Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians. Dreamworks and William Joyce does.

Ch. 6 Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

An odd sort of calm had settled over Jack ever since he had agreed to work alongside the Nightmare King. For the first time in a very long time he felt he was actually useful to someone, that his existence actually had some meaning. He felt a faint stirring of hope that he might be in control of his own future.

Pitch hadn't left him. He was still there hovering a few feet away watching Jack as he knelt on the frozen ground, brushing away the snow as he searched for Emma's tooth. It was a futile task. It was too dark even with the pale moonlight spilling down. He doubted he'd even find it in broad daylight.

"You can see spirits because you fell through the ice," Pitch spoke at last in a curious tone. "What were you doing on the lake?"

"I thought it was thick enough to ice skate on," Jack mumbled embarrassed. "I fell in trying to save Emma."

"You did save her though."

"Yeah…" something warm kindled in Jack's chest. "Yeah, I did."

"You've always looked out for your sister and the other children, haven't you?" Pitch hummed.

Jack didn't mistake those words for praise. He recognized by now the signs of when the Boogey Man was withholding from telling him something. The spirit wore an all too amused expression on his face.

Jack shrugged and pretended he hadn't noticed. "I don't get along well with others my own age—never have."

There wasn't an abundance of children in Burgess anyway. It was a small village and children's age groups varied greatly in it. Aside from him, Anthony, Henry, and Nathaniel, the only ones also in their late teens were Winifred the miller's daughter and Clara from one of the many Pratchett families. The rest of the children were around his sister's age and younger. There had been a few children near to entering adolescence but they had been taken by sickness over the years.

Jack stood up from his crouch and dusted the snow from his knees. "No use," he sighed. "Probably won't be able to find it until spring when all the snow melts."

"Oh no, no, no, no," Pitch shook his head in a very concerned manner. "We musn't let your sister down now. A child's belief is such a beautiful, fragile thing. It must not be allowed to be broken."

Jack imagined returning back home empty-handed and seeing his sister's disappointed face when she awoke. "But how am I supposed to find it in all this snow?"

Pitch curved his mouth into a crooked grin. "Would you like to see an extraordinary sight?"

The Nightmare King didn't wait for an answer. All Jack saw was the spirit raising his arm and a wall of shadows came rushing towards him. It happened in the blink of an eye. One second Jack was standing on the hillside, then darkness crashed over him and swallowed him whole. He could see nothing, hear nothing. It was like being trapped inside an empty void. Before he even had time to panic or cry out, the darkness released him and he found himself inside the woods at the edge of the field looking back on the spot he had stood a mere moment ago.

"Wha—wha…" Jack sputtered in shock not sure what had happened.

"Calm," Pitch said from beside him. "Twas nothing but shadowplay. Nothing to be so alarmed about."

"You tell me before you do something like that again!" Jack hissed his heart still pounding.

"It is how I travel. Quite convenient, isn't it?"

"Convenient for you," Jack muttered under his breath. "What are we doing here anywhere?"

"I already told you, Jack," Pitch replied. "You're going to see an extraordinary sight tonight. All we have to do is wait."

"For how long?" Jack asked, shivering slightly as he felt the coldness of the snow seep into the soles of his shoes. He hadn't thought he'd be out here too long so he had only bothered to put on his cloak, but that was not going to be enough protection from the winter wind and icy temperature.

"Yes, yes, you mortals and your weak shells of flesh," Pitch sighed. With a snap of his fingers the shadows around him sprang to life once more.

Jack instinctively flinched backwards but he was enveloped by them before he could protest. The shadows wrapped around him like a blanket and covered him from the neck down to his feet, warmth spreading throughout his limbs.

"Better?" Pitch said smirking at the boy's bewildered expression.

They waited.

Pitch did not speak something which was surprising because Jack had his own opinion that the spirit loved the sound of his own voice and never shut up.

Once or twice Jack almost asked what it was they were waiting to see but never did. He didn't think Pitch would answer him anyway. The spirit's eyes were fixated on the rock where Emma had lost her tooth. Occasionally he would glance up and scan the night sky before returning his gaze to rock again.

Nestled in his warm cocoon of shadows, Jack began to feel drowsy. His eyelids drooping low, he stared at Pitch's crouching form and searching golden eyes and thought he resembled a wolf on the hunt for his prey.

A wolf…

oOo

10 years earlier…

Jack trudged through the underbrush, twice nearly tripping as the tail end of his wool coat kept getting snagged by brambles and uprooted tree roots. Actually, it was his father's old coat with the end of the sleeves rolled up three times over and the sash wrapped around his skinny frame twice and tied in a double knot, but even that did not help the fabric from constantly threatening to slip off his shoulders. On top of that, it was heavy and extremely itchy, and Jack kept scratching at the sweat perspiring underneath the yarn scarf around his neck.

Finally, he stomped both feet into place and let out a yowl of exasperation as his fingers angrily inched towards the toggle buttons keeping the front of the coat closed.

He received a gentle rap on the head in warning from his father's staff at his attempt.

"It's hot!" Jack protested.

"It's autumn, lad. There's a chill in the air. You catch a cold and I'll never hear the end of it from your mam," Joseph Overland said. "Now keep your tongue in cheek. We're trying to catch the beast, not frighten it away."

Jack sighed but let his hands drop to his side as he followed his father through the dense woods. He stared at the dead leaves and earth beneath his feet and wondered what subtle signs his father could see that he couldn't. Tracking, is what his father said they were doing, and if not for the snare net and the hunting knives strapped the belt around his father's waist, Jack would said they were going on quite the challenging hike up the hillside.

Some creature had been attacking Burgess's livestock for the past few weeks. In just the last few days, it had stolen one old sheep from old man Forrester, two rabbits from the Johnsons; it had demolished the entirety of the Pratchett's henhouse—the chickens themselves were fine, but the beast, whatever it was, had feasted on eggs and baby chicks with ravenous delight. The final straw came this morning, when Joseph Overland discovered one of their newborn kids had been carried off in the night. The pen hadn't been broken into by human hands and the mother goat herself was badly wounded with deep gash marks on her chest, so she had obviously tried to defend her offspring but to no avail.

"The villagers are all saying its wild dogs," Jack spoke up while playing a game with himself by stepping carefully into the deep footsteps his father's boots left behind.

"It's wishful thinking," Joseph said. "It's a wolf. A young one by the looks of it, and who knows no fear of humans yet so that makes it doubly dangerous."

"And where there's one, there's two," Jack hummed, repeating his mother's mantra every time she spotted a mouse scurry back to its hiding place.

"If we're lucky, it's an adolescent straying away from its pack for some easy kills. But aye, there might be more of them up in these woods expanding their territory."

Jack froze, one knee still raised in the air, and glanced about cautiously as a small bubble of fear began to rise in the pits of his stomach. What if they were being encircled even now by a pack of hungry wolves? He had to keep absolutely quiet!

Joseph glanced over his shoulder and belted out a mighty peal of laughter at the sight of his son doing quite the good impression of a tightrope walker with both arms spread out wide, one leg up, and focusing very hard not to lose his balance.

His father's laughter broke the spell and Jack toppled over with a yelp. His scarf and coat sash caught fast in some skeletal limbs of a thicket and he thrashed about in a mighty panic certain wolves would be descending upon him in any given moment to devour him whole.

Strong, calloused hands reached out and pulled him free from his wooden entanglement.

"Whatever happened to my brave boy who declared just this morning he was going to bring back a magnificent fur coat for his dear mother to wear?" Joseph chuckled setting him down on firm ground. "Did the fairies snatch him away behind my back?"

"Anthony Hawkins said there ain't no such things as fairies, just imps, messengers of the Devil," Jack said, swallowing back the dryness in his mouth.

"Aye, well, Anthony Hawkin's mam spends too much time with her ear pressed to every word falling out of Father Goodall's lips than she does attending to her own family," Joseph said, his brows furrowing into a slight frown. "Now don't go repeating that nonsense to your mam. You know she enjoys sharing her stories before bedtime. Don't discourage her."

Jack nodded, his throat a bit too tight to speak. A breeze drifted through the woods and he shivered at the slight chill. The sun had dipped lower in the sky overhead and the shadows were growing longer, the forest more dark. The fun had all but bled out on this adventure he had foolishly thought they were on.

"What's going to happen once we catch the wolf?" he asked, never once doubting his father's ability to do so.

Joseph Overland said nothing, though his lips had pursed into a thin line.

"Are we going to kill it?" Jack asked.

When he had told his mother he was bringing her back a fur coat, it had never crossed his mind exactly how that would be possible, but now he was faced with the grisly realization that to obtain a skein of fur, something must die.

His father never answered him, only gave him a strip of jerky to chew on, and tousled his hair fondly before they continued to move on, following the near-invisible tracks to their destination. It led them to a small hollow where a hole had had been burrowed out beneath a fallen tree trunk and a giant boulder.

"A den," Joseph said quietly.

They settled down behind a broad oak tree that was upwind of the wolf's den to keep watch. Jack probably should have felt more frightened, but Joseph's alert gaze but relaxed posture was calming. Jack cuddled into the warmth of his father's side while they waited in silence, idly tracing the bumps and grooves etched into the wood of the staff that rested on the ground by their feet.

Jack wanted a staff for himself, had tried numerous times to carve one but they had all come out thin, weak and misshapen. His mother said if he wrote a letter, maybe St. Nicholas would bring him one for Christmas. Jack had told her nothing that man made would ever be as great as his father's and the stitches on Joseph's vest had nearly burst their seams at his chest swelling in pride.

Twilight crept upon them and the woods around them took on a purple-ish hue. Jack shifted his legs restlessly, wondering what they were waiting for. It would be dark soon. They were going to miss supper and Mam was going to be angry at them for coming back so late.

A hand gripped his shoulder and Jack turned to stare at his father who held a finger to his lips before pointing to the den. Squinting against the dim light, Jack struggled to see what Joseph wanted to show him. Gradually, as his sight adjusted, he saw the faint outline of a brown, furry muzzle poke out of the hole.

Jack clutched his father's arm tightly. "Is it the wolf?" he whispered.

Joseph shook his head, eyes shining in amusement as a secretive half-smile lingered across his face. At the den's opening, the brown muzzle was snuffling at the air as a low whine echoed about the small hollow.

"What?" Jack demanded in a hushed voice. "What is it? Tell me!"

Joseph opened his mouth to speak…

oOo

"Jack," a hand was shaking his shoulder roughly. "Jack."

"What?" Jack started awake.

"Look, our patience has been rewarded," Pitch said breathless with excitement.

Still disoriented, Jack cast his eyes about wildly before they finally landed on something small flitting through the air; something that glimmered bluish-green under the moonlight. Without any hesitation, the emerald speck plunged straight into the snow near the base of the rock. It popped up half a second later with such a loud squeal of delight for one so tiny that it echoed down the hillside

"Is that… is that the tooth fairy?" Jack breathed in awe.

"A tooth fairy," Pitch corrected. "One of many and none of them the original. Well, I had my doubts she'd actually come herself. She hasn't deemed children worthy to grace with her feathers for a long, long time."

Jack watched the emerald speck, no bigger than a hummingbird, do several successions of loop-de-loops in the air chittering loudly like a magpie who had just found another shiny object for its treasure stash. He rubbed at his eyes, still not quite believing what he was seeing. He had heard the old folktale growing up about the tooth fairy, all the children had, but it was different actually seeing the fairytale come to life.

The smile that started to unfold upon his lips stopped as a cold dread trickled down his spine.

"Why did you want to show me this?" he asked Pitch, or tried to anyway.

Before he had even finished his question, Pitch had vanished from his side in a sharp snap of shadows.

Across the field, a tiny, shrill shriek of alarm rolled down the hill, bouncing off Jack's ears almost accusingly. Jack looked up to see a flash of emerald flitting frantically back and forth between the bars of a cage built out of writhing, black snakes.

Fearlings, the name brushed across the front of Jack's mind without bidding.

An all-too familiar cackle split the air as Pitch strolled around the cage, admiring his handiwork. Jack grit his teeth, but gathered up his staff in hand and walked over, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Isn't it marvelous, Jack?" Pitch crowed as he drew near.

For a confused second, Jack thought he was talking about the tiny creature he had trapped inside. A tooth fairy, one of many, tiny and fragile as a hummingbird, although it resembled more of an emerald fuzzball from one of his mother's discarded yarn fabrics with its feathers fluffed up in outrage.

"I can create such wondrous things with my fearlings, can't I, my darlings?" Pitch cooed, dragging a long, grey, spindly finger across the black bars of the cage.

The bars trembled under his touch, fading into a dark, smoky substance briefly before solidifying back again. One inky, black tendril detached itself from the cage to nip at the spirit's fingers almost affectionately.

Jack felt his mouth twist into a disturbed grimace that he couldn't quite wipe it off.

Pitch gave no mind to his expression and thrust one hand straight through the bars of the cage, tugging at something clutched fast in the tiny fairy's hands. "I'll take that, if you please."

The fairy held on tight, pulling back and spewing out a racket of angry chittering, some which were fierce enough Jack was certain they were curses aimed at their captor.

Pitch's countenance darkened as the fairy refused to relinquish their grip and the shadows abruptly lengthened several feet on the bottom of his black robe. "Give it here, you overgrown bumblebee," he hissed, his needle-pointed teeth flashing in the moonlight. "You're nothing but a copy, a sham, completely worthless— "

Pitch broke off his rant with a livid shout of pain as the fairy darted forward and stabbed its tiny beak into the spirit's grey hand. The smooth bars of the shadow-cage erupted into a wriggling, ball of thorny vines and Pitch's once bright, golden eyes had dimmed to a dangerous, stormy silver.

Jack flinched, feeling the tension around him thicken and knew something terrible was about to happen. "Let me try," he spoke up. "I'll get it."

Pitch's head swiveled sharply towards him and the spirit blinked twice as if he had forgotten Jack was even there at all. "You?" he let out a short bark of incredulous laughter, but nevertheless, bowed mockingly and stepped back.

The shadow-cage had reverted back to its original form at least, so Jack took that as a good sign. Turning his attention to the fairy inside, he spoke to it, trying to his voice as low and soothing as possible.

"Hey there, little one," he said and the fairy lifted violet-colored eyes to meet his own brown ones. "My name is Jack. What's yours?"

The fairy said nothing, gazing at him with a weary, yet guarded expression, its small hands wrapped protectively around something pearly and white: Emma's tooth.

"They don't have names," Pitch scoffed. "She doesn't deem them necessary enough to warrant names."

The only reaction the fairy gave was to curl itself tighter around the tooth it was holding, though Jack noted the lone golden feather atop its crest was pressed flat against its small head.

"Well then, I'll give you a name," Jack said. "Baby Tooth, because you're a tiny version of the Tooth Fairy! How's that?"

"Pathetic," Pitch droned behind him.

"I wasn't asking you," Jack shot back. From his peripheral vision, he saw Pitch arch a fine-pointed eyebrow at his boldness. "Do you like it?"

The fairy's small, crystalline wings fluttered twice before it raised its head and nodded, emitting a soft series of chirps that sounded pleased.

"Great," Jack smiled before slowly extending his hand, palm out towards the bars of the cage. "So, that's my sister's Emma's tooth and I promised I would find it and give it back to her tonight. May I have it, please?"

Baby Tooth shook its small head and released several scolding chitters at the suggestion.

"Are we done with the niceties now, Jack?" Pitch's voice rumbled impatiently.

"One more minute," Jack said. "Please, Baby Tooth, let me have that. I don't want you to get hurt. Besides, what's one missing tooth? You must have an entire kingdom built out of them by now." Jack paused as a thought just occurred to him. "What do you do with all those teeth you collect, anyway?"

The way the fairy shrunk in on itself and Pitch's mad laughter rang delightedly around them, Jack knew he must have accidentally honed into something only the spirits had knowledge of. Powerful, forbidden knowledge.

Suddenly, Jack didn't want either of the spirits to have the tooth.

"Give it to me," he said, his tone rising in urgency. "It belongs to my sister. She has to be the one to give up. Those are the rules. It isn't yours yet."

Jack wasn't sure fairytale logic would apply here, but apparently he must have struck a nerve. Baby Tooth gaped at him, violet eyes wide in shock. Pitch's laughter had ceased abruptly and the writhing shadows around them and stilled.

Hoping he had read the situation correctly, Jack waited breathlessly, until with one final, sad, almost betrayed chirp, Baby Tooth pushed the tooth into the palm of his awaiting hand.

Jack's fingers curled around it instinctively knowing Pitch would try to take it from him. His worry was affirmed when he turned around and came face to face with the spirit who was positively oozing with smug satisfaction. The shadows were weaving lazily to and fro around them in a hypnotic, rhythmic dance and Pitch's golden eyes bore down upon him in a triumphant, heated gaze.

"Good job, Jack lad, now hand it over," Pitch crooned offering his own hand out.

Jack brought his closed fist to his chest and took a step back.

Pitch laughed at the sight. "Don't begin to have delusions of gallantry now," he said. "You're not some heroic figure with a noble compass and we both know it. Now give it here. It is of no use to you."

"But it is to you?"

Pitch refused to shed any light on the matter, the smile slowly slipping off his face…

"We struck a pact, Jack," Pitch spat out darkly. "There are consequences if you go back on your word."

The unspoken threat hung harsh and heavy in the air and the memory of Emma weeping inconsolably over the nightmare of him drowning flashed through his mind.

He should just hand the tooth over without question, but something inside him pushed to know more.

"Shouldn't I know what you're going to do with this if I'm supposed to spin legends of terror about the Boogey Man?" Jack asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"You're an imaginative boy, Jack, not a naïve one," Pitch said, seeing through his act in an instant. "So when I tell you that not even you can possibly comprehend the potential locked within that small, insignificant tooth… you'd do well enough to listen to me."

A shiver traveled down Jack's spine that had nothing to do with the wind or the cold. Opening his fist slightly, he stared at the pearly white of his sister's tooth in wonder and bit of trepidation.

"Jack."

He looked up. Pitch had his hand outreached once more, waiting.

"Just hand it over and you can go back home."

The cold of the night was seeping beneath his skin, into his bones. Home and a warm bed sounded like a reward for suffering through Pitch's company for so long. Was there really any reason to keep protesting anyway? In all the stories he had heard about the tooth fairy, they never had elaborated on what was done with the teeth, so why should he start bothering to wonder about it right now?

Not seeing any other option, Jack slowly offered his hand out, uncurled his fingers, and let the tooth fall into Pitch's upturned palm. Jack watched as the spirit tucked the tooth away within the folds of his shadow-robe and felt his heart clench almost guiltily, although he did not know why.

Above them, the pale light of the moon dimmed as it hid its face behind the grey storm clouds that were drifting throughout the sky.

Pitch released a deep sigh of satisfaction and the shadows that had been stretched out tightly around him seemed to fold inward and relax.

It all happened so quickly.

An emerald speck darted through the bars of the cage that had turned into black mist momentarily. A small hum of beating wings and a shrill warrior-like cry split the air as the tiny, tooth fairy dived towards Pitch like a speeding arrow seeking its target.

Pitch pivoted to one side with a strangled curse—

Something thin and golden unraveled from with the dark recesses of his shadow-robes and fell into the snow at Jack's feet with a metallic plop.

It was only for a few seconds, but the image would hold fast in his mind for a long time to come. A golden locket lay face upwards, the clasp broken so the picture inside visible: a miniscule but detailed oil painting of a young girl, probably no older than his sister, with long black hair and green eyes who was smiling from ear to ear…

Pitch threw himself down in the snow and gathered it up gently in his hands, moaning like a wounded animal as he cradled it to his chest, rocking back and forth without thought.

Spread out behind him like the trails off a mourning garb, his tendrils of darkness, the fearlings, stood still and rapt, for once not mimicking their master's emotions.

"No, no, no, no, no…" Pitch mumbled, each word rising with a higher sense of urgency than the last. The spirit finally brought up his head and Jack caught sight of his eyes: wild, unfocused, golden in color that matched the locket, and oddly moist…

Jack watched as tiny flecks of silver began to spot throughout the irises until they clouded up all the gold and Pitch's moaning turned into low, rumblings of rage.

Pitch whirled on the tiny fairy where it had fallen once its initial attack had failed. It was trying quite valiantly to get airborne again, but one of its crystalline wings was bent backwards at an awkward angle.

"You…" Pitch snarled and around him the shadows expanded dangerously. "You would dare…"

He would destroy it. Jack sensed that instinctively. And this time he knew there would be no reasoning with him.

And yet even now, as tiny and helpless as it was, the fairy showed no fear—only lifted its beak proudly upwards in defiance and closed its violet eyes, bracing for the inevitable as a wall of shadows crashed down upon it.

Jack acted without thinking.

Gripping his staff with both hands, he swung it out in a wide arc, a cry ripping free from his throat.

"Stop!"

oOo

10 years earlier…

"Stop."

His father's voice, stern and commanding, froze his feet into place even though he desperately wanted to run.

In front of him, not ten paces away stood a lone, gray wolf.

There was silence in the woods. He could hear nothing except the short, uneven breaths escaping from his mouth in panicked bursts. The beating of his heart pounding in his ears was deafening.

He hadn't meant to move so far away from his father. He had just wanted a closer look at the wolf pups that had emerged from their underground den.

They had tumbled over each other in roly poly brown balls of fur, making tiny yapping noises and looking so similar to Farmer Thatcher's puppies that he begged his dad for every spring. He had grown too excited and moved without thinking.

Then the wolf had appeared, padding through the underbrush silent and without warning. Now boy and wolf stood face to face, practically eye to eye, and Jack trembled in awe at how enormous wolves could be and wondered if this was how he would die.

"Don't move, Jack. Stay still," his father's voice came from behind him in a hushed tone.

Jack did as bid, even as a strangled whimper bubbled over from his mouth. Why wasn't his father attacking the wolf? Why didn't he protect him?

Frightened brown eyes stared into the narrowed, golden gaze of the wolf and Jack felt like he as being measured and judged.

Then at last, after what seemed like an eternity, the wolf broke their gaze, let out an exasperated huff, and trotted in a wide arc around the boy over to where the wolf pups were playing. Lowering its head, the wolf picked one of the pups up by the furry scruff of its neck, then with the pup dangling from its jaws, it looked at the two humans who stood across the clearing.

Then turning its back, it disappeared into the woods as silently as it had appeared with a broad swing of its bushy tail.

Jack felt his knees buckle and his father's hands grabbing him before he fell and holding him close to his chest. A bit light-headed, he listened to the comforting sound of his father's heartbeat and noticed it was pounding as frantically as his own was.

Joseph Overland didn't scold him for his recklessness. He simply placed a hand on his son's back and guided them towards their tracks leading the way out.

"The other pups…" Jack said, straining his neck to see.

The remaining two tousled each other playfully, ignorant of the fact that they had just been abandoned.

"They'll be fine," his father said. "A parent always returns for their children."

oOo

"Stop!"

A storm of blueish-white blasted from the end of his staff as Jack swung it, renting the very air with a bone-chilling coldness as it sliced forward and collided with the wave of shadows in a ferocious gale that popped and cracked, exploding into a shower work display of black and blue frozen fragments that rained upon the snowy ground like pieces of falling stars from the night sky.

Pitch's astonished gaze clashed with his own, and Jack lowered his staff in disbelief at what had just happened, his fingers feeling numb…

He glanced down and felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw that his fingertips had turned blue from the ice spreading along the wood of his staff like a creeping ivy vine of frost.

Jack threw his staff away from him like it was a snake that would bite him. It landed in the snow, the odd, blue-tinged frost fading as quickly as it had formed. He folded his arms around himself as something inside him battered to break free, some energy, some power that had just now woken up. He could see it in his mind's eye: a white light, pale and flickering, like a candle in the darkness.

"So it is true," Pitch murmured, his golden eyes measuring and judging just like the wolf's had been. "How unfortunate…" his voice sounded almost pitying. "For you."

"W-What's… happening to m-me?" Jack asked through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep the pressure doubling up within him down, and the white light rising up and overtaking him.

"My dear boy," Pitch said, his face sorrowful, his tone mocking. "As I have been also, you too, have been cursed."

To Be Continued…

A/N: Hello, it's been a long time, hasn't it. I won't give any excuses except well, life gets real, ya know. And sometimes, you need to take a break, even if its from something you love like writing, and find yourself and grow. I won't say anymore on myself, except I do intend to focus my energy on this story, so don't worry. This update isn't on a whim.

I have added some Guardians of Childhood book elements if you noticed, those of you who read the books. But if you don't, you needn't worry. This fic is mostly based on the movie-verse. I still have yet to read the Jack Frost book, though I did buy it. Although, I have run into some spoilers, haha, but this fic will be my own adaption of what happened.

This fic focuses mainly on Pitch and Jack and how their relationship forms. I'm not labeling this as black ice. I think the way I am writing this it will come across more as ambiguous and vague. But if you squint, you can see it, I guess. Right now, the loss of family is weighing down on both of them more than anything, and that's what I'm sticking to.

So hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you're just finding this story right now, welcome, buckle down, you're in for an emotional roller coaster as well as some eighteenth century living history lessons lol. Or is it seventeeth century? Idk.

Anyway, if you want to leave a review and cant think of what to say, I love hearing what your favorite parts were so far. Until next time!