A/N: I know, I know, I have other stories to update, I need to stop doing this. My plot bunnies are multiplying faster than I can keep them contained. I'm over run really. This one was born out of a discussion on Sarah's age in comparison to what Jareth seems to want out of her. Have any of you read The Yellow Wallpaper? It is an outstanding read, I had to read it a couple of times before I really appreciated it, I'll still pick it up to read every now and then, it is compelling.
Disclaimer: Ya'll know the drill, I don't own it, I make now profit, yadda, yadda. All credit for the genius that is Labyrinth goes to Jim Henson and company.
Sarah sat, looking at the spot on the wall. Had it been there yesterday? This morning? Five minutes ago. She couldn't remember. She just remembers seeing the spot and not being able to take her eyes off it. Just there, just to the right of center, what could be a smudge of dirt on the pretty patterned paper in her bedroom. The room she shared with her husband, the room she had decorated just so in delicate, creamy yellow, accented with touches of French blue. The Louis XVI furniture giving it just the right panache. She remembered placing the delicate blue hydrangea in the charming creamy white vase on top of the dresser. Hydrangeas were her favorite flower, the delicate blue her favorite color of them. How grateful she had been the day her husband had shown her how to get that pretty color, so patiently explaining about soil ph and showing her how to mix the chemicals just so. My husband, she thought, such a handsome, loving and patient man. Looking back at the spot on the wall, she thought she saw it get bigger. Has it grown? She mused to herself. I can almost make out something behind the pretty flowers. Is there a woman there? Just behind the spot? Is she trying to get out? Sarah sighed and considered getting up to start dinner, her husband would be home soon, he asked for so little, dinner on the table by five, Sarah dressed just so, greeting him at the door with a drink and the paper. A clean and orderly house. My husband, she thought, what is his name? Startled, she realized she couldn't remember his name. She ran down the list of things she could remember. My name is Sarah, I am married to….her mind remained stubbornly blank. I like hydrangeas, my favorite color is blue, my husbands name is….Shaking her head she looked back at the spot. It had grown larger, and it was definitely moving, was it taking shape? She made to move from the bed with its pretty, soft yellow, lacy comforter. No, I should stay here, I'll be able to see her better, she thought to herself. Her? Settling back on the bed, Sarah continued to watch the spot, watched it grow and take on a distinctive shape. Why, she's screaming, Sarah thought. As she watched the spot grow, she noticed that the flowers in the wallpaper seemed to be trying to pull her back, reabsorb her into the pattern.
Sarah lost track of the time she sat there and watched the spot take shape. The sun cast its changing shadow from morning, to afternoon, finally, the dimness of the light caught her attention. Looking toward the clock, she stood hurriedly. My goodness, almost time for him to be home and I've nothing on for his dinner. He'll be so put out, she thought. He is always so generous, but he can be cruel if things don't go his way. With that thought, she stopped and looked back toward the spot. Why, it is a woman! Moving closer, she tried to make out the features, she tried to hear what the woman in the wallpaper was saying to her. As she got closer, the spot grew in to a giant gaping hole, as Sarah stepped back, a hand reached out to grab her, the woman's hand. When she finally had her in her grip, Sarah could finally hear what she had been screaming silently all day. "REMEMBER!" Sarah stumbled back as the wallpaper began to fade, instead of falling back on to her soft, plush bed, she fell onto a hard stone floor. The pretty room with the pretty furnishings, faded away and Sarah realized she was in an oubliette.
As Sarah looked around in horror, The Goblin King strode through a door that hadn't been there before, calling softly for her. "Darling!" He said, "I'm home!"
"Jareth!" Sarah shouted
Looking around, Jareth realized that her had stepped into, not a pretty suburban home, but an oubliette.
"You've remembered." He said flatly
"I don't know what's going on, but you have to send me home." Sarah said, "I won, you have no power over me. I don't know how you pulled this off, but it's time for it to end."
"You hesitated." Jareth replied, looking at her grimly.
"I'm sorry," Sarah said. "What?"
Sighing, Jareth explained, "Just at the end, you hesitated and peeked at your dreams, delaying your return home for just a fraction of a second, I saw all of them. This seemed to be the best way to convince you of my love."
"Jareth," Sarah sighed, "These are the dreams of a child." Reaching out, she placed a hand on his arm while her eyes pleaded with him to understand. "I don't know what my dreams truly are yet, I haven't grown up and had a chance to try them out. Maybe someday, the suburban house wife will be my true dream, but first, I want to graduate high school, go to college, maybe have a career and travel." Turning from him, she shook her head and said softly, "Can't you understand?"
Frowning, Jareth contemplated her words, thinking to himself, that she seemed more than a child to him. Maybe not in form, but he could see the rapidly blossoming womanhood, but in her growth over her trip through his Labyrinth.
"No." He stated.
"No?" She asked incredulously, "What do you mean, no?"
"This was your dream, I saw it, I lived it and breathed it. Something is always missing, something that I didn't get quite right. Perhaps a child." He mused to himself.
"Always missing?" Sarah said, "Jareth, how many times have we had this conversation?"
"What conversation?" He asked as he dropped a crystal at their feet.
"No!" Sarah shouted.
Sarah sat, looking at the spot on the pretty patterned wallpaper, as she contemplated whether it was a smudge or not, she thought she saw it start to move, before she could get too engrossed in it, a wailing cry from the nursery pulled her attention away. Sighing, she thought she would get to it later, right now her son, Toby, was calling for his breakfast.