Sarah sat at her vanity, a scroll of vellum clenched in a white fist.

It read, in sparkly iridescent ink:

To the mortal Sarah Williams,

You have been summoned to the most decadent court of law by the most prestigious and yet generous and humble of Kings, whose name has been withheld from this document to protect him from your deviancy.

A hearing is to be held on the stroke of midnight.

Failure to arrive will result in your arrest.

We do have fairy police and they will not be afraid to brutalise you, mortal scum.

Please note that the dress code is : 1800s, sparkly, dress to impress, shindig

We look forward to seeing you

Signed,

The Council of Console

It was finished with an intricately swirling smiley face.

After 13 years, 13 days and 13 hours, she would have assumed that the Goblin King had long forgotten her.

Sure they had seen each other in passing every now and then, but surely she was so insignificant that he paid her no mind. Their encounters had always been so brief and barbed anyway.

After all, it was near impossible to avoid the Goblin King after she had begun having morning tea with the Troll King every second Tuesday. Their lands bordered right on one another, and he always seemed to be skulking around in rococo styled hooker boots needing some treaty or other signed.

Then she had seen him at the 'If it ain't Baroque, fix it' Ball in the seventh kingdom of the little ones. They had danced briefly before he asked her if he had slept with her at some point in the 15th century. Unfortunately a demon from the faceless droning had attacked the ball before she had an opportunity to answer and by the time she had defeated the demon with the sword of perpetual dim light, he was long gone.

And of course there was the Fairy Queen's pie and mask making festival. Obviously he had been there. Sarah remembered vividly, wearing a gorgeous slip woven from spiders silk she had twirled about in the air with Tatiana, laughing over the nymphs pie making attempt (ever seen a pie that's filling was solely water?) before crashing headfirst into the Goblin King.

He had said, and she quoted, "Ah, little Susan Walcott... Wasn't it? Yes, you were the runner who fell in love with my dwarf? How could I forget you?"

So maybe he hadn't forgotten her, just thought she was a girl named Susan, Sarah thought, applying an even coat of a deep burgundy lipstick.

She decided to ignore the dress code an instead had opted for a grey, three-piece suit, a pair of Louboutins and a beautiful pair of pearl drop earrings that a mermaid had once given her after she had defeated a sea serpent that had been plaguing her family's seaweed farm.

Sarah knew when it was time for her hearing when her vanity began to glow a sickly blue. She pressed her hand against the mirror but instead of feeling cool glass, she was met with almost a gelatinous membrane that pulsed under her hand. Sarah pushed harder, trying her best to ignore the squelching and the impossible coolness that seeped over her clothing and deep into her skin.

And suddenly, just like that, she was standing before the Council of Console.

A/N: YOOO WHAT UP MY LIFE IS FALLING TO SHITE.

Anyway, instead of dealing with these issues with therapy or whatever, I'm just writing shitty fanfics and hoping that my pain goes away.

I'm doing great.

Ignore any spelling or grammatical errors usually I would care but surprise!

This story is inspired by so many others and yet I can't even seem to be able to name one at the moment. I will totes find their names and list them in the authors notes sections.

Just some context, Jareth totes called Sarah 'Susan' as a twisted power play.

I one hundo percent promise you that he sat down at his office desk for at least seven hours scribbling out various snaky things to say to her and was like, 'I shall call her Susan! It's perfect! She'll never get over that! and then I'll subtly imply that it was not I that fell in love with her or vice versa! It was she who fell in love with the dwarf! Genius! It's so humiliating!"

Yah.

Tis what went down.

Also that mermaid was also growing sea cannabis. I don't write stories. I write truths and I promise on my cat's grave that this is the truth.

Leave a comment. I'd love to know your thoughts.