Title: Shifter Shaper, Shaper Shifter
Disclaimer: The Labyrinth belongs to Jim Henson and Brian Froud.
Plot Summary/Author's Notes: Written for 2009-2010 Labyrinth Fic LJ Exchange! I struggled for a long time with this; it was quite a tight prompt and ended up restricting me a bit. To kelly_h80, hopefully you don't mind that I took a few liberties in tweaking this story a bit, Jareth bits and all. I ended up focusing more of our heroine. Enormous thanks goes to idnh_azuresky who beta'd my work. And thus: Her face has been changing every night, close to thirteen years now, and Sarah still doesn't have any idea why. Sarah/Jareth.
Prompt: Every time Sarah looks into the mirror she notices that her looks are becoming different. It's not that she is getting older, but her facial structure is changing completely. No one sees these changes expect for her. Sarah knows that Jareth has something to do with this, but what he hopes to achieve from this, she has no idea. Is Jareth playing with her head? Or is this only a figment of her over active imagination? Recipient: kelly_h80.
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These days, the first thing she does upon waking, besides lie on her pillow and worry, is to touch her face and feel what's new.
Sometimes, the arch of her nose is bulbous; on Tuesdays, it is smooth silk, layered and unhealthy pale; other days it has pock marks and slime rises from the holes. Sarah gnashes; troll-tongue, faerie incisors, rock-mouth, and bears with it. Just like the rest of her face, her skin isn't her own. It's been such a long time since she's seen her smile that she probably wouldn't recognise it if it reflected back in the morning mirror.
Luckily, it's just her head. Her hands, arms, legs and heart are her own. And so she rises, feet first, and then scoops up her nightgown and heads into the bathroom to gargle her mouth and inspect the damage. The first hour of her day is spent handling the magical rush, the sensations of the Labyrinth-induced change. She doesn't like it, but she's had to bear with it for twelve- almost thirteen years.
Today is a goblin face, fit with a forked tongue. She's got a craving to taste fresh chicken blood and feel it run down her chin. Gritting her teeth, Sarah all but sprints into the kitchen and wrenches open the freezer. She ignores the ringing phone on the hook, though its tone is an octave higher than normal and stings her ears.
There's frozen chicken fillet, hidden behind the peas and the T-bone steak. It'll do.
As she pops it into the microwave and impatiently butters a burger bun and readies the grill, she curses the Goblin King. It didn't always used to be like this. She didn't even notice anything until a year had passed.
"It's hardly fair."
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At the red lights, Sarah stops and adjusts the back of her heel. The black strap has slipped down, and she grumbles a bit, sliding her thin laptop bag under her arm. To her, the sound coming from her mouth sounds like two rocks being ground to pieces, but no one else in the crowd around her turn and stare. It almost makes her want to scream and go, am I the only one who's going insane, but the thought passes quickly – it happens at least once a day – and the lights change to green.
Sarah crosses, making a pact to herself only to walk on the white stripes, and looking down; she doesn't notice the unnatural faces following her every movement. The creased frown on her forehead, the little sighing breath she exhales…
They're hiding in the mirrors of the cars waiting, curled around the unlit lamp post. An eyeball rolls next to a pot hole, where a furry hand picks it up. Strangely, all are silent. The inhabitants of the Labyrinth sense she's not ready yet. They've been preparing her but there's the last surprise that she has to overcome.
Not knowing anything of these machinations, Sarah only stirs from her game when a little girl crashes into her calf and bursts into tears. A mother appears out of nowhere and before she can say sorry, the child is scooped out of sight. All Sarah receives are frowns and tutting sounds. She sighs, noticing now there's a under current that makes people keep their distance, as if she was a calamity waiting to happen. Men glanced at her from their peripheral vision, a beautiful woman, but upon a better look, Sarah is plain, and you can see the tiredness and frustration rise off her like steam.
This is your fault. This is all your fault, Goblin King. She's never said it out loud but all chance events are blamed on the sovereign. This wasn't a game any longer, this was her life. There was no binding contract between them that allowed him free play.
She squares her shoulders and focuses back onto the world around her. The skyscrapers, the clack of footsteps everywhere, radio and jingles from every store front. She's got to get to her presentation on time, there's no time to think about stupid small things like upsetting kids. She feels a pang of guilt, but brushes it away. She's grown up now. There are more important things like keeping up a good appearance and feeding herself.
Around the corner, there's a bus stop and a hole in the ground. Well, it's not an oubliette, but a train station underground. Still, as she spots it, she can't help but shy away from the steps leading down to the entrance. She doesn't know why she's shifty and expectant. There's nothing logical to make her skitter. Magic may be her affliction, (today leaves her with the need to press the shell of her ear to warm red brick and listen for voices) but she can handle those sensations.
This felt different.
She stopped, and put her hand on the railings leading down and into the darkness. The rush of a train leaving; its shriek of metal on metal, the rush and the whoosh rise up to fill her hearing. Her rational voice says she'd arrive that much earlier at her destination if she just walked down, but…
The pavement gobbles, hisses, yells and whispers to her. She takes two steps back. Sarah doesn't know if it's because she has Ludo's ears today, or if she's finally gone insane, but that one word resonates within.
Soon.
Sarah twists away, feeling slightly off kilter and wobbly in her step. Further down the street, where she no longer feels the strange rumble of the train below, she raises her hand out, hoping to flag a taxi down. Her fingers shake.
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The face she wakes up with doesn't have the rose petal skin of a garden fairy. Not that of a ballroom dancer, face paint and slitted, amused eyes. This face is warm and smooth and smells different. She's sure she's never worn this person before. Sarah tests her jaw, and feels it tense along with her frown. Masculine. She racked her mind.
Curious, Sarah goes straight for the en-suite bathroom. Amid the cloud of warm water and steam, the mirror clears up and she nearly has a heart attack at the sight.
The Goblin King's face forms strangely on her skin; surprise isn't an emotion he wears well, and fear, which curls up her face, instead seems to hiss from his mouth. Nonononono… A shock runs down her back, ice-cold. The planes of that face, harsh, pointed cheekbones, and such a thin mouth. Sarah stares at it for so long. She doesn't dare touch it anymore.
She's still too stunned when the magical rush comes upon her. She crumples onto the rug, sinking down to her knees. For all the things she's learnt from the inhabitants of the Labyrinth, there's one name she's never heard any speak or echo in their minds. She knows all about the Labyrinth, about the land, the food, the abilities of the creatures. They've all got their little secrets. But the king, Jareth, she whispers in her mind, has never been mentioned.
She rehearses it in her mind, rolling her tongue in anticipation. It's a quiet, intense name, and whispers of dark and a hint of light and play. Something flutters in her heart, and she knows by doing this, she'll never be able to turn back. Sarah's licks her lips, nervous, before saying the word out aloud.
"Jareth."
And just like that, the doorbell rings.