the queen takes him back to the castle. her pale fingers warm his skin, linking with his own. “come, darling boy.” pitch follows her out of the woods. he doesn’t look back at his coffin, nor at the bodies around it. he looks forwards, to where skadi must be.

**

“I have brought him to skadi,” the queen tells the mirror. The mirror doesn’t respond - it is shattered, pieces strewn all over the ground. The handmaiden pauses in the middle of picking them up.

“You’ve returned, my lady,” she says, straightening. “With the boy.”

“This is him,” the queen says brightly, placing her hands on Pitch’s shoulders and urging him forwards. “Darling boy, this is Hain. My handmaiden and protector.”

Pitch stops in front of the handmaiden. He looks at her for a long while, eyes boring holes into her. The handmaiden’s eyes flick from Pitch to the queen, nervous, unsure, indignant that such a tiny boy seems to be judging her.

Finally Pitch turns his back to her. “She is weak,” he says. “She would not survive an assassination.”

The handmaiden frowns, but the queen smiles, pleased. “You are correct. Fortunately, she need not survive an assassination.” Pitch tilts his head, questioning. The queen turns to the handmaiden - “Hain. May I?”

Hain groans, but nods, baring her throat to the queen. In one quick, painless motion, her head is severed from her body and lands on the floor next to her with a thump. Pitch watches, interested but unbothered. “Now what?”

Hain’s body suddenly dissolves into snowflakes. They spin in an increasing whirlwind of snow until Hain reamerges from the white storm, rubbing her throat. “At least it didn’t hurt too much this time.”

Pitch’s mouth is slightly open. The queen smiles at him.

“You shall learn to do that, too,” she says, stepping forwards to trace her hands over Hain’s throat - white as porcelain, without a single blemish. “To construct dolls and puppets from earth, first - then water, then snow.” She lets her hand fall. “Are you pleased?”

“More than,” Pitch replies. His hands curl and uncurl themselves into and from fists, eyes gleaming.

“Do you think you know how to do this?” the queen asks. She smiles. “I do not expect you to, after seeing it done only once.”

“I will figure it out,” the boy says, and steps forwards.

**

he looks at the handmaiden and thinks of all he can do. a puppet who cannot die, who will be reborn over and over again? and he will learn this skill. he can build an army.

this must be fate.

he will never be bored again.

pitch raises his hand. the handmaiden sees him, steps back. “my lady, he cannot,” she starts, but pitch has already flicked his wrist. a gap, bloody and blue, slits across her chest and stomach. the handmaiden’s mouth is open in a soundless shriek, eyes wide in horror, as pitch pulls and pulls until her snowy blue heart is in his hands. then she screams as pitch closes his fist around it, squeezing until flecks of blue dot the floor. the handmaiden collapses.

pitch hears a gasp from the queen. he doesn’t turn to look.

the handmaiden dissolves into snow. but the snow doesn’t start to move - it stays on the floor, silent, still. something rolls from the handmaiden’s mouth.

pitch opens his fist again. in it lays a single shard of crystal.

he turns to the queen, holding it out like an offering. “i know now.”

the queen exhales and takes the shard. she is quiet as she turns it over in her hands, fingers wiping the surface free of snowflakes. finally, she looks up at pitch and speaks, voice soft. “you know you cannot do that every time you want to seek the truth,” she reprimands quietly. “sometimes the truth disappears with the answer.”

pitch doesn’t know what that means. he doesn’t ask. he merely takes the crystal from the queen’s hands, and throws it into the pile of snow that was once hain’s body. the queen inhales sharply.

pitch reaches out to the snow. it starts moving, slowly at first, but then getting faster, spinning in a circle around the shard. the snow starts to change colors - instead of pure white, it darkens to grey, and then to black. a figure steps out of the whirlwind as the snow vanishes in a plume of smoke.

hain.

but it is not hain.

a man stands in front of them - taller than hain, with skin as dark as the night. his eyes glow the same red as pitch’s lips. his hair is long and black, tangled like a wild animal’s mane. he falls to one knee in front of pitch, and offers something to him.

a shard of crystal.

pitch takes it, then turns and hands it to the queen. “i have surpassed you already,” he says.

the queen looks at him. “indeed you have.” she gives a glance at the snow spirit behind pitch, then turns to the door and strides towards it, white cloak billowing behind her. “come, child. you still have more to learn.”

pitch looks at the snow spirit. the spirit glances up at him quickly, eyes burning with ruby fire, then looks back down at the ground. pitch offers his hand. “you heard her. we have much to learn.”

the spirit takes his hand, straightens himself into a standing position. <of course.>