((My contribution to Anna's post. I wasn't sure where to stick it, if it needs to be moved or anything feel free!
on my blog. And yea, it's a bit long too. >.>))
Pitch lay back on the bed, watching Lark move above him, one hand resting on her belly. She watched him in return with that wicked little grin he liked seeing so much. The night was late, the Park outside his window dark and quiet. Pitch gave a contented sigh and closed his eyes, to better concentrate on his other senses.
The smell of smoke and ash was strong enough to choke him. Filled with sudden dread, he opened his eyes again and spotted the girl across the room, against the back wall. Seeing that he was aware of her, she gave that horrible smile, full of gaps and jagged points. He waited for her to back through the wall, or whatever trick she had planned now. This time, however, to his surprise she started towards him.
He didn't see where the knife came from, it just appeared in her hand, the blade rusty and pitted and the wooden handle rotting away. Dark stains covered both handle and blade. The girl... ghost... thing
floated to the foot of the bed and effortlessly stepped up.
Passing beyond fear now and into panic, Pitch looked up at Lark. To his further surprise, she seemed unaware that anything was wrong, her expression unchanged. Pitch tried to say something, to warn her, but his jaw wouldn't work, his voice frozen in his throat. The thing
kept coming, and he watched in horror, unable to move, as it stepped up behind Lark and reached up. Gripping her hair in one hand, it pulled Lark's head back and smoothly drew the blade across her throat.
Blood sprayed crimson through the air, almost blinding Pitch. He watched in shock as it sheeted down Lark's torso, then she slowly toppled over, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Pitch suddenly found he could move, as the girl-thing opened her mouth again and started laughing, the first sound he had heard from her. It grew in volume until he had to cover his ears, until instead of one it now sounded like a dozen, all either laughing or screaming, he could no longer tell which. His own mouth opened to scream...
... And he thrashed on the bed with the covers tangled in his legs. Dimly he realized he was in his cat form as he struggled free. The girl was gone, and with her the smell, but he had to get up, had to check Lark....
Abruptly two strong, wiry arms circled his neck, and a familiar voice started shsh
ing in his ear. "Pitch, wake up, it's only a dream. Come on, babe, snap out of it..." The cat tried to lash out, but Pitch held it back as the voice, and it's owner's scent, finally filtered through to his brain. He stopped fighting and lay still. "Lark?" "Shush, Pitch. It was just a dream," she soothed. He unshifted and rolled over to stare at her, needing to see she was alive and unharmed. She looked back at him, wide eyes full of worry. "I was getting ready to go," she said, and he realized that she was indeed dressed. "But you started thrashing and moaning. I... I couldn't wake you up." Wordlessly he reached for her, and she settled back down next to him. "What was it?" she asked softly, but he shook his head, just holding her tightly.
They stayed like that as the night passed and dawn finally broke. Neither of them slept any more.