Darkness Calls
@nose-nippin-fun
The shade hadn't ventured into Burgess in quite some time. A familiar pattern of ice trailed along the edges of a nearby shop. He grimaced. The town had left a foul taste in his mouth since his pitiful defeat at the hands of the Guardians, and especially that boy.. Frost. Just the sight of winter was enough to have Pitch choking back bile. Though, as the snow crunched beneath his feet, Pitch began to smile. He had let loose a cocktail of nightmares here not terribly long ago in hopes of disrupting the joy the winter sprite had caused.
Though it wasn't entirely clear, it had seemed to work, if just a little. The ice that decorated the shop seemed jagged and unkempt and the snow more sludge than powder. It left Pitch to wonder what it's creator looked like.
A trek through the town and through the wood and the shade came upon a familiar sight, the pond in which the Guardians had gave him his last brutal beating. He would be scowling if it had not been for the blue lump sleeping in a cradle of branches just above it. The shade moved quickly. Clutching the trunk of the tree with taloned hands, Pitch climbed his way to the top and loomed over the boy. He appeared deep in sleep, but not peaceful. It gave him a sick sense of satisfaction, of pleasure even. To see the sweat bead off the sprite's forehead, his lip quiver and his lids squeeze shut. This is what Frost was meant to look like, what all the Guardians were meant to be. Nothing more than frightened children.
Pitch chuckled darkly, willing a shadow to wrap around the sleeping Guardian and tighten just enough to wake him. "Sleep well, Frost?"
