Jack dropped into the lair for a visit one day and noticed that the place felt different. Gloomier, if that was possible. The shadows seemed to be longer and darker than ever, and there was no sign of any Hellhounds or Nightmares. Just a dreary, oppressive silence. Was something wrong?

"Pitch?" Jack called. No response. The Guardian frowned and ventured deeper into the caverns. After several minutes of wandering, he finally noticed a dark, hunched figure near one of the many cages of the place. Jack felt something like concern needle him, and hurried over.

The Nightmare King was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking blankly down at something that he had cradled in his hands. Jack saw something with eight legs, covered in bristly black hair, and instinctively look a step backwards. Then he noticed that the spider was lying motionless on its back, legs curled upwards. "Oh. Pitch, I'm sorry," Jack said, creeping forwards to put a hand on the man's shoulder.

At the touch Pitch seemed to jerk out of whatever reverie he had been in and he snapped his head around to stare at Jack. "For what? You didn't kill her."

The emotionless way that Pitch spoke and the disinterested way he met Jack's gaze seemed to be far more worrying than any amount of anger or sadness that the boogeyman might have expressed. "It's… it's just hard, losing someone important."

"It's in the nature of living things to die. This one was no surprise, nor is it of any particular consequence," Pitch said, turning his face away from Jack and getting to his feet, letting the small, curled body of Sara fall to the floor.

The boogeyman started to wander away, lightly running his fingers over the bars of the cages he passed. Jack followed after him, and Pitch began to speak once more. "It makes no difference. I've watched entire nations vanish, Jack. Saints and sinners, kings and beggars, and so many of them so, so afraid. I was there before they were born, walked with them while they lived and feared, and I remain long after they are gone. If there's one thing that I've learned in my existence, it's that no one stays." Pitch's eyes caught one of the few beams of light within his domain and for an instant seemed to flash gold, gleaming like a dusty, long-forgotten locket. "Everyone leaves. And I remain; alone."

"Pitch, just because they're gone, doesn't mean they left. All the people who you've held dear, they're still with you. They're still in your heart."

Pitch laughed bitterly at that. "The Guardians just love to spout clichés, don't they? Even if that was true, you seem to be forgetting that I don't have a heart. Nor do I have people that I care for."

"You know, I really would have thought that an evil mastermind would be a better liar."

"What do you want from me, Frost? Tears? I'm not so weak as to allow the passing of a single, insignificant bug to affect me."

"There's nothing weak about grieving for a lost friend."

"I'll have to disagree with you on that count." Pitch replied tiredly. Then, so quietly that Jack wasn't sure he heard it: "It makes me feels so unbearably weak."

The boogeyman sighed and sat down at the edge of a precipice, staring out into the dark and twisted majesty of his home. After a moment, Jack settled down beside him. Pitch's eyes flicked over to the Guardian, then back to staring out into the darkness. He didn't say anything, and neither did Jack. For a long while they just sat, side by side in silence.