Black tossed and turned in her sleep again, still terrorized by her nightmares, searching around her for the comforting hands that areno longer wakes with a start as usuall, holding herself tightly, wrapped in a piece of burlap she found. One hundred years. She thought. One hundred years and Im still running. She has not once stayed in a single place for more than two nights. Dark circles surrounded her eyes. Shes afraid to sleep at all, and only tryes either when she feels bold enough to try and fight him, or when she collapes from exaustion. She turned to her side, finding herself alone in an ally way, the sun just rising above the horizon, paining the streets a blood red. One hundred years shes been alone, unable to even be seen anymore. No one feared the plague any longer, and though she could still feel Pitch, she could feel he was weaker, and beginning to fade away just as she has. It was funny though, though allthe nightmares, sleepless nights, constant fear he would one day catch her, the tihng she dreded most was that little connection to him. That faint string that tied one to the other, constantly reminding them that though miles apart they both still exist.

She could feel he was weak,and if he was close, and yet it also led him strait to her. It was both a defense, and a target on her back. But it wasnt the feeling of rage, or anger she felt flare from him every so often, usually directed at her, or the fact she could never stop him from usuing it to find her that she hated about it. It was the everpresent reminder that he existed. That they had connected, that once, long ago they would find comfort in each others arms, that once all they had was each other. After a hundred years, after the betrayal, after all the pain he put her though, she could not stop missing him. On the very rare occasion that she could dream, and not suffer any nightmares, she would dream of the past, the way it used to be. She would dwell on those long, cold nights they would hold each other, forgetting that the shadows owned them, that the world hated them and just find solace within each other. She was never alone, and needed nothing but him. He stayed by her side, for years he was always there for her. She remembered this, and its slowingly killing her. All those years ment nothing ot him, she was only his pawn, nothing more, and it kills her to know that. She had loved him, sincerly, and she was nothing more than a tool to him. She loved him, and deep down she still does, and that is why she suffers. Truely this, and little more.
_

Pitch sat in his cracked, crumbling throne, watching a few shadows dance in the palm of his hand. They began taking the shape of rats, devouring a girl. He stared long and hard as the shadowy woman opened her mouth in a silent scream. He was still sending Black terrible dreams, but he lost the satisfaction years ago, though he could not place why. He let the rats have their fill, before crushing them entierly in his fist. he shut his eyes, concentration on the connection to Black. He felt her fear, her sorrow, but it brought him no joy anymore. He stared around his home, his dark, decaying cave, cast into compleate darkness far underground. He felt something stir inside him, but he refused to acknowlage it. He had been feeling it, whatever it was for a long time now, ut he would not let himself feel it. He was the Nightmare King, after all. Surely he wasnt capable of feeling THAT. He thought.

He shut his eyes, and saw Black. He idnt imagine her face full of terror, or exaustion, as it problably was now, but of how it used to be. He pictured her smile. He remembered it so clearly it was like he was looking strait at her again. He saw her thin lips barely turned up, and her glowing crimson eyes soften, patrialy hidden by her sooty bangs. He pictured himself waking up, holding herin his arms like he used to. He could feel her body heat, her slowly rising and falling stomach as she breathed, and heard her faint breaths as she dreamed. He sighed, and a smile snuck its way onto his face. It vanished as quickly as it had come. Pitch held his head in his hands, that little feeling finnay got to him, after 100 years. It had finnaly broken him, on the 100th anaversery of the plague ending. The empty home, the missing presence on the other side of his bed, his hand without another to hold, finding himself compleatly alone again, even fading from the eyes of mortals. He missed her. He could no longer denie, or cover it up, he truely missed her. His heart, though he doubted he had one, shattered, after 100 years of fooling itself. He created Black for nothing more than to help him spread fear, but he wondered if somewhere deep down he created her just so he wont be alone anymore. He used her, and that was the plan, and he would try to find a way to keep using her, but he could no longer say she was only a tool. Regret gripped him, and as he felt her suffer, far away from him, he felt that connection slowly begin to eat him alive. It was killing him, almost driving him to insanity, if he wasnt insane already. He just wanted to forget her now. After 100 years of tracking her down, planning his revenge, all he wanted to do was lose himself in some poor kids dream and forget she ever existed. That he ever created her. Maybe it wouldnt hurt so much. He hoped. He couldnt ignor that little feeling of her within himself anymore, that little connection they shared. It was his only way of finding her again, yet it wasmaking him suffer more and more each second. He tried to push it away, shut it off again, but the more he fought the stronger it got. He stubborly refused to let himself feel anything more. No pity, no remorse. You are the Nightmare King! He kept telling himself. You are the Nightmare King, you are the Nightmare King...But he could no longer ignor it, denie his own feelings, locked up after so may years. He loved Black. And he hated it. He hated the pain burning inside him every second he felt Black suffer from so far away from him, knowing HE did that. It was backwards, and confused and enraged him. He was the Nightmare King! People were supposed to fear him, yet the fact Black did hurt him worse than any Guardian ever could. Why? Why did he feel such things when he believed it wasnt even possible for him to feel love? He felt his heart, if that was indeed what was hurting him, break with every little sense he could pick up from Black until he could no longer take it. He clutched his head in pain, anger and confusion, and reached inside himself with his won powers, tangling himself around his last connection to Black, and severed it. Nothing. No more fear, no more sorrow or anything that was not his own. He silenced Blacks emotions from himself, and could no longer feel her. He sat, head still in his was free from her. She shouldnt be able to torment him anylonger. At least, thats what he though should have happened. He could no longer feel anything from Black, but somehow, the disconnection from her hurt even worse. _

Black held her chest as she felt the connection being cut, suddenly. She smilled, she didnt know how, or why, but she could no longer feel him. His hold on her was finnaly broken. She should have been happy, but for a reason she couldnt place, she wasnt. Infact, she was almost sad. She continued to wander about from place to place, for too many years to count, until she found an empty and abandon town, which she soon called home.