Sarah's eyelids fluttered in her sleep. Her brow was creased in concentration and her mouth slack, as if in awe. She tossed her head on her pillow, her raven hair fanning out like a wave around her. Though she was tucked safe in her bed, visions of poison peaches dancing in her head, Sarah was far, far away…
The whole room was spinning, as was everyone in it. People, strange and beautiful, were dancing everywhere, each fitted with a goblin mask, ranging from beguiling to grotesque in appearance. A gilded clock on a distant wall read thirteen o'clock and somehow, Sarah was far removed from time and its passing. Her peach addled brain was focused on other things, like the throbbing, insistent rhythm of a song that was both eerily strange and heartbreakingly familiar, floating on the air. It seemed to fade in and out, and desperate to catch its dying strains, Sarah fought her way carelessly through the crowd, which parted for her at the slightest touch.
She moved through pairs of waltzing couples, who all seemed to look at her in a way that meant they knew something she did not. Delirious and dizzy, Sarah had the distinct feeling that he was watching her from somewhere, a hungry owl awaiting its helpless prey, a Sarah-mouse.
She kept forgetting what she was doing and where she was going, though somehow, none of that was important. What was important, Sarah knew, was getting to the source of this song, this devilishly decadent symphony that was both seducing her and terrifying her.
In her wandering, Sarah turned and gasped. She'd come to a mirror, which seemed to span the entire length and breadth of this spectral ballroom. Her reflection was one she sorely recognized, and the image sent a twinge of sentimental but vague memories through her poisoned psyche. She looked like a sugar spun princess, wearing a white dress with balloon sleeves, a ruffled skirt and a jewel encrusted bodice. Her chocolate colored tresses, usually silky and straight, were swept back into a riot of curls, held in place by silver filigree that twined along her temples like vines. Her hazel eyes gazed back at her, betraying a confusing semblance of emotions, running the gamut from fearful and confused to enchanted and elated.
Suddenly, a dark figure appeared behind her and Sarah gasped in dreadful recognition.
The Goblin King himself gave her reflection a wolfish smirk before folding himself back into the gyrating crowd.
Now she remembered. The throat clenching terror came crashing into her mind, driving away what was left of the poisoned peach. The labyrinth! Toby! How long did she have? How long had she been here? She searched frantically for the golden clock, somewhere, it was somewhere…
But then he was everywhere, filling up her vision, flooding her brain with sensory input she was too bewitched to understand. All other thoughts left her head, except that this is what she had been looking for, this music, this feeling, this wonderful madness.
Jareth's black eyes glinted like bits of obsidian as his gaze roved over her. Sarah shivered as if she could tangibly feel his eyes leaving hot, prickling trails along her skin. His presence was like a wildfire, causing her very being to go up in flames in a matter of seconds. His crooked smile was deft and knowing, but Sarah, entranced as she was, could only stare wide-eyed back at him. His lips moved with the music, though Sarah could only catch tantalizing fragments of the words he spoke; things like "mornings of gold…" and "valentine evenings…". What divine promises, oh, let them come true… thought Sarah to herself.
Jareth's soft, glove clad hand sought hers in the swirling crowd. He grasped her fingers firmly, apparently with no intention of letting her go. His other hand snaked around her waist to pull her close to him. As their bodies met, Sarah bit back a gasp. He felt so deliciously real, and all her fears and uncertainties suddenly fell away, leaving only her frayed nerves and raw devotion pressed up against him in this dangerous waltz.
"Sarah," Jareth rasped, his voice a far away sound like an ancient incantation. "Fear me. Love me. Love me. I will be your slave…" He insisted.
Sarah broke their gaze even though it was agony to do so. The truth was that she was the slave and always had been. From the moment of their first encounter to this day, seven years after the fact, dream after dream of the poisoned peach and the crystal hallucination, she was the desperate one, the weak one, eternally indentured to a figment of her imagination.