Thanks for reading this story. I'm very interested in the plot right now, and trying to get the story together. I'll try to update frequently, and I'm currently making changes to make these chapters better, as the story is a work in progress.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, as they belong to Jim Henson, etc.
"It's not fair!" he shouted, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm himself down. His stepmother and father treated him like a slave! How was he supposed to react? He had better things with his time to do than to take care of a stupid baby!
Jareth Williams collapsed onto his large, plush bed and sighed. His life was not turning out exactly as he had planned. Punching his pillow angrily, he wrapped himself up in his plush comforter and contemplated his situation.
When his father had remarried, Jareth knew that his life would be turned upside down. What he hadn't expected, however, was the witch of a stepmother that he had ended up with- Irene. It seemed like she went completely out of her way to turn his life into the opposite of the fairytale story that he wanted it to be.
All Jareth really wanted to do was experience life. He wanted to create a life that he could be proud of, that he would love to tell his future children and grandchildren stories about. He wanted to live like the characters in his favorite stories, to fall in love, to encounter adventures and let his life take hold. But for some reason, things never seemed to go his way.
He knew that he was meant for something more than what his life had turned into, which was the most painful thing to consider.
Sometimes, he imagined stories of a kingdom with imposing walls and tangling vines, of a bog of stench and goblin creatures and soldiers. The images were so realistic in his mind that he could almost swear that they were memories, repressed in the labyrinth of his mind. He could not remember details, but the places were so vivid that he could not believe having known any life before it.
His room was filled with fantasy books and drawings he had made, of dark sketches of creatures that whispered to him in his dreams. The walls were decorated with faeries, with bells and vines and trees, and twisting corridors. Dark holes, where people were placed to be forgotten about. Bridges, castles, forests. Though he was unsure where these visions came from, he knew that they were almost real.
And he knew that they were ready to collapse, that at any moment, at the snap of his fingers, he could control them. He had control.
Twisting a small, sparkling crystal paperweight in his slender hands, he heard the harsh cries of his younger sister, Caroline, as she decided to wake up and make his life miserable. As the door downstairs slammed shut for the night, Jareth groaned and sat up, resting his hand on the small, red leather book next to him.
Jareth could not believe how insufferable this night was becoming. Caroline had decided that she didn't feel like staying in her crib, instead climbing all over his parents' room and nearly getting a concussion after falling off the nightstand.
"Why can't you just do what you're supposed to for once?" he muttered, picking her up and wrapping her up in her fleece blanket. Reaching down to stroke her forehead, he shrieked as she bit his hand. Hard.
"Stupid girl!" Jareth dropped her back into her crib and flinched, holding his hand against his chest. "That's it!"
Caroline started to cry again and Jareth's eyes took on an angry glint, shimmering brightly in the dark room.
"Do you want to hear a story?" he shouted, his voice escalating as he passed back and forth across the bedroom. His sister cried louder, her face growing red as she let loose with gasping cries.
Stalking towards the crib, Jareth leaned over and fixed her with a piercing gaze.
"Once upon a time, there was a boy whose stepmother always made him stay home with the baby." He sneered. "And his baby sister was a spoiled girl, and wanted everything for herself, and the young boy was worked to death. But what no one knew is that the Queen of the Goblins had fallen in love with the boy, and she had given him certain powers. So one night, when the baby had been particularly cruel to him, he called on the goblins for help."
Thunder cracked a branch on the tree outside, as it came crashing to the ground. Jareth picked her up and held her over his head, bringing to mind another scene.
"Say your right words, the goblins said, and we'll take the baby to the castle at the center of the Goblin City and you will be free! But the boy knew that the Goblin Queen would keep the baby in her castle for eternity, and turn it into a goblin. And so the boy suffered in silence. Until one day, he was hurt by the harsh words of his stepmother, sick of feeling underappreciated and overworked, and he could no longer stand it..."
Leaves twisted in the torrential rainstorm outside, slapping against the windows and against the balcony. Jareth was startled out of his trance-like state, leaning in to pick up Caroline and hold her close to his shoulder.
"There's no way. It's just a stupid story," he whispered, stroking her forehead as she fell asleep curled against his chest. Listening to her soft breathing, he was struck with a sudden, dizzying thought...
Sitting on the branches outside, he watched her. He watched as she spoke the words, as she recited them from memory, from her faerie tales.
But this girl would be different from the others. She was thrilling and open-minded, vicious and enigmatic. She loved wholeheartedly and hated just as easily. She would be more than a game to him, she would be the puzzle that broke him down forever.
Flapping his wings, he waited for his cue.
Shaking his head, he blinked twice and tried to focus. What was he thinking of? His mind was playing tricks on him.
"Silly imagination," he laughed darkly, setting Caroline down in her crib and walking towards the door. Turning back, he rested his hand on his hip and stared at her. Without thinking, he whispered.
"I wish the goblins would come and take you away. Right now."
The words flew out of his mouth before he had even remembered speaking, his eyes widening in horror as the lightning clashed outside, illuminating the night in shades of gold and grey. Running towards the crib, he hid his horror at the sounds of creatures scampering around the room, trying to hide his fear and uncertainty.
He cringed as the tapping on the window grew louder, a dark raven growing into focus. Covered in blue-black feathers, the raven fixed its eyes at Jareth with a piercing, painful gaze.
As the grandfather clock in the bedroom struck nine, the windows flung open and warm summer rain fell into his face, feeling light and airy as it struck his cheeks, sparkling and running down to his neck. Beating its wings against the moisture-laden air, the raven started to change shape.
Jareth was terrified.