Chioniphobia

Ashes

Pitch heard the swish of Grim's robes a second before he looked up and received a slap across the face.

Putting a hand to his stinging cheek, he looked down at her furious expression. "I'm sure I did something to deserve that, but I'd appreciate if you'd elaborate on what."

"You killed my brother," Grim hissed.

Pitch nodded comprehendingly. "Ah, yes. That."

She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. "'That,' he says. 'Ah, yes, that, is that all?' You murdered my only family! Is 'that' all you have to say for yourself?"

Pitch's lips pressed together in a thin line. "What am I supposed to say, 'I'm sorry?'"

"Well 'I'm sorry' is at least better than 'that!'"

"I'm not going to apologize insincerely," he told her firmly. "You can't expect me to feel remorse for finally ridding myself of an old enemy."

Grim buried her fingers in her hair, clutching at her scalp as if aiming to tear it off. "I know he's your nemesis, but he's my brother! You could at least have the decency to tell me you killed him to my face."

Pitch laughed humorlessly. "And how many millennia would've passed before you'd have spoken to me again, hm?"

The Reaper dropped her hands and turned away from him, crossing her arms. After several moments, she spoke. "Do you know who told me you'd killed him?"

"Cupid," he surmised.

"That's right, Cupid. And do you know where he learned that juicy little tidbit from?"

"Some gossipy fae. Is there a point to this?"

Grim whirled on him. "Yes, in fact. The point is, news of my brother's death traveled around half of our world before ever reaching me. Do you know why that's ridiculous?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't seem so out of the ordinary to me. You work enough in the wars- you've never cared to follow what goes on in them."

"I had a first-hand source of information as to that battle, Boogeyman. Unfortunately, that source purposely left out information that he knew was pertinent to me."

He said nothing, his eyes following her as she paced wildly, her voice cracking as she clutched at her heart.

"I don't understand, Pitch. You must've known- you had to have known word would reach me eventually. Why-"

She stopped, so suddenly that she nearly tripped over her own feet. "He wouldn't have come back."

Pitch frowned. "Pardon?"

"He wouldn't have come back," she repeated, her volume rising. "If your plan had worked, you would've killed him for good. He never would have- I'd never have seen him again."

Grim swiveled her head so that her eyes bore into his, her face blank.

Pitch felt the warmth in his heart spark, flare, burn until his insides felt like smoldering ash. "Grim-"

She lifted a hand, eyes hard. "Don't. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it."

"In the end-"

"He's not like us, Pitch!" she cried. "You and I, it doesn't matter if people can't see us, doesn't matter if our powers are next to nothing, because we can't die! He can! He can die, and he will!"

"But he wasn't always like that," Pitch pointed out. "He chose to be as he is."

"Shut up," she spat.

"In the end, he came back. Does it really matter n-"

She sprang at him, locked her arms around his neck, dragged his mouth down to meet hers. He felt her tongue force his lips apart, felt the prick of her teeth as she leaned in.

Next thing he was aware of was her pulling away, her chin dripping with wet black, and pain pain pain

She spat out a lump of flesh. He watched it hit the floor of the cavern, and recognized the shape of it as a tongue.

"I told you, I don't want to hear it," she snarled.

He gagged, spitting out the not-blood filling his mouth.

Grim sighed, running a hand through her hair. Pitch fixed his gaze on the white of her skin against her raven locks, and not on the hurt in her eyes.

"Don't make me choose," she rasped, and he realized she was about to cry, tears heating her eyes. "Don't make me choose between you and them."

He hacked up more not-blood and wiped his mouth, liquid streaking like ink on the back of his hand.

"Don't make me choose," she croaked, "because you know who I'll choose."

She vanished then, and he knelt, his head bowing over the spot where she'd stood.

The sort of love I enjoy watching the most is the unrequited kind, Cupid's voice mocked, and Pitch winced at the memory.

You'll choose them. You'll always choose them.

Because you love them.

You love them, and not...

The Nightmare King put his forehead to the ground, and dug his nails into his chest as if that pain would distract him from the still-aching ashes of his burnt-out heart.