[Author's Notes: This one takes place a bit after the last one. If you're at all confused about the events that took place between here and Chapter 6, please check the fifth chapter of TheeMaddHattter's story, Life Can Start Anew. Even if you aren't confused, you should go read her story. It's perfectly lovely. :)
Alright darlings. I hope you all enjoy this one. ^ ^ Leave a review, if it strikes your fancy.]
Pitch welcomed the darkness. He was a part of it and it was a part of him, as oxygen was a part of water. He didn't question the endless void as he walked through it; he felt at home. Nowhere, not even in his caverns, was there such pure black. It was comforting and terrifying all at the same time, and he heaved a sigh of relief. It was dark and quiet, and he was content.
An echo of sorts broke through the thick silence. A far off victory cry, the song of metal against metal, the deep thunder of hooves and war drums that shook beneath his ribcage. They faded in and out, and set the Nightmare King's blood on fire. It was a sick melody that both thrilled and angered him. He was the hunter and the hunted. The general and the swarm.
His pulse picked up at the thought. Both seemed accurate. Both seemed wrong. It was a legitimate war between him and himself, and he could do nothing to stop it. Through the abyss came a faint golden glow, like a sunrise over an unseen horizon. It promised peace and pain; harmony and prison. He wanted to see it and he wanted to destroy it.
He turned away, and sprinted into the receding darkness. He was afraid of what that light held, be it success or failure. He didn't want it. Something told him that he would grieve for either one, and he wasn't ready to suffer for the unknown. He didn't want the pain that came with the little girl, with the "Koz", with the stars, with the drums.
As the brightness dimmed and vanished, the Boogeyman slowed to a stop. All noise had ceased and he was safely lost again. No screams or drums or whispers or sea green eyes. No wild curls of ebon hair. No tiny hands clutching at his fingers.
A soft metallic clatter brought Pitch back to reality. A cool draft wafted in from the fracture in the ceiling, bringing in the faint scent of the autumn world above. He was sitting in one of the darkest corners of his home, curled in on himself. Dull palladium eyes shot about the surroundings, searching for the source of the noise. He saw nothing. He brought his feet under him, joints popping as he removed himself from the cramped position and stood.
Another crash against the stone brought his attention to the spot he had just vacated. There, gleaming against the dark surface, was a necklace. Apprehensively, he bent to pick it up, hand shaking slightly as he reached for the length of chain. He held the object up for observation, holding it out a foot in front of him, as if the worn golden pendant would sear his flesh were he to touch it. It was an ornate locket, by the looks of things, its design rubbed smooth in places from years of worry. It was his, he knew, but he dared not open it. He feared its contents and what they would undoubtedly bring; memories. Memories were not things he wish for. In fact, he wished to be rid of them. He didn't want the longing and pain that they brought.
Ashen lips twisted in a grimace and their owner shook his head woefully. As much as he wanted the siege in his mind to cease, there was something keeping him from throwing the locket; hurling it into the depths of the cave to be lost and forgotten.
He returned the jewelry to its home in the shadows of his robe, both hating and craving the sensation of the engravings against his bare skin, before vanishing into one of his many tunnels to brood.