Self-made lyrics poured out of his regal mouth as he danced alone. He knew his words carried all the way over the grounds and throughout the old, drafty castle itself; he wouldn't care if they filled the world and every creature that crawled, flew, walked, or slithered heard him. His words were not lies. His song was nothing of which to be ashamed, and he reveled in the power of the one, simple freedom it granted him as it left his lips. As he sang of his troubles, he could forget all which haunted him and let the music flow.
He remembered his mother - or was it his father? - reading to him out of some, old book that the world was a stage. He didn't recall which parent it was exactly and remembered little else about them. He had, after all, been so young when he had been taken, but he knew this world was his stage. The Goblins had wanted him to be their King, and as King, their world belonged to him. He could cover it in slime, in danger, or in music as he chose. He just couldn't escape it or his destiny to rule it yet.
But he could forget it. He could forget everything else around him when he sang as he was doing now and had, at last, the rare right to concentrate on what would be naturally his, had he not been taken or when he finally escaped. This body was not currently his, but it would have been had he not been condemned to a Goblin form. The grassy hillsides and trees around him acted as mirrors, reflecting his mortal image as he wished it. Jareth smiled at his reflection while continuing his song; he knew he was both powerful and sexy.
Nobody would think to deny this form, he thought, his smile lighting his twisted eyes, and soon, no one would. Soon, the girls would start to come. He believed in himself so greatly that he trusted the first child he took would grow to be his replacement. Then, at last, he would be free to travel the mortal world. His old world would become his stage as he displayed his power, majesty, and strength to all mortals. He might even find his parents, but then he might not bother. He was, after all, as his song said, his own man.
He lost himself to his song, all thoughts ceasing as his body rocked with his ballad's power. He was sex personified as he strutted and kicked in high, leather boots. Then a little, green Goblin rolled underneath his feet. He kicked her without hesitation, pausing his music only long enough to bellow, "I TOLD YOU NOT TO BOTHER ME!"
His gloved hands rolled crystal balls. He shot them after the sailing Goblin and smiled with rueful pride as he heard the Cleaners begin their work. His captives, his subjects, would not dare bother him for the rest of the night!
The End
