Look at that, I updated on schedule again! *Throw confetti*

Muse: Nicely done, now tell them the bad news.

Yes... that... well you guys should know that I am writing an actual book (several in fact, this one being the first book in a companion set: two books per companion set, three total companion sets) and it's almost finished! Since I want to finish the book on the semi-deadline that I have for it, I will be uploading a new chapter on this story every other week. Don't worry, you'll get a new chapter next week, but then the new schedule commences after that.

Muse: Soapbox time!

I am very sad, and disappointed, in the lack of reviews for this story. Come 'on readers, I know you reacted to this story and I want to know what your reactions were (flames are frowned upon). Last I checked, I am not psychic and thus do not know your thoughts. I mean, really? How hard is it to click the review button and leave a little message?

Muse: Now that that's over, enjoy the latest chapter of the Escapades of a Writer and the King of Nightmares!

Escapades of a Writer and the King of Nightmares

Chapter 4: Confrontation At Last

It hadn't taken Pitch Black very long to discover the whereabouts of FateMagician. It did, however, take personal experience to discover the protective wards that surrounded the apartment.

So, this writer is a mage too? He thought as he rubbed his slightly cut bicep, the most recent injury from his most recent attempt to get inside the apartment. Pitch glared at the door and its surrounding shadows that seemed to mock him. They weren't going to be of help, and he wasn't used to the shadows not doing as he commanded. He decided to inspect the runes again, watching their silver color fade in and out.

Pitch was familiar with magic, though he never used it with the exception of the Binding Spell, but he hadn't used it for centuries, not since the Guardian's created charms that protected them from it. He snarled slightly at the thought of the Guardians, which was interrupted by light footsteps coming down the hall accompanied by the whistling of what he believed to be 'Misty Mountains'.

He quickly concealed himself in the shadows, and in time too as a young woman of average height, ragged dark-brown hair and grey eyes rimmed by black glasses turned the corner. She was wearing skinny jeans, knee-high brown boots, a red, brown, orange, and black flannel, and a black fur-lined hooded vest.

The young woman stopped at the door that he had not too long ago glared at, then took off over her shoulder a black satchel. Her right hand quickly pulled out a lanyard with selected a gold key, which she then inserted into keyhole of the warded door. The runes deactivated and she opened the door.

Pitch seized the opportunity and was a small shadow as he slipped inside before she closed the door. Once closed, the runes reactivated and Pitch was safely inside. He smirked at his victory before beginning his exploration of the apartment. It was nice, plenty of open concept and dark woods. The kitchen was just behind the main living area, elevated at least a foot higher, and then there was a hallway off to the left side that led to two doors on each side.

Overall, the entire space had been designed and furnished so it had the very comfortable feeling of being at home. So much so, that Pitch was nearly overwhelmed by the sensation after those observations. He then clenched his right hand into a fist and shook his head roughly, determined to see his anger vented out on the writer.

The said writer had now made it to the first door on the left, leaving it opened after she had entered. Pitch followed her inside, able to make note that every wall surface was a bookshelf before the door slammed shut behind him and silver runes spun around him.

"I knew you were coming Pitch Black, you never had the element of surprise."

His eyes shifted away from the runes and focused on the writer who spoke, replying with a hint of arrogance, "If you knew I was coming, why was I able to get inside so easily?"

The writer's sterling-grey eyes narrowed a little as she scoffed lightly, "I let you in my home Nightmare King." She gestured to his burns marks on his hands and forearms. "My runes only rarely fail me, and that's usually because someone with a lot more power than I has messed with them. You don't have that much magic."

The beginnings of a snarl formed on his lips, but it died away and she snapped her fingers and the runes around him faded away. "What-What are doing?"

"I have no personal quarrel against you, so, I have no reason to keep you bound there. Besides," She allowed a small smirk on her features. "Those runes would have become very uncomfortable in ten minutes."

He could tell she wasn't lying, and that she wasn't telling the whole truth. Momentarily forgetting his anger about the story he asked, "How did you know that I was coming?"

"Because of the one-shot I wrote. I knew that it would get your attention and, in your anger, you would come after me at some point. My place is always protected anyway, so it wasn't too hard for me to add a trap or two."

She brushed past him and walked down the hallway, leaving Pitch in a state of confusion and with the lingering question of why she did it, why she wrote that story. His keen intuition told him that it certainly wasn't done on a whim. He followed her into the main living area, finding her sunk into what could only be called a 'grandpa chair' and reading a rather nicely bound copy of The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon by Washington Irving.

Pitch could respect that she read classic literature in her free time.

After another minute of silence, she said, "I'm going to guess that you already know my name, so just call me Fate." Pitch cocked his head slightly.

"Why 'Fate'?"

"Because 'FateMagician' is a bit of a mouthful apparently…" She grumbled. Pitch shifted in the shadows of the hallway, crossing his arms and then leaned against the wall that allowed Fate to remain in his line of sight. His eyes held suspicion as he asked, "Why did you write that story with my personal memories?"

Fate went noticeably still, eyes still on the pages of the open book in her hands. Pitch narrowed his eyes as he waited for her to answer. Silence, and then a soft sigh escaped her lips.

"Because I owed a favor to our mutual acquaintance who resides in the moon a favor, and that was only a part of what he asked of me."

If Pitch's jaw could drop to the floor like in cartoons, it would have. He was numb with shock. Disbelieving thoughts ran through his mind. Why, why would he ask a writer to write and share such a story? What would he gain from doing such a thing? He detests me, as his beloved Guardians have proven time and time again. Those thoughts were then interrupted.

"Tsar Lunar also asked me to help you Pitch, though with what I only have a bit of vagueness to work with."

More shock was added to the current amount Pitch was feeling.

"But," Fate closed her book carefully and put it aside, focusing her grey eyes on him. "Even though I don't exactly know how to help you, it wouldn't mean a thing if you don't want it."

At that, Pitch sneered. "Why in all the universe would I ever want your help?"

Fate mocked-sneered him back. "Because you want something, and before you answer it is not a new Dark Age. That is not what you truly want."

Pitch lowered his head a little and his silvery-gold eyes shined with an intensity. "And what is it that I truly want, FateMagician?" Her sterling-grey eyes matched his intensity.

"I don't know what exactly happened, but it had something to do with what went down six-hundred years ago between you and the Guardians. Tsar Lunar asked me to help you in accordance to what happened. He hasn't told me, so I am to rely on you for the whole story. So," Fate crossed her right leg over her left, leaned back further into the chair, and then interlaced her fingers in front of her. Classic therapist position. "Mind telling me what happened six hundred years ago?"

"Nothing 'went down' as you so put it. It was so little of consequence that it is too trivial to even note."

"Then, if it is so trivial, why avoid telling me? I am here to help you Pitch Black, and I doubt anyone else will offer you that."

"I don't need your help!" Pitch nearly shouted it, and with a final glare he faded back fully into the shadows. Fate sighed and picked up her book again, reading from where she left off earlier. She could wait for him to gain an understanding of the situation, and more importantly of himself. Patience was, after all, the first thing Ombric ever taught her the importance of.

Muse: Now write a review and make my writer's week.

DreamWorks owns Rise of the Guardians, William Joyce owns Guardians of Childhood, my Muse owns me.