A dark figure sitting in an ornate large-backed chair held an ancient-looking book. The room glowed and flickered a warm orange around him, the only sounds coming from a quietly crackling fire and the crisp flip of pages as he read. A nightmare paced silently behind him, agitated but mindful of her master's peace.

Pitch occasionally uttered small sounds of interest as he read, at one point shaking his head and giving a low chuckle as he settled back against his chair, before leaning forward with a sudden gasp, gripping the book tightly and reading with a new fervor.

His quick movement alerted the nightmare; she wandered closer, nickering softly, but going unnoticed by the occupied King until a loud snort roused him from the pages. He turned quickly to her, scowling in annoyance.

"That was the best part, you dolt of a colt. Keep your nose to yourself next time, or I'll - yes of course I've noticed. He's been here for nearly two hours, now..." Pitch looked away from the shadowy mare, raising his voice slightly.

"...And it's not as though I wouldn't know if Jack Frost had entered my lair, with him being as loud and clumsy as he is." The grey-skinned man waited for a response, smiling as he caught the quiet whoosh of air that always accompanied the most bothersome of all Guardians.

"You know, I really hadn't pegged you as the type to snuggle in with a good book." Jack sauntered closer to Pitch's chair, poking at a candlestick with his staff, knocking it over. Sheepishly he withdrew the crook and righted the silvery taper in its holder before moving on, keeping his distance from the increasingly agitated nightmare. She snorted at him in obvious distaste.

"Now, now, my dear... Jack's oafishness is nothing new to us, is it? Intruding where he ought not to, spying as obviously as only such a bitter twit can manage, always bringing in such a draft..."

"I'm not that obvious. I'll bet you didn't notice that I've-"

"-Been coming here for five days?" Pitch grinned with amusement, "Do you mean like this morning, when footsteps came from down the hall? Or maybe you mean yesterday, when the doorhandle to my room was so cold it was as though a snowman had tried to break in! But maybe it was the bit right before that, when you-"

"Oh-kay," Jack broke in, "I get it, I could stand to be a little quieter-"

"...and you smashed a valuable timepiece the day BEFORE that, hiding it under my couch in plain view."

"YES, yes, thank you, I get it - but I'm not a spy, I'm a Guardian, it's just that - wait, 'in plain view'?" Jack narrowed his icy eyes and scrutinized the ashen man. "Were you watching?"

Pitch allowed a hint of smugness to creep into his grin. "Jack, Jack, Jaaack... You can't think I don't see everything that goes on in the shadows? Your recent little escapades have just been too... adorable to miss. But there you were, thinking yourself so clever."

While Jack slumped glumly on his staff, upset at having been found out, grey fingers plucked a black bookmark from nowhere and enclosed it in the leatherbound novel. Pitch sighed, placing the book on the chair as he rose from it and stepped slowly to the glowing hearth. Hands clasped behind his back and facing away, he spoke over his shoulder.

"So, Jack? To what do I owe the honor of your little visits? Come to check up on the Boogeyman, like a good little Guardian? Don't you have other things to do, rather than hanging about in the corridors and breaking my belongings?"

Jack shifted uneasily and looked down.

"Speak UP, boy, or leave while I'll still let you."

"Fine! North sent me - he asked me to see what's up, I mean, you haven't left this place for years! He thought you'd be planning something by now. So did I, I guess." Jack had been glowering at the taller man's back, but now as he moved closer his expression softened.

"Not that I'm looking for a fight, but why haven't you tried anything? I almost can't stand it!"

At this Pitch turned slightly to meet the boy's eyes in confusion, staring for moment.

"What do you mean, you 'can't stand it'?"

"Aren't you bored?" Jack practically yelled, "Down here for months on end, never seeing the sun... All I've seen you do is READ!" Jack poked a stack of books with a strangely incredulous look on his pale face, squinting when a moth fluttered its way out like a puff of dust.

"I swear I'd go nuts in your situation," he twirled his fingers and sent a few frosty moth-like conjurings into the air, watching them swirl around and play in the dusty emptiness.

Distracted by the playful frosts, Jack had no warning before Pitch began roaring with laughter. He jumped back, startled; The once tall, shadowy figure was now bend almost double, struggling for breath and practically tearing up in mirth.

"Bored!" He choked out, his eyes glinting gold with amusement.

"That's what you..?" He trailed off, still chuckling. Finally he stood up straighter, adjusting his cloak and smoothing down his coarse hair. "You mean to tell me you've been spying on me for days, just to see if I was bored? Oh, come now, Jack. That's just-"

"Alright! Shut up," Jack's face burned in embarrassment. "What's your deal, then? Biding your time, learning new tricks? Don't tell me you're just peachy with the way things turned out."

Pitch lost his smile immediately, storming a few paces away. Over his shoulder, his blackened stare snapped to Jack's icy blues.

"Of course I'm NOT, you little fool!" He hissed, baring sharp teeth in his sudden anger. "I have NOTHING now! Your horrible friends made sure of that, didn't they?" Pitch whirled around, his cloak floating for a moment like raised hackles.

"Of the ones you didn't freeze, my nightmares have all turned against me-" The lone mare whinnied, reminding him of his one remaining companion - "Most of them. How am I meant to leave here, if what awaits me out there dogs me so relentlessly? Bored, yes. But better than overtaken by sand." He patted the black mare, glancing at Jack and noticing how uncomfortable the pale spirit was upon hearing this. The very air around him seemed to condense and freeze, although Jack was probably unaware he was causing it.

Pitch scoffed mentally. 'Hm. Sulking, I suppose... But he can't say he didn't mean for it to happen, and he knows it.' His thoughts distracted him from the slow movement of his last companion.

The mare left Pitch's side and advanced, tentatively sniffing at Jack but the memory of his power kept her at a distance. The smell of fresh snow he exuded alarmed her, causing her to paw a hoof and huff quietly as she became increasingly agitated by the thought. Pitch noticed his companion's distress, suddenly fearing an outburst from her. He stepped up beside her and stroked her flank in an effort to calm the roiling black mass of sand.

"Jack", The tall spirit said a little too calmly, "You should leave now." He kept his head high in spite of the tension rippling between his hand and the nightmare, hoping Jack would be sensible for once and take notice of the rapidly shifting atmosphere in the room.

Jack looked up, annoyed at the order; he stood up straighter and planted his feet defiantly, clearly not taking the hint. 'But of course not', thought Pitch.

At Jack's movement, Pitch's calming touch lost all effect on the nightmare and she broke loose from him, screaming a beastly cry that gave the effect of a whipping hurricane as she rushed the frost spirit, enveloping him. Faint shocks of blue burst from within the sand, but none quickly enough to quell the swirling mass.

Pitch stood shocked, but knew he could not stop such fury; the fear of his own minion crippled and humiliated him as he waited for the storm to subside.

His guest had not meant any harm; in fact, his presence had made the days significantly less dull, and Pitch knew he could have sent him away whenever he had tired of it. But as the black mists settled, muffling the shrieking winds beneath it, his well-meaning guest lay unconscious and bloody on the stone floor.

Pitch stared. Was the boy dead? No, of course not; not from just that. He ventured closer, shoes crunching over fine black grains that dispersed, sparkling, into the air and between cracks in the stone. So much for his last companion.

He bent over the ice-cold spirit, noticing how his pale skin had been deeply scored and battered. He hesitantly moved to brush his hand over Jack's cheek, hoping to wake him; with no response, he tried jostling the boy's head but still he did not stir. He felt silly doing this. Why not just leave him there and let the boy leave whenever he wakes up?

Pitch moved to stand, removing his hand from fluffy white hair. His hand, cold from the contact of the frost-spirit's skull.

His hand, covered in fresh, wet blood.