A/N: I have a feeling you guys will like this chapter. Yup, 100% positive. :)

Standard disclaimers apply.

*A Beautiful Magnetism*

She looked exactly the same as she had three years ago.

It was both a consolation and a curse.

He watched her from the safety of the shadows of a peaked window, the wavery panes of glass giving the room's occupants the faint impression of being underwater. His eyes flickered over the twirling dancers, ignoring the soft strains of music that dictated their dull repetitive steps, and shifted to the side so he could see Elsa better.

She was conspicuous, a statue among the flurry of movement. She stood tall, any sign of anxiety that she had worn earlier long-since vanished. Now her face bore an expression of serene calm, her hands clasped loosely on her lap.

In gloves.

She was wearing gloves.

It was a detail that Pitch had missed the first time he saw her, when she walked sedately up the aisle of the cathedral. The cardinal had droned his boring words, then motioned for Elsa to proceed. She picked up the scepter and globus cruciger and turned to face the audience, her shoulders turning rigid, as they always did when she was apprehensive. Pitch saw her hands tighten, saw the sparkle of frost spreading beneath her bare fingers –

And then she turned and dropped the symbols of her new-found authority and slipped on the gloves.

She's forgotten everything I taught her. It made his fingers twitch with annoyance. She's given in to her parents' old way of thinking. How insolent, how arrogant of her, to think she could accomplish more than all my teachings and instructions.

She's useless to me now. She will never fill her potential for transformation and power.

It was true; for all his intents and purposes, Elsa was a gamble he had lost. She was irretrievable. Wasted. And yet, for some reason…

Pitch couldn't leave her alone.

Just like today, when he had been drawn back to Arendelle, to her coronation, despite his anger and resentment. A greater part of him had been unable to resist the uncontrollable pull.

The pull toward her.

Elsa's power to allure is only getting stronger, Pitch thought. She is more dangerous to me now than ever before.

That thought alone should have spurred Pitch to turn away, leaving her once and for all, as he had promised three years ago. But then he looked back at her slim form, dignified in her dark gown and sparkling crown, and his desire to leave flickered and died.

Even just the sight of her had complete control over him.

He had to admit she looked well; compared to her younger sister who came, stumbling, to the throne accompanied by a handsome young man, she looked cold. Beautiful. Like a Queen.

A natural pair: the Snow Queen to me, the King of Nightmares.

The thought was sudden, unbidden. Pitch hissed, swiftly banishing the idea from his mind. Once, maybe, that could have been true. If only Elsa had trusted in his teachings. If only she could be useful.

And she isn't, he told himself again, firmly. She's just a snare in female form. A distraction.

But what a distraction she is.

He turned his gaze back to the dance floor. Something was happening; Elsa was pushing through the crowd, heading for the doors. Her sister grabbed her hand, snatching the glove right off. Pitch saw the panic on Elsa's face, her distress as she vainly implored Anna to return it. He wondered how much longer she could contain her ice when the entire room was staring at her and Anna was shouting –

Elsa made a wide gesture with her hand and spikes exploded from the ground, reaching like claws toward the crowd and her sister, who leapt back in horror. The gasp from the ballroom carried to Pitch's ears, even on the other side of the window. "Well now," he murmured, leaning forward. Elsa had just inadvertently revealed herself. What would she do next?

For a breathless moment the young Queen froze, her back against the door. Then she threw it open and flew out, her cape billowing behind her.

Pitch followed, a shadow in the night. He trailed Elsa as she tore through the entry hall and out into the palace courtyard, where her subjects were waiting. He saw her fear escalate as they approached her, enclosed around her – Pitch could taste her raw hysteria as the fountain twisted the flowing water into a sculpture of ice, once again revealing her secret. Elsa ran then, and Pitch ran with her, the darkness beneath her steps as she fled across the fjord and into the mountains. He stayed with her, undetected and silent as she climbed higher into the embrace of her natural clime, until the storms and winter gales hid her entire world from sight.

He stayed with her until her mood lifted. He wanted to see for himself the smile he could hear in her voice. He watched, incredulous, as she let the wind take her cape, watched her laugh as she tested her powers then let them flow. It was all natural, now – they were a part of her, as equally as she was part of them. Pitch looked on as she created a staircase, then a sweeping floor, mighty walls, and elegant chandelier: a castle made entirely of ice.

And then the sun's rays began to appear over the mountains behind him – had the night really passed so quickly? – and she appeared on the balcony. Gone was the meek girl, so refined and shy in her somber blue gown. Now Elsa stood tall in the morning light, glittering like all the stars in the sky. She grinned, pride and pleasure making her look older. Confident. She swept her eyes across the snow and ice – her new kingdom – before sweeping back inside, trails of crystalline snowflakes fluttering in a long train behind her. Pitch stood in the shadows – the little bit that still remained in the blazing light of dawn – as if paralyzed. For the first time in a very, very long time, he felt… lost.

He had no words. No will to stir.

Elsa, and all that she had become, was utterly…

"Perfect," he whispered.

A/N: ^_^

Love it? I think so.

There will be more.