Senior prom approached far sooner than any of us at school expected. Apparently the student council was trying to stretch out its funds for prom by holding the event in the beginning of April. Posters around the school's hallways were taped to lockers and support beams, all listing ticket prices, location, the date, and the theme: Under an Evening Star. Upon hearing this announcement, Jade and I were among the first to purchase our prom attire.

The Nightmare King and I had grown closer over the last month and a half, leaving me wondering where I stood in his life. Jade's constant belief that he cared about me gave me a flicker of hope, but I worried that it was all for nought. Pitch could never fall for me the way I had for him. Right?

Speaking of the devil, the Boogeyman was all smiles on Prom Night. When I had first told him I was going, he seemed troubled by the prospect of me attending the dance. Once I mentioned that I was only going with Jade and Eric, he appeared to calm down quite a bit. Pitch watched me silently while I curled my hair and reapplied a final coat of plum lipstick. He leaned against the wall next to my desk, tapping his long fingers on the hollow wood. I stood up straight, brushing the creases out of my skirt as it swayed with my movement. "Well, how do I look?" I prompted the Boogeyman. Pitch shifted his gaze to me and I watched his eyes scan over me from head to toe. When his irises returned to my own, Pitch swallowed thickly. "You look...ravishing." His silken voice was even smoother than usual. I smiled hopefully at Pitch. "Thanks..." I murmured, gathering my things. "Well, I'm off! Are you sure you don't want to come?" I offered for him to accompany me. Pitch shook his head, "No, my time for dancing has passed, my dear. These events have little importance for me anymore. Go, have fun with your silly friends!" He encouraged, waving me off. Waving goodbye, I did as Pitch suggested and ran downstairs for my mom to take pictures before Jade and Eric got here to pick me up.

After a few minutes of posing and taking several prom pictures on my front porch, my friends and I left to head to the hotel where prom would be happening. The elegant building had a gothic appeal to it; iron fencing surrounded the land on which it was built, barbed spikes peeking through the branches of the trees around the building. A number of pointed towers were erected on the edges of the walls, reminding me more of a cathedral than a hotel. Red brick siding and charcoal grey shingles gave it an antiqued flare, while stained glass windows cast rainbow colored patterns on the soft grass below.

The ballroom inside the hotel was just as pretty as the scenery outside. The floors were a pale russet shade of wood, likely polished mahogany. There were sections of the ceiling that had been cut out and replaced with oversized skylights, which allowed for guests to look straight up at the night sky. Huge bronze chandeliers hung from chains over our heads, small white candles illuminating the room from individual perches built into the ceiling fixture. The hum of pop music reverberated around the walls, the DJ set up in the very front of the room on a raised portion of the floor. It wasn't quite a stage, but it would have to do. The dim illumination of the space gave the ballroom a romantic glow; one that made me think of a certain spiritual being.

Part of me wished Pitch had come along, even if no one else could see him and I would look psychotic if someone saw me talking to myself. In saying that, I knew the Nightmare King likely thought of this sort of event as trivial, and he probably wouldn't enjoy himself very much. So I settled on spending the evening with my friends. Who says you need a date to have fun at prom?

All sorts of songs filtered through the air, some fun and upbeat, others soft and romantic. Eric and Jade were being very sweet, trying their best to make me feel like more than a third-wheel. Both of their outfits matched perfectly. Eric was rocking a light gray suit and slacks, with a silver tie and matching cummerbund; Jade was stunning in a glittery iridescent ball gown, the colors shifting from bright teal to silver in the flashing lights, her sweetheart neckline raising into two sharp peaks almost at her shoulders. Their intentions of staying with me were nothing short of good, but as the hours wore on, I could sense they truly wanted to have some alone time with one another. That was a sentiment I could wholly understand and respect.

Meanwhile, prom court was announced, and per usual all of the popular people were the ones who earned their royal titles. Priscilla was crowned Prom Queen, sharing a dance with one of the jocks from the football team. Her golden gown shimmered under the soft spotlight. The bust area of the gown had thin straps and a sheer cut out down the very front of Priscilla's cleavage. The dress was tapered in the middle, then flared out into a ball gown that swayed with her every step. Surprisingly, I was genuinely happy for her. My former bully had reformed in a lot of ways, and now I could look at her without seeing red. We had developed a mutual respect for one another. As her eyes found me in the crowd, I gave her an encouraging nod and smile, which she politely returned.

Feigning a thirst for water, I excused myself from Jade and her boyfriend and moved over to the refreshment table. I was having fun, but I still felt strangely hollow on what was supposed to be such a joyous evening. A warm hand rested on my back, startling me from my thoughts. The aura of this person was not the one I had grown so used to. Whipping around to see the person who had touched me, I found myself confused when I realized who it was. Jason.

My ex-boyfriend was wearing the typical white button up shirt and black slacks combo that many of my peers had adorned for the occasion. A slender red tie hung loosely around his neck, and he had forgone a suit jacket for the time being. His hair was slicked back with some sort of hardened gel. The scent of his cologne clung to his shirt, a faint ginger spice that I remembered from when we first started dating. For a moment, I reflected on this time last year, when everything seemed to be going so well between us. Before I found out about Priscilla. The memory left a sour taste in my mouth. "Hey, Anara...you look fantastic tonight." My ex greeted me as if we were still friends. I gawked at him, mouth open in bewilderment. He did not just say that to me. I could feel my anger bubbling inside, but tried to play it cool. I did not want drama tonight. "Hey." I replied curtly. "Listen, I know you haven't forgiven me for what I did to you. I don't blame you. I was a douchebag." He apologized.

Though his tone was genuine, it wasn't hard to see that this was just some lame excuse to speak to me. "Yeah, you've got that right..." I told him. "Jason, if the only reason you are here is because Priscilla isn't taking you back, then you should walk away now." I huffed, wanting the conversation to be over. Jason shook his head adamnently. "No, Anara. Just listen to me. I know I screwed up. You were always the perfect girl for me, and I was just too stupid to see it. But I do now. Will you please take me back? I promise I won't do anything like that ever again." Jason had taken both of my hands within his own at this point, biting his lip and quirking a dark eyebrow at me.

I thought long and hard about what Jason was saying to me. For almost a year I had yearned to hear him say those words. Since the time we broke up, all I wanted was to have Jason back. But now, I was as numb to Jason's words as warmth is to a victim of frostbite. They meant nothing to me anymore. Whatever love I had for the boy before me was gone, as was the void in my heart he had left behind. Instead, the empty space had been filled with the sweet nothings of a conniving spirit. My dear friend, Pitch Black. I loved Pitch now, and no matter what happened, I was okay with that. But this chapter of my life, the one that revolved around Jason, was over. This would be the final page.

Meeting Jason's eyes, I shook my head negatively. "No, Jason. I'm sorry. I'm sure we all have regrets but...I'm happy where I am now. And you and I should just stay friends. There's nothing more between you and I now. And that's alright..." I explained gently. Jason's hopeful expression shifted into a crestfallen one for a brief moment. "I...understand..." He muttered, glancing down at the floor. The sound of a song I knew well came across the speakers, a violin's hum vibrating through the corridor. Jason held out his hand to me, and I hesitated to accept it, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. "Can I have this dance, for old time's sake?" He asked. Sighing, I agreed, thinking no harm could come from a single dance. "Okay. One last dance..." I relented, allowing my ex-boyfriend to lead me onto the dance floor.

Pitch POV

The birth of a new season followed soon after the evening Pitch took Anara to Paris. He had been pleased with the young woman's reaction to her birthday gift. Anara had seemed genuinely astonished at the fact that the Boogeyman cared for her so, and he was delighted to be the one to take her to the city she had always wanted to visit. Pitch enjoyed sharing the experience with his friend, feeling her let down her guard completely and be honest with him. He couldn't help the torrent of emotion in his stomach when she admitted to wondering if she would find her true love in Paris. A small, unreasonable part of Pitch Black longed for Anara to mean him. Unfortunately, this yearning was absurd, especially in the Guardian of Fear's mind.

The Boogeyman knew he had made the grievous mistake of falling in love with the young mortal woman. His once blackened heart had warmed to Anara Rose in every possible way, and the Nightmare King knew that he would move heaven and earth if she asked him to. He knew he should push her away, maybe stop visiting her entirely. But neither of them knew why her light glowed white for him, when every other believer was yellow. And at this point, Pitch was not sure he could force himself to leave her alone unless she asked him to. The Nightmare King was at the girl's every whim.

Despite his own acknowledgement of his feelings, Pitch Black was not going to confess to Anara anytime soon. Of course, this complicated matters when she mentioned that she was attending her final school dance. The idea of another male getting to hold his friend close made Pitch's blood run hot inside of him. That is, until Anara added the fact that she was not seeking a date and would be accompanied by her best friends. She even invited Pitch to come along. The Nightmare King thought about her offer, but declined it politely. It was best for Anara to spend this special occasion with her friends. Perhaps it would be good to put some space between himself and the young woman.

As the evening faded to darkness, a strange sinking feeling settled in Pitch's chest. The sensation was unusual for the spirit, as the nighttime was when he was at his calmest. Following his instincts, the Nightmare King allowed himself to sink into his realm of shadows, emerging into a vintage ballroom filled with laughing teenagers. Some stumbled around the floor, clearly tipsy from drinks they had snuck into the venue. Others were flailing wildly to the electric beat of the music. The Boogeyman couldn't have cared less, his eyes searching the room for one person in particular.

Locating Anara was not very hard to do, her milky white skin contrasting beautifully with the sequined, royal purple gown she wore as she danced beneath the moonlight. She seemed distracted though, and when a nearby boy took hold of her hand, Pitch immediately understood why. It was the young gentleman who had tossed Anara away like rubbish, the one who had broken her heart. What is that twit even doing with her? What game is he playing? This Jason individual was trying to dance with Anara, lip-syncing to the song that was beginning to echo through the chamber. Part of Pitch wanted to rip the boy's throat out, right then and there, but he decided to allow his friend to handle the situation. She had always been strong and intelligent. There was no doubt that she would see through this prat's weak attempts at charming her. Or at least, that's what Pitch hoped.

The Nightmare King watched the male's lips moving along to the lyrics of the song. "Will drive you! Will drive you! Will drive you! Mad! Roxanne..." This individual was focused intently on Pitch's friend, oblivious to the presence of the other guests in the ballroom. "You don't have to put on that red light. Walk the streets for money. You don't care if it's wrong or if it is right. Roxanne..." The melody was one the Boogeyman had heard before; it only took him a few moments to recognize it from one of the cheesy musicals that Anara had left playing one night while she had been sleeping. Pitch thought the score to be strangely fitting for the moment. "You don't have to wear that dress tonight. Roxanne. You don't have to sell your body to the night!" His metallic eyes narrowed as he watched the young human boy glance down at his friend's chest, a clearly inappropriate thought running through the blonde's mind.

Anara wasn't looking at him, appearing disinterested in her partner, a notion that made Pitch a tad bit happier than before despite the fire that made him wish for nothing more than to frighten the adolescent to death. Lyrics began to tumble from the Guardian of Fear's lips as well. "His eyes upon your face, his hand upon your hand..." Jason was clasping Anara's hand like a vice, his mouth pressing against the side of her face, causing the girl to shiver. Whether her reaction was one of excitement or disgust, Pitch was unsure."His lips caress your skin, It's more than I can stand!" Pitch sang, slowly creeping closer to the couple. "Roxanne..." Jason added, spinning the young girl. "Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can't fight! You're free to leave me but just don't deceive me!" Pitch growled, watching a small smile grace her features. "...And please believe me when I say, I love you!" He didn't know whether to be angry with her or not. Perhaps it was wrong of him to believe she cared about a monster like the Boogeyman.

Emotions were threatening to erupt from inside of the being, unease and adoration forming a deadly combination within him. He watched the young gentleman lead Anara over the dancefloor, practically pulling her around the polished tiles. Pitch scoffed, unable to believe that his rapid and rough movements were anything close to acceptable. It was clear the child wished to be impressive, but Anara now appeared to be numb to whatever Jason was trying to convey. Still, as Pitch's eyes swept over the young woman's graceful form, he couldn't help the sharp twinge in his heart telling him that it was he that his female friend should be dancing with.

He continued to sing along with the melody in the background, "Why does my heart cry?" Jason seemed to be doing the same, trying to swoon his ex-girlfriend. "(Roxanne! You don't have to put on that red light!)" Pitch remained in the shadows, careful not to let Anara see him as she twirled in a small circle. "Feelings I can't fight!" "(Roxanne! You don't have to wear that dress tonight! Roxanne!)" The hand that Jason placed on Anara's back was edging lower as time wore on, yet Pitch was not sure whether the sly advancement was a mistake or trick of the fading lights. Anara allowed her ex-lover to hold her in his arms for a painstakingly long moment. Pitch balled up his fists, unable to look away from the scene. "You're free to leave me but, just don't deceive me!" He should've expected Anara would want to dance with another human gentleman this evening, even if she had said she didn't have a date. A man closer to her age and mortal. Not a spirit of the night. She would surely yearn for the intimacy this event brought her. Pitch could not say he blamed her. "...and please believe me when I say, I love you!"

The verse of the song repeated one more time, Pitch following the tune perfectly. He curled his fingers against his heart; the organ was pounding so hard that it threatened to burst from his chest. "Why does my heart cry?" His silken voice cracked at the end. "(Roxanne! You don't have to put on that red light!)" Jason's grip on Anara had tightened. He was staring at her like a cat with a mouse between his claws, ready to pounce. There was weariness in the girl's gaze, distrust but also determination to reach closure. The Nightmare King wasn't sure which of those looks sickened him more. "Feelings I can't fight!" He growled angrily, causing a nearby bulb to combust. "(Roxanne! You don't have to wear that dress tonight! Roxanne! You don't have to put on that red light!)" Jason began to tilt Anara backward, exposing her long neck as she closed her eyes to better absorb the sound of the music. "(Roxanne! You don't have to wear that dress tonight!)" He leaned into Anara's space, his lips so close to the soft skin of her throat. Pitch shook his head, his eyes glowing like burning embers as he slunk back into the darkness. "Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can't fight!" He had seen enough. Anara was lost to him. Pitch Black was a fool, he always had been.

Anara POV

At the end of a very...passionate....dance, Jason dipped me back. I could feel him leaning closer to me, his breath tickling my neck and jaw. Tugging on his shoulders, I interrupted him before he could kiss me anywhere. "Jason, pull me back up." I commanded quietly. I heard him exhale in frustration, but he did as I had asked. "Something wrong, babe?" The words slipped through his teeth. "Jason. I told you. We are over. I'm not changing my mind. You chose someone else, and so did I." I told my ex-boyfriend, extracting my hands from between his. He made no move to stop me, but his lips curved into a sneer. "What more do you want from me?" He hissed. There was poison in his gaze, an acidic challenge. "Nothing. I agreed to one last dance, Jason. That's all. Now, please leave me alone." I began backing away.

The predatory glare he was giving me sent chills down my spine. Even Pitch had never stared at me with such deranged malice. "Fine. You want me to leave you alone? I will. But after this!" I hardly had time to register Jason's words before one of his friends approached us from the side, carrying a big glass punch bowl. The friend handed the bowl to Jason, and he threw the liquid onto me. Instead of the fruity drink splattering against my chest and down my dress, a thick chunky mixture came tumbling out, covering my entire front. A foul-rotten smell wafted into my nostrils, causing me to gag. The yellowed goop was clearly spoiled milk and god knows what else. I could feel myself begin to hurl, trying to keep my lips closed so that nothing got in my mouth as it dripped down my face. It clung to my hair and the solid pieces slid down my dress. People all around us were audibly reacting. Some people booed and shouted at Jason. Others simply laughed.