I can't do anything right, can I? Sarah fumed as yet another mask she was creating shifted on its frame. Sarah had always been an artistic child, and desperately wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps onto the stage. As soon as she turned 18 she fled for the bright lights of the Big Apple, hoping to leverage her name and her mother's likeness into stardom. Unfortunately, her mother's descent into addiction made her a curiosity at best to the powers-that-be of the theater, and she never quite managed to get the roles she believed in her heart she was born to play. Instead, she fell in with the stage hands and crew, their boisterous nature reminding her fleetingly of her imaginary playmates when she was a child.
Now, five years later, she was comfortable as an assistant to the design crew. One of the best parts of a big city were the Halloween celebrations, and she always made her own masks and costumes. She wasn't the worlds' greatest seamstress, but her masks haunted the memories of everyone who saw them – the same way masks haunted her dreams a few times a year. Four times a year Sarah was haunted by images of a world she wasn't quite sure she believed existed – a world where she danced with an imposing figure with mismatched eyes. She ripped the mask off of its frame and held it in her lap, pondering.
It's almost Halloween, and this is the last mask to finish for the holiday. Why won't this one cooperate?The mask stared mutely back at her, slightly accusatory with its owl-eyes and sharp beak. She sighed. One more shot, and I'm giving up for the night. She glanced at the clock – it was nearly midnight. A frisson of – something – sent chills up her spine. She rolled her eyes at herself. You had a chance, assuming your imagination didn't create the Underground and all its inhabitants. Leave it to you to create an imposing, fierce, and somehow gentle man and spend the rest of your life pining for something that you'll never have again. Sarah settled the mask back on the frame, determined that she would get this one just right. I wish I had a chance to see if my dreams were real or not. She didn't notice she made her wish right at midnight, and fell into a gentle slumber at her work.
"Majesty!" the goblin ran into the throne room, gasping.
"Yes?" Jareth replied, turning from the window where he looked upon his kingdom.
"Your Lady has made a wish!" The goblin scampered around gleefully, dancing on one foot as he watched his king's expression.
Jareth stilled, his expression unreadable. There was hope, despair, anger, and angst vying for attention in his mind. She knows I have no power over her. "What exactly did she wish for? Did it at least start with I WISH?" He sneered at his minion.
Fred, the goblin, was not bright enough to know he was on thin ice. "Majesty! She did! She said: "I wish I had a chance to see if my dreams were real or not.' That counts, doesn't it?"
Jareth sighed, then thought. Dreams. I can work with dreams. Jareth vanished and entered his Work Room.
