DISCLAIMER: LABYRINTH IS NOT MINE. THERE.
Enjoy the new, improved and actually 'going somewhere' As If In Blood, previously known by the Mills and Boons-like title of: 'Spirit and Power'.
A soft breeze brushed against the sharp contours of his face, a small mercy from the otherwise blistering heat. He stood with his back to the castle, his eyes fixed on the gate. Something was on the other side of it, something dangerous. He was used to danger and the constant barrage of threats that attempted to seep through the Labyrinth's gate, but this was different. This had been orchestrated to be undetectable to any magic, even his. He frowned, took several steps towards the gate and stalled as if startled, sending up clouds of desert dust.
'I admire your ability to cloak yourself from me. That is no small feat' he addressed the presence.
The Thing's silence stretched on.
The king, undeterred, as he imagined he had much patience, opened his palm to reveal a small crystal orb.
Glitter fell from the sky, coating each branch in an iridescent snow so beautiful, the man almost considered it. The glitter would fall only on that which was part of the king's realm, leaving anything alien exposed. The spell was without a flaw, he used it often to find runners who sought to hide out their thirteen hours in the Labyrinth's derelict outskirts. But this time, the snow was still, undisturbed. For a moment, the king looked unnerved, for no creature lay in wait, nor monstrous army, no, the only thing Not Labyrinth was a string, a strand, wrapped around a branch. An innocent thread. Black against the blinding white.
Years ago, the king would have been angered that he thought The Thing a threat, maybe even disgusted, but now there was no room in his world for such self-pity. He flayed himself before no one, not even himself.
His brow rose as he approached it, curious as to what it could have come from. Nobody had crossed the Labyrinth's borders in centuries and there had not been a human runner since the Labyrinth had been championed. But then his expression changed, first to one of wonder, then a look of utter malice.
'Hello' he said, cocking his head.
He plucked the stand from the branch and held it up to the brilliant sun, his smile small, nostalgic. It was a hair, a long, straight strand of hair.
'Now this' he said, admiring the black length of it. 'Is not mine'
The whistle of the breeze intensified, The Labyrinth, all high walls and indomitable depths, had begun to panic, sensing the change in its master's mood.
'I thought you were gone' he whispered, his voice a caress as he lay the hair upon his palm. 'Burnt out...'
He turned back to the expanse of his living maze, as if condemning it.
'You destroyed every trace of her' he stated.
The silence stretched on until, somewhere, in the midst of the goblin city, bells rang.
As though reanimated by the sound, the king laughed softly, rolled his hand and paced away from the tree.
'You stole the scent of her skin from the Helping Hands, smoothed over her landing in my junkyard…you were so vigilant. So very thorough. But this, this escaped your attention?' he asked, almost manically.
He held up the strand, the breeze around it stilled and it dropped, buffeting the hair against the fingers that held it captive. The Labyrinth had taken a great breath.
As if suddenly remembering himself, he shook his head and summoned a crystal upon his palm, letting it absorb the hair.
Perhaps his face had not twisted in a while, for it took some time for him to smirk.
'…I wonder' he muttered. 'If she still fears the dark?'