"You have no power over me."
Those words had haunted Jareth ever since Sarah had left his Labyrinth. She denied both her dreams and him in one short sentence, shattering his heart like the crystal ball. Years had passed though now Jareth seemed to sense the passage for the first time. He found himself realizing that everything before Sarah had been monotonous and gray. But then she came and turned everything on its head, including himself. He'd never tried so hard to both endear and intimidate someone in the Labyrinth before.
Jareth sat upon his throne amidst the cackling chaos of the goblins and smiled to himself with a heavy dose of cynicism. But that was what she wanted, wasn't it? Someone to adore her and someone to defeat. I doubt she imagined they'd be one and the same. He tapped his riding crop against a booted calf and decided he'd had enough of the goblin's company for one day. Standing and kicking aside any unfortunate creature to stray into his footfalls he marched out to his chambers. He closed the door behind him and breathed in the heady scents of incenses and pure magic. The crop was forgotten on a table, gloves discarded and tossed aside as he strode out onto his balcony overlooking his gardens.
He usually found himself in this place when he felt melancholy. He remembered playing in the hedgerows when he was a boy and how his mother would read him stories of the Aboveground below the sweeping tendrils of the weeping willows. These memories usually managed to help the Goblin King feel at least a little less depressed but today he felt significantly down. He imagined for a brief moment that he and Sarah would have made memories in the garden; having picnics by the ponds and stealing kisses behind the rose bushes.
He looked down upon the orchard and his mismatched eyes fell upon the peach trees. Oh, the peach dream. He sighed both in frustration and fond memory. Jareth's memory was impeccable and he could recall everything about that wondrous dream: the look of mystified wonderment in her eyes, the slight scent of jasmine and citrus on her skin, the dimpled touch of her hand in his as they danced.
He found himself gripping the banister of the balcony so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He let go and stretched his fingers, only for a moment thinking that he really could feel her. Turning back to the room he sat down at his desk and spied the cursed book lying tilted on a shelf. Fingering its spine gently he scoffed and remembered again those haunting words.
"You have no power over me."
"Oh, Sarah," he mumbled to himself. "You have all the power over me."