Hello, welcome to my next hair-brained, slightly strange idea.

While you don't need to read the book, this is based on the Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. A brilliant book that will make you think about the world in a different way. The style of name and the whole style of community is derived from the book.

Of course, I also don't own the Labyrinth. Maybe in my dreams, but the reality is that while I own a bunch of merchandise, and a large amount of Bowie stuff. I don't own any rights to it.

I hope you will enjoy this story. It's not my usual style of writing being in the first person. I'm also trying to work on more showing and less telling. So this will be an exercise for myself as well as working out these thoughts in my head!

Lutin Is French for Goblin as well.

Thank you to Sheyrina the Labyrinthian Dragon, for her amazing beta help and helping me turn this into something from 1500 words to 2400. Thank you Sheyrina!


My name is Ofjar, I used to have another name but that name barely exists now, I am only known by Ofjar. If you asked my name that would be my reply; because my real name has no importance now.

I grew up in a small city, my father well off as a barrister. I was born during a revolution, a revolution of puritanical ways. My mother was mortal, while my father was born of fae blood. I don't remember my mother. She died when I was just an infant. They were never truly married, and I carried the stigma of their affair; along with her dark hair and stormy green eyes. She found her way into our realm one day. My father finding her and took her in. Less than a year later I was born, only a few short months my mother was gone from us. When I was fourteen he took another wife, she was only a few years older than myself, soon we welcomed a child. Toby he was called, and how I miss his dimples as I think about him now.

At sixteen, I came to the academy, not by choice but by force. It was decreed that all girls below a certain rank would go through the academy. I still remember the day when they showed up at our house to take me. They barely allowed father and I to say goodbye. There was a good chance that we would not see each other again for a long time. The academy was more of a prison than a school. If you didn't comply they would torture you until you did; one girl Calla was burned on the side of her face. No one would marry her now. You see this academy prepared you for marriage or the marriage market. When that failed, they turned you into handmaidens because looks were pointless in that way of life.

Our world is failing, my world is experiencing issues with procreation. To many interbreeding among higher class families, too many sterile men and infertile women that has decreased our population. I am half mortal, my reproductive organs are pristine. The children I can bear makes them excited as I sit on the examiner's table in nothing but a clumsy paper gown. I am poked and prodded, checked out in the most intimate ways before given the green light. I was still pure, I never even kissed a boy before. I am told to keep a record to keep track of my cycle, failure to do so would be mean punishment.

I spent a year in 'training' but it was not an education. We didn't learn anything besides how to be a good vessel. How to keep your body healthy, how to know the signs of pregnancy, the signs of miscarriages. Any sort of reading that was not educational was forbidden within the academy, they didn't want us to get any idea's that may disrupt our future. We learned how to please our husbands, while still being a virtuous woman. Lay back and let him do the work, but if he asks you to do something. Do it, pretend to like it, to please him. How to be a good housekeeper, which most of us girls knew how to anyway. There was no rank in the Academy

Then came the day of Graduation they called it when we dressed up in white gowns we made for ourselves. Mine was pretty, yet with my ever changing and growing body I had to let out the seams under the arm few days before trying to make the bust less tight. The knowledge that there were more women than men weighed heavily on us. Half of us would be brides, the other half would be trained to be handmaidens and be assigned a family

Handmaiden a revered, yet shameful destiny of our young women; no one wanted to be a handmaiden. The only role you play is a vessel, a birthing woman for other families who could not have children. You were important to the community but at the same time the lowest class of people. Instead of a holy union, and a marriage bed, children of your own. You had ceremonies, a child which you would feed until old enough to wean. Then you were sent away, the child wasn't yours, you had no claim over a child you grew and birthed. The more children you could birth the higher in the standing of the close-knit community of the handmaidens you become.

I prayed every moment on the stage that I would be chosen for a bride. I did not want to be a handmaiden.

I could see him in the back of the room, his gaze penetrating me at such a distance. I've seen him before at the Academy. I also knew he wore a wedding band, his story a sad one with a sick wife. I caught his gaze multiple time as he came to talk to the headmistress; he owned the building we lived in. I always averted my eyes during those moments; he had a strange appearance with one pupil of his eye larger than the other. Giving the impression of being mysterious with his one eye was darker in colour than the lighter ice blue. It sent shivers up my spine whenever he was around. He only spoke once to me, even as he picked up the fallen peach from the basket of fruits I carried once.

"Peaches, so succulent sweet and tart at the same time, " He grinned and took out a large bite. "Thank you for this, " He tipped his hat and walked away. His voice made my knee's weak, it was smooth, much lower than expected from his tall lanky frame that was covered in tight trousers, waistcoat with a billowy shirt.

Still, his gaze unnerved me, as fought the urge to fidget as the men looked at us. One by one, our numbers were called. Names were irrelevant at this point, only would they know our names if we become their wives. If we became a handmaiden, we would become under the care and ruling. We would take their name in some form. If his name was Jonathon, you may be Ofjon or Ofthon. An abbreviation of their name, we were of them. If your post changed you got used to a new name. Us girls though we all knew each other's names. It was the last sense of normalcy for us as we created our own sisterhood out of sheer survival rather than friendship.

"Number 25, " Our Mistress called out; my own number and I took a step forward, a white veil frosted over my dark hair. My body tall and slim, I did not possess birthing hips that told me, but my bosom was plentiful and my waist trim. I was taller than most of the girls here, my skin slightly tanner than most. Another tells a tale sign of my heritage of being mortal.

"Standing taller than average, 25 is an elegant speaker. Enjoys taking care of her personal items with great importance. An expert at mending and skilled at drawing; she is half mortal by her maternal side enhancing greater chances of conceiving and fetal survival." A trying ploy to get them to reconsider my mortal half with greater chances for children. I kept my eyes downwards, hearing the shuffling of the crowd. The hesitance of crowd, deciding if my savage blood worth the embarrassment.

Mortals were strange to my kind, finding their way into our kingdom by chance. Most mortals were peaceful, but our people will never forget the warriors that found their way to our lands. Our ways of life, of the deities that we pray to confuse them. They bounded together one night and tried to destroy a village. Witches, they called us if they only knew what witches looked like. Ever since that day, mortals became a sore subject; people like my father claimed you cannot hold a person to someone else's actions, while others just called them savages. The leaders of the community taking action, trying to take the fear out of daily lives. Little things came over time, girls being taken out of school at younger ages, more arranged marriages. Less revealing and flamboyant clothing for both sexes. Soon what has always been accepted as youthful voyageur; the ability to experiment as young adult with various partners of either sex became immorally wrong. The handmaidens came into existence as the decreasing birth rates of the wealthier classes. Young girls from the country, of poorer areas of the city, were taken and thrust into a life they never imagined. While wealthier girls were thrust into marriages like pawns by their fathers trying to gain favour for their families.

This was my world, and I had no way to escape it. Father always told me to keep strength.

"Nothing lasts forever, there will be an end to this way of life." I can hear his voice as my heart thumps in my chest as no one spoke up. The man's gaze never left me as I glanced at the crowd through my lashes shyly I watched him place his sign high up in the air. It was a transitional sign. I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't my first choice, but it was better than the alternative. We were told of the signs shortly before we went on stage and what they meant. White meant marriage, red meant handmaiden. A striped sign of both colours was transitional, which what he held up silently If you were pretty you may have competition between the men. It usually came down to money, the larger the donation to the academy the more likely you were able to gain favour with the mistress and win the girl of your choice. It was rumoured once that a bidding took over an hour before the Mistress put a stop to it.

"Thank you, " the mistress nodded to him and allowed me to step back. My hands are gripping the sheer cotton lawn of my dress that fell below my knees in a long sheath. Wing-like shoulders jutted out from the yoke that ran over my collarbone straining over the top of my breasts. I knew his story. His wife was dying, he could take me as a handmaiden to try to give his wife happiness of a child before she died. Then upon her death, he would marry me and elevate my status. Only men of high rank are able to do such a thing. They have the money and strings that allow such allowances.

The mistress goes through the rest of the girls, some younger than myself. Those girls came from poor families. Why feed another mouth if you could send them away to be clothed and fed. My own birthday had passed six months ago. I was born in the middle of winter shortly after the new year. I was only seventeen, and yet my life was already taken away from me.

We are sent back to the academy, we don't even meet the men who will essentially control our lives. Weddings would be arranged or uniforms would be made for your post. I would dress as a handmaiden, long skirts of dark read with crisp white blouses. Mine would have the crest of his house. The House of Lutin, except the crest, would be in gold as I would be also his intended. I would have another gown of ivory made for the day that we would marry. Not white, I will not be a virgin bride, but he will be my first and only either way. Until then, I would be the handmaiden, someone who has no choice to lie and spread her legs for the man of the house. The thought of the joining ceremony unnerves me slightly. I know the mechanics, however, the act itself is still so far out of my comfort zone of thought. Am I scared? Of course, luckily though, I would have a month to prepare myself mentally for the event. I just ended my fertile time, giving me at least three to four weeks before it would come again.

Some days I wish I could laugh it off and say, 'It's a piece of cake!" I used to always tell my father it wasn't fair. Nothing was ever fair in my life. Never knowing my mother, being forced into the academy. When the days approached for when they would come for me. It wasn't a happy departure, I fought, I tried to run but they caught me. Kicking and screaming as they dragged me away. I could hear Toby crying for me in the background as they pulled me away from the life I've known.

So if you ask my name, I will tell you its Ofjar. I am of Jareth the handmaiden to the house of Lutin. I sleep in a small room with little comforts of life in it; I live for the time when I could read a book for leisure, to be the young woman who frolicked in the glen near her house. Picking flowers for the kitchen table, to be able to kiss those sweet dimples of my brother as his mother tends to her duties and my father.

If you asked me my name before all this before I was taken from my family. The name my mother gave me, that my father called me with affection even when I spilt the ink over his books.

I would tell you, Sarah, My name is Sarah.


I live for reviews! Tell me what you think of it so far. The good and the bad!

It will be a slow burn more than likely. While situations may be controversial, I don't plan on going to dark with this story but I will never know where a story takes me truly until it happens.

Tina.