Disclaimer: The following is an old Labyrinth fan fiction I wrote for a Labyrinth fan fiction group years ago. Labyrinth belongs to Henson. Most, if not all, of the Labyrinth fan fiction I am going to post here is at least ten years old, if not older. You will see the original dates they were written placed into these documents. These fan fictions predate the canon of Return to Labyrinth.
To: ,
Subject: [labfic] (1 of 2) The best stories never end (Short Labyrinth fiction)
From:
Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2004 02:38:09 EST
The best stories never end
Short story
Warning: The following story is a bit maudlin. A sort of 'What if' scenario
of if Jareth developed a conscience
Disclaimer: I do not own Jareth nor the characters or places
described within this fiction.
Labyrinth is owned by The Henson corporation.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Love cannot destroy, it only creates in the end...
The years had past in quite a strange way in The Underground.
Jareth's defeat by the mortal girl, Sarah, was no defeat at all but some strange
victory in that five or so years later Sarah returned to him to be his queen.
And he loved her for it. He endowed her with magick and she ruled at his side
and he seemed content.
It seemed to him that he had lived his life in a world of
shadows without any light at all but then Sarah had come back to him, stirred
something he thought to be long dead within his soul.
It hadn't seemed so terrible though. He had simply thought it
was his duty to live that way as The Goblin King, to suffer the monotony of
the tired cliches and routines that went with it, the drab and dreary life among
half-mad beasts who were amused by the same old pranks. But Sarah had
changed everything. And now something wasn't quite right. All of his magick was
nothing compared to the magick of Sarah's ability to invoke feeling in others,
including himself.
Ten years later a child was born, a son. The boy had wild,
blonde hair and blue eyes that were slightly mismatched in that the left pupil was
slightly larger than the right. The boy took after his father in his desire
for mischief, his magical parlous and his strangely beautiful androgyny.
Jareth was proud of his son. But for all the light this child provided to his
cold heart a darkness lingered, a shadow like a storm cloud that hovered over his
head.
Centuries of coldness, of resentment for the human world- which
he was not really a part of- the anger and cruelty had melted away to love
for his queen and love for his child.
How many people had he killed? How many lives had he destroyed
as The Goblin King? He could not remember how many lives he had taken, how
many innocents he had driven mad within his Labyrinth or transformed into
mindless goblins. When there were mortals in abundance who believed in him, who
said the right words he plucked them from the vine of life as if they were
grapes and he had never really realized the cruelty of it before, or really felt
much of anything until he held in his arms a child conceived of his own seed.
That's when an unusual and painful emotion conquered him. How
could he have done it? How could he have enjoyed it? Why had he taken pleasure
in ruining human lives? Jealousy?
What had it been like, to live without a heart? What had it
been like to regret nothing? What had it been like all those year to live
without love in his heart? Had it been empty? Did nothing hold meaning? Did he
never feel guilty? Had it been fun? Had it been great fun to be the villain
and love it, to love not loving? Would he want that emptiness and
emotionlessness- that detachment again?
Yes. That was the whole point. Yes. Yes. Yes! He had enjoyed
it! He would do it all again. He had liked who he had been when he was just
The Goblin King. He hadn't known love but he had known pleasure.
And everything had changed, though he had tried to rebel
against the feeling, once he had fallen in love with Sarah. And he had enjoyed what
he had been but hated it
at the first thought of loving her, of protecting her.
Had it been a sudden desire for kindness, charity and
dream of love? Was this guilt? Had his long dead conscience risen from the
grave?
He could no longer bear to look at his own goblins, at
least not the ones which he had made. The ones that had been born as goblins he
could tolerate but now he avoided the ones he created.
Jareth was a murderer and he knew it. For centuries he had
taken pleasure in death and destruction. He was a monster as surely as his
goblins were monsters. He had found a horrible pleasure in watching the terror fill
the eyes of those lost in his Labyrinth when they heard the chiming of the
thirteenth hour. How many went mad or died in that intricate and complex maze?
And how many times had he watched the plump baby face, with eyes
shut as the child gave off a terrible din that would soon fade off in to
oblivion forever, as he would change it, as the child would cry as if the baby could
deny what he would to do with it. He would watch with cold amusement as the
sweet, innocent, and fearful face, that very nearly trusted him, for his
coddling it, with his deceptive, seeming kindness, as it turned in to a hideous,
grotesque, and deformed goblin's face. And the tiny hands that reached up to be
held turned in to, hooked, groping and scratching claws. And the cries turned
in to a gurgled growling. A small part of Jareth had been repulsed that he
could possibly allow himself, even if no one was there to stop him, to do such a
thing. He had rationalized it. He told himself that he hadn't the choice, that
it was his duty. But there was always a choice, no matter the situation.
He could have fled. He could have denied it. He could have
tried to destroy himself. But he would not. And there was that horribly sadistic
rush of excitement and satisfaction of power, that it was he that had destroyed
this child. That it was he that inflicted such suffering on humans. That he
could and would do this, time and time again! And that he did it because he
could do it! He liked to do it. And he liked to do it for the simple reason that
he had the power, that he COULD do it! They would know his power before he
would steal away their human minds, their intellects dulled, their memories wiped
clean of their mortal lives, replaced by the terribly simplistic goblin mind.
He was disgusted and enchanted at once. he had been his own prisoner.
Jealous of the humanity that he, himself, did not possess.
Now he shuddered at his own memories and trembled in the
presence of his own child. The capacity to love, he felt, had gained him a queen and
an heir but it had destroyed him! He had gone soft, he knew he had. He
could never bring himself to do what was expected of him. Never again. He was
disgusted in himself at knowing his own power and the things he had done for
centuries.
Sarah would see him hit these dark moods with a quiet
withdrawing of his personality into a feigned coldness that caused his expression to be
unreadable but she had become accustomed to his nature. And she understood.
But he never let her close enough to comfort him. She had become wise in her
years within The Labyrinth, educating herself on her own nature as well as
that of her husband.
'It is very rare that anyone can get a second chance. You may
think that you are fortunate that you can live forever but those who are truly
fortunate are those who can live again. Don't you understand?' She'd ask him
gently, 'You have a second chance and you can make amends. You have it in
your son and in your life. You have all time to try and make up for what you
have done but it is in the moment that you forgive yourself that has the true
value. You claim to have had no responsibility for your previous actions because
you were obligated to do it as The Goblin King. Well, I think that's a lie.
You knew. You were there and though you did not feel love in the proper
sense of the word, you know you loved it. It is your own Hell and damnation that
you cannot forgive yourself. Wallowing in self pity will not help. You feel
awkward and strange now and I can understand that. You think that by making
yourself feel bad about what you have done will make you feel better by giving
yourself in your sense of justice what you think you deserve but it won't.
And you must remember that you were never totally evil. Good and evil are in
perfect balance in each of us and in the darkness there is always a spark of
light just as shadows exist in the day light. Nothing is absolute. Perhaps the
best hero is the one that thought that he was the villain and the worst
villain is the one that thought of himself as being good and righteous. The one
that thought he was evil would do good simply for the sake of doing good. And
not because he fears damnation for he already thinks of himself as damned and
not for the want of praise for his is hated by most and only does good for the
sake of doing good and does it anonymously. Meanwhile the villain who thinks
of himself as good is another story. The villain that thinks of himself as
good, wants praise and wants to be a hero and is absolutely sure that what he is
doing is right when in actuality it is wrong. It is all wrong. Men are made
in to monsters and monsters are made in to men this way. Do you understand me?'
'Yes. But which one am I?'
'You were everything I asked you to be once, why don't you try
being what you want to be for a change.' She said as she held his hand.
'I liked being the villain. I was good at it. It was expected
of me.'
'Yes, but isn't the unexpected better then living in a state of
your own self-conformity. We must never conform, even to our own standards.
If we are unwilling to change and adapt then we are unfit to live, to grow, to
progress. The universe is ever constant and yet ever changing to suit the
needs of all who dwell within it and that it dwells within. We must be like the
universe. We must be willing to change. If we do not choose to change...
even for our own sakes we die and not by anyone's hands but by our own emptiness
and madness.'
And he would kiss her and give her a dim smile. If only she
knew that he missed it, he missed the endless quest for power that had
consumed all possibility for redemption, the power that came from possessing those
who lost their way within his Labyrinth or were wished away. If only she knew
that he missed enjoying his role as Goblin King. But he could never enjoy it
again. Sarah could never know the coldness deep inside of him, that pit in his
soul that no fire of passion could warm.
He could never tell Sarah how it had felt. How she had
turned his world, that precious thing. She had starved and nearly exhausted him.
Everything he had done he had done for her. He would move the stars for no
one. She had run so long and come so far. Her eyes seemed cruel as he could be
cruel. He could live without the sunlight and love with a heart so cold that
it didn't seem to beat, but how could he endure as both hero and villain?
Man and monster? It seemed that he was forever playing a role, the role of the
wicked goblin king. It's what she had originally wanted. He was the product
of her own fancy, wasn't he? And he had opened his heart to her.
Sarah wanted him to forgive himself, but how could he
hope to do that without becoming cold to the things he'd done and to let go of
that humanity he required for loving her? Where there's life, there's hope, a
chance at being forgiven, wishes and dreams can come true. He had Sarah
after all. So why wasn't he happy?
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
To: ,
Subject: [labfic] (2 of 2) The best stories never end (Short Labyrinth fiction)
From:
Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2004 02:39:03 EST
Alone in his private quarters Jareth sprawled himself out across a
curshioned chair with oak arms coated in red velvet cushioning. He stretched his
legs over the arm, sitting on his side like a lazy cat as he shut his eyes.
With his eyes shut he tried to take in a moment's release. Jareth fancied for a
moment, using his favourite personal fantasy, that he was a fairly typical
mortal man standing on Earth. He imagined that he was in an
American New York City Greenwich Village studio apartment. He was, in this
vision, surrounded not by moronic goblins but by colourful, opened jars,
bottles and cans of fresh paints, fine tipped pens, coloured markers and other
various art supplies. For a moment Jareth merely pretended that he was not the
frustrated master of an alternate reality that was doomed to ruin but simply a
human artist who had dreamed up that nightmarish Hellhole. And being that
simple, human artist in the modern human world he would soon awaken to find his
latest piece, a painting of that very Labyrinth and his castle in
the center of it on sale at an auction in New York City. Now that is a place
where an eccentric man like himself in mortal form would be actually welcomed
by all.
Jareth sighed, loving that particular fantasy. And he imagined
himself standing in a tiny night club singing to the applause of mortals. No
one knew his dreams...
Well, Jareth finally decided right then and there to accept the
futile, hopelessness of his own position. He fate had been sealed long before he
ever could have a say in the matter. He would keep his secret desires to
himself. No one must ever know of his own secret yearnings. Not a soul should
ever know that the one who can offer mortals their dreams had dreams of his
very own that must forever remain unfulfilled and unknown by
any.
For a long moment Jareth held the image of the New York City
apartment in his head. He held tight to it, refusing to let go of it for the sake of
his own world.
He sighed knowing that this would never really be.
He wanted to hide among mortals on Earth. He would try to forget his
life all together once and for all. Ah, what a sweet and truly glorious
dream that it was too. It was a true, real shame that it would have to eventually
come to an end. Even Jareth could not make every dream come true. No one has
ever offered Jareth his own dreams and yet he could give so many theirs.
...A part of the curse that was his existence, he supposed. He wondered what
he had done so wrong in his last life that he was in penance like that. Who
exactly had he killed back then?
Jareth sat up and walked to the window. Down below was the
goblin city, a choatic little village of goblins, at least half of which had been
mortal children once upon a time. If only... If only what? He couldn't stand
this new emotion that had come with the ability to love- this... this guilt!
If only he could undo it all, if only he could save them. But he knew of no
magick that could save them, no cure for the damnation that was
goblinization, no way to salvage the adled and shattered minds that hid a human soul in
those hideous little bodies.....
What had he done? Dear God, what had he done? He was a thief in the
night. Hardly a king. Had he fallen so far and was it really too late? Did
nothing remain but hatred and contempt? If there had been another path for
him, he had missed it a long, long time ago. His life was a war that could
never be won. He had resented humanity, a world that could never accept a
creature such as him. Take an eye for an eye, a life for a life he could never live,
a heart turned to stone- it was all he had ever known, everything he lived
for...
Why had he allowed Sarah to touch his soul and make him love?
She gave him her trust. She loved him now as she never had before. He felt a
shame inside of him like a bolder in the pit of his stomach. She had stirred
a soul he had forgotten he had.
Perhaps there was something he over looked, something in his private
library...
He locked himself in the vast hall, pulling books from the shelves and
leaving through them, volume after volume, text after text, spell book after
spell book... It seemed hopeless. He was half-asleep as the clock chimed
eight the next morning, the sun streaming in from the large french windows.
His library was quite opulent, nothing at all like the majority of his castle.
Of course what self-respecting goblin would enter a library?
It was then that, blurry eyed, and fatigued from lack of sleep he
came across something... Something unusual in one of the books....
Jareth opened the French windows and took in a deep breath.
He was determined. He knew what he most do.
The barn owl soared over The Goblin City. His large owl eyes saw no
pursuer but he had to hurry. In the form of the owl Jareth flew over The
Goblin City.
The small buildings of The Goblin City below him seemed to reach
up, unable to touch the realm that he had stolen as his own while in that
form.
He felt the wind rushing under his soft owl belly. The wind
stirred his feathers though never disturbed them from their setting in his little,
light owl-self.
Jareth could feel the late autumn chill in the air. The air was
crisp and pure, clean and frosty. And this meant that winter was coming.
Jareth loved the winter. It was his favourite season. It seemed a reminder to
him that there can be a coldness to beauty. That death can be beautiful and the
must beautiful things often are the things frozen
and hard to touch for their icy burn. He loved the poetry of the winter
season. He loved how the season of darkness and death must come so that there
could be rebirth. And it also reminded him of the passing of time, how nothing
ever really died but only changed. For there always came the rebirth. Just as
after a dark night there would always come the dawn. The winter was change.
It meant change to him. situation he could always hope for a change. His
Labyrinth was always changing and so must he.
He had learned early on that change was not always a bad thing.
There were good and bad change, change for the better, change for the future,
change in one self. If one did not bend to change, he reasoned, then it
could very well break you. With change there always came the choice to bend or
break. And Jareth was not one to allow time to be his master. He would never
allow himself to be broken. He might have been just a boy but he
was very much so aware of the world around him and of the rules of life.
Jareth flew gracefully, flying as the barn owl was instinct for
him. Jareth just loved the feeling of the cool, clean, icy breeze under him.
The past, he believed, or at least he wanted to believe, was gone.
He had to look for the future. If he lived in that dreaded past the he would
not have today or tomorrow, just yesterday- a dead thing. And he hoped that
time would set him free from his past, no more regrets or promises- just freedom.
Jareth flew higher and higher, trying to let go of everything but
the harshly bright (to the nocturnal bird of prey's eyes) horizon spreading out
before him as the air thinned around him. He was at least for the moment
free. He could forget it all. He flew until the sky became orange with dusk
and then shadowy with the rise of an early evening mist.
He flew higher then the mountains, reaching for the moon and the
stars, beyond the heavy clouds. He flew where the wind was strong and the air
was weak, if that can be described somehow.
He looked down once more at The Goblin City below him; still able
to see and hear it perfectly with the owl's heightened senses. He loved the
stirring of the brown, dead leaves that crunched under the goblins' feet.
And then their came a despair...
The barn owl swooped down onto the hill just beyond the castle.
The Goblin City was to his right as he stood on the hill. The wind swept
through his blonde hair. He held out his hand. An icy gel-like ooze seeped
between his fingers and then rose into the fom of a bubble that solidified into a
cool, perfectly round crystal orb. The crystal then turned into a black dagger,
made entirely of iron. He grabbed the handle and stared down at the thing.
Was this really the only way? Was this the right thing to do? Would it all
really end?
And he thought of Sarah, and he thought of his son, whom
certainly wasn't ready to take the throne. And what would happen to them if he did
this? They were innocents. Surely they wouldn't be punished for his crimes.
'I'm sorry, Sarah...' He whispered. 'Forgive me...' It was the first
apology of his life. 'I love you...'
He didn't want to leave her like this. It hurt to do it, to even
think of doing it, but it had to be done. He couldn't endure. Even her love
didn't give him enough strength. He did not want to go, he had to do it. He
had to leave her. In fact it was her love that roused these emotions of guilt
and remorse that compelled him to behave in such a strange way. Her love
which had concieved for him a son that made him feel things he had never felt
before. He knew she would grieve. He loved her. He wished that he could stay
but he knew now that it was impossible. The feelings within him made him
think he might explode. Either he was about to save a world or simply die,
perhaps both...
All he knew was that the endless days were about to come
to a close. But nothing ever really ends does it? No, every ending is the
start of something else. It's only forever, it's not long at all...
The cold metal stung as it plunged into his chest. And the lights
of the dilapidated city grew dim. The world was watery as he sunk to his
knees. The dark blood oozed from his chest against his white, cotton poet's
blouse shirt. He allowed himself to fall backward, conscious of the fact that it
would be more painful if he landed on the wound. HE felt like he was
sinking, scarecely aware of the damp grass against his hair. He was falling. The
night was closing in around him. He was staring into the void. Into the
whirlpool of his sins. He would escape The Underground now. Out of his limp hand
a final crystal orb slipped, rolling away from him like a glass sphere,
accomplishing nothing. It was his blood that had been needed for this final
spell...
Now it was just darkness. All the years wasted, so many cries
for compassion, a world in need of mercy and love ignored, senselessly...
Jareth was nothing now. A story was ending. But what Jareth
failed to acknowledge is that as one story ends another begins...
The blood poured out of his chest and seeped down his sides,
touching the grass. There was a strange sound as the wind picked up that night in
The Labyrinth.
Sitting in the throne room Sarah could feel it. The young man
with Jareth's blonde hair and peculiar eyes stirred from his studies, dropping
his book on alchemy. 'Mother?' He asked in a way that indicated that he
could feel something was very wrong....
Sarah got up from her throne and walked to the window. She let
out a gasp at what she saw.
Goblins were changing before her eyes. Short, stubby legs
stretched and feathers and flur fell away and disolved into the ground. Yellow eyes
turned brown. Red eyes became blue. Claws stretched and contorted and men and
women stood in dazed confusion, covering thier chests and privates with the
tattered remains of goblin clothes.
It was close to dawn when the procession found the goblin
king laying on the hill in the pool of his own blood, badly wounded. He was
still breathing but scarcely. They knew him. He was the one who had ruined their
lives. He was their tormentor and keeper. He was the one who had made them
into monsters and ruled them with an iron fist.
That's when The Goblin Queen appeared with her son by her side,
clutching her hand as if he was younger than what he was. 'Stop!' She said.
'Leave him alone!'
'He's a murderer!' One woman called with firey red hair in curly
ringlets of ages past. 'He killed my sister!'
'He turned us into mindless animals!' One man, who hardly looked
like he was less than a goblin now that he was human, growled. There were
similar shouts for his blood. 'He did this to us! All of it!'
'He must pay!'
'Ruthless tyrant!'
'Sadistic maniac!'
'Burn him!'
'Dismember him!'
'Decapitate him!'
'Lock him in the deepest pit of his own dungeon if you're such a
bleeding heart but don't let him get away with it!'
Sarah could not let them have him. She had to make sure they
let him live but how? Who would forgive the things he'd done?
And again Sarah understood why Jareth had done it. He had been
living with the guild ever since he had come to love her. He had been
tormented by it, night and day. And all he had ever wanted really was to be real,
was for her to believe in him so that he could... So he could what? Be free?
He couldn't live within her fantasy.
The dagger Jareth had used to stab himself lay at his side.
Sarah knelt next to him and scooped his head into har arms. 'Then banish him.'
She said. 'Take the kingdom and we'll go. But spare his life. He gave you
back your lives, let him have his.'
One, still looking quite murderous moved forward but Sarah clutched
Jareth close to her. 'Can't you look down on him with mercy? Surely you
can show mercy where he could not. Forgive him.'
There was a murmering in the crowd. There were still those who
felt a blood lust, those who wanted to dance upon Jareth's grave but many felt
sorry for Sarah. Some thought she was a fool to have fallen in love with the
likes of Jareth, but others pitied her and her child. And what would Jareth's
child do if they saw them kill his father? They might end up with a monster in
power worse than his father.
No one moved at her tenderness with the unconscious king. Sarah
stared them down, her brown eyes searching in theirs, looking for the
slightest spark of compassion and sympathy. The former goblins were dangerously
close. Jareth was evil, born of horrors and raised to hate how could he have ever
hoped to avoid his fate? Some of them were hoping that he'd draw his last
breath. Hadn't that dagger penitrated his heart? Wasn't that why they were no
longer goblins? They wanted to hate him but at the same time he had given his
life to save them, which left some uncertain, while others were blind with
rage. Those who hated him and those that did not, not a single face in the crowd
shed a tear for him, no one mourned for the dying king...
The stars in the sky seemed to lower, or grow brighter. The
darkness of the Underground, the heavy night mist was evaporating. Some took
this as the sign of some sort of miracle. The sun was rising.
'We are human.' One woman said, her brown hair was up in a
bun. She stepped forward. 'We're not goblins anymore. Let us be reminded of
man's ability for compassion. Sarah's love made of The Goblin King a human
heart where once beat the heart of a monster, and a human man can't endure in the
darkness that Jareth lived. It was goblins that destroyed him. Let it be
humans that save him.
A crystal ball rolled across the pavement and shattered against a
brick wall. It hadn't shattered against the concrete but rather there was an
explosion and the shards that should ahve remained seemed to turn to water
and disolve but the man did not stir.
It was night, and the sound of sirens in the distance could be heard.
He hardly seemed to notice. His sandy blonde hair fell into his slightly
mismatched blue eyes as he sat against the brick wall of the building. He was
confused, lost, unsure of himself. His memories were confused, muddled, mad
and there was a dim ache in his chest that he wasn't sure tof the cause but
when the memory did come it had an unreal, dream-like quality to it that caused
him to doubt his sanity.
He was dressed in a white shirt under a tattered gray jacket and
worn out trousers. He was cold and he was hungry. And something about the
modern city seemed surreal to him, unnatural...
He sat with his knees pressed close to his chest and his
arms folded over his knees. He put his head down into his arms. His hands were
covered by tattered gloves that were open at the fingers so that his fingers,
for the most part, were exposed to the chilly wind.
That's when he felt the distinct feeling of someone watching him.
And then he looked up and at the mouth of the alley, where it met
the busy street a woman stood, an angel to him. And there was a child beside
her. She was dressed in a white poet blouse stop, and blue jeans just as she
had worn when they had first met.
He stared up at her. 'So you've come. You could have-'
'I couldn't leave you behind, in any world.' She whispered.
He stood up slowly as she moved toward him.
'I know why you did it.' She said. 'You thought you would die,
didn't you? The only way to undo the magick was to sacrifice yourself.'
'I'm not dead, I failed I...'
She put a finger to his lip. 'The Goblin King is dead.' She said
with a small knod before lowering her finger.
'Come with me.' She said gently. 'You will never be bound to
The Underground again. All your guilt, your sins, your frustrations are now
behind you forever. Let the grief go, Jeremy.' The name rang strangely in his
ears. '
Jareth reached out to her and took her hand. Sarah had always
been the key to his salvation, he just hadn't realized it. And their love was
ever-lasting.
The Goblin King was dead and he was finally free to love her.
And the guilt was gone. He had been torn to shreds and re-created,
spiritually speaking. A goblin king cannot live once he develops a conscience, at
that moment he becomes something else, something human.
Jareth had lived in a shadow-world. It hadn't seemed so
terrible, he had simply assumed that's what he was supposed to be and where he was
supposed to be. But now everything had changed. Now he was human. Now he was
real. Now he was a mortal man! Flesh and blood and a man, a real man.
And though he now walked down the busy mortal street with his
wife at his side and his son marching in front of him, humming the tone of a
song called Underground, it seemed there was more magick in the air then ever
could be felt within The Underground- a realm of magick. And this human
world was an enchanted place, spirits and charms in the air. Sarah had set him
free. Her power shown brighter than anything he had ever known before. She had
saved his soul. She had brought humanity to where there had just been
darkness.
He had faith now where there had been none, he had love now
where there had been none. And he had a life- a life of his own. He was whole.
And he no longer existed within her dreams and fantasies, no longer had to
live up to anyone's ideals or sense of who he was supposed to be. He was a man
and he was free.
Still hanging at his chest, hidden under his shirt, was
the sickle pendant with the little gold coin in it's centre. And within
Jeremy's pocket was a single crystal orb for that far off day when maybe, just maybe
he'd want to let go of this dream... For as human as his soul now was, he was
still a creature of magick, not exactly of Earth though he could pass for a
man and intended to live as one, though a lot of his magick had been sacrificed
in restoring those people who had once been goblins. And one day he might
return to The Underground, of course he'd have a Hell of a time returning to
power but if anyone could do it he could. Maybe by then his people would be
ready to embrace him. The temptation would be too great, he would not wither and
die as a mortal, of that he was sure. But hadn't he decided that a long,
long time ago in a place far away?
The best stories are the ones that live within us and without us,
the ones that never end, the timeless tales that are as immortal as the souls
of it's protagonists... And the peculiar man, the underground singer, the
painter and once goblin king, knows this.
The End... or not.