You were interesting and intelligent, different from most humans... Deadly, foolish and sensitive... But not you, oh no, never you.

You know well who he is, and you don't fear him, which was practically a free passage from him to you. Unlike adults, who always stopped believing, you never stopped believing. And you could see Pitch next to your bed every night, fascinated, trying to understand you.

"How does your brain work?"

Pitch asks, touching your temple with some care, as if you could get rid of dust with a little touch. And well... You could. We were talking about Pitch himself, after all. The immortal being that brings horror and hopelessness.