A/N: Sorry for the long delay, everyone. I've had internet problems this week, and then I decided that this next chapter would actually flow better if it was chopped in half. So, wifi permitting, the other half of this chapter will be coming soon.

A special shout-out to all of you who review my chapters. I'm so grateful for you, and even the smallest word motivates me so much. Thank you, thank you! :)

Standard disclaimers apply.

*A Beautiful Belief*

"They don't see you," Elsa murmured.

Pitch stopped walking. He glanced back at Elsa questioningly, one eyebrow raised. "Did you say something?"

He'd heard her; he just wanted her to repeat herself. Elsa shook her head, thinking back to the houses they had visited that night. She'd noticed something – something she hadn't seen until that evening, but must have been happening all along. "The children," she said. "They don't see you."

Pitch gazed at her for several seconds before turning away. "No. They don't."

"Why?" The last child – a girl – had awakened with a muffled scream and sat straight up in bed. Elsa had tensed and ducked behind Pitch, but the little girl's panicked gaze swept right over them. In that moment Elsa realized that she hadn't seen a child look directly at Pitch at all, not once when they did their nightly rounds. I don't understand, she'd thought. I saw Pitch when I was a girl. Why can't the other children see him now?

"Why?" Elsa asked again.

Pitch slowly clasped his hands behind his back. "Because they don't believe."

"Believe? In… you?" she questioned.

He turned his head to the side, showing the lines of his sharp forehead, sloping nose, and unyielding mouth. "Yes.

She blinked, processing the information.

"Right now I'm only a shadow. A nightmare, banished by the light and joy that the Guardians bring to the world." His voice was cold. "Until enough children believe in me to give me substance, I'm worse than powerless."

"But I saw you," Elsa said. Her heel clicked on the stone as she took a step forward. "I saw you from the very beginning."

"You did, because your world was already so dark." He twisted around to face her again "You were the first child to see me of your own accord."

Elsa smiled, sensing the train of his thoughts. "And that makes me a rarity, doesn't it?"

"That makes you the first child to help me feel alive in a long, long while," Pitch murmured.

She froze, taken aback by the raw honesty in his words. So that's the real reason Pitch frightens children, Elsa thought: so he can be believed in. Without that faith, he's not truly alive. His rivalry with the Guardians isn't just fueled by power or hatred or different perspectives; it's over the right to earn the belief of children. The right to exist.

Still, Pitch's words were almost romantic, in a way. Elsa smiled warmly at him. "And now?" she asked. "Does the belief change after I've grown from a girl to a woman?"

His eyes slid over to hers. "I'd say our relationship has changed, yes," Pitch said mildly. "Belief from adults is a different sort of power, with a different kind of foundation."

"That's true," Elsa murmured as Pitch stepped forward. "They believe in more concrete things…"

"Yes."

"…things they can touch and feel. Things they can experience."

Pitch stopped directly in front of her, so close that Elsa could just lean forward and they would touch. His gold eyes looked luminous in the darkness.

"Yes," Pitch said. He lifted one hand and trailed two fingers along the line of her jaw and down the sensitive skin of her throat. Elsa suppressed a shiver. "Experiences make up their belief," he said softly. "All kinds of belief, actually."

There it was: another response that showed a glimpse to Pitch's true feelings within. His hand was skimming her collarbone above the edge of her frost-woven gown. She fought the rising impulse to step forward, closing the distance between them. "What do you believe, Pitch Black?" Elsa whispered.

Abruptly he dropped his hand. His eyes flickered up to hers and he smiled that trademark irritating, knowing smile of his. "I?" he echoed. "I believe you haven't noticed that the children can't see you, either."

A/N: There will be more (but you already knew that, especially since I promised you more in the first Author's Note).