Being walked through is no less painful or frustrating the millionth time he experiences it than it had been when he'd first realised that most mortals wouldn't so much as see him. The wide-eyed look quickly turned into a glare as he scowled in the direction of the oblivious humans who walked away, hand in hand, under the faint glow of the streetlamps.

The audacity of humankind to forget the perils of the night, of the dark... for what had it all been, if they'd simply forget? Just as they had forgotten him.

Turning away from them, he looked to the streets, to the rows of low and mid-rise flats. Some lights were still on; others of. He knew there were families there too. There were people there, dreamers. Humans young and old. Ones he could scare, could build his power from. 'And then, I'll have my revenge,' he promised himself.

His gaze rose to one of the windows. The light peaking through wasn't the standard, with the yellowish hue. Instead, it was a faint, silver-blue . . . a light cast by screens, no doubt.

It drew him in to whichever night owl was occupying that room. Slipping back into the shadows, he then re-emerged in the darkest corners of a young woman's room, watching silently, as she tapped away at a keyboard, eyes transfixed to the screen of her computer.

'Humans and their... things...' Pitch never really understood modern technology. It seemed frivolous and confusing.

Bending to his will, the shadows moved, shrank and grew. 'Time for a little fun...~' he couldn't resist a gleeful, sharp-toothed grin, as he observed how the mortal would react. Not that it mattered if she ignored him; he'd simply mess with her dreams instead. Besides, this one was an adult... so the Guardians shouldn't interfere with his efforts.