Most say that I was never born. They say that I was a product the Earth herself wrought forth. I don't remember anything from my childhood, only fighting to survive in the cold and dreary wilderness. The first real thing I remember was Pitch.

I was stalking a deer through the underbrush. I made no sound whatsoever, my bare feet were silent against the frozen ground, and my breath noiseless as it escaped my lips in a puff of white. The deer was trying its hardest to blend in with its surroundings, the white spots on its back melding it into the snowy background, but I saw it anyway. It was a good sized animal, and it would keep me warm and feed me for a good long while. It also meant that it would be harder to take down with the makeshift bow and arrow I had constructed out of a wimpy sapling.

I strung an arrow and steadied my shaking body to take aim. I slowly drew the arrow back and fought down another fit of shivering. A twig across the clearing snapped and the deer bolted. I loosed my arrow after it, missed, and swore to myself. I glared to where the noise had come from and saw a tall, shadowy figure lurking. I started toward it, but I was sideswiped by something huge. I knocked my head on an icy boulder and my vision went blurry. I looked up at what I had decided now was a bear and tried to ready myself for a fight. Before I could do so, it dragged its hooked claws from the top of my shoulder across my chest. I gasped in pain and fell to the ground, my vision once again going blurry. The bear fell beside me and warmth seeped through my clothes. The shadow-figure held a knife in its hand and was slowly approaching, and I blacked out.

I woke in a soft, warm bed with classical music playing lightly all around. I tried to sit up, but sharp pain drove me back down. I felt my shoulder and realized that someone had wrapped it in something soft and sticky. It wasn't gauze, but it almost looked and felt like a cross between spider web and raw silk. Someone cleared their throat from somewhere in the dark corner of the gray and black room, and a cool, accented voice rang softly, "How are you feeling? I tried my best to make you comfortable, but seeing as you couldn't really tell me whether or not I was successful, I could only do so much."

"I'm fine. Who are you?" My voice was a strange thing to hear, raspy from disuse because I had only used it to whisper a small prayer of thanks after I took down prey. The man stood and strode to the side of the bed.

"I believe a thanks would be in order. After all, I did save your life. May I sit?" He gestured to the empty space beside me.

"Sure. And I had it under control; I didn't need anyone to save me."

He raised a dark eyebrow and sat. "Really? Because that's not how it looked from where I was standing." He looked around room lazily, like he was bored. He looked fairly young, but his pale gray skin told a different story. It contrasted so startlingly with his jet black hair, which looked as if it was defying gravity itself: it stuck up almost vertically. He snapped his head in my direction more quickly than his normal laid back movements and looked, his eyes burning into mine. They reminded me of an eclipse; a large black pupil resting in a sea of yellow, gold, and silver, and they were beautiful, the only objects that held color in the room. It was like I had stepped into a black and white movie that had begun to hold color once more.

He smirked and looked down. I'm flattered, really. Would you like something to eat? I heard his voice in my head.

"What was that? Can you hear my thoughts?"

Yes, and once your body can focus on something other than that nasty injury, you'll be able to hear mine as well. It seems we have some sort of connection. Tell me, what is your center? Survival?

"It's Passion. I'm the Spirit of Passion. My name is Aleera."

"So very nice to meet you Aleera. I'm Pitch, Pitch Black. You may know be by many other names, the Boogeyman, The Nightmare King, but you can call me whatever you'd like. I suppose you've already assumed that my center is fear, and of course, I'm Dark. But passion, passion could really go either way. Are you Dark, or Light?"

"I'm Neutral. The Man in the Moon hasn't decided what to do with me yet. He wants to wait and see what my nature is before he decides. If you're Dark, then why did you save me? Why not leave me for dead?"

He smiled. Because you were too beautiful to pass up. "Because I wasn't sure whether you were Light or Dark. And I figure that if you were dark, that maybe we could join forces."

So I'm beautiful, huh?

He looked startled, but smiled uneasily. "I can see your healing is coming along nicely. Your body is beginning to hone in on our connection quite… quickly."

"I think I'll take you up on that breakfast offer. I'm starved. You have a bathroom?"

He nodded and gestured to a small door I hadn't noticed before. "Just in there. Meet me down in the dining room when you're ready." He stood and disappeared into the shadows. Freaky.

I slowly got up and made my way painfully over into the bathroom. Another black and white room. I cringed when I looked into the mirror. My normally perfectly curled hair stuck out in every direction imaginable, its normally bright crimson color was dingy with dirt and mud. I looked absolutely ghastly, my face pale and my skin drawn, purple circles under my normally plum colored eyes, those had dulled as well.

I dragged my focus away from my appearance to the contents of the bathroom. There was a hairbrush, thankfully, and I yanked it through my hair. It would look better soon enough; my appearance almost always took care of itself, the dark circles were already starting to disappear. I took a look at my shoulder, which still hurt pretty terribly. It seemed swollen, but the spiderweb-silk seemed to be cooling my skin and keeping the swelling down. My stomach rumbled loudly and I decided it was time to go see Pitch about breakfast. I followed the smell of food and the sound of sizzling and humming.

Pitch was cooking up a storm, bacon was frying in one pan, eggs in another, bread was toasting, and milk was being poured into tall glasses. He didn't look up as I entered, but pointed to a chair at a black table in the room behind him. "Take a seat. Everything should be ready soon enough."

I obeyed and, sooner than I thought, food was being laid in front of me. Pitch sat across from me, smiling, and I dug in.

Don't eat too quickly. Your body's still in shock, and I don't want you throwing up.

I slowed down just barely until I finished everything that was set before me. I don't remember ever eating this much in my entire 216 years of living. After I had finished, Pitch suggested I go back to bed, so I did. I slept more deeply then than ever before.