Papa

Emily Jane

Pitch Black sighed and leaned against the wall of his prison. At one time, this place had all been his - all a part of his underground Nightmare Castle. But now it was the property of the Fearlings - imagine that! and he, Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, was now himself plagued with horrible dreams night and day.

He closed his eyes and tried to forget. To forget - and to remember, if such a thing was possible. Forget what was happening around him now, to forget what he had become. To forget the taste of defeat, to forget the tortures his own creations now inflicted him with when he wasn't dreaming.

He reached about in his dark mind, searching for the tiny wisps of memory of his former life. It wasn't much, but it was all he had now.

"Papa!" a little voice cried. It was bright and cheery, and wholly unafraid. His eyes shot open, and before him stood a little girl,. She was transparent, like a ghost, and he knew at once that she was not real. Yet her bright golden locks bounced around healthily and her golden eyes - his golden eyes - twinkled merrily.

A small smile blossomed on his pale, thin lips for the first time in centuries. "Emily..." he whispered. "My dear Emily Jane..."

"Come pway wit me, Papa," the spectre said, tugging on his arm. Send her away, the voice inside him urged. Do it while you can still bear to. She's not real - you know that , Pitch. You are only torturing yourself further...

Oh, yes... but it was such sweet, sweet torture.

"I'm afraid I cannot, my darling," he whispered weakly, reaching out to touch her face.

She pouted. "Why not, Papa? Pwease?"

"I am too weak... no one believes in the boogieman anymore," he said sadly.

Emily Jane's eyes widened and her bottom lip trembled. "..Does that mean you will.. go away?" she asked quietly, tearfully.

Pitch nodded, setting his ghost-child into a fit of wails. "No! I won't wet you!" she cried, stomping her ghost foot "I beweave in you, Papa, I do!" She tried to embrace her father, but she only fell through his voluminous black robes.

He let her sob for a while, supporting her as best he could. Finally, when the torrent had ceased... "Emily, my darling," he whispered into her hair.

The child looked up at him, the tears still in her large eyes. "...Yes, Papa?"

"I will try to hold on, my dear. As long as I can. But please... stay with me.."

She nodded emphatically, her thick hair bouncing up and down. "I'll stay, Papa, I will! I pwomise!"

She snuggled in next to him, but fell through again. With a shrug, she lay down on the floor beside him.

"Tell me a stowy," she commanded, all sadness gone.

Pitch chuckled and shifted his position. "What sort of a story, Princess?" he asked, using the old nickname.

"A pwincess story," the little one said.

He chuckled again. "Very well. Once upon a time, in a dreary land far underground, lived a king..."

"And a pwinceess,' Emily Jane piped in.

Despite the pain, he laughed quietly. "Yes.. and a princess..."