King of Dreams
by RebelYell
How had she ensnared him so? A petty mortal, no different than the others, no more beautiful, or powerful, or gifted. A simple girl had dragged the King of Dreams down in a never-ending spiral. Was she so blind that she could not see? It was death, insanity, to refuse this being yet, she still lived. And she had refused him. So many times, so many ways. All his gifts, and sacrifices, and pleas meant nothing. How was it that he was so in love with this girl-woman that does not deserve the description of siren, but was exactly that?
He had so many names. Morpheus, Soñador, Rêve, the list went on, but her name for him, Jareth, appealed to him most. Not fitting, but at least royal. And he would take any scrap he could get. Though she always cast him in the role of royalty, and he blindly clung to that particular scrap, she he shamed him so much. King of filthy goblins? A bastard prince? A king in disguise as a peasant? She was so cruel.
After all he had given her. He sent her beautiful dreams of sun filled days, rose-scented gardens and exotic places. That was not enough for her, nor for him. In a moment of desperation he had foolishly invaded her dreams, and it had started. He would search her heart for hidden desires, forgotten fairytales, secret longings, and slip them to her in the darkness of night. She had been every princess, from Snow White to Cinderella, she had rescued every prince, ensnared every man, and he was always there, to love her, to cherish her, to be her golden prince or sensuous villain.
Still, when she awoke she scorned him. Denying her heart, ignoring his presence. She scoffed at his gifts and refused to acknowledge their reality. Surely she realized that he was real and ached for her with a passion and desire known to no mortal? That she had reduced him to a slave to her whims? Sighing, the lonely king straightened on his ivory throne and began to prepare another dream. There was always a chance she would realize she had the love of a god, and he could only wait in the throes of angst for that day to come.