A Trapped Winter Spirit - completed

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ: ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ

One week later...

Jack's POV:

It had felt like forever since I woke up in Pitch's prison, but I knew it had only been a few days. I woke up bound to a brick wall by black tendrils. My head throbbed, my muscles ached and I was exhausted. I had slept for who knows how long, but nightmares had plagued my dreams. I'm not going to repeat what I saw.

Each time Pitch visited me in my cold, dark prison, I told myself the same thing. He's done enough. He won't hurt you again. Each time I was wrong. So horribly wrong.

Each day, Pitch came up with new ways to hurt me. He beat me with his staff, chained me to the floor and kicked me, ordered his fearling horses to bite me, gave me horrible nightmares, continuously told me how weak and forgettable I was, you name it. And I didn't have the strength to fight him off.

Each day brought more pain, more agony, more torture... but no Guardians. I was hanging onto the hope that the Guardians were searching for me, but that hope was wavering. Pitch could sense it too, and reminded me that no Guardians were coming for me. But I didn't believe him, of course. He was the Nightmare King, the boogieman, Pitch Black and my torturer.

My body was littered with cuts and bruises so that every movement pained me. My throat was raw and my voice is almost gone from the screaming I had done. On my right eye was a purplish-black blotch from when Pitch punched me in the face. My once white hair was now a matted ugly brown colour from the dried blood. My blue hoodie was stained with lots of blood and was in tatters from the fearlings' biting. My pants weren't much better.

I hung in my usual sleeping place, slumped against a musty brick wall, where my wrists were bound together by tendrils of darkness that dug into my sensitive flesh. I didn't have the strength to pull myself up, even though my arms pulsed to be freed. I couldn't help but wince at the bloody, possibly infected, cuts I saw between the holes in my pants.

I could hear footsteps approaching my prison and, despite knowing that it could never be them, I silently prayed it was the Guardians. But no, only the voice I dreaded spoke.

"Jack, you seem bothered..."

My eyes searched wearily for the source as I felt a shiver go down my spine. Then I found him, dressed in his usual flowing black robe and watching me with glowing golden eyes.

A smile pulled at his lips as he saw the pathetic state I was in, just like he always did. He absolutely relished the fact that I was so weak, trapped and scared. He savoured every scream and every cry he got out of me. It made me feel sick.

"Oh Jack, what's with the look? Not happy to see me?" His voice dripped with fake sympathy.

My scratchy voice shook as I managed an answer. "N-no one c-could b-be h-happy t-to s-see you..."

Pitch took a few paces closer to me. I pulled away, using the limited energy I had to get as far as I could. But there was nowhere to go. It was just brick wall behind me. Pitch smiled at my feeble efforts like he always did.

"Jack, you should know better then that." He reached out towards my face. His thin fingers with long, pointed nails crept around my cheek. I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at him anymore. I hated him. I didn't know that I could hate someone as much as I hated Pitch. I didn't know how much more torture I could take. I wanted to die, but I was an immortal. Could I even die?

"Look at me, Jack," Pitch said softly. I didn't move, my head still turned. I didn't want to look, not at the man who snapped my staff. "Look at me."

Pitch's POV:

Finally, he answered in his shaky voice. "N-no chance."

"Look at me," I said, firmer now. He didn't move, his head tilted down and away. I cupped his pale face and lifted it to face me. His eyes were squeezed shut like he was trying to block me out. That made me angry.