Hello! Sorry if this story took so long. School's back in season again. I miss vacation already! And our computer broke down, so we had to get a new one, which took days. DAYS! Days without the computer and internet were unbearable. For one, I can't do homework.
I know that the 'Sarah is sick' plot has been used many times before, and the author's note is getting too long, but please don't click the back button yet! I just wanted to try my hand at this. The Adventures of Sarah and Mr. Owl is coming soon. I promise!
Sorry if the story was not 'drama-filled' or 'romantic' enough. If there are any 'OOCness' sorry for them too.
Please read and review!
When people are asked what kind of color was alluring yet innocently fair at the same time, most would say that white comes to mind.
There was something about white which catches the eye. It was not dazzling as the sunny yellow, which was the flush of happiness, or as stalwart as noble red, the tone of courage. It was not the pigment of peace, a position reserved for tranquil blue. No, white was…itself.
White was the color of a bride's dress on her most special day. White was the color of a mother's milk, from which an infant procures its sustenance. White was the color of snow, the canescent substance ear-muffed, red-cheeked children use to make snowmen and snow angels. In many ways, white may be regarded as the color of life.
Sarah Williams hated white.
Mourners wear the dreadful color in attending pensive funerals. Pusillanimous weaklings who surrender to the trials of living raise white-dyed flags. The appalling hue symbolized emptiness…inexistence…dreary solitude…death.
Most of all, she loathed the color with every fiber of her being for what it promises to everyone. Everyone save for her.
She would never be the 'blushing bride dressed in white' walking down the aisle strewn with ivory roses on her wedding day. No little infant to settle in her arms to drink her live-giving milk. Never would she play with kids of her own in the snow. She would never have the chance to experience the joys of living, and of having a family.
Glancing around her gloomy hospital room, with its cheerless curtains and whirring machines on which her life now depended on, she sighed. At least she was surrounded with white. White, white, white.
She tugged angrily at the needle attached to her thin, frail arm which did not budge. How she hated this! All of this!
Breathing deeply, she scowled. The air reeked of sickness, despair and loss which no amount of disinfectant would be able to cover. The dimly lit, air-conditioned room was nauseatingly sterile. It had a bed and bedside table, machines and a couch for the nonexistent visitors. Clearly, it was furnished for someone who was not expected to live long.
Sarah glanced out of her window. The view wasn't particularly comforting either. A waning crescent moon shone down upon a busy looking city which never seems inclined to rest despite the lateness of the hour. Buildings and prestigious offices towered down upon traffic-choked roads. If she listened hard enough, she would be able to hear the angry honking of cars impatient to reach their destinations.
Everybody was moving on with their lives. Why couldn't she do the same?
She had entirely mapped out her life. Fresh out of college with excellent grades, the possibilities were endless. Opportunities were beating down her door. She wanted to be an actress, of course, and dazzle the world with her talent. Further down the road, she was supposed to meet the guy who would sweep her off her feet, and start a family with him. They were going to have two kids, a girl with her father's smile and a boy with his mother's eyes. Sarah had planned to live a long, fruitful life surrounded by her family and friends. Thinking about death wasn't in her agenda until she was at least a hundred years old, well past her prime and ready to meet her Creator.
She wondered if she would ever meet her 'Creator.' There were so many theories about the afterlife, abundant hypotheses she could choose from. Would she be pushing up daisies and hanging out with The Big Guy in Heaven? Or perhaps her soul would languish in eternal damnation in the fires of Hell? She was sure she sinned, repented and did good deeds like a normal person. Maybe St. Peter will go easy on her and open the 'Pearly Gates' after a few minutes of interrogation. What if she wandered the earth in perpetuity, a troubled soul never finding rest in peace? The concept of reincarnation wasn't too bad, either. But to think of being reincarnated as a rat or a cockroach…
What she hadn't expected was fainting in the middle of the stage during the curtain call of her debut play and being rushed to the hospital to be diagnosed severely ill. Now she was here, wasting away, like an ice cream treat that has been left under the sun for too long on a hot summer day. Or maybe a marcescent flower, withering but still clinging to its twig, too stubborn to fall to the ground. Her life was a song which had barely begun, a story longing to be told but was forced to stop. She was like a fledgling that never got the chance to live outside its mother's nest for it had been shot when it tried to take flight. Hapless, pathetic, and useless.
The doctors had assured her that she was going to get well soon, but she wasn't dense. She knew that her time was ticking away, slowly but surely. She had seen the pity in their eyes whenever they looked and spoke to her. Sadness was visible behind a false façade of cheer. A doctor had actually burst into tears while treating her and had to be led away for she was 'upsetting the patient.'
Sarah didn't need their pity. She had long since acknowledged her inevitable death. She had lost hope of leaving this awful place ever again. In fact, they were more distressed by it than her. She only felt…empty acceptance.
And the pain. Pain had become normal to her as breathing. It was everywhere, encompassing, ubiquitous, and never giving her a moment's rest. The vile medicines forced down her throat hadn't helped. They couldn't take away the hurt running through her veins, and gnawing at her bones like a starved dog.
Her thoughts drifted towards her family. Their visits were few and infrequent, and even though she understood their reasons, Sarah couldn't help but feel sad and resentful. She knew that the hospital was a long way from home and they hadn't realized how ill she was, and the girl hadn't felt the need to enlighten them of her plight.
An image of her little brother entered her mind. Toby had grown into a fine, handsome young boy who was always curious about anything he'd taken fancy to and had a barrage of questions in his arsenal. She had realized that he wasn't so bad after all, and had become quite fond of him. On their last visit, Toby had extracted a promise from her to take him to Disneyland.
Her heart sank at remembering. Oh no. Why had she agreed to such pledge when she knew that she couldn't keep up her end of the bargain?
"You will, won't you, Sarah?" he had asked, bouncing up and down in excitement. "Take me to Disneyland, I mean. I'd get to see Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck! Please promise to get well soon. Pinky swear."
Seeing him in front of her, stunningly blue eyes obstructed by loose curls of light, yellow hair and holding out a little finger solemnly, she couldn't bear saying no. Crushing the child's hopes by saying that she won't ever be able to take him anywhere was unthinkable.
She now recognized her mistake by complying. She should've told the truth, however difficult it was. His big sister had failed him enough already.
Little did everyone know, Sarah wasn't always the ideal big sister. There was a time when she willingly wished her sibling away and had gotten exactly what she requested. She hadn't meant it, but what is said is said. To get her brother back, she had to beat the Labyrinth.
Her mind wandered off to the intricate maze as it was wont to do whenever she thought of Toby. The Labyrinth, with its ever-changing passages, a plethora of interesting though sometimes dangerous creatures, and dark oubliettes, was a place ingrained in her memory, a memento of her bygone childhood. She had been so frightened and nervous for her little brother back then while she had been inside it, and had no times to enjoy the scenery to appreciate its wild beauty. Now, when the Underground made its presence known to her recollections, the fear was gone, and replaced by wistfulness.
She missed her friends very much: Hoggle, an acerbic dwarf who pretended not to care, Ludo, whose terrifying exterior hid a big heart that opposed his looks, and Sir Didymus with his steed, whose bravery matched no other. She wondered if they were thinking about her, and how they felt when she had stopped contacting them. Were they mad? Hurt? Confused? Sarah wasn't ready to tell them yet. She hoped that they would understand someday.
Most of all, she missed him. The Master of the Labyrinth.
She wasn't going to spend the rest of her pathetically short life denying the fact that she was attracted to him. Aside from his handsome appearance, he had vastly deviated from the stereotypical princes of her storybooks. Those Prince Charming's had been perfect – too perfect, too noble, and overtly chivalrous that somehow, they lacked character; a certain something to make them believable. On the other hand, his flawed nature made him plausible, reachable, and more human. Fantasy meets Reality.
She had learned that happiness entailed sacrifices. Her mother had given up her family to pursue her dreams in the acting business. Her father had let go of his wife's memory in order to be happy with another woman. She knew that both may have suffered at some point, but eventually moving on. In their pursuit of happiness, they had solely focused on themselves, not taking into consideration what their daughter might feel. What about herself? Did she forfeit her own chance to be glad when she had opted not to relinquish her sacrifice? When she had chosen Toby over him?
She idly pondered another lesson she was taught: no one can truly be completely happy.
It makes sense, in a weird kind of way. We feel ecstatic over a victory, an achievement, or even on something simple as arriving home early after a long day at work. But after the moment had passed, and the euphoria gone, we are left entirely numb and start to remember why life is not fair. Happiness was a one second deal, swift and short, its aftertaste making us feel worse than before. Sort of like a hangover. Death had a way of making a person perceptive, she thought wryly. If her method of thinking wasn't perceptive, then surely, it was pessimistic.
What if things had been different, would everything remain the same? If it had a varied beginning, would it still end that way? If the price at stake wasn't so high, would she have accepted? If it had been a woman instead of a naïve young lady who was faced with such a tempting offer, would she have rejected it so swiftly and callously?
If they had met in different circumstances, who's to say that the attraction between them won't work out?
There were so many 'what ifs' and innumerable answers she would never know.
Unless…
She asks him herself.
Sarah sat up straighter from her reclining position, ignoring the stab of pain shooting through her dextrosed arm which was caused by her slight movement. Would she dare? The prospect of seeing him again made her heart beat in a swift, erratic manner. It had been years. Surely he'd forgotten about her by now?
The thought made her stomach squirm uncomfortably. Will he dismiss her indifferently as she had done to him on their final meeting? It was the most likely outcome, and she deserved nothing more. Still it would be so nice to see him again, even for one last time. Making up her mind, she took a deep breath and exhaled it with his name.
"Jareth," she murmured to the stillness of the room, his name flowing out of her lips effortlessly. She waited.
No storm was brewing in the skies – the weather outside was relatively calm with no thunder rumbling and lightning flashing. No fluctuating electricity – the nightlight shined unwaveringly from its spot on the plug. No demented owl was trying to get in from her window either – all she could see was a dull, world-weary cityscape.
Sarah closed her eyes and leaned back on her stuffy pillows. What did she expect? That he was going to forgive her easily and visit her after they had parted on not-so-friendly terms years ago? He was probably laughing at her: the one who had beat his mystical Labyrinth was being overcome by something unoriginal as a human ailment, an unfitting end for a heroine in a fairytale book. She was supposed to die in some laudable epic, or in an inescapable battle. Doubtless he was gloating about how she called to him in such a time of distress, too, and was watching her satisfactorily while kicking his poor subjects. She choked back a sob.
A cold, damp, night air pervaded her senses, and dried the tears pooling around her shut eyes. She could hear the cheerless curtains fluttering in the wind, making clothlike, whipping noises. Odd. She couldn't remember the windows being open. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes and let out a gasp.
He was there.
Time seemed to have no effect on him. He was as vivid as she had last seen him: dark, foreboding, imposing, and enigmatic as his Labyrinth. He was wearing a cloak similar to the one he had donned on the night he took Toby away, the ends of his untamable mane spilling onto his broad shoulders and disappeared in his high, stiff collar. Glitter was trailing along his wake, settling on the white linoleum floor.
The luminous orbs which frequently haunted her dreams were currently directed at her, aloof and stony. His gloved hands were crossed at his chest, as if preventing some unknown emotion from bursting forth. He was not moving, face blank and thin lips unsmiling.
She suppressed a shiver. Seeing him like this, she can truly believe that he belonged to the shadows – an exotically wild creature ready to strike if he chose to. She knew that nothing is what it seems, but she was still awed. Who wouldn't admire a fully-bloomed, blood-red rose, even if it had thorns?
"You came," she whispered. Even she could hear the relief coloring in her voice.
Jareth said nothing. Instead, his eyes flickered to the somberly painted walls, to the machines she was attached to, and letting his stare linger at the music box on her bedside table, before falling on her again.
She fidgeted. His silence bothered her more than his taunts. Why wasn't he mocking her, reveling in her downfall? Words were predictable; quietude was fickle. Maybe calling on him was not such a good idea.
"You're dying," he said bluntly. It was not a question, merely a confirmation for what he had already surmised.
She laughed in spite of herself.
"That's the first time anybody has told me frankly about it," her wheezing laughs turned into coughs, leaving her out of breath. "You won't believe the amount of positivism crap they feed the patients here."
She must look like a wreck by now. Last time she looked into a mirror, her once lustrous earthen brown hair was a dull black, hanging limp and lifeless around her impuissant shoulders. Her face was pale and gaunt, the sickly pallor of it making the bags under her eyes stand out. Sickness has robbed her of her beauty. Impending death raped her of her vigor. All that was left was a shell. The real Sarah had died years ago.
"I have no power to heal you."
She gave a bland smile.
"I never expected you to."
Silence shrouded upon them like a gray, dense fog, each waiting for the other to talk. It was fine by Sarah, who took the time to further observe him. She had forgotten the arrogantly regal way he held himself, so befitting of his rank. Yet even though his posture was as stately as ever, it had somehow changed, an alteration she couldn't put a finger on.
He stepped closer, jolting her out of her musings. Allowing his hands to rest on her bedpost, he peered closer at her, examining an unusual specimen as a scientist would.
"You've changed."
She tore her eyes from him, fixing it on the open window.
"I finally grew up."
"That is not always a good thing."
That made her return her murky, deadened eyes on him.
"How so?" she challenged. Was he implying that he liked the brat she was more than the mature, sensible version of her?
"Grown-ups," he replied, curling his lips as if finding the word revolting. "Tend to be less…interesting. They don't hold as much belief in magic as children do."
"That's called common sense, Jareth," she said, speaking his name for the first time in his presence. How did they come to discussing adults in the first place? "They haven't seen real magic. Most would say that seeing is believing."
"But you've done much more than see."
"True," she acquiesced. "But until now, I haven't decided if that night several years ago had actually happened. Or if you really do exist, for that matter. What if you are just a dream? A way of my subconscious to seek atonement for past sins I had committed, but forgot? Maybe the Labyrinth was just an illusion, a deranged girl's way of coping with her overrated teenage problems, as what my shrink had insisted."
He glanced at her sharply.
"I am much more than a dream. To see is to believe, you said so yourself."
He was towering over her bedside, close enough that if she could gather every ounce of what little strength she had, she would be able to reach out and touch his hand. Sarah was not about to push her luck, though; she can see how much her doubts annoyed him. She sighed.
"How are Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus, and Ambrosius?"
He stared at her, noticing the change of topic but letting it slide.
"Disappointed," he said at last.
Sarah had to smile at that. She could picture what 'disappointed' meant – Hoggle would be spraying fairies and muttering "Sarah better come callin' soon," under his breath. Ludo was calling down rocks, grieving the loss of his 'Sawah fwend,' and Sir Didymus was asking Jareth for a petition to bring the 'Lady' back. She could only pray that her friends weren't languishing in some dark oubliette somewhere.
"Be-because I never called?"
He crossed his arms. "Partly," he informed, flicking stray glitter off his shoulder. "Though mainly because you didn't trust them enough to tell them this," sweeping a gloved hand indicating her surroundings. "I have not restricted your communications with my subjects. Why have you not called them?"
"I didn't want them to see me like this."
His brow creased in thought. "You care more about how you look than how they feel?"
"No!" she said, horrified. "I couldn't care much on how I look, and you're wrong if you say that I don't care about how they feel. In fact, I can't bear to see them sad if they knew about this."
"Your sympathy is misplaced," he informed. "How would you think they'll feel, Sarah, if their friend left without saying goodbye to them?"
It was a rhetorical question, so she avoided it.
"How do you know all this?" Never had she thought that the Goblin King could be so…insightful.
He huffed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the ghost of a reminiscent smile playing on his lips.
"You would know a lot of things when you've been observing people for half a millennia."
"Are you really that old?"
Sarah slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. She hadn't meant to ask that. Damn her overly impulsive tongue.
To her surprise, he gave a bark of laughter.
"Now I know you really haven't grown up," he grinned. "Adults generally would not ask such an impertinent question."
He was smirking, but she realized that she didn't mind. A cocky Goblin King was more familiar than an insightful one.
Yet why did he come? He could have ignored her calls, for she hadn't wished anyone away; but he still arrived. She longed for his presence earlier when he wasn't there, now that he was, she dreaded it. Can her mind be more fickle?
And there was something she had to know…
"Jareth, the – the things you said before…" she faltered, losing her resolve when the mirthful glint in his eyes became unreadable once more. He remembered. "Did-did you really mean it?"
Did you ever have feelings for me?
She knew he heard the unspoken question behind her thinly words. He strayed to the windowsill, where the cheerless curtains swayed, unable to meet her eye. Only those who knew him can see how his proud stance sagged, a victor looking wholly defeated.
"What do you think?"
The rich timbre of his voice died down to a whisper, and was laced with regretful melancholy depression. He was looking at anywhere but her, afraid of what his eyes might reveal. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, she caught a glimpse of them, seeing what was written in his heart which his mind declined and his mouth stubbornly refused to tell: yes. Pride stopped him from unraveling his heart to the one who had crushed it beneath her merciless heel. And to know that she was that uncaring person…
"Oh God!" she whispered brokenly, finally unleashing her tears. She didn't know what to say, or what to think. Is a simple 'sorry' enough to compensate for someone she had hurt so badly, even if she had no choice? She didn't think so.
"God had nothing to do with it," he said harshly.
"On the contrary, everything has to do with him," she disagreed, turning her face towards the moonlight, wiping the tears with the back of her free hand. How can she look at the person she had wrong so unjustly? "Like how he is punishing me right now for doing what I did to you so many years ago."
Sarah wasn't much of a believer, but she can see that there was a mystical force behind the inner workings of the universe, and that unknown entity was most probably God. He knows of her sins, and no wrongdoing ever goes unpunished.
"Why do you care?" she asked.
He turned away from her, and for a moment she thought that he was going to leave and not answer. Had he moved on that quickly? She couldn't.
Jareth stopped and turned towards her bedside table. She couldn't see what interested him there, until he reached out a hand to reverently touch the music box she'd forgotten she placed there. She felt her breath catch in her throat as he caressed the doll's silken mantua gown, and time had stood still when he turned the windup key ever so slowly.
The first notes of the familiar tune wove itself in the air, reaching her ears. The music box was an artist, weaving a masterpiece originating not from its machine, but threading out from their hearts. Hearing it was terrible as it was beautiful. In those seconds, she ceased to be a frail little girl – she became Sarah, a princess who had gotten her rightful happy ending.
As the last strains of the melody diminished into nothingness, she was rudely brought back to the world, the unreachable dream perishing in the deep recesses of her mind.
"I've always had," he said, too softly for her to hear.
She knew that her heart cracked at those words, a jagged seam running through its very center. It can never be whole again, and she shall die with her heart already split into two. She had believed that it was pity she felt for him, pity for his unrequited love, but it was something deeper, a feeling that had taken her several years to realize.
I love you.
BANG! She jumped, hearing the startling sound.
Jareth had pounded his fist on the table, sending the things atop of it flying to the ground. His frame shook in uncharacteristic rage, before straightening. Sarah blushed. She must have spoken the last part out loud.
"You truly are a cruel, selfish little mortal, Sarah," he sneered, his blue eyes icier than glaciers. "Was it not enough that you have stomped on my pride? Must you give me grief as well? I could've lived with the knowledge that you hated me till the end, but you had to take that from me as well, hadn't you?"
"I never hated you, Jareth. Afraid of you? Oh God yes. Although not even fright can blind me to the fact that something about you captivated me."
The tension lifted off his shoulders and his countenance no longer was sinister.
"Hmm. Must be my charm and good looks."
She chuckled, memorizing every detail of what may be her last sight of him. She loved how his sharp, canine teeth showed in a feral smile, and how he moved with the grace of a seasoned predator stalking his prey.
"I regret a lot of things," she didn't understand why she was telling him this. " I never got the chance to take my brother to Disneyland. I would never become an actress, the kind of daughter my mother will be proud of, or maybe someone she'll grow to love aside from herself someday. I regret not being courageous enough to tell my friends goodbye."
She smiled wistfully. "But do you want to know my biggest regret? I wish that I had stayed in the ballroom long enough to see if you were going to kiss me."
There was no going back now. She had overstepped a boundary, no doubt about it. Sarah had often wondered what he would do if she had stayed, and time was not running out. He had held her gently in his arms, and had showed her what it was liketo be in his world. He did it to distract her from Toby, yes, but now she contemplated if that was his ulterior motive.
Jareth raised a hand, still observing her impassively, and conjured a crystal ball out of thin air. She blanched, realizing too late that she had uttered the two words which had gotten her in trouble in the first place: I wish.
I wish that I had stayed in the ballroom long enough to see if you were going to kiss me.
"I brought you a gift."
"What is it?" she asked warily. Was history doomed to repeat itself?
"It's a crystal. Nothing more. But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams. But this is not a gift for an ordinary girl who thinks about something as mundane and foolish as dying."
She stared at the ball, mesmerized at its fluidity as it coursed through his nimble fingers. Finally finding her voice, she replied, "Then it's not for me."
"You don't want it?" the crystal paused to balance precariously on his hand, rolling around his hand and pursuing its trail again.
"I don't deserve it. What's the use of receiving your dreams when you're going to die anyway?"
"Such pessimism," he tutted. "One does wonder where all that fire and willful determination went."
"Gone," she said succinctly. "Give it to someone else."
And maybe to someone who won't break your heart like I did.
Her fallacious certitude was betrayed by the yearnful way she chased the crystal's progress with her eyes, and the mournful sigh which involuntarily escaped her blue-tinged lips. No matter how hard she denies her interest, it was apparent that she wanted it. Wordlessly, with the ball lying stationary on his palm, he presented it to her.
It was tempting. The glass sphere was only a few inches from her, a distance she could close with a stretch of an arm. A solitary moonbeam poured in on it, as if Luna was calling a fallen star to return to its rightful place in the sky.
"No strings attached?" she asked, hesitantly. Even then her hand was reaching out for it.
He inclined his head. "None."
The last thing she felt was the coolness of the crystal's surface, and the warmth of his hand which he placed upon hers before succumbing to the worlds of dreams.
The unusual circumstance she first noticed once the world stopped spinning was that she was standing.
How nice it was not to be lying down on the bed's starched white sheets! How independent and free it felt to be standing steadily on one's own feet! Walking was an ability severely taken for granted these days.
She kept her eyes closed, lest all that had transpired was just a dream. Putting to action her sense of hearing, she eavesdropped on a symphony of sounds: merry tinkling laughter, glasses clinking in toasts, feet scuffling to and fro in a saltatorial rhythym, and conversations reduced to incoherent babbles by a hauntingly familiar tune. A party. She was in a party.
When she was sure that the festivity was not the result of her drug-lucid mind, she opened her eyes.
A girl was standing directly in front of her.
Sarah jumped back, startled at her proximity. The other person seemed equally surprised, staring at her in open-mouthed shock.
She couldn't help the twinge of envy which stabbed through her heart. The girl was beautiful – she looked like a fairytale princess straight out of a storybook. Glossy russet hair piled atop her head and cascading down her back was entwined with crystal drops, silver leaves and taffeta ribbons. Her eyes were undecided to settle on a single color – it was swirling kaleidoscope of blue, green and hazel.
Those exotic eyes were eyeing her critically, which made Sarah stop extolling the unknown lady's beauty. She knew that she looked like a wreck right now, but did the lady had to rub it in just because that she was beautiful? Sarah crossed her arms challengingly, daring the other to say something. To her immense irritation, the woman did the same. Why was she copying her? Unless…
Laughter bubbled up her throat. How silly she was!
It was a reflection; her own reflection which she had been admiring and envying. What she would look like, she thought sadly, had sickness never took over. Sarah was not vain, but she missed the times which she looked normal. Gone were the pallid color, the sunken eyes, and the machines perpetually attached to her. She barely recognized herself!
The gown she was wearing was white, but she found out that she didn't mind terribly. Never had white symbolized life so much! If her memory wasn't faulty, she was sure that it was similar to the one she wore before. Juliette sleeves with tulle puffs on top enmeshed her arms snugly. A sweetheart neckline revealed milky shoulders, and a necklace imbedded with pearls and crystals. The bodice, embroidered with sequins, tapered to a Basque waistline and flared to a full-length crinoline skirt ornamented with satin flounces.
She twirled around happily, the skirt billowing. She looked like a snowflake. Or maybe a cloud. A very fluffy cloud.
Sarah giggled. Maybe she was too flashy for a cloud. Her outfit did seem to have an absurd amount of crystals. It was as if Jareth was constantly reminding her of him.
Jareth! She stopped twirling, belatedly recalling who was responsible for her being here.
She scanned the room which was swathed with snowy gossamer curtains and illuminated by the dulcet flames of candles perched daintily on aureate candelabra. The light bounced off the glass walls, providing adequate luminescence but not moreover to appear garish. Everything was just as she remembered, though somehow, it looked different.
The crowd had changed, too. They had removed their masks, revealing faced too beautiful to be mortals. No longer did they treat her with hostility, or looked at her contemptuously. Some were smiling and looking at her appreciatively, which made her cheeks color, recalling her childish behavior. One elegantly-dressed man raised his goblet when she met his eye, and a stately lady winked conspiratorially, nodding her resplendently coiffed head towards something behind her.
Sarah whirled around, wondering what the lady was pointing to. She couldn't see anything interesting until a couple in her line of sight walked away to uncover the person she was seeking.
Jareth was leaning casually on a marble column, the typical appearance of a bored party host. Candlelight struck the glitter on his cloak, making them as refulgent as stars on a blue-black sky. The vespertine cloak parted in the middle to reveal a jabot shirt, its frills, tumbling out on his chest.
No matter how much he appeared to belong in such magniloquence, Sarah thought that he looked lonely. He seemed contented to watch, not to interact. He resisted the advances of women, preferring to aim his ardent gaze at-
She blushed. He was looking at her, but will she dare accept his unspoken invitation to come nearer? Making up her mind, she walked up and stepped in front of him, cowering a little at his raised brow.
"Dance with me," she requested, holding out a hand. "Paint me mornings of gold, spin me valentine evenings even only for this night. Show me that you'll be there for me as the world falls down…one last time."
One last chance.
He stared at her, unmoving. Those seconds spent waiting was agonizing; had her offer come too late? Sarah was about to drop her hand when he grabbed it and pulled her in a kiss.
The kiss was brief; it lasted no more than a few seconds. His lips were as ephemeral as dove feathers brushing against her skin, leaving a tingling sensation where they passed. It strengthened and weakened her, tasting the promise it held. A vow which was both fulfilled and broken.
"You don't need to ask" he whispered in her ear, leading her to the dance floor.
They say that love is a paradox. It may cause great happiness, or otherwise, extreme pain. It is talked about frequently but is hard to define – a surfeit of writers and analysts have tried and failed to capture its whole meaning and summarize it in their own words. Everyone will eventually experience love, which will either leave them satisfied or starved for more.
For Sarah, nothing can explain love better than the answer she found in his arms. What better enlightenment will she receive other than the constant thrumming of his heart which she heard when she placed her head on his shoulder? If there really was a Paradise on Earth, then surely, she found her heaven in his embrace, his own unique redolence enshrouding her?
An intense pain seized her, and she shivered. Oh no. Not now. Please…
He had felt it too. "Stay with me," he murmured gently, wrapping her closer to him,as if fending off whatever was trying to take her away from him.
She dearly wants to say yes, but no words can get out. Another bout of pain wracked her frame, just as the clock struck eleven. Cinderella had until midnight. Was she not allowed that privilege?
"Jareth…"
He knew it long before her heart ceased to beat rhythmically with his, long before she exhaled her last breath with his name on her lips, becoming limp and lifeless in his arms.
They can never be together.
A tear slid down his aquiline cheek, dampening her face which he realized will never smile up at him again.
The words came, a second too late for her, an eternity too early for him.
"I love you."
Dr. Pamela Smith made her way through her usual morning rounds, a clipboard in hand to check the status of her patients. She was uncharacteristically cantankerous today, due to the lack of a perfectly brewed cup of coffee which never failed to boost her energy.
Honestly, how can she carry on with her duties without inhaling the sweet aroma of that therapeutic beverage? She lamented. The hot tendrils of smoke fanning her face while she sipped always woke her up, a task which her alarm clock was not fully capable of.
A smile graced her sour features when she arrived at the very first room. Room 501 was Sarah William's quarters, a person, in Dr. Pamela Smith's opinion, was the epitome of an ideal patient.
A stab of pity shot through Dr. Pamela's tender heart. Sarah acted cheery and carefree, uplifting the spirits of everyone around her, but she adapted a melancholy brooding expression when she thought that no one was looking. The good doctor has seen it once, and it made her so sad that she burst into tears whilst treating her. A person as special as Sarah should not be confined in a hospital; she was supposed to be outside, inspiring people she met and reminding them how lucky they were to be living. Visits to Sarah always made Pamela feel good, and that's why she made it a point to start her rounds with Room 501.
Thoughts of coffee quite forgotten, she knocked and entered the room.
Sarah was still sleeping, and it warmed Pamela's heart at how at peace with the world she looked in slumber. A smile was on her lips, and the doctor thought that someone as pretty as her should be out dating, and not spending her days hidden away in this room.
The life support system was not in use, but she shrugged it off. Maybe something had come up last night and Sarah did not need to depend on it?
She sighed. They didn't even know what was wrong with her, let alone how to cure her. The ailment was quite new, something that has puzzled even the best of their medical staff.
That's odd, she thought, walking closer. Sarah's medication was strewn on the ground, the glass shards from the medicine bottles glinting in the sunlight. And was that glitter?
The doll on the nightstand was gone, something she was sure that her patient would not allow. The girl guarded it with her life, and never, ever left it out of her sight. Where was it?
The window was open, something she had not noticed until the curtains swayed gently with the wind. She made a move to close it, but jumped back as soon as she saw what was outside.
An owl was perched on a stone slave, his vehement gaze focused on her as if to ask "What are you doing here?"
And were those tears in his eyes?
Pamela shook her head, thinking herself foolish. Owls cannot cry, can they? Come to think of it, they were not supposed to be in broad daylight either.
"Shoo!" she ordered, waving her arms to drive the animal away. If owls can raise their eyebrows, this one would have done so by now. Pamela slid the window shut, drawing the curtains in for good measure, unnerved at how humanlike it seemed. It was probably Sarah's friend. Her patient loved birds, owls in particular.
Turning back to her, she sighed once again. She loathes waking a patient from a much needed rest, but it was time for her daily dosage.
"Sarah?" she asked reluctantly. "Rise and shine!"
No answer.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Heart hammering in her ribcage, she inched nearer. "Sarah?" she called, raising her voice. "Sarah!"
Panicking, she checked her pulse, which confirmed her worst fear.
"Oh Sarah…"
The clipboard fell to the floor, along with saline tears. The days that will follow this one seemed bleaker, their vivacity dimmer. Suddenly, the coffee was not so important anymore.
In the distance, unseen and unheard, an owl bewailed its distress, before taking flight.
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