I awoke the following morning to believe the events from the previous night to be a dream. It all seemed highly unlikely, impossible even. Yet, a part of me knew that it was real, all of it. It was an unexpected but fascinating turn of events to say the least. The fact that the Boogeyman had requested my aid in regaining his strength and in exchange he would protect me was an idea that seemed as though it came directly from a children's bedtime story, or a Grimm brothers tale. Though, the more I thought about it, the less dangerous it seemed. More than anything, the concept of being around this powerful being was nothing short of exhilarating.

As I began to put my makeup on in my dressing table mirror, I noticed a shape forming in the far corner of my room again. Instead of feeling fear, I simply waited patiently for who I knew it must be. The black shadow slowly morphed into the form of a tall man, Pitch Black. He stepped toward me, teeth bared and eyes practically glowing, but I ignored it, returning to my eyeshadow. I could hear the heaving breaths he was taking, apparently too weak to even put on much of a horror show. A pang of guilt stabbed through me, though I knew his pain wasn't my fault. I glanced back, seeing him leaning against my bed, bent over with his head hanging limply. "Pitch?" I called softly, trying to hide my growing worry. He froze, turning his head toward me, his expression becoming a grimace. "Why didn't that...work? It used to....frighten you...all the time..." He panted. I set my makeup down, getting up and striding over to the lithe figure. "First of all, you aren't quite as scary in the daylight." I motioned toward my window, then returned my gaze to him. "Second, it's hard to be scared of someone when they can hardly stand, and honestly your presence can be intimidating enough. You don't have to give me a heart attack every time I see you in order to get me to keep believing in you." I explained.

Pitch turned his eyes back toward his feet, and it suddenly struck me that I was trying to give a pep-talk to the Boogeyman. It was actually kind of funny if you think about it. And to make the situation all the more perplexing, I realized that seeing him sad and tired made me feel just as negative, as if I were experiencing the same emotions as him. That was the thing that scared me more than anything, even him.

Returning my attention to the matter at hand, I gingerly placed my hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, feeling the same tingly sensation in my chest as before. I furrowed my eyebrows as our eyes met, his gaze full of something that resembled both appreciation and shock. "You're the Nightmare King, Pitch. Fear is your specialty. Your powers will return, and you'll be just as strong as before. I'm sure of it." I gave him a small smile. He looked completely astonished by my words. "Then why don't you fear me?" Pitch growled threateningly, glaring down at me. I shrugged at the tone change, stepping away to lean on my dresser. "Because sometimes the worst nightmare is reality. I put up with emotional torment every damn day of my life, from the people I go to school with at least. Seeing you comes as a relief anymore. It's a comfort, to be honest." I admitted. "And why's that?" He practically spat. "Because I know there's an escape from reality. I know my dreams and my nightmares, and I'll happily embrace them both so long as they give me a break from this Hell I've come to know so well." I answered evenly, watching his reaction.

Again, the expression of the Nightmare King changed. He seemed to be processing all I was telling him, and then contemplating on how to respond. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he was slow to begin his statement. "I believe...we may have more in common...that what I originally thought." He told me, before his lips curled into another smirk. "No matter. Please, direct me to where you would like me to sit." He continued his thought without giving me a second to ask him what he meant by "having more in common with each other." I shook my head to clear it, before swinging my arm around absentmindedly. "Wherever, I guess. You're staying?" I inquired curiously, watching as he made himself at home on my window seat. He he reached back, pulling the curtain shut to darken the bedroom just a bit, then leaned against the wall with his hands behind his head.

Shaking my head, I sat back down in the chair at my desk and just watched him. The way his jaw came down to a perfect line on either side, giving him a sharp, nearly feline appearance. The way the light reflected off of his onyx hair that was slicked back from his face. How his long limbs hung over the side of the seat and splayed out without a care in the world. Even though he was lacking in his usual powers, he still looked extremely regal, a true king. "Take a photograph, dear. It lasts longer." He murmured, grinning at me. I blushed again, realizing he had caught me staring, and I turned away from him to hide my embarrassment. "Yeah right..." I muttered, pretending to busy myself with picking up some papers on my desk. "So..." "To answer your question, yes, I am staying, though not every moment of every day, dear. I do have a job, and thanks to you, I am already starting to feel more like myself. See?" He asked.

That comment caught my attention, and I glanced over my shoulder to see what he was talking about. He held out his left hand in my direction, and black sand appeared from his palm, flowing over his skin and onto the floor. My eyes widened, and I found myself sliding out of my chair to approach the man, still staring at the small pile of glitter in amazement. "Wha-what is that?" I inquired, tilting my head. "Nightmare Sand." He answered boredly. "What does it do, exactly? I mean, Jamie told me his story, but you know how kids are." I said, awaiting his explanation. He chuckled, swirling the sand around as it floated in the air between us. "It starts as Dream sand, the stuff that Sandy uses to give you good dreams of fairy princesses and unicorns and candy..." He said, earning a glare from me. He knew that I hadn't dreamt of those for years.

I was nearly an adult, and as much as I enjoyed fantasy, I didn't love all things fluffy and traditionally girly. "And with a touch, I can turn it into this...I can corrupt those sweet dreams into whatever monstrosity I wish them to be. Your greatest fears." He whispered, and as he spoke, the sand shifted into the shape of a large spider. I shivered, backing away as the sparkling insect lunged toward me. Pitch reached out, crushing the bug between his fingers. The sand quickly fell, resorting to the pile it was earlier. I breathed out of my nose, looking back at those golden eyes. "Anara! Brunch is ready!" My mother's voice came from the other side of my door and down the stairs.

The sudden noise startled me, but I got to my feet and glanced between the door and Pitch Black. "Coming!" I called back, still watching the Nightmare King from the corner of my eye. "I've gotta go. But I'll be back..." I murmured quietly. Pitch nodded carelessly, seemingly unbothered by my necessary departure. With a final glance around the room, I turned and walked out the door, shutting it tightly behind me.

Pitch POV

The first day that the Nightmare King had observed young Anara Rose was certainly an entertaining one. He enjoyed the little ways he had been able to unnerve the teenager, from sending a breeze toward her when she sat on her couch, to gently grazing his finger along the expanse of her shoulders when she was alone in the darkness of her bedroom. He heard her intake of breath, watched as she tried to conceal her fear. But he felt it, and it was addicting. Her belief in him was the strongest he had felt in years.

When he revealed himself to her, he was shocked that she was brave enough to finally speak more than two words to him. And he was not at all displeased. In fact, he was rather amused by how her tone could shift from ferocious and harsh to soft and sympathetic. Yet, he couldn't ignore how much stronger he felt in her presence. Realizing how advantageous this girl could be to him, the Boogeyman formulated a devious idea. He decided to strike a bargain with the brunette, watching her expressions as he explained his situation to her in simple terms, and how they could be of use to each other. She stared back at him skeptically, obviously not interested in the idea of helping him. At least, until he offered her his protection. Pitch was not a fool. He had seen her darkest fears, known every hardship she had faced in her short life. Even he had to admit it couldn't have been easy on her, but still she was all the more stronger for it. A strange emotion swirled in Pitch's stomach as their eyes met over and over again. He tilted his head and crept forward, feeling something that nearly reminded him of pity. It sickened him. Even he could not deny that he could sympathize with Anara, possibly more than he ever did with Jack.

Keeping the whole Jack Frost ordeal in mind, Pitch was all the more amazed when Anara agreed to the idea. She would help him. He knew he had been reasonably persuasive, but something told him that she would refuse. For once, he was glad to be wrong.

After sealing the arrangement, Pitch left the room and returned to his lair, where he stayed until the following morning. A vibration of excitement ran through his skin as he started to feel his powers begin to return, one by one. He made his way back to the girl's home, appearing from the shadows of her bedroom in an effort to frighten her. The surge of strength her fear gave him was completely intoxicating. He hunched over, baring his brilliant teeth, and lunged from his place in the corner, only to find her gazing back at him through the reflection in her mirror. Pitch's lungs suddenly constricted, and he paused, averting his gaze from the teenager and placing his hands at the foot of her bed. He bent over, hanging his head in both shame and anger. She hadn't seemed the least bit frightened this time. Not a trace of terror on that pretty young face. "Pitch?" Her silken voice seemed to resonate around the room, a mezzo soprano that was hard to forget and easy on the ears.

To the astonishment of the Boogeyman, he could hear a hint of concern in her warm tone. His body tensed, and he swung his head in Anara's direction, unable to stop a frown as a dull throb hummed across his entire body. Catching his breath, he finally spoke in a hushed voice of his own. "Why didn't that...work? It used to....frighten you...all the time..." He panted, watching in curiosity as she placed the utensils she was using down on the table and got to her feet, approaching the figure. "First of all, you aren't quite as scary in the daylight." Pitch saw her motion toward the window in explanation. "Second, it's hard to be scared of someone when they can hardly stand, and honestly your presence can be intimidating enough. You don't have to give me a heart attack every time I see you in order to get me to keep believing in you." She told him, making him realize that perhaps she did have a point. He felt an annoying sense of fatigue and loneliness grip its talons around his heart. What was happening to him? What was this bizarre pain coming from?

As he tried to figure out where these odd sensations were originating, he suddenly felt the warmth of a small hand placing itself upon the top of his shoulder, and a new sort of feeling began to spread through his skin, starting on his shoulder where Anara's fingers rested and moving all the way down to his chest. Sucking in another breath, he turned to the girl, looking into her eyes, and found himself calming down almost immediately. "You're the Nightmare King, Pitch. Fear is your specialty. Your powers will return, and you'll be just as strong as before. I'm sure of it." "Then why don't you fear me?" Pitch growled threateningly, glaring down at Anara.

She simply shrugged in response to the change of his tone, and moved away to lean against the black dresser opposite of him. "Because sometimes the worst nightmare is reality. I put up with emotional torment every damn day of my life, from the people I go to school with at least. Seeing you comes as a relief anymore. It's a comfort, to be honest." Anara spoke bluntly, but Pitch could sense that every word she spoke was not exaggerated. Yet, irritation was still bubbling under the surface of Pitch's emotions. "And why's that?" "Because I know there's an escape from reality. I know my dreams and my nightmares, and I'll happily embrace them both so long as they give me a break from this Hell I've come to know so well." She admitted.

Pitch Black nearly found himself gawking at the girl's response. For someone so young, someone who generally had so much hope, the depressing explanation seemed extremely out of character. The fact that Anara took comfort in her nightmares struck Pitch harder than his defeat had, as most children had begged him not to bring them bad dreams. Of course, he ignored their pleas, but mainly because their fear was the source of his power. And those dreams forced them to face their worst fears, making them stronger.

Returning his attention to Anara, he carefully decided how he wanted to word his next statement. "I believe...we may have more in common...that what I originally thought." Anara just stared at him in curiosity, but Pitch realized he didn't quite want to elaborate on his comment yet, so instead he changed the subject, looking around the room. He had never seen it in the daylight, but he admired the girl's taste. Her furniture was made of black wood, and her walls were a pale blue. The lamp on her bedside table was silver and black, and the mirror was surrounded by silver embellishments. "No matter. Please, direct me to where you would like me to sit." He told her, waiting politely. Anara seemed to be studying him with uncertainty, but she answered anyway. "Wherever, I guess. You're staying?" She asked incredulously.

Pitch shrugged and sat down on the ledge that jutted out from her window, closing the curtains so that he could remain in the shadows as best as possible. It was not that he could not be in the daylight, but the Nightmare King was more at ease in the dark, where he was familiar with his surroundings and less exposed than in the sun. He then leaned against the wall with his hands behind his head. He watched as the young woman stared at him for a few moments, amusing the Nightmare King. He was clearly fascinating to her for one reason or another. He decided to tease the girl because of it. "Take a photograph, dear. It lasts longer." He murmured, exposing his teeth in a delightfully wicked grin.

Anara straightened up and scoffed in response to his remark, rolling her eyes as she moved to her desk and rearranged some items. "Yeah right..." She paused briefly. "So..." "To answer your question, yes, I am staying, though not every moment of every day, dear. I do have a job, and thanks to you, I am already starting to feel more like myself. See?" He explained, holding his hand out to show Anara his Nightmare sand. The dark granules came alive in his palm, swirling in the air and down to the carpet. "Wha-what is that?" She prodded, gravitating toward him again. "Nightmare Sand." "What does it do, exactly? I mean, Jamie told me his story, but you know how kids are." Her cool blue eyes looked upon the element in wonder.

Pitch chuckled darkly, "It starts as Dream sand, the stuff that Sandy uses to give you good dreams of fairy princesses and unicorns and candy..." He slightly mocked the girl, knowing full well that it had been a very long time since those creatures had dwelled in her subconscious, earning a glare from her in return. Despite the dirty look he had received, he went on. "And with a touch, I can turn it into this...I can corrupt those sweet dreams into whatever monstrosity I wish them to be. Your greatest fears." He whispered and he used his knowledge of her darkest fears to produce a tarantula, the sand spilling onto the floor as the arachnid formed before her very eyes. For a moment, he did nothing as the spider jumped at the girl before him, feeling a rush of fear alight his senses in a way that he liked very much. But he knew not to push his boundaries too much, for he doubted Anara would allow this to be a constant part of the deal. So he leaned forward and clutched the dark mass in his fist, returning it to its original form.

He took note of how the girl relaxed once the spider disappeared, and she met his eyes with an emotion Pitch could not place. Another lower feminine voice broke into the silent room from down the stairs, capturing the young woman's attention. "Anara! Brunch is ready!" Pitch rolled his eyes, knowing it must be the girl's mother. Anara flinched, startled, and again, a thrill ran through the Nightmare King's body. "Coming!" She called back to the other woman, then glanced at Pitch hesitantly. "I've gotta go. But I'll be back..." Pitch nodded carelessly at her comment, content to wait for her to come back if need be.

It was some time before the teenager returned, humming as she entered the room. Pitch had not moved from his place on the window seat. Even still, Anara looked perplexed as she approached, waiting for him to speak. "Hello child..." He greeted her, eyebrow raised in curiosity. "I'm not a child." Anara grumbled. Pitch smirked. "Oh...please forgive me. I suppose every human on this planet is a child in comparison to me." He mused, not at all feeling bad for calling her a child. The young woman seemed to notice his less than regretful tone, and instead shook her head, sitting at her desk again and opening her computer. "So, how old are you then, Pitch Black?" "Pitch is fine, dear. And don't you know never to ask a spirit his age?" He spoke with mock surprise. Anara glanced at him, "Okay, Pitch, I'm pretty sure that is not how the saying goes, but whatever works for you, I guess." Her eyes returned to the computer, focused on whatever task she was performing. "I've lost track of the number of years I've been alive. You tend to do that after a couple hundred." He finally answered her question, seeing her eyes widen as she looked at him. "Huh," She cocked her head, then shrugged and turned away.

Her hands took hold of the device and she moved it so that the screen faced him. An image of a gnarled, gray creature with stringy black hair and a face melded together filled the expanse. Pitch leaned forward, examining the photograph. "I don't see the resemblance," Anara murmured. "Except perhaps the skin color, but they got the eyes wrong." She added with a smirk beginning to form on her lips. Pitch shook his head, "What am I looking at? I do not understand." He admitted, turning his attention back to the girl. She placed the computer back down. "This is how mortals depict you in popular culture. The elusive, mysterious, terrifying Boogeyman. They are wrong, at least in the physical appearance aspect," She explained. Pitch's lip curled in disgust. "Ugh. That looks nothing like me, as you can tell." He retorted with contempt. He was not sure whether to be flattered that they showed him to be so horrifying or insulted that they messed up his good looks. Anara giggled at his reaction, turning off the computer. "Something funny, girl?" Pitch grunted. She shook her head, holding back whatever thoughts she was having. "No...not at all..." She finally answered, regaining her composure.