Standard Fanfiction Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations created and dramatized by Terry Jones, Brian Froud, Jim Henson, David Bowie, et al. I do not own Labyrinth, nor am I making any money from it.
Peaches. How she loved peaches. Once, she had been indifferent to them – before she had met him. Now, she could never seem to get enough of them. Every sweet bite, every light brush of soft, fuzzy skin on her lips brought back a flood of memories. Memories of him.
She drifted through life, achieved all the milestones set for her – high school graduation, college degree, dating. She met someone. He was nice. She liked him; perhaps even loved him. He proposed. She accepted.
But, she always had the nagging sense that something was missing. It lingered there, on the very edges of her perception, coloring all of her actions, dogging her footsteps, haunting her dreams. Only the sweet, luscious taste of ripe peaches brought a sense of clarity and the briefest of respites from her unspoken torment. Perhaps it was only the lure of the forbidden goblin fruit that she had once tasted. Perhaps it was something more.
In those moments, she knew. It all came back to him. He never once called her. Never once sought her out. She dared not call to him. Not after what she had done. Not after how she had left him.
The day came. There was a tingling sensation in the air. Anticipation. They helped her into the white gown and placed the delicate veil on her head. Then, they left her to have a moment to herself.
Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she was filled with an inexplicable sense of loss. She liked him; perhaps even loved him. She was going to marry him today. She should be happy. Excited. All she felt was regret. Regret for him.
Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. She had to know. This was her last chance. If he still wanted her, how could she marry another?
Reaching out to the mirror, she spoke his name. Softly. Beseechingly. Before the sound had died from her lips, he appeared before her, a bitten apple in his outstretched hand. She didn't see the worn clothing, the cropped hair, or the bare feet. She saw only his eyes. They were burning into her, seeking out the very depths of her soul. She knew that look, had seen it once, long ago. When he had entreated her to stay. She saw her own longing reflected back in his eyes.
His hand pressed forward, bearing the apple though the flimsy barrier of the mirror. She didn't hesitate. Placing her hands around his, she brought the fruit to her lips and bit.
The apple fell to the floor, forgotten. His hand closed around hers and drew her to his side. Ripe apples rained down around them as they drowned in each other's embrace.
A/N
Several people have expressed curiosity about Sarah's point of view in my earlier piece "Apples to Apples." I'm so glad you all enjoyed the earlier work, and I hope you find this continuation satisfactory.