Fatigue eventually wears me down, after what feels like hours of walking I collapse against a tree, nestling into the space between two thick roots. Where I expect grass or vines to crawl up the tree trunk and cover the ground, instead the ice and snow thickens, making a cocoon around me, shielding me from the outside. I run my fingers over the sparkling snow that I've created, the frozen water glittering in my hand. There is no light within my cocoon and yet I can see everything, as well as the fact that my hands are no longer bleeding, in fact there is not even a scar. I examine my hands, running my eyes over the flawless pale flesh. "What am I?" I whisper to myself moments before I drop off to sleep.
*Pitch P.O.V.*
At five o'clock in the morning, when the sky was supposed to be growing bright with the start of a new day, the sun did not rise. No one noticed this, all the people in the town of Burgess just accepted that it was still dark out and relished in the feeling of a few more minutes of sleep. This was not natural,however, had they looked out at the early morning sky and peered really closely they would've noticed that it was not the night that was outside of their windows, but dark sand the color of coal blotting out the sun.
And riding atop the black sand, like a surfer, was Pitch Black. Or as he is better known, the Boogeyman. His lips were curled into a sneer as he stared down at the sleeping town, revulsion evident in his had wanted to disappear, to get as far away from the site of his defeat, but he was too weak to transport himself anywhere else, his powers nearly depleted after his battle against the cursed Guardians. He had come to a conclusion that he did not necessarily hate the people or this town, he needed the foolish mundanes and their beliefs to make him more powerful, it was very simply the fact that no one likes to be stuck in the place that reminds them of their shame.
The most he could do was collect his dark sand and give a few children nightmares, this was pathetic all on it's own in Pitch's eyes. He stood for a few moments longer overlooking the town before retreating, rushing his sands to carry him back to the woods where his temporary home resided.
In the town of Burgess there is one massive forest, a huge collection of trees that shielded the smallish town from sight. Though it is one assemblage of trees, there is an area that no one enters, the dark part of the forest they call it. There is a legend dating back hundreds of years of a boy who drowned in a lake and whose spirit haunts the woods. This story is mostly true, but the only creature that lurks within the forest with ill-will is Pitch, finding his way through the tightly knit trees as he allowed the sun to emerge finally after almost a half hour of delay.
As Pitch made his way home he noticed something odd in his dark forest, a sort of glowing coming from a patch of snow. It shimmered way more than ordinary snow was supposed to, and it gave off this warm feeling, as if he were basking in the rays of the sun. He dropped closer to it, his luminous golden eyes examining the odd white sphere sitting only a few feet away. He could feel the power emanating from it like a bad smell, filling the air and coating his skin. It was delicious. He started towards the sphere, prepared to rip it open and find the source hidden within the snowy confines.
His fingers had just touched the surface when he was thrown backwards, a jolt of energy coursing through his body and tossing him against the tree. After a moment of dizziness Pitch clambered to his feet like a drunk, his head spinning from the collision. "What is this?" he hissed under his breath as he brushed the snow from his clothing, staring at the shimmering globe of snow. His fingertips burnt where he had touched it, the skin a pale pink as they closed over the wound.
"Powerful magic" he muttered, circling the snow cocoon, ignoring the urge to smash the stupid thing in with a stick for ruining his fingers. He hesitated before stepping a smidge closer, the energy pulsing almost unbearably strong against him. If he tried to move any further he was flung backwards, slamming back into the tree from before. He cursed and glared at the orb, his dark nature starting to take over and willing him to attack with all of his limited strength.
Raising a giant pickaxe made from his dark sand, Pitch attempts to slam it against the snow cocoon. But just like himself, his sand is scattered, knocked away like an annoying bug. Growling, Pitch backs off, glaring acidly at the heap of snow. Just as he was preparing to launch another ambush on the mound when he hears voices, children's voices coming closer. Knowing that he will not be seen, Pitch continues on with his pathetic attempt at cracking open the snow orb.