much longer and risk alerting the Guardians of his presence there. It was perilous enough being so close to the north, in a place where tendrils of golden sand seemed to extend to every house.

However, Pitch promised himself and the young princess that he would meet her again. Before she had merely been an outlet for his fury, and then she had been a great source of nourishment when he discovered her belief in him. Now, with her direct challenge to him, it was a matter of pride.

Besides, it was in his best interest to return to Arendelle once in a while and keep an eye on the unstable future queen. Her power would overwhelm and destroy her someday, Pitch could see that from her very fragile attempt at suppression and containment. She was a porcelain doll, just waiting for the slightest nudge so she would fall and shatter. And when she finally broke, an explosion of terror would soon follow. Perhaps she would infect her entire kingdom with her curse, plunging them into an endless winter until they all perished in snow and ice. Pitch would like to be there when it happened, and feed on the fear of the citizens along with their hatred when they chose to hunt the ice witch down.

In the mean time, the youngest princess had been entertaining enough to serve as a distraction. He was looking forward to measuring the extent of her fearlessness and then watching her pretension of bravery crumble like ancient tomb stones. He could feel the dark anticipation humming beneath his skin as a wolfish grin stretched at his lips; tormenting Princess Anna would be amusing if nothing else.