Wow, I got a better response than I'd hoped. Some of them were from familiar reviewers who have read my other stories. Thanks for sticking with me as I venture into a different fandom. And some of my reviews are from new people. In that case, welcome into my insanity. I hope you'll enjoy the ride.

The worst of the pain and exhaustion had faded. Time heals all wounds and the smaller fears were crawling back to the children. Pitch could always hear a few whispers in his mind when he listened for them, the stronger fears reaching him even in the depths of his lair. He could hear the fears of those around him, human or spirit. He always knew what they feared. But hearing their fears at a distance only happened when those fears were particularly strong or involved him. So he paid attention when those mental whispers reach all the way down in his lair, even if he could not make out the words from so far away.

He needed those fears that were bubbling back up. His strength was returning, but slowly. Not a lot and not nearly to the heights it once reached. That required time and numerous frightened children tormented by horrifying dreams, letting him build up his power even if most no longer could see him. And the Sandman would have boosted their belief in the Guardians and raised their confidence enough that many fears would not plague the children. He desperately needed more fears if he wanted to be anything more than a mere shadow.

Still, he no longer struggled to stand and light didn't hurt nearly as much. He wouldn't risk sunlight yet, but he was more of a nocturnal figure anyway. He might still be weak, a pale imitation of what he was during the Dark Ages and even the most recent Easter night, but he was reaching the point he might risk leaving his lair. As long as he avoided the Guardian's attention, it might be time to return to what he was meant to do.

Or he could at least make the attempt. Not because the Man in the Moon said it would help. Pitch was still half convinced he'd finally gone crazy since his advice sounded completely useless. No, he would go back to using fear to instill caution and warning in the children because it was something familiar. And because he needed any fear he could get. If he wanted any useful amount of strength back, he would need their fear. And it wasn't as if he had anything better to do while waiting to either succumb to the corruption and become a Fearling or to be destroyed by the Guardians once and for all.

But he didn't leave his lair. Not yet. Even with the pain and exhaustion diminishing to more tolerable levels, a small portion of his strength returning, and a few mental whispers of truly frightened humans fluttering around the back of his mind, Pitch didn't venture out of his domain. There was no hurry. And he had other minor tasks he could take care of first.

One of the first things he accomplished once he could stand without supporting himself with a wall was repairing the hole where the Nightmares escaped and the moon shone in. He didn't want or need another conversation with the moon for at least a few decades at a minimum. Then he went through his lair, checking to see if the tiny kidnapped fairies left anything behind when they left. Pitch highly doubted it, but it was certainly easier than going out into the world just yet.

He didn't find much. Mostly he found a few loose feathers in the cages or the corners, the iridescent shine to them a nearly hypnotic thing. There were no forgotten containers and no loose teeth. They would have taken inventory as soon as possible once they'd escaped. The Tooth Fairy and her smaller fairies would not have forgotten even a single molar.

He did, however, find one thing they missed. Next to the black, metal, hollowed-out globe covered in the lights representing the children who still believed in at least someone, Pitch found a coin. A single coin, nearly worn smooth with age, sat right against the structure. Perhaps it was accidentally grabbed with the containers of teeth. It certainly wasn't one of the more recent coins the fairies were in the middle of delivering when they were kidnapped. It was too old. The markings were worn to the point he was uncertain what denomination it might be. It was also the only reflective surface within his lair and that trait allowed Pitch to make a certain discovery.

He'd picked up the old coin, turning it in his hand curiously as the sourceless light streamed down and reflected off it. He turned it a few times, staring at the faded markings with slight interest. It took several moments for him to actually notice his reflection within the smooth surface. And then it took another moment to notice a difference.

He knew what he looked like. Even if there were no other reflective surfaces within his lair, he'd been out in the world enough times over the millennia to catch glimpses in water, mirrors, and other surfaces. As a being of shadows and darkness, Pitch's appearance echoed that. His skin was gray where the corruption had not completely blackened it yet.

The only hint of color was his eyes and even they were not completely spared. The outer edges of the iris was gray while the edges near the pupils still clung to their golden shade, giving his eyes the appearance of a solar eclipse. He knew once they were different. Before the Fearlings, his eyes and his entire body were different. And even after he regained control and the Fearlings vanished, his eyes were still golden. But so slowly he barely even noticed or realized it until far later, the gray began to overtake the brighter shade. In hindsight, that should have been a sign that the corruption the Fearlings left behind was growing worse, but he didn't make the connection. His mind was probably too darkened by then.

But when he looked into his reflection now, staring at the old worn coin in his hand, Pitch saw his eyes no longer had any gray. The irises were the same golden shade they once were. Uncertain how to react to the physical demonstration of how much darkness the Nightmares ripped out of him, he quickly tucked the coin away and did his best to put the matter out of his mind.

Still, he couldn't remain in his lair forever. Pitch knew that. It wasn't in his nature to ignore something forever. Sooner or later, the fears of the world would draw him back out again. It was only a matter of time.

She woke up to a crash of thunder, sitting up in her bed instantly while her heart pounded in her chest. Lucy clutched her stuffed toy cat desperately, gasping and shaking in fear. Her eyes flickered around her bedroom, trying to calm down enough not to cry. She couldn't cry for her parents and run to their room. Ben would make fun of her and call her a baby again. As scared as she was of the storm, Lucy didn't want her brother to laugh at her. She needed to be a big girl. And big girls didn't get scared.

A brief flash of lightning lit up her room far more than her nightlight, but the immediate loud thunder made her flinch. The rain pounded hard against her window and the roof. The storm kept going, wild and dangerous. She hated thunderstorms. They were loud and terrifying. Sometimes it felt like they would shake the whole house with their noise. And the only warning she ever got would be the lightning. Thunderstorms were just too big and loud for her. They were completely terrifying to her.

Lucy knew she was a coward. Ben teased her about it all the time. She was afraid of so many things. She was scared of thunder that crashed around her unexpectantly and left her desperately covering her ears. She was afraid of heights that she could fall from and deep water that she could sink in. She was scared of big dogs that barked, chased, and tried to bite. She was afraid of monsters that Mommy and Daddy said weren't real, but still scared her anyway. But the thing that scared Lucy the most, what made her completely and utterly afraid, was—

Another flash of lightning and crash of rolling thunder struck as the child squeaked in fear. Then her nightlight extinguished, plunging her room into complete blackness.

—darkness. She was absolutely terrified of the dark.

Lucy whimpered as panic began to set in. Not the dark. Please not the dark. She couldn't move, though her grip on her toy cat tightened until her fingers hurt. Her heart raced and pounded in her chest while her breathing grew into shaking sobs. Her whole body trembled beneath her blanket. Not the dark. The dark and the storm were too much for her.

She couldn't run to her parents' room now, even though she no longer cared what Ben would say. She couldn't cry out for them to come and help her. Lucy was too afraid to move, let alone leave her bed. Her fear was so strong, choking and paralyzing the girl. She could practically feel the darkness swallowing her.

Then a strange voice crept out of the shadows from the direction of her closet and said, "Do you know why you fear the dark?"

There were more faint, distant, and quiet whispers reaching him now. More fears were echoing in his head, indistinct over the distance and yet still helping a little. But then one whispered fear rose above the others, catching his attention and interest.

"I'm afraid. It is dark and it frightens me."

The pure and powerful fear came across loud and clear. A child filled with complete and utter terror. A valuable little light among those scattered across the hollow globe.

Children's fears were often stronger than adults, just like many other traits they possessed. Many of their emotions were stronger and more intense than their elders, without experience and memories to temper them. They remembered that there were monsters that lurked in the darkness, things without shapes and names that can still plague their minds. They lacked the knowledge "to be sensible" and to know "that such things are impossible." And when children chose to believe in something, they believed with all their heart and soul. They believed so deeply and utterly, without the doubts and hesitation that an adult might experience. Children weren't jaded, cynical, and rational about how the world must work. Humanity may have moved on from the stories and legends that still existed around them, but the children remembered.

Children's fears were often stronger, but few were strong enough to reach down to his lair without being directly focused on the Boogeyman. Fears of himself he could always hear, after all. But most other fears wouldn't be clear at this distance. So hearing this common childhood fear so distinctly would mean the child must be utterly terrified.

He needed this. A child with such powerful fear couldn't be ignored. He was too weak still. He needed the power from that fear. Harnessing that fear would go a long way towards helping him regain his strength. And frightening the child a little more would be even better.

Vanishing into shadows to travel was as easy as breathing. They were a part of him. Shadows flowed through him like blood. He could melt into the darkness and reform in any other shadow. The skill made him nearly impossible to trap, nearly impossible to predict, and nearly impossible to keep out.

Pitch vanished from his lair of raised walkways, dangling cages, and stone. And he followed the trail of fear back to its source, reappearing in a child's closet. The lack of light did not hinder his sight much. Strong night vision was practically a requirement. He noticed the small clothes hanging around him and the open door to the bedroom. He saw the toys on the floor, a few crayon drawings taped to the wall, and a nightlight that didn't seem to be working. A power outage, he would guess. The rain pounding on the window and the rumbling thunder supported that.

And curled up on the bed under a green bed sheet was the child. Fear radiated so strongly that Pitch couldn't help smiling. It was truly invigorating. The child didn't say a word, but those fears still rang out clearly.

"I'm afraid. The storm is scary. But the dark is even scarier. I don't like it. I'm scared."

Such wonderful, clear, and strong fears. No wonder the child shook and nearly hyperventilated in terror. Perhaps he could do something to solidify those fears into something even more concrete and specific. Maybe he could even turn them towards him.

His voice coiling out of the darkness, Pitch said, "Do you know why you fear the dark?"

The child flinched and made a sound somewhere between a quiet shriek and a sob. Their eyes scanned the darkness, but they didn't see him. Not yet. And the unknown can be more frightening than anything else.

Lucy wanted to scream, but her throat locked up. There was someone in her room. Not Mommy, Daddy, or Ben. A stranger. It was dark, there was a storm, and there was a stranger in her room. She couldn't see him, but his voice made her tremble.

But he asked a question. Ignoring people would be rude. Not that she could truly ignore the voice coming from her closet. But Mommy and Daddy said she shouldn't be rude to people. As much as she wanted to hide under her blanket, she needed to answer. Eyes still searching for something in the terrifying darkness, Lucy slowly shook her head.

"You fear the dark because you can't see in it," he said, the voice shifting around the room and forcing her to keep turning in order to search. "The fear of the dark is a primal one, a fear that's affected humanity since the beginning. The darkness makes you feel weak. It leaves you vulnerable and unprepared. But you don't truly fear darkness."

She nodded rapidly. Yes, she did. The voice didn't know what they were talking about. She was certainly afraid of the dark. She was really, really afraid. It was the scariest thing in the whole world. Lucy wished desperately that her nightlight would come back on. She needed a way to make the darkness less frightening.

"No, you don't fear the darkness itself. You merely think that you do. You are afraid of what you can't see lurking in the darkness. Predators and monsters that hide in the shadows, dangerous creatures that hunt and pounce on helpless children," said the stranger that she still couldn't see. "The unknown thing that hide in the darkness. That's what truly frightens people, not the darkness itself. An absence of light cannot hurt you. What hides in the darkness, however…"

"Like you?" Lucy whispered in a wavering voice, her painfully-tight grip on her blanket and toy cat loosening slightly.

She finally spotted something in the shadows. A faint golden glow, like twin stars in the night. As they came closer, Lucy realized they were eyes.

"An interesting question. Do you know who I am?"

Lucy shook her head. She didn't know who he was or how he ended up in her room. She didn't know anything. Nothing made sense. But even though she felt so confused, scared, and nervous about everything, she didn't want to run for her parents anymore. And she didn't feel paralyzed. The girl just watched the golden eyes in the darkness. He moved closer, looming over Lucy on her bed.

"I am one of the first monsters that humanity feared. When they looked into the darkness and worried about what they couldn't see lurking in the shadows, it was me hiding out there. And it was me ensuring that they remembered to fear what waited in the dark," said the stranger. "Beneath the bed, in the back of the closet, and always right behind you, I am always there. Who am I?"

She felt her mattress mend and creak a little, making Lucy back up. She could almost see a shape in the darkness, like a tall figure leaning over her and bracing his hands on the bed. The glowing golden eyes were so close that she could almost touch him.

"I'm the Boogeyman," he hissed.

Another flash of lightning lit up the room briefly, giving Lucy a glimpse of a strange tall man with gray skin and dark hair. Then darkness swallowed everything again and thunder rumbled. And as she blinked to clear her vision, her nightlight came back on. With the return of the steady and reliable light, Lucy realized two things.

One, the gray man with the golden eyes was gone. He vanished from right in front of her. It was so sudden that she didn't even feel the mattress move when his hands left it. He was too fast and sneaky.

And two, near the end while he was talking, the darkness didn't seem as bad. She was still scared of everything that was happening. But the panic wasn't all consuming, her heart beat wasn't pounding in her ears, and she even managed to find her voice briefly. Her fear didn't vanish. It was still there. But as long as he was talking, even if he was scary, Lucy's fear felt more controlled and less overwhelming.

Pitch stumbled out of the shadows into his lair, eyes wide and breathing hard. The flash of lightning and the return of power to the household didn't drive him away. The brief sting of a sudden bright light wasn't the reason for his quick exit. No, he left because he caught a good look at the child when the storm lit up the room. He saw her.

The child was a girl, wearing a light green nightgown rather than this decade's stereotype of pink. Black hair, messy from slumber. And an innocent and soft face, one that spoke of the child's youth while she was also old enough to start understanding the world a little. Four or five, perhaps. Six at most. Regardless, she was small. And even with her powerful and very clear fears, she should be like a thousand other children across the world. One little light among the numerous pinpricks on his hollow metal globe. It shouldn't have mattered.

But when he truly saw her, it was almost like seeing a ghost. The appearance wasn't exact, but it was close enough that memories hit him hard. What fragmented and ancient memories he still possessed from before the Fearlings now seemed determined to come to the forefront of his mind. For someone who always preferred to be in control of a situation, the overwhelming and all-consuming experience felt unsettling. And all in response to the young girl's face.

…He stared at the beautiful home, the familiar marble pillars a welcome sight. A small dark-haired figure dashed out to meet him, running past her mother at the entrance. He felt the weight of the last few weeks lift at the sight of her smile. He knelt down to catch the girl as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"So I take it you missed me?" he said with a grin.

Giggling, she said, "Of course, Daddy. You were gone forever."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take so long. There were more to handle than we expected and you know I would never make my men fight a battle that I wouldn't."

"But you won, right?" she said as he stood up, still holding her in his arms. "You saved the settlement from the Fearlings."

"Of course."

He didn't tell her that not all of them were saved in time. The Fearlings managed to steal the lives of far too many people before his troops handled the threat. That was why there were more Fearlings than expected. They converted most of the people in the settlement into other Fearlings. But they saved a few lives at least. And even a few souls saved from that fate was worth it.

"Were you good for your mother?" he continued.

"Well, someone thought it was a good idea to go sailing around the asteroids without telling anyone," said the woman as she joined them, kissing her husband briefly. "And she went out farther than she's supposed to."

"Really? Even though the deal was I'd teach you how to sail your little schooner we got you as long as you stay close or wait for me to go with you? Not my little girl. Your mother must be mistaken."

His words didn't seem to have much effect. She didn't even look guilty about it. If anything, she looked mildly smug.

He should scold his daughter. Even if she was a natural at sailing her schooner, she was still a child. And there were dangers out there. The Fearlings were growing bolder and increasing their numbers. Then there were the pirates, who always seemed to sense weakness at any distance and would leave devastation in their wake. Their home would be safe, the reputation of a legendary general enough to discourage most. But that protection wasn't guaranteed farther away.

But he couldn't quite bring himself to truly scold her though. His wild and joyful daughter loved adventure too much. He couldn't bear the idea of taming that wildness. She was fearless and bright, like a little supernova. Never hesitating or holding back like some children might. His beautiful wife might worry and try to keep their daughter close for her protection, but he adored their girl too much to restrict her in any way.

"Mommy worries too much. I was fine."

"You still shouldn't worry her. Try not to sneak out without telling someone anymore," he said, smiling at her.

Golden eyes, just like her parents', dropped to the ground as the girl gave a reluctant nod. He gave a gentle kiss to her forehead and then gave another one to his wife's cheek. He smiled at both of them, the people he loved most in the entire universe. This was what he fought to protect. Holding his daughter with one arm and wrapping a second around his wife's waist, he headed back into their home…

…"Tighten that rope," he said gently as the girl scurried across the deck.

"I know, Daddy."

She did know. He knew that his daughter could sail with minimal input from him by this point. Almost as soon as she could walk, he brought her on the different vessels. He taught her everything from tying knots to adjusting sails to repairing the artificial gravity to actually steering the ship. And she retained every lesson. When she turned five, she knew enough that he entrusted the girl with a small schooner, a miniature and simpler version that she could control and steer on her own. And from that moment on, his daughter practically lived in the asteroid field near their home.

There were some places where ships sailed only on seas of water or other liquid. And the space that surrounded the worlds was empty and inhospitable to life in some distant systems. But the nebula clouds that surrounded dozens of stars and worlds also made it possible to breathe and craft sailing ships that catch the solar winds to travel. There were more enclosed vessels for more distant and hostile corners of the galaxy, but the maneuverable schooners and larger galleons he preferred worked perfectly well within the solar systems he needed to reach.

His daughter loved sailing among the asteroids near their home and he loved watching her, her black hair streaming behind her. She would fearlessly guide her small vessel around the obstacles, laughing as she coaxed her schooner to go faster and to swing closer to the asteroids. There was a limit to what she could do with her miniature and simplified ship, but she always pushed those limits. No hesitation, no caution, and no holding back. The girl was too naturally talented and confident for that. A father could not be more proud.

"Watch this, Daddy," she said, eager to show off…

… Word of a pirate raid reached him, far closer than he was comfortable with. His vessel and his men were already prepared to leave. They needed to handle the pirates quickly: capturing, killing, or at least driving them off. He couldn't let them start raiding so close to his home.

Unfortunately, his daughter wasn't happy about him leaving again so soon. He'd barely returned from their last fight against the Fearlings. She knew that protecting the people from harm was important. She knew her father was needed to fight against evil. But that knowledge didn't make it any easier when he was gone for long stretches of time. Or when he was called away abruptly.

The look on her face, pouting and sullen, made his heart twist a little. She'd wanted to go sailing with him in the morning. She'd wanted to spend the whole day with him. And he was disappointing his daughter by leaving so soon. He didn't want to, but there was no other option. Both his duty as a general and his duty to protect his family compelled him to go.

Kneeling down to face her, he said gently, "I'll be back soon."

He smiled at his daughter encouragingly and brushed the black hair out of her face. He said a slight softening of her expression. She couldn't stay mad for long. She was too much of a joyful child to hold a grudge over this for long. A joyful, wild, and fearless child that anyone father would be proud to claim. By tomorrow she would forgive him and undoubtedly sneak out for adventures on her schooner. Hopefully she would stay close and not worry her mother too much. And he would make everything up to her when he returned.

"Promise?" she asked, letting a little hope for his quick return slide into her expression.

Meeting her eyes firmly, he answered, "On my soul."

She briefly hugged his neck. Then he stood and turned to his waiting ship, hearing his wife call their child back to the house. He resisted the urge to turn and look back at them. Leaving was always hard. But it shouldn't take long to handle a few raiding pirates. He would see them again in almost no time…

The memories of long lost days finally stopped overwhelming him, letting Pitch's breathing gradually slow. The ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat didn't want to surrender so easily. Everything that was dredged back up left him wobbling and feeling weak. But he refused to let his legs buckle under him. He refused to fall.

"It wasn't her," he managed to croak to himself. "They look alike, but it wasn't her."

That was important to remember. The similarities were superficial. The child was from a different species, a different world, and a different millennium. And the girl possessed too much terror to be his joyful, wild, and fearless…

No, they weren't the same person. They didn't even look completely alike. The similarity was just strong enough that when he caught sight of the girl unexpectantly, it evoked those ancient memories regardless. It reminded him of what once was. Of what was lost and could never be regained. There was no reason to dwell on either girl, present or past.

His face was wet. When did that happen?

Pitch wiped away the wetness from his cheeks. He blamed it, the tightness in his throat that made it hard to swallow, and the ache deep in his chest as side effects of his current weakened state. Once there was enough fear to restore more of his strength, these rather inconvenient symptoms wouldn't be a problem anymore. Time heals all wounds.

Maybe if he told himself that long enough, he would believe it someday.

Anyone with any real astronomy knowledge is probably shaking their head at me by now. As are people who actually know things about ships. But this is a story in which belief and fear are measurable forces and a dead kid can create ice and snow. After a while, you have to set aside science a little and just go with it.

No, I am not incorporating the whole "Mother Nature" angle. That part of the back story would take too long to set up and use properly. So we'll be ignoring that section. After all, this is only borrowing certain aspects from the book series. Not everything.

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