Pitch Black World
Cursed
Rated T - Partly because I'm paranoid and because it can have a dark interpretation.
Genre: Angst | Supernatural
When life lets you taste fears... stay away from them. Pitch learns this the hard way.
It teased him. Taunted him even.
He'd never even seen it coming.
The sharp burst of flavour, so smooth, so sweet, like molten chocolate. It played with his senses, mingled with his thoughts and feelings. A short sigh of ecstasy escaped his lips as he tasted his fears for the first time.
It had never been like this before. Not ever. What it once had been was a mere surge of power and nothing more. He never really focused on each individual fear. Not as hard as now.
Looming over the sleeping figure, with his hands clasped together as he took in that delicious sensation, he watched. Consuming her fear, savouring it. In all his years he hadn't thought his position as a spirit of fear was a worthwhile one. It had been dull. Nothing good had come out of it. Now the thrill of the hunt was truly there. Nagging at him, urging him from the corners of his mind.
He leaned in closer, hearing her whimper softly. Her fear too voiced itself; with a high-pitched trill. It seemed panicky now, shifting and squirming away from him, playing hard to get at.
Very well then...
With a flick of his fingers, he let her nightmares intensify, weaving them into a monstrous beast, one that haunted many a child's mind. He smirked to himself quietly as the girl gripped her duvet tighter, her fingers grasping tightly at the edges as if it may prevent her from screaming. It trapped her fears too, much to his annoyance.
'Not a chance, my dear,' he thought to himself, promising vengeance as he delved into her mind.
Finding himself in that dark, cold void, he began looking around.
'Now where shall I begin...' Pitch mused, swerving around. A light chocolate tang distracted him, wafting just under his nose, tempting him as it danced before him. He followed without much resistance, tracking the ribbon of unadulterated fear that slithered in mid-air, leading him on slowly.
He stopped, finding himself at the source. His eyes widened, senses alert.
This was not what he had hoped to find. What he had expected to find. Turning rancid, like spoiled milk, the new taste of the fear unsettled him, shifting his stomach.
He felt sick.
He felt disgusted.
He felt shocked.
The spell the fear had cast on him was gone, the siren's voice vanishing uncovering the horrid screech it truly held. This fear. So real. So true. The fear he beheld in his eyes, ears and in the pit of his stomach as if it had been its own.
It scared him.
Never, not ever had he felt his own fears so vividly. This girl's mind seemed like a mirror, reflecting that which he felt.
His eyes snapped open.
Finally, he was free. Finally, he was gone. It was a relief, a burden lifted.
Both the thrill and the disgust was gone now, as he found himself back in the girl's bedroom, still looming over her. He shook slightly at the memory of the previous experience.
If he could avoid it, he would keep away from this girl's fears.
No matter how addictive they might become. His duty was to scare her. Not to enjoy it. He knew now why.
When the Nightmare King enjoyed anything, it became a drug. The consequences leaving scars. He'd open his eyes to the reality, only to regret it. It packed a kick. It promised torment. That horrid cycle of feeling powerful and powerless, feeling elated and miserable. It would haunt him forever. Merely because he was the boogeyman. This was his curse.
A/N This was a little experiment. Now, it's on DreamWidth too... one of my friends posted it there. So don't be surprised if you come across it there too.
This prompt this was inspired by was - I think - A Taste of Fear.