It was a quiet five years since Pitch had been dragged down underground, his own nightmares his only company - it was a quiet five years for Pitch.

Barely a shade, a shadow of what he once was in those five years to plot revenge against the Guardians and Jack Frost.

Pitch was patient, waiting for the right moment - the one night that wasn't watched over by the pesky Man in the Moon; till the time came he crouched on the ground like a feral cat waiting to pounce.

When the new moon came, thankfully MiM nowhere in the sky did Pitch sneak though the shadows - travelling to all the guardians bases. The rabbit had gone into a deep sleep after easter, Tooth was too busy with the teeth collecting to notice the malformed shadows in the corner, Sandy was in the sky as usual - spreading sickly golden sand everywhere, Pitch had floated to the frozen lake where Jack would've lay but the sprite wasn't there and so that only left one place, North's workshop.

So this is where he was now, watching the winter spirit from the shadows - the boy was perfectly at ease, not nevously looking over his shoulder or protectivly wielding his staff - the boy was getting ready for bed. It was a perfect ploy, and the added bonus of the boy being relaxed was all the ample pale white skin being revealed to the diminished Nightmare King. Layer by layer was the clothing peeled off into a heap, slowly and carefully. Pitch made a note of where the boy kicked his jacket, perhaps a souvinir for Pitch to take - to remember what will happen this night...

But the King was hoping, that the boy would be...on edge.

Jack simply crawled into bed and turned off the light, Pitch had to wait when Jack entered deep sleep first but the Boogeyman was patient. Pitch wouldn't move till the boy breathing evened out and deepened.

"When you're not on edge, you're taking up too much space." Pitch drawled quietly, his shape oozing and writhing from Jack's own shadow on the wall - the golden eyes gleamed at the sleeping, unconsious boy in bed; unaware of the danger he was in. Pitch stepped away from the wall, peeling away from the flat surface - not becoming solid as of yet, but of a paper thin, slender creature. The shadow puppet man with a fanged mouth stretched wide, the needle teeth were sharp - its whole body rustled, like a dead leaf caught in a gust of winter chill; or the scrunching up of ink ruined paper - wobbling and swaying towards his prey.

Pitch flexed his paper thin fingers, moving closer to the winter sprites snow white neck. He wanted to lick it, he wanted to bruise it - paint the white purple and blue but most of all, he wanted to see if he could slice open the pale neck with paper cuts. Many, many paper cuts.

"Lets put you on edge, shall we?" Pitch hissed as he pounced.