pitch had been sleeping for just a few years when he wakes up to the press of lips on his - his eyes open. a handsome face awaits him, high cheekbones and startling green eyes. a lopsided gold crown, glowing in its beauty, sits on the stranger’s flaxen hair.

a prince.

“marry me,” the prince says, holding out a ring, a hopeful smile on his face. “we can live happily together in my empire, you and i.”

“go away,” pitch says, “i don’t want to marry anyone. unless your empire is bigger than the queendom of skadi, i do not accept your offer.”

“b-but,” the prince stammers, and pitch sighs. another disappointment. the prince gazes at pitch in shock. “b-but the queendom of skadi is the biggest on the continent. no empire can possibly be bigger than the queendom of skadi.” 

“then begone.” pitch closes his eyes and lays back down.

“no, please,” the prince begs, “be my husband, o beautiful one of snow hair and ink skin. we can rule together, you and i. i am more worthy than any of the suitors you have ever had.” he says this with a determined glance at the corpses surrounding pitch’s sleeping coffin. with renewed strength, he says, “i am the crown prince - i have riches, furs, slaves, jewels, palaces. i have horses and sheep and gold and silver. i have everything you could ever want. i can give you anything you could ever want. come back with me to my castle of sun.”

“i want the queendom of skadi,” pitch says. he raises his arm, and with one sweep of his hand the prince joins the piles of corpses next to his crystal coffin. pitch sighs. he will wait. one day, the queendom of skadi will come to him.

until then, he will sleep.