Inside a secure, magically- barred pocket dimension, a certain, muted Order is held down with chains, bars, and magical-devices of all sorts to keep her from casting even the lightest of spells. Among the row of elite guards is nothing but empty blackness, and their prisoner. Order’s eyes, showing an enthused golden, have still not lost hope; she’s certain Love will succeed… and, in the slight chance she were to not succeed, she’ll still complete the mission.

From the portal that leads between the royal magerium and the pocket dimension comes Pitch, eyes reddened from tears. The guards move aside for their king, and they watch curiously as he leans over the restraint cell. He attempts to speak for a moment, but has trouble holding breath. He waits a moment and then tries again:

“I know you cannot speak. With fears most black it has led to this, and I wished to make my love for you once more known, so that you will never question, even in death. Verily, I am unable to stop the events in motion, as should I resist ... the chill on my side tells me Gallin would approach for the crown himself, speaking of me as a traitor to the fair kind of fairies. To retain the royal line, to gain the great words earned at the Highest of Teas, your death is necessary, my dear, old friend. He would not tolerate, and I would not bear, having to see you destroyed. He will see to your proceedings, and I shall sit at the Tea. I have thought for many moons on what I would ask, and now I know. Before you see our sad moon in the sky tonight, know that I will have gained the answer to your suffering. I will ask about your nemesis, and your most secret of musings of him. I will tell the world, and you can then rest assured, that you will be the one tree in Liefland’s garden of execution that died for the love of others ‘stead of the love of self. Tylvania and I have divulged our feelings to one the other, and we will call our next child after you. You will always be remembered in my mind as the greatest, and goodest of heroes, dear Ranalie. Sleep softly, and dream of finer days,” Pitch says before he gently kisses Order on the forehead before turning away.

Her expression does not change even as he turns to leave. Her gaze remains iron, as she knows the real struggle is yet to come, and it won’t be an execution.