Sarah Williams had grown up to be an extremely unremarkable adult.
She did not, as was commonly fantasized by a certain uninformed goblin horde, have curves in all the right places; she had actually turned out, in the politest terms, rather plump – and she wasn't leggy so much as squat. She still had most of her mouse-colored hair, and her green eyes sparkled in defiance only when she was feverishly pursuing a missing sock. She had not, in fact, taken-up a career in acting, opting out for a sensible job as a psychologist. ("Really," her mother had screeched upon discovering her daughter's choice of major, "a shrink?" A nasty exchanged followed; as it resulted, Sarah hadn't spoken to her mother in years; neither had the relations between her step-mother and half-brother particularly improved, but, to be completely honest, Sarah didn't care much either way).
She had failed to discredit her stint in the labyrinth to a hallucinogenic, peach-induced dream, but neither was she aching to get back. And much to everyone's dismay, (especially her androgynous, glitter-fond antagonist), she did not wist away after the goblin king, no matter how many 'presents' she continually found in her mailbox. And Sarah continued to psychoanalyze people, and pay her taxes, and eat donuts, and watch television in a particularly ordinary manner.
It came as a bit of a surprise to everyone, of course, and to Sarah especially, when the goblin king appeared in her office on a certain Tuesday morning in October.