Still Life
By: Darkchilde
midnights_jewel_purple@yahoo.com
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Chapter One
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The wind howled in the trees, tossing leaves from it and scattering them on the ground. The moon hung in the sky, bone white and round as a pregnant queen. A hundred thousand pinpoints of light shown from the velvet blackness of the sky, shimmering like diamond chips. The air was so heavy and thick with longing and despair that it seemed to grab any unfortunate creature out in the night air by the throat and strangle any trace of happiness that it had out of it.
The source of this great sadness sat in his iron throne, his head bowed. His elbow rested on one of the curved arm rests of his resting-place, his hand supporting his forehead. His knee-high leather boots where scuffed with mud, and his tights were stained with wine. His fine, feathery blonde hair was matted to his skull with grime and sweat. His breath stank of the fire drink and, if one looked closely enough, one might detect what looked like dried tearstains on his face.
But of course, you would be mistaken. Because the man sprawled across his throne as regally as one could be sprawled would never cry. He was too cold, too calculating, to arrogant for tears. Once, long ago, he might have considered the possibility…but now, never. Now he was the King of the Goblins, the mastermind of the Labyrinth, the owner of all the unwanted, mistreated, or wished away children of the world.
None of which mattered right now. Jareth curled his fingers tightly around the base of the wineglass in his hand, holding on so hard that his knuckles turned white and his hand shook. The earthen glass shattered in his hand, one of the sharper points digging into his flesh. Blood welled from the wound, running down the outside of his closed fist and dripping on the floor, splashing onto the gray stone and staining it.
Jareth ignored it, the sharp pain in his hand not registering in his agony-ridden mind. A drop of his own blood feel on his knee, staining the gray tights he wore. Feeling the drop, the man pulled his mismatched eyes away from his palm long enough to casually note the blood. With a sigh of annoyance, he flung the cup away, not hearing it shatter to tiny pieces as it hit the wall.
"More wine!" He called, his cultured voice floating in the empty hall. A brief scuffle was heard, and a squat gray creature waddled in, carrying a giant tankard in his two grubby hands. He balanced the glass carefully to keep from spilling a single drop of the precious crimson liquid inside.
Carefully he made his way to his lord, and handed the glass over, as carefully as he could. Not a single drop of the wine splashed out, and the short creature, commonly known as Buster, heaved a great sigh of relief. Turning, the misshapen creature raced as quickly and as quietly as he could out of the Throne room.
The heavy door swung shut behind him as soon as he was outside. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, thankful that he had made it out without incident. He shuddered, remembering the cries of the last goblin that had annoyed their great king when he was like this. (Well, Buster had to admit, he was always like this these days…ever since that little brown haired girl-woman had saved her little brother-baby and yelled 'The WORDS" at his high and mightiness King-man…)
The goblin had been thrown into the…Eternal Bog of Stench, and forever banished from the Goblin City and the castle beyond. Buster vowed never ever to spill a single drop of the firewater his king so loved to consume these days. However, the little goblin was getting a tad bit…worried about his king.
Jareth hadn't snatched a child in weeks now…nor had he even seemed to want to! Sure, there had been a few dry spells over the years when no one was wishing away helpless-babies, but this wasn't one of them! Why, just today Buster himself had heard six, seven requests for babies to be taken. And the mighty Goblin King-man hadn't done anything! People would stop believing if he didn't do something soon!
Buster shook his head, his brain already on overload from all the heavy thinking he had just done. But one thing stayed in his half-fried brains. He had to help the king, or there wouldn't be anymore goblins. And he knew that would be bad.
With this thought firmly in mind, Buster shuffled down the great hallway, headed for the rest of the goblins. He knew that they would help him, because, like himself, they were terrified of being thrown into the Bog of Stench and never being able to come to their beautifully filthy home again!
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All this wind was hell on a pair of wings, Jade Windsong decided as she fluttered her translucent wings futilely against the raging gale. Giving up, the tiny winged creature darted towards a tree where she could see a nook that she could crawl up into for tonight. Hopefully the wind would be better tomorrow.
"Yeah, right." The flittering ball of light thought to herself and she flew hell for leather toward the crack. "It's been getting steadily worse since this morning."
She ducked a stick that was much too large to be just floating along on the "breeze" as it was. She was mentally congratulating herself when a large wet leaf clobbered her. Grunting, she was knocked back nearly a foot (a very large distance for a pixie) before she was able to disentangle herself from the clinging, wet maple leaf. Now thoroughly wet and rather pissed off, the little creature zoomed toward the tree. Grabbing onto one of the twigs that stuck out of one of the bigger branches, she clung to it for dear life as the wind battered at her like she was some kind of demented wind chime.
"Ooh, Jareth!" The tiny pixie girl growled, clinging to the stick and shimmying up it the best she could. "Would you mind terribly getting your blasted emotions under control so the rest of us poor unfortunates that grace your lovely land won't get tossed to the wolves!?" Her voice steadily rose as she spoke until she was shrieking.
The young (well, relatively young. Pixies lived longer then any other magical creature, so young to them was ancient to most other creatures) pixie girl hoped that the Goblin King wasn't listening to her rant right now, as he had a tendency to do. She'd be in more trouble then, well, normal if he had.
Finally, the pixie was able to pull herself into the nook, huddling close to the wall for protection. When she was finally safe, she dropped the glow that constantly surrounded her when she flew, reveling a tiny black haired girl. Her skin was golden, and her wide green eyes slanted slightly at the corners. High cheekbones, a tiny, turned up nose, and full, wine colored lips (that very nearly constantly moved) rounded out the rest of her face. Her long, shiny obsidian hair hung down around her waist, wet and clinging to everything, regardless of the high pony tail at the crown of her head that had been tied with yards of golden chain. Her ears ended in sharp points, and had a tendency to poke through her hair when she wore her hair down (which was why she rarely did). Her outfit was the usual pixie grab---a pair of loose pants and a top that consisted of two straps of material strategically crossed over her chest, and connected to the pants with butterfly shaped clips. Her outfit was a soft lavender color and currently sticking to her body. The girl shook one of her golden shoed feet and growled again.
"Really, this is TOO MUCH! Who does he think he is, drawing up this blasted storm! He's COMPLETELY throwing everything out of whack!" Windsong bemoaned to herself, sinking down on the wood that made up the "floor" of her little hidey-hole. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, her many golden bracelets jingling as she did so. "Anyway, couldn't he find a better time to throw his little temper tantrum? The ball is tomorrow!"
The little creature's face lit up as she thought about the annual Autumn Ball. She was finally old enough to officially attend, rather then just hiding behind her mother's skirts like she had done the first time she was allowed to witness the grandeur of the ball. Ah, but that had been nearly a thousand years ago back with she was just a child. Now she was a young woman of seventeen hundred years (Pixies lived a very long time, remember?).
"Clear up you stupid storm! I wanna go to the ball! Jareth, by the Moon, get a grip!" Jade yelled out at the raging wind before slumping back down on the floor and having herself a good pout.
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Jareth swallowed the rest of the red liquid in his cup in one swallow. The wine burned all the way down, scorching the back of his throat and his windpipe. Not that he cared…in fact, right now, he didn't care about anything.
Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing had mattered since…
He could not even allow himself to think her name, for fear that he would lose himself in the raging sorrow and pain that filled him to the very soul. Closing his eyes, he clenched his teeth so hard that he was half -afraid that they would break in his head.
With a muttered curse, the Goblin King flung his fifth goblet at the wall, his head aching. Sinking his head into his hands, Jareth swore again, furious with himself for sinking to this level. He was the Goblin King---he shouldn't feel like this because of some mere mortal.
But his heart sang a different tone, and the Goblin King once again sank into depression, the ominous black cloud outside getting darker and darker with each passing second.
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By: Darkchilde
midnights_jewel_purple@yahoo.com
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Chapter One
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The wind howled in the trees, tossing leaves from it and scattering them on the ground. The moon hung in the sky, bone white and round as a pregnant queen. A hundred thousand pinpoints of light shown from the velvet blackness of the sky, shimmering like diamond chips. The air was so heavy and thick with longing and despair that it seemed to grab any unfortunate creature out in the night air by the throat and strangle any trace of happiness that it had out of it.
The source of this great sadness sat in his iron throne, his head bowed. His elbow rested on one of the curved arm rests of his resting-place, his hand supporting his forehead. His knee-high leather boots where scuffed with mud, and his tights were stained with wine. His fine, feathery blonde hair was matted to his skull with grime and sweat. His breath stank of the fire drink and, if one looked closely enough, one might detect what looked like dried tearstains on his face.
But of course, you would be mistaken. Because the man sprawled across his throne as regally as one could be sprawled would never cry. He was too cold, too calculating, to arrogant for tears. Once, long ago, he might have considered the possibility…but now, never. Now he was the King of the Goblins, the mastermind of the Labyrinth, the owner of all the unwanted, mistreated, or wished away children of the world.
None of which mattered right now. Jareth curled his fingers tightly around the base of the wineglass in his hand, holding on so hard that his knuckles turned white and his hand shook. The earthen glass shattered in his hand, one of the sharper points digging into his flesh. Blood welled from the wound, running down the outside of his closed fist and dripping on the floor, splashing onto the gray stone and staining it.
Jareth ignored it, the sharp pain in his hand not registering in his agony-ridden mind. A drop of his own blood feel on his knee, staining the gray tights he wore. Feeling the drop, the man pulled his mismatched eyes away from his palm long enough to casually note the blood. With a sigh of annoyance, he flung the cup away, not hearing it shatter to tiny pieces as it hit the wall.
"More wine!" He called, his cultured voice floating in the empty hall. A brief scuffle was heard, and a squat gray creature waddled in, carrying a giant tankard in his two grubby hands. He balanced the glass carefully to keep from spilling a single drop of the precious crimson liquid inside.
Carefully he made his way to his lord, and handed the glass over, as carefully as he could. Not a single drop of the wine splashed out, and the short creature, commonly known as Buster, heaved a great sigh of relief. Turning, the misshapen creature raced as quickly and as quietly as he could out of the Throne room.
The heavy door swung shut behind him as soon as he was outside. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, thankful that he had made it out without incident. He shuddered, remembering the cries of the last goblin that had annoyed their great king when he was like this. (Well, Buster had to admit, he was always like this these days…ever since that little brown haired girl-woman had saved her little brother-baby and yelled 'The WORDS" at his high and mightiness King-man…)
The goblin had been thrown into the…Eternal Bog of Stench, and forever banished from the Goblin City and the castle beyond. Buster vowed never ever to spill a single drop of the firewater his king so loved to consume these days. However, the little goblin was getting a tad bit…worried about his king.
Jareth hadn't snatched a child in weeks now…nor had he even seemed to want to! Sure, there had been a few dry spells over the years when no one was wishing away helpless-babies, but this wasn't one of them! Why, just today Buster himself had heard six, seven requests for babies to be taken. And the mighty Goblin King-man hadn't done anything! People would stop believing if he didn't do something soon!
Buster shook his head, his brain already on overload from all the heavy thinking he had just done. But one thing stayed in his half-fried brains. He had to help the king, or there wouldn't be anymore goblins. And he knew that would be bad.
With this thought firmly in mind, Buster shuffled down the great hallway, headed for the rest of the goblins. He knew that they would help him, because, like himself, they were terrified of being thrown into the Bog of Stench and never being able to come to their beautifully filthy home again!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All this wind was hell on a pair of wings, Jade Windsong decided as she fluttered her translucent wings futilely against the raging gale. Giving up, the tiny winged creature darted towards a tree where she could see a nook that she could crawl up into for tonight. Hopefully the wind would be better tomorrow.
"Yeah, right." The flittering ball of light thought to herself and she flew hell for leather toward the crack. "It's been getting steadily worse since this morning."
She ducked a stick that was much too large to be just floating along on the "breeze" as it was. She was mentally congratulating herself when a large wet leaf clobbered her. Grunting, she was knocked back nearly a foot (a very large distance for a pixie) before she was able to disentangle herself from the clinging, wet maple leaf. Now thoroughly wet and rather pissed off, the little creature zoomed toward the tree. Grabbing onto one of the twigs that stuck out of one of the bigger branches, she clung to it for dear life as the wind battered at her like she was some kind of demented wind chime.
"Ooh, Jareth!" The tiny pixie girl growled, clinging to the stick and shimmying up it the best she could. "Would you mind terribly getting your blasted emotions under control so the rest of us poor unfortunates that grace your lovely land won't get tossed to the wolves!?" Her voice steadily rose as she spoke until she was shrieking.
The young (well, relatively young. Pixies lived longer then any other magical creature, so young to them was ancient to most other creatures) pixie girl hoped that the Goblin King wasn't listening to her rant right now, as he had a tendency to do. She'd be in more trouble then, well, normal if he had.
Finally, the pixie was able to pull herself into the nook, huddling close to the wall for protection. When she was finally safe, she dropped the glow that constantly surrounded her when she flew, reveling a tiny black haired girl. Her skin was golden, and her wide green eyes slanted slightly at the corners. High cheekbones, a tiny, turned up nose, and full, wine colored lips (that very nearly constantly moved) rounded out the rest of her face. Her long, shiny obsidian hair hung down around her waist, wet and clinging to everything, regardless of the high pony tail at the crown of her head that had been tied with yards of golden chain. Her ears ended in sharp points, and had a tendency to poke through her hair when she wore her hair down (which was why she rarely did). Her outfit was the usual pixie grab---a pair of loose pants and a top that consisted of two straps of material strategically crossed over her chest, and connected to the pants with butterfly shaped clips. Her outfit was a soft lavender color and currently sticking to her body. The girl shook one of her golden shoed feet and growled again.
"Really, this is TOO MUCH! Who does he think he is, drawing up this blasted storm! He's COMPLETELY throwing everything out of whack!" Windsong bemoaned to herself, sinking down on the wood that made up the "floor" of her little hidey-hole. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, her many golden bracelets jingling as she did so. "Anyway, couldn't he find a better time to throw his little temper tantrum? The ball is tomorrow!"
The little creature's face lit up as she thought about the annual Autumn Ball. She was finally old enough to officially attend, rather then just hiding behind her mother's skirts like she had done the first time she was allowed to witness the grandeur of the ball. Ah, but that had been nearly a thousand years ago back with she was just a child. Now she was a young woman of seventeen hundred years (Pixies lived a very long time, remember?).
"Clear up you stupid storm! I wanna go to the ball! Jareth, by the Moon, get a grip!" Jade yelled out at the raging wind before slumping back down on the floor and having herself a good pout.
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Jareth swallowed the rest of the red liquid in his cup in one swallow. The wine burned all the way down, scorching the back of his throat and his windpipe. Not that he cared…in fact, right now, he didn't care about anything.
Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing had mattered since…
He could not even allow himself to think her name, for fear that he would lose himself in the raging sorrow and pain that filled him to the very soul. Closing his eyes, he clenched his teeth so hard that he was half -afraid that they would break in his head.
With a muttered curse, the Goblin King flung his fifth goblet at the wall, his head aching. Sinking his head into his hands, Jareth swore again, furious with himself for sinking to this level. He was the Goblin King---he shouldn't feel like this because of some mere mortal.
But his heart sang a different tone, and the Goblin King once again sank into depression, the ominous black cloud outside getting darker and darker with each passing second.
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