It had been a long time; whether it was weeks or months, Pitch couldn't tell. Once he was the master of darkness, now he was trapped in it and vulnerable to its influence on the human mind. The beginning spark of despair had ignited in him like an unwanted flame. Words between him and the Guardians had become nonexistent and their visitations dwindled. They only came to gave him food and water and that was it. Eventually, the reek of urine and waste hung as his stay and neglect continued. August had drifted in and out like a bad dream. Sometimes he would try talking to Pitch, most times just observing. In truth, Pitch hated being down in the mineshaft. He normally enjoyed the darkness and the void it gave. But this darkness held something.
It concealed strange noises; whether it came from Pitch's mind or the bowls of the hollow mine. Sometimes he could hear the pit-pattering of feet or scuffing of boot amongst the gritty floor, the sound of men murmuring, chuckling, and heavy breathing. He had all called out to see if it was the Guardians, but the noise would vanish as quickly as it came. He once heard loud boisterous laughter echoing from deep within the mine. Another sounded more like a cackle. He often felt like he was watched, but not from the sharp eyes of August.
He remembered being jarred awake to the sound of a blood curdling scream. Once he asked North about the sounds and was regarded with a strange look and a bowl of lukewarm porridge. And then, there was that draft that seemed to have a mind of its own. Sometimes damp, sometimes dry; whenever it came, it brought a cold, oppressiveness to it—one opposite to what Jack Frost carried.
Pitch had curled up by the bars in the front corner, shivering and miserable. That's when he heard the heavy door open and shut. Tooth hummed nervously as she floated down the black hallway with a bowl of porridge. She arrived at the make shift but sturdy cell, peering in with eyes that had not yet adjusted to the darkness, "Pitch?" she called out, completely missing him in front of her. He could smell the fear on her and drank it in. It had been so long since he had tasted something so sweet. He shot his hand through the cell and grabbed a hold of her ankle. The sudden movement and sudden contact had scared Toothiana, making her drop Pitch's meal and fall to the floor.
The sudden burst of fear further fed Pitch, making his grasp tighter to the point where it pained Tooth. The fairy quickly regained her composure and forced herself not to wince, "Let go, Pitch" she said in a steely voice. Pitch smiled, he could still sense the fear beneath the surface, "Not until you tell me how much longer I have to stay here and how long it's been."
"I'll tell you once you let go."
Pitch didn't let go and Tooth didn't budge, "Let me go, and I'll tell you." Pitch could feel that his grasp was loosening and her fear slipping into annoyance. Taking the opportunity, Tooth yanked her ankle from Pitch and was set free. Standing up, she looked at him with a strange expression. It was composed of half sympathy and frustration. There was a moment of silence as Tooth debated whether or not to tell Pitch what he asked for.
That's when she zipped off and Pitch quickly got to his feet, "Wait! Please, Tooth!" he called out, "At least tell me how long it's been!"There was silence and then, at the end of the hallway, "two decades" before the shutting of a heavy door.
Pitch sunk to the floor, "twenty years?" he repeated with despair. There was a spark of fury inside him. It is taking them twenty damn years to figure out what to do with him!? Or since he's out of sight out of mind it doesn't matter anymore? Man in the moon, he thought bitterly to himself, "You're just leaving me down here to rot because it's more convenient for you, huh!?" He yelled out, his words quickly swallowed up by the darkness.
Soon those twenty years will turn in to twenty decades then twenty centuries, he thought desperately. In fact, by now he was sure that they would forget him. He wept bitterly, half from despair and the other from anger. There was no outlet to his frustration except tears, and that's what he did. He cried in the dark where he was hidden, almost shamefully. It had been a long time, but for some reason, this event has managed to collapse the dam that had been holding all the horrid memories. Every damn lonely year, every loss before and after his new life, everything just came out at once.
"Aw, Pitch, please don't cry." August's voice rang out through the dark like a bell; loud, clear and condescending.
"Leave me be." Pitch murmured. August squatted to Pitch's level and lightly touched the prisoner's face who then quickly drew away, "What do you want?" he hissed, glaring at the Guardian through blurred eyes. He pressed his back against the wall, trying and wishing he would melt into it. August, who seemed to have been momentarily on the opposite end, was now inside. Now confused, Pitch stood up, sliding along the wall into the corner, "Just go away."Pitch said, "Can't a man cry in peace!?" he yelled suddenly, "Or do you have to humiliate him every chance you get?" tears continued rolling, "I'm going to be stuck here forever" he whined, bending over a bit.
"Never knew that such a great king could be so easily beaten down" August said, hushing Pitch, "It's such a pity; you were so strong, intelligent. Now look at you, you're just a caged dog slowly being starved to death"
"Shut up!" Pitch yelled, lashing out at August. The spirit, with a cooled demeanor, simply sidestepped. Pitch turned just as August shoved him to the floor, he was about to get up when the towering spirit kicked him hard in the gut, "Stay down, Pitch."
Pitch grunted, and shakily got to his hands and knees only to be kicked down again. The malnourished spirit was rolled over onto his back by the foot of August, "Now doesn't this feel familiar?" he asked, staring down at him with an evil glint in his eye, "Oh Pitch…"