Bittersweet
A/N: I do not own the Labyrinth. I don't make any money from this story. Original characters belong to me.
Chapter One-
It looked like a wedding invitation.
Sarah turned the heavy cream vellum in her palms. Intricate calligraphy in cursive font decorated the front, her name—Sarah Patrick—embossed in the middle of the stationary. She didn't know any of her friends or family that were currently engaged.
Strange.
She tucked her finger under the seal and removed another envelope, this one of the richest cobalt blue. Gold lettering swirled, pleasing to the eye. She slipped the invitation from the inside, the letterhead's words striking her still and pale.
We cordially invite Sarah Williams-Patrick of the Above, Champion of His Majesty's Labyrinth, to the wedding of Jareth, King of Goblins, and Ain, Lady of Merr. Please-
She dropped the letter. Stunned. Cold. It lay fluttered at her feet like a declaration of war. Which...perhaps it was. She hadn't spoken or seen the king in over twenty-five years.
Why now?
She shook her head, inciting her shaky limbs into a semblance of normalcy. Why not, she reasoned. It wasn't like she had any hold on the Goblin King. She had been a dreamer at fifteen, but realism had geared into practicality, erasing the girl she used to be. The girl that wanted the blond haired seducer with every fiber of her being. She bit back a scoff, stooping to retrieve the invitation. She flicked it within her fingers.
The date, less than three days away. She firmed her lips. Just like his Majesty. Leaving her little time to debate. He was a deceiver, a roue, and it was clear he would always be one. What did he think an invite would do to her—make her quake with fear or tremble with ecstasies that he had chosen her to come?
She wouldn't go. Serve him right, when after all those years of pleading, he hadn't given in to her childish whim of seeing him again. Go? Absolutely not. She hated him. No—even better, she felt nothing.
A card fell out from the envelope. Small, with the name of a local boutique.
All your needs will be met. Your dress has been personally designed, according to specifications. Transport has been arranged. To go Underground—the directions were spelled out. One word: Return.
Formal. Leaving little to chance, and giving her further reason to refuse. How dare he? How dare! She was an emancipated woman, with disposable income and a nice home in the Catskills. How dare Jareth assume she would drop everything at his very whim and come running.
She knew a glower tuckered into her brow. But perhaps…
It would show him right if she did show up. The Champion. No—Sarah Patrick, lawyer of elder law and children's rights, would show him who he was messing with by his haughty decree. She glared, even as a tear threatened to fall.
How dare he?
Harrigans, the upscale shop catering to customized and one of a kind formal wear, had never been her style. Too feminine, when she needed to play the game of machismo with the big boys. She preferred tailored suits that hid her slender body and looked more like menswear. A small part of her yearned for glamour and glitz. To be beautiful. To be desired.
Well, she hadn't felt like that in a very long time. Things always took a backseat. Her career. Her son, now aged twenty. Even her ex-husband, who had demanded she work a full time job and then come home to cater to him.
Would it really hurt to go? Yes, she hissed, cursing her errant thoughts. But maybe…
The card bent as her fingers moved to crush it. She would go, damn him. Damn the Goblin King for making her feel weak, less than, needy. Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed the extension for the boutique before she could change her mind.
The dress waited. She only had to pick it up. And according to the woman on the phone, hair and makeup had been set up for her as well. In for a penny, in for a pound…
Three days. It couldn't come and end soon enough.
Butterflies targeted her stomach. Sarah hadn't been so nervous since her first big trial. She rubbed her fingers along her bare leg, teasing the skin underneath. She had regressed to a mere child again, waking upon nightmare to a flurry of want and anticipation. Waking to dream, craving the necessary purge of the male that tortured her sleep. Her craving. Her desire.
The day would soon be over. She just had to get through it one moment at a time. One single, long, drawn out moment. She peered up at the clock, tick, ticking.
She still had to mouth the word. A smile hovered. It was like old times, except she was fully aware of what she was doing. It wasn't too late to back out-
"Ma'am," said the youthful sales consultant. "Are you alright?"
"Yes. I'm fine." Sarah gave a wan smile. She would be. If she could muster courage and just do it already. Voices were whispers in the posh setting. If she hadn't indigestion, she would have appreciated the location more.
"You look lovely."
The girl hovered for a moment longer as Sarah murmured thanks, fiddling with a strand of hair that had slipped from the gold pins in Sarah's dark hair. It lay across her shoulders, down her back, straight but lush. She was glad she hadn't had to cut it. Her hair was her vanity, and she openly knew it.
Beautiful? Yes, that was the problem. She wanted to look exquisite. She also wanted to be horridly done. It was too late for that; she was primped and styled, never looking better. Not even on her own wedding day had she shined with such radiant appeal. So damn her too, for giving into the moment's pleasure.
Her nerves struck at her. She looked like a woman ready to meet a lover. Ready to conquer the world. But it was not her wedding day; no. She had to face the woman that would be the wife of the very male that had targeted her fantasies for so many years.
The gown hung in rich dark satin wave, a call of blue-black night, beaded across the back as it slung to her waist. The front had a modern twist, covering her to the collarbone and leaving her arms bare, only small spaghetti straps of gold holding her in, the corset boning of the bodice giving her slim body a svelte line over the lace panty set that barely covered her. The dress looked rich. It looked seductive. She had never felt better about her looks, double damn her for it all.
Just do it already. She wiped her hands discreetly on her bare right leg, newly shaved and lotioned. The slit of the gown came almost to her thigh crease. Heels of burnished gilt caressed her feet, criss-crossing along her ankle and toes.
Do it!
Sarah drew a breath, all alone in the sitting area. Better now than never; she said the single incantation, giving her passageway to the Underground. She closed her eyes, waiting.
Return…