Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Rise of the Guardians in any way, shape or form.

Sooooo, here is my second attempt at a fanfic. Dun dun dun! Two things: First, just as an FYI, this is in no way associated with the books, as I have not read them. If you're disappointed by that, I apologize, but I hope you find some enjoyment from my fic anyway. Second, for those of you who have read Starfire, my other fic, please keep in mind that this story has no connection to that one. Completely different animal, as they say.

Also, the rating and/or genres may change as the story progresses, depending upon how the inspiration stick strikes me. As of now it's rated T for language, but do check back on that from time-to-time, though of course I'll also provide warnings if/when they do change so you don't get any weird surprises.

Anyway, please enjoy, and, of course, reviews are always welcome. :D

"No, mom no!"

"Where the hell did you even get all these?!"

"STOP MOM! THEY'RE MINE!"

"They can't be all yours! Just look at them all!"

Of course they weren't all hers. No child had that many teeth. Somewhere deep down, six-year-old Cassandra knew that hoarding teeth like that was weird, but she just couldn't help it. It wasn't something she chose to do or really even wanted to do. It was instinct, pure and simple, an impulse she hadn't been able to deny no matter how hard she'd tried. Her mother had no idea how hard she'd fought the urges before finally giving in, nor how incredibly stressful and time-consuming it had been to steal them all. They'd been pilfered from backpacks at school, where the nurse sealed them up in little envelopes for safekeeping, or lifted from pockets or taken right out from under kids' pillows while the unsuspecting owners slept. For months she'd kept them carefully hidden in the back of the unused living room fireplace, but somehow her mother had stumbled upon them.

In her anger, Ms. Fisher shook the little plastic baggies, causing the teeth to rattle. Cassandra leapt and snatched at them, desperate to take them back, but her mother held them just out of reach. They were so tantalizingly close, Cassandra found herself shrieking in frustration and desperation.

"They're MINE!"

"NO THEY'RE NOT!" her mother screamed back. While one hand dangled the baggies of teeth over her daughter's head, the other continued to dig around in the back of the fireplace for any more that might be hidden. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Why do you even have these?! It's disgusting!"

Sobbing hysterically, little Cassandra scratched and punched at her mother, struggling fruitlessly to retrieve the teeth. Satisfied that the fireplace was now empty of plastic baggies—and, more importantly, teeth of unknown origins—Ms. Fisher straightened up, pushed her daughter aside, and marched towards her bedroom. Cassandra just screamed even louder. She jumped up to attack her mother again, only to be roughly shoved away once more.

"Stop screaming!" her mother hollered. She was red-faced with fury. "Just look at yourself! You're acting like an animal!"

"GIVE THEM BACK!"

"NO! And I won't hear any more about it!"

The bedroom door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place. Trapped out in the hall, Cassandra pounded and kicked and screamed for several long minutes before reluctantly giving up. Knowing her mother as she did, she knew the woman wouldn't come out until dinnertime, if she came out at all. Most times when they fought, Ms. Fisher didn't reemerge until the following morning, sequestering herself with the T.V. and computer until the alarm clock reminded her that her daughter had to get ready for school. Weekdays for her mother meant eight hours of peace and quiet, otherwise she probably wouldn't ever come out of that stupid room.

Giving the door one final, frustrated kick, Cassanda stalked back to her own bedroom and slammed the door. Panting, her throat sore from screaming, she raked her fingers through her hair in pure frustration. Then she grinned wickedly.

Her mother could lock her out, but she couldn't impede her daughter indefinitely. For all her faults, Cassandra Fisher was an extremely patient child…something else she knew was considered highly unusual in children her age. She had no problem waiting through the long, silent hours until her mother took her evening shower. She even went into the kitchen and fixed herself a bowl of cold cereal when, as she'd suspected, Ms. Fisher failed to come out for dinner. She was more than used to fending for herself, though leaving that splatter of milk on the floor was probably uncalled for. But she left it anyway. It matched the pigsty that was the rest of the kitchen.

After her cereal, Cassandra climbed into bed. Brown eyes fixed unblinkingly upon the ceiling as she waited…and waited…and waited…until, at long last, she heard the tell-tale sound of water flowing through the pipes. A faint smirk touched her mouth, exposing the depth of her smug satisfaction. Hopping out of bed, she abandoned the faint ribbon of moonlight gathering on the covers in favor of the dark shadows in the far corner.

She still wasn't very good at this sort of thing yet, but she could get around the house well enough thanks to a lot of practice. In times like these, when her mother was being wholly unreasonable, she was infinitely grateful that she could manage it at all. Closing her eyes tight, Cassandra concentrated with all her might and sank into the shadows. For a brief moment of time she felt bodiless, weightless, completely and utterly free. But then she opened her eyes again and found herself looking out into her mother's room. The only light available filtered through the half-closed bathroom door, giving the room an eerie half-glow. But Cassandra didn't mind. She much preferred the darkness, and always had. Darkness was quiet and still, it made her feel warm and safe and happy.

Nothing bad ever happened to her at night, quite unlike during the day.

Her tooth collection was in the garbage, where she knew it would be. Cassandra's grin went unseen as she still possessed no physical body. A long shadow spread across the bedroom floor, one that strongly resembled a disembodied arm. A hand soon appeared at the end of that arm, dark fingers reaching into the garbage bin to pluck out the baggies of treasured teeth. The shadow quickly retracted, and with a bit of effort Cassandra reappeared, fully-formed, in her bedroom, clutching the tooth collection to her chest.

Success! Now for the hard part…

Hurrying to the window, she pushed it open, climbed up onto the sill, and jumped down to the ground. It was early December, and the snow bank reached her knees, but neither of these facts bothered her one bit. Her immunity to the cold was just one of the many strange, inexplicable things about her that she simply enjoyed to the fullest possible extent. Raising her hand and gathering her power, she called upon the wind. All of a sudden, she felt feather-light (a whole different sensation from the out-of-body weightlessness she experienced whenever she disappeared into shadow) as the wind obliged in lifting her skyward. Flying higher and higher, she had to suppress the urge to whoop with glee. She relished in flight (it was the one thing that could rival her love of the dark), and tonight was perfect for it! Cloudless starry skies, just the right bite of cold, and a shimmering silver half-moon to guide her way.

But out of all her powers, flight was by far the most dangerous, for unlike the others she could only utilize it if she were out in the open. And that, of course, was always a risk. Being careful was the only reason she'd made it this far without being discovered, and even now, as she soared over snow-covered rooftops, she kept well above any windows or streetlamps just in case somebody happened to glance outside. As much as she adored the freedoms given to her by her magic, even at her young age she knew better than to flaunt them. It was bad enough her mother and everyone else treated her like a freak (though her teachers often categorized her under the more acceptable adjective "quirky"); the last thing she wanted was to see their reaction if they discovered even the half of what she was capable of.

Gritting her teeth, Cassandra urged the wind to take her faster. She soared over the St. Lawrence River, on a direct course to one of the many islands that dotted the boundary between the northeastern U.S. and Canada. Here she could relax a little. This late in the year, she knew there would be hardly anyone around. Most of these homes were seasonal, after all, possessing dark, empty windows and locked doors. No boats were buoyed to the docks, beaches lay abandoned until summer, and the edges of the river were tinged with a thin coating of brittle white ice. As long as she didn't get too reckless, she should be able to make it across the open expanse of sky and water without being detected.

The island she needed was closer to the Canadian side, and uninhabited. Trees grew thick there, but when Cassandra landed in the midst of them it took only a moment for her to find the right one. Having been here numerous times before, she knew the island like the back of her hand. Besides, she could see in the dark just as well as she could in daylight, so the lack of illumination didn't bother her in the slightest. The moon and stars were more than enough. She reached down into a large knothole near the foot of the tree and pulled out a small metal box. Inside were all her treasures, pathetic little trinkets most would disregard as trash but Cassandra kept them, anyway, because there were meaningful memories in each and every one. She tucked the baggies of teeth amongst them and carefully returned the box to its hiding place.

Just as she was about to summon the wind to lift her skyward again, her keen ears picked up on something. She paused, listening. Then she tilted her face skyward to sniff at the air, grimacing as the distinctive smell of fuel and dirty metal hit her nose. It was a ship, likely a large container vessel. Cassandra leapt lightly up the tree to get a look, and stifled a groan. The loaded ship was passing fairly close to her island as it headed up the river towards the Great Lakes. Watching it slowly motor along, she pondered over her options. As dark as it was, she could probably get away with flying home again, but after a bit more consideration she decided against it. She simply couldn't risk detection. It was one thing to be called a freak, but to actually be caught doing something that should have been completely impossible for humans wasn't something she could just explain away.

Better safe than sorry.

Forgoing her flight plans, she instead dropped to the ground and jabbed her heel into the partially-frozen earth. A small symmetrical hole opened, revealing a dark tunnel, and she jumped inside without hesitation. A wide grin spread across her face as she slid along, quickly gathering speed, before the tunnel eventually leveled out and she glided to a stop. Brushing dirt off her pajama bottoms, Cassandra got to her feet and started to jog. This was the part she hated, so thankfully it didn't take too long. In just a few minutes she was hoisting herself up over the lip of another hole and into her room. As soon as she was out, the opening closed up without a trace of ever being there, not even a single speck of dirt on the floorboards.

Flushed with exhaustion and triumph, she collapsed onto her bed. With a contented sigh, Cassandra turned over onto her side and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, tucking the edges under her chin. With a practiced twirl of the wrist, she summoned the yellow sand that helped her sleep and flicked through the different images, trying to decide what she wanted to dream about tonight. In the end, she settled on a flying dream, which she sent over her own head with a careless flick. As soon as the first golden grains touched her hair, she was sound sleep, and dreamed of nothing the entire night but soaring across beautiful starry skies.

Unbeknownst to little Cassandra Fisher, slumbering peacefully in her bed, her precautions that night failed to prevent discovery. No sooner had she fallen asleep, a pair of large golden eyes appeared in the corner of her room. Simmering in the dark, those eyes were soon accompanied by a wide, leering smile full of sharp, crooked teeth.

Five years later, eleven-year-old Cassandra climbed the steps onto the bus that would deliver her to the hell that everyone else called school. She took her seat, which was directly behind the driver and, conspicuously, the only one on the entire vehicle that wasn't occupied by at least two children. The school had ordered it to be that way in the hopes of sparing themselves anymore headaches, but nevertheless Cassandra Fisher endured more than fifteen minutes of snarky remarks, jeering whispers, snickering, and more than a few projectiles. Paper clips and paper wads were favorites this year, but bits of broken eraser, pen caps, and even chewed up gum were common enough assailants that she could identify them purely by the sound they made when they hit the back of her coat. She kept her hood up, her head down and her mouth shut, enduring the harassment in gloomy silence. She occupied herself by watching the world go by and wishing she was literally anywhere else.

School was just a repeat of the bus ride, only on a much larger scale. Now the kids were competing with one another, seeing who could get away with the most outrageous attacks without getting caught by the teacher. Toby Allensworth, in particular, was on a campaign that Tuesday morning. He seemed determined to waste his entire notebook on spit-wads, which he shot across the room using a strategically disassembled pen. By mid-morning Cassandra was surrounded by fallen bits of paper, which the teacher inevitably noticed. He gave her a verbal lashing over being a slob and wasting 'valuable resources' before ordering her to clean up the mess.

She endured the entire lecture without saying a word, and picked up the disgusting bits as she was told, but let the man know through her dark, brooding stare that she really didn't give a damn what he had to say. Cassandra Fisher didn't keep her mouth shut because she was a doormat, as most people thought. No, she kept her mouth shut because she knew if she got riled up, she would do something stupid, and the last thing she needed was to give her mother another excuse to scream at her.

By lunchtime, though, the harassment was beyond unbearable. Toby Allensworth and his friends purposefully chose the table directly behind hers, as always, so they could continue to assault and berate her. Most of the boys at the table took a couple of shots at her with their straws before busying themselves with their food, but fat-faced Toby just wouldn't let up. Cassandra tried to eat her chicken noodle soup in peace, but the constant puffing of wet paper-wads hitting the back of her coat was driving her insane. Her expression remained a well-practiced blank, but inside she was seething. Were the cafeteria monitors blind? There were three of them standing right there!

One of them finally made their way over, but instead of telling off the table of rowdy boys she grabbed the back of Cassandra's coat hood to unceremoniously yank it down.

"No head coverings in school," she barked without even stopping.

The boys at the other table—who halted their antics the moment the monitor came by—grinned and cackled and slapped each other on the back, proud of their cleverness. Cassandra felt her anger boiling up, threatening to burst right out of her. It wasn't fair! And when yet another spit-wad struck right behind her ear, she'd finally had enough.

Rising smoothly, Cassandra picked up her tray and walked casually towards the garbage bins at the back of the cafeteria. This path took her right past the boys' table, and she stopped next to Toby. He looked up at her with a smug smirk. When she didn't move or speak, he taunted her by saying, "What is it, Fisher? Got something to say to me?"

For a moment she said nothing, did nothing except to stare silently down at him with a completely unreadable expression on her face. Then she smoothly upended her tray and dumped chicken noodle soup all over him.

Toby Allensworth howled as the hot food scorched him. While he jumped about flapping his arms like a startled chicken, his best friend, Anthony Tompkins leapt out of his seat to defend him.

"The hell was that for Fisher?!" he shouted. Hands came up to shove at Cassandra, but she didn't even flinch. Cool as ice, she took the now empty lunch tray in both hands and slammed the bottom of it right into his face.

Lips smashed against teeth, blood flowed freely, and Anthony Tompkins joined his friend in anguished shouting. Cassandra just stood there watching them, until a hand grasped her hard around the collar and dragged her away towards the principal's office.

The driver's side door of the Fishers' green sedan slammed shut, and for a long moment Ms. Fisher sat there without moving. Every breath she took was audible in the heavy silence, but Cassandra didn't really care. Her mother was always upset about something, so she knew perfectly well what to expect.

"The fuck Sandra," she finally hissed. Lifting her ass off the seat to dig into the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a box of smokes and lit one with a lighter from the cup holder. Exhaling gray smoke on a sharp breath, she repeated more quietly but with just as much vehemence, "The fuck, Sandra. The hell did you do that for?"

"They wouldn't leave me alone," she offered weakly, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

It didn't.

"Fuck," her mom cursed, taking another long drag. The windows were all closed, and Cassandra felt like she was about to puke from the noxious smell. She didn't dare mention the fact that smoking was forbidden on school property and that they were still parked right outside the front doors.

The two of them sat in stony silence while Ms. Fisher finished her cigarette. Once the stub was stamped out in the ashtray, the woman turned the key in the ignition, threw the car into gear, and sped out of the parking lot, completely disregarding the fifteen-mile-per-hour speed signs.

Later that night, as she headed back to her room after yet another dinner of cold cereal, Cassandra passed by the living room and overheard her mother talking on the phone.

"I don't give a rat's ass if you don't have room. Make room! I don't want her here anymore!"

Even though her stomach felt cold, she paused in the dark hallway to listen.

"I really don't give a fuck what that bitch Carol thinks! I've put up with this shit for eleven fucking years and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it Randy! If you don't take her I'm gonna dump her in foster care, see if I don't! See if I don't, I'm dead fucking serious!"

Swallowing thickly, Cassandra returned to her room and closed the door. Climbing into bed, she pulled up the covers and lay there for what felt like hours, wondering at the sudden numbness in her body. She knew she ought to think about what was happening, but her mind was an imposing blank right now, making coherent thought impossible.

Drawing a deep breath, Cassandra closed her eyes, concentrated hard, and allowed her body to sink into darkness. Shadow immediately surrounded her, pressed against her body like a warm, comforting embrace, and she let out a long sigh of contentment. This was her sanctuary, her own private retreat. It was quiet, peaceful. It was empty and safe and, best of all, completely free of her mother's toxic presence.

This was the only place she'd ever felt truly at home.

Cassandra floated in that dark, peaceful expanse, drowsing happily for quite some time. Then the tranquil bliss was interrupted by something she'd never experienced before: A hand grabbing hold of her ankle. With a gasp, she bolted upright, only to slam her head into something hard. Rubbing the growing lump on her forehead, she peered up through the gloom and realized she'd somehow ended up under her bed.

Huh. That had never happened before.

Then again…she'd never felt anyone else inside that shadow-place before either.

She pondered over that, wondering just how in the hell someone else could've gotten into what she'd assumed (up to that point at least) to be a place only she could access. She knew she hadn't imagined that firm grip, but she just couldn't figure out how it was possible, either.

Deciding it was a mystery she could always worry about in the morning, Cassandra carefully eased herself out from under the bed. It was a tight fit. Glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand, she startled to see that it was already 3 a.m. It had only been half-past six when she'd shut her eyes. How could that much time have passed without her realizing? It certainly hadn't felt like that much time had passed.

But then again, she supposed time had a nasty habit of speeding up whenever you were doing something you liked.

The rest of the night progressed just as swiftly, thanks in large to a pleasant dream of baby tortoises. Before she knew it, her mother was shaking her awake.

"Wake up," she barked, and the moment Cassandra's eyes opened an empty duffel bag was dropped onto her chest. "Take that and pack."

"What for?" she asked, though she already suspected the answer.

"You're going to your dad's. Now hurry up. The bus leaves in an hour."

Forty-five minutes later, Cassandra boarded a bus with her half-filled duffle bag. In the end she'd only had about ten minutes to dress and get packed, as the bus station was more than thirty minutes from their house (even with her mother's driving), but she really wasn't sorry to leave so much behind. Everything she was really attached to was safely stored away on the island, which she could always retrieve later on via her tunnels. Once she got to her dad's place, the St. Lawrence would be much too far away for her to possibly risk flying there, but sometime when he was out on a date or something she could run the tunnels without him ever knowing she was gone. Then she could hide the memory box amongst her things until she found another safe place to put it, one that wasn't a long, long jog from her new home.

Cassandra wasted the day drowsing, listening to her iPod, and staring out the window. When she finally arrived in Burgess, it was late in the evening. She'd figured nobody would be there to pick her up, and they weren't, so she wound up walking the four blocks to her dad's house. As she walked, she thought about how glad was she wasn't bothered by snow or ice. Burgess was covered in an even thicker layer of white than her mother's house had been, and the wind here had an extra sharp bite to it. Had she not been immune, she imagined the trip would've been unbearable.

Climbing the three cement steps that led to her dad's half of the blue-sided duplex, she rang the doorbell. A very ugly brunette answered. Cassandra scowled at her. Her dad had only been dating this broad for a few seconds and already she was hugely pregnant, her swollen belly jutting out right into her face. She actually had to take half a step back to avoid getting poked in the eye by the woman's hideously protruding belly button.

"You're Cassy?" the woman asked with a sneer.

"Disappointed?" Cassandra replied icily, but the woman didn't even seem to hear her as she was already yelling into the house.

"Randy! Randy your daughter's here!"

Her dad shouted something unintelligible from inside the house, and Carol turned back to Cassandra with a false smile plastered onto her mouth.

"We don't have a room for you 'cause of the nursery, so you're gonna take the couch."

"Fine."

The corner of Carol's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, as if she'd been waiting for (and, in fact, had been hoping for) some sort of complaint or argument. Cassandra was excellent at reading people, and knew the woman was disappointed her first attempt to bait her boyfriend's daughter had failed.

Thankfully she was spared any more catty remarks due to the sudden appearance of her dad. He looked just as unshaven and disheveled as the last time she'd seen him, which had been almost ten years ago. His tattered jeans were too big in the waist, so they sagged around his ass, and his hoodie was stained with grease and oil. She took the latter as a sign that, if nothing else, her dad was still employed at the auto maintenance place across town.

"Hey, kid," he said to her. "Come on in."

His tone wasn't overly friendly, but wasn't entirely dismissive, either. It almost sounded to Cassandra like he was talking to an acquaintance rather than his own child. Such was confirmed to her when he stepped back to hold the door open but made no move to take her bag. Catching the hint of a smirk toying with the corners of Carol's mouth, Cassandra realized the only thing the move had accomplished was exchange one private hell for a different one.

This is gonna suck.

After a hot shower and a somewhat-decent meal of leftover goulash, Cassandra settled herself down on the living room sofa for the night. It stank of sweat and was covered in brown dog hair, though she had yet to see a dog anywhere. Carefully arranging a sheet over the cushions, she lay down and pulled the dark blue throw over herself. It was extremely uncomfortable, and she shuddered to think what sort of unspeakable things had happened right where her face was located.

Pulling a face, Cassandra rolled over, trying hard to ignore the murmur of her dad's and Carol's voices from back in the kitchen. For nearly an hour, she tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable and straining to hear if any of the muted conversation was about her. She wasn't altogether sure if she was happy or disappointed when none of it was.

Rolling over once more, she happened to glance out the window and sat bolt upright. She stared for a moment, hardly able to believe it. Then she leapt to her feet and darted across the room to press her face right up against the cold glass.

Her eyes weren't deceiving her. Streams of golden sand were gliding through the sky, meandering between houses and seeping through windows.

How? How is that possible?!

Completely disregarding every self-imposed safety precaution in the wake of this incredible development, Cassandra eagerly pushed open the window and flew up to the roof. She walked right to the edge, staring wide-eyed at the dozens upon dozens of yellow tendrils snaking their way through town. As one happened to wind its way past her, she reached out to touch it, gathering some of the sand into her palm. Then she used her left hand to create some of her own, and compared the two piles.

To her shock, they looked exactly the same.

Casting aside her own sand with a careless flick of the wrist, Cassandra Fisher tried her hand at shaping an image utilizing this new material. Her eyes widened further still when an eagle effortlessly appeared and flew away into the darkness.

It didn't just look like the same sand…it was the same sand!

Who on earth is doing this?

She had to know.

Aided by the wind, Cassandra skipped lightly from rooftop to rooftop, tracking one of the sand streams back towards the source. Further and further she went, and as the buildings below her feet became fewer and further between, it dawned on her that the one responsible for this impressive feat may very well be located beyond the boundaries of Burgess.

Sure enough, she slid to a stop on the very last snow-covered roof, panting lightly and grimacing in defeat. The streams of sand were all converging on some place far, far out in the distance, and with no indication as to where precisely this magical person was located, she knew she couldn't risk going any further tonight. There was no telling if or when her dad or Carol might notice she was gone, and getting caught sneaking out of the house on the very first night would most assuredly get her thrown into foster care.

Best not push it.

Deeply disappointed, Cassandra returned home. She crawled through the window and was just sitting down on the couch again when Carol walked in. The woman's eyes narrowed as Cassandra feigned getting up instead of lying down.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

"Bathroom."

"Uh huh."

She obviously didn't believe it, but Cassandra really didn't care. She brushed past the huge woman and went straight for the bathroom, locking herself inside. She didn't really have to go, but knew her dad's girlfriend was sick enough in the head to probably stand outside the door and listen. So she took care of business, making far more racket than otherwise necessary just to make sure the insufferable woman knew she was on to her.

When she pulled the bathroom door open a few minutes later, there was Carol standing in the hallway, rubbing circles on her hideously swollen belly.

"What?" Cassandra asked stonily.

"Randy's right," Carol replied with a condescending smile. "You're really weird."

"Least I don't stand outside the bathroom listening to people."

The smirk collapsed into a scowl, but just as Carol opened her mouth to retort, her boyfriend arrived.

"Hey, ready for bed?" he asked, and Carol made a show of putting her arm around him and kissing his unshaven cheek.

"Of course love," she cooed. Cassandra felt sick watching it.

"Night Cassy," her dad called as he retreated to the master bedroom with his simpering girlfriend still hanging all over him.

"Night," Cassandra muttered.

Figures. Her dad called her Cassy and her mom called her Sandra, even though she hated both nicknames.

Back in the living room, Cassandra threw herself onto the couch and yanked the blanket up over her head. Sullen thoughts paraded through her mind, though they did nothing to dampen her curiosity over the unexpected appearance of the golden sand streams. Drawing back the blanket just a bit, she stared out the window at the lazy yellow ribbons. It sucked she couldn't solve the mystery tonight. Whoever it was out there controlling that sand, they may very well be able to answer her countless questions. Why did she have magic? Why were her powers all so different? How come she hadn't met anyone else with magic until tonight? (Well…she hadn't actually met anyone yet, but at least now she knew there were others out there with similar powers...)

Heaving a sigh, Cassandra pulled the throw blanket up again and shut her eyes. As busy as her mind was with thoughts about magic, the mysterious person controlling the sand, moving homes and schools, and Carol's attitude, she wondered for a bit if she was ever going to get to sleep. However, she was exhausted from the long bus ride and subsequent race across rooftops. So even without the assistance of her own yellow dream sand, she eventually succeeded in drifting off.

It felt like she was dreaming, yet it couldn't be a dream. It was so just so…different from every dream she'd ever experienced. Dreams were normally bright and cheery, filled with wistful, innocent characters or peaceful scenery.

This was the complete opposite of that.

Standing in that vast blackened space, Cassandra was very aware of just how thick and smothering the atmosphere was. Normally darkness was comforting to her, warm and gentle and welcoming, but the darkness surrounding her now was eerie and threatening. Not only was it betraying her by concealing the chattering, clattering, hissing and whickering creatures that stalked just out of sight, but it bore a weight wholly unfamiliar to her, as if she would be crushed into pulp and devoured by it if she happened to let her guard down.

A nightmare. She was certain of it. Weird, how she would experience her very first one on the same night she discovered that somebody else out there possessed similar magical powers.

Coincidence? I think not.

Cassandra wasn't afraid (she knew nothing could hurt her in a nightmare), but her strong inborn sense of caution prompted her to remain rod-straight and unblinking. Blank-faced, she studied the darkness for glimpses of the mysterious creatures. She saw a few legs, and what she was fairly certain was a tail, before eyes—golden, narrowed, gleaming eyes—started to open all around her. A low, rumbling growl resounded in her sensitive ears, growing louder and louder with each passing moment, but even then Cassandra stubbornly refused to flinch. A few seconds later, a massive black monster shot out of the dark, frothing jaws opened wide to snatch and shred with jagged teeth.

Yet even that hideous beast couldn't budge eleven-year-old Cassandra Fisher. Rather than run screaming, or cowering in terror, the stone-faced girl slashed the air with her hand and shouted in as commanding a voice as she could muster, "Enough!"

As if struck by a powerful blow, the beast split in two. It crumbled into black dust and subsequently swallowed up by the very darkness that had borne it.

Almost immediately afterwards the chuckling began.

"So you can control nightmares too. How intriguing."

A figure emerged from the darkness. It looked like a man, but there was no way he could be human. Tall and thin, with gray skin and golden eyes that gleamed bright in the darkness, he wore long black robes that matched the color of his slicked-back hair. As he began to slowly pace circles around Cassandra, an arrogant smirk played across his face, revealing sharp teeth.

"I must say, I find this so incredibly exciting." His voice was smooth and confident, incredibly charismatic, and bore the faintest echoes of an accent. Studying him, however, revealed nothing to Cassandra as to where he may have come from. "A human with magic is strange enough on its own, but…you don't have just any sort of magic, do you?"

He moved closer, each movement so incredibly smooth he almost seemed to glide towards her. Cassandra stood firm, and within moments the strange man-creature was looming over her.

"Hmm," he mused, eyeing her up and down. "You don't believe in the Guardians, I see. That's always a plus." Then a slight frown drew his brows together as he continued, "You are not afraid, either. How is it that you can see me if you do not fear or believe?"

"You're standing right there," Cassandra replied evenly. "How can I not see you?"

For a heartbeat of time, he stared at her. A flicker of some indiscernible emotion flashed across his face before the smirk returned, accompanied this time by the deep, throaty echoes of an amused chuckle. "Indeed. How can you not." He straightened to his full height. "Tell me your name, child."

"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she worried she'd unintentionally aggravated or insulted him, but instead the strange gray man chuckled again.

"Why yes. Yes it is. It has been so long since my last genteel conversation, I admit that I completely forgot." He inclined his head towards her, though his penetrating stare never left her face. "I am Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, though many refer to me simply as the Boogeyman."

"Boogeyman?"

"You have not heard of me?"

"Of course I have. I was two once."

He scowled at her. "You have a sharp tongue." Then he grinned. "I like that. As much as I enjoy fear, cowardice does grow tedious after a time. It's so very hard to hold a conversation with someone who's whimpering and cowering and begging for mercy."

Cassandra said nothing. She still wasn't sure what to make of this strange man, this "Pitch Black", quite yet.

"So what is your name, bold one?"

"Cassandra Fisher."

"Cassandra. 'To excel and to shine'. How oddly fitting."

Feeling insulted, Cassandra scowled. It was the first real emotion she'd displayed since getting sucked into this nightmare, but she really didn't like people making fun of her name. "Says the one named 'Pitch Black.'"

Something very cold, like an icy finger, traced down the length of her spine. She didn't shiver (she didn't dare), as the Boogeyman's eyes narrowed. "I have been known by many names over the ages, girl," he said in a voice that was deadly soft. "Don't mistake my interest for geniality. Even with your magic I could crush you like a fallen leaf."

"I'm sure you can." She wasn't being sarcastic, she truly meant it. She could feel the danger, the power, radiating off of him as humanoid shadows loomed high around them. "I just don't like people making fun of my name. It's bad enough my parents call me crap like 'Cassy' or 'Sandra' even though I hate it."

As fast as Pitch Black's anger had appeared, it melted away again, and just like that the haughty smile was back.

"In that case, I shall call you Cassandra. In exchange you will answer my questions. Deal?"

She thought it over for a moment. "Nothing personal?"

"Oh, no," he assured her in a silky voice. "I merely wish to indulge my curiosity over your rather…unique abilities. My intentions are far from sinister, I assure you."

Cassandra didn't believe it, not even for a moment. She couldn't explain why (perhaps it was the oily aura he exuded, like a crooked car salesman), but she had the feeling this Pitch Black was an accomplished liar. He was trying to manipulate her, and making no effort whatsoever to hide the fact, which indicated plainly just how little he thought of her intelligence.

Better put a stop to that.

She countered his offer. "How about you call me Cassandra out of respect, because I asked you to, and then we answer each other's questions."

One dark eyebrow lifted. "Respect? I am a spirit and a king. What are you?" He scoffed. "A human and a child."

"We may be different," she admitted, "but we are mutual in our curiosity. I will show you respect if you show it to me in return, that way we can both get what we want."

He threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed until Cassandra was sure he'd burst a lung.

"Oh, you are bold, young one," he chortled. "Bold and intelligent. I rather like that."

He waved his hands through the air in a casual gesture. She couldn't help but notice just how very long his fingers were, and with sudden clarity, she realized that he must've been the one who'd grabbed her in the dark last night. "Very well," he decided. "I accept your terms."

Before he could ask the first question, though, he looked around sharply. "Another night, perhaps," he told her tersely, looking exceptionally aggravated. "It seems we are being rudely interrupted."

Cassandra opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but instead her eyes shot open as her physical body was forcibly shaken.

"Well, thank God," Carol huffed. "I was starting to think you were dead."

"Come on," Randy's voice called from the kitchen. "Hurry up, Cassy. You're gonna be late for school!"

Shaking her head to clear the lingering haze, Cassandra jumped up from the couch to take a shower. As she quickly scrubbed stink and dog hair from her body, she wondered about the dream she'd had.

Pitch Black was a very odd character indeed, treading the finest of lines between fascinating and creepy. She didn't trust him more than she could throw him, but he was the first person (or rather, spirit, if she was to believe what he'd said) that she'd met who possessed powers similar to her own. She was desperate for answers, and until she tracked down the one responsible for creating those yellow sand streams, he was the only available source. It would be stupid to waste such an opportunity, even if she couldn't trust the half of what he said.

Besides, she reasoned as she toweled herself dry, he'd given his word to answer her questions if she answered his, and she couldn't think of any reason why he'd break that promise. He was clearly as interested in her existence as she was in his, so reneging on their agreement would only serve to his own detriment. He may be a liar, but he didn't appear to be a wholly unreasonable sort.

At least he'd agreed to call her Cassandra.

Sitting on his dark throne, Pitch Black opened his eyes. A triumphant grin spread wide across his face as he absently stroked Onyx's mane with one hand.

"How interesting," he purred. "How very, very interesting."