Allo! Nice ta meet ya! Old MOL here, just a worm. A bookworm that is- and a huge Labyrinth fan. The M rating here is no mistake, but will come into effect in later chapters.

So readers, enjoy and maybe drop a review? The missus would appreciate it :)

(By the by, the Collage of Canterbury was found in 2015 in the state of I-made-it-up, and as an English native, please feel free to point out any inaccuracies where American culture is concerned!)

Snow in spring

There was silence in the library.

Really, that should have been a given, it was a library after all. But still… the absolute quiet- thick as the dust settled across the many books- was a bit disconcerting. Sarah shook off her shivers, however, and breathed in the musk of unturned pages, noting the underlying scent of mould. She turned a half moon, taking in the many shelves of innumerable tomes, an old brass trolley, several chairs that were chewed and moth-eaten and the dull shine of a bell taped (yes, taped as in with actual cello tape, Sarah noted with some interest) to a large, mahogany desk.

The place was a hidden treasure, so at odds with the new, modern library across the campus that Sarah wondered how she'd ever missed it. Sure, there weren't any comfy sitting areas or a coffee shop to pick from an array of sugared treats, but the place had its charm. It swelled with something tangible, something Sarah could almost taste in the air.

Knowledge, she realised. Without the hustle and bustle of students, the whir of computers and the rumble of the barrister's machines, all that was left to fill the room were the books and their words.

Sarah took to it at once.

"Oooooh by heck and heaven!" spoke a voice.

Sarah jumped at the sudden noise which cut through the quiet like a sword cutting through corrugated iron. She turned around, nerves jumpy, to find a figure carrying a stack of books struggling through the door behind the desk.

"Such a mess!" cried the voice in despair. It was a woman's voice and spoke in clipped vowels. English. "Aye I never saw such a sight- never touch a bookmark- must be karma!"

With a huff that sent a cloud of dust up into the air, the woman plonked the books onto the desk. "Ahh, there we go," she said, adjusting her glasses. There were bits of paper stuck in her honey brown hair, which was roped into a messy bun, and a layer of grime was smudged across her spectacles. The woman stretched, bones cracking and sighed, "Ooooh my back."

She straightened, revealing a tall, full frame and caught sight of Sarah standing awkwardly in the threshold. Well… she caught sight of a dark smudge.

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Hello there dear, didn't see you there. You must forgive me, bad habit of talking to myself." She spoke quickly, as though the words were running away from her. "Can I help you at all- looking for a reference?" before Sarah could speak, the woman surged onwards in a wave. "No? Oh I'm Hattie by the by- terrible manners not to introduce yourself isn't it? Which brings us to your name, I should've asked sooner."

Again, Sarah opened her mouth to answer, but Hattie jumped in once again. "Oh wait a minute, let me wipe my glasses, can't hardly see you. Terrible to talk to a dark shadow."

All Sarah could do was laugh, softly and under her breath, at the woman's haphazard attempts to claim a handkerchief, which seemed to be stuck in the inside pocket of her bottle-green waistcoat.

"Here," she said, handing Hattie a tissue. Lucky thing she'd packed a packet today. "I'll save you the trouble."

Hattie blinked once, and then accepted the gesture with a sheepish smile. "Thank you, dear," she said, wiping away the grime. When they were clear as raindrops, Hattie took a closer look at Sarah. "Why, what a bonnie lass you are!" she said, warmly.

Sarah felt her cheeks flame and her head swell just a fraction at the compliment. "Um, thank you," she said, uncertainly. She cleared her throat and said, "I'm Sarah Williams, I'm here to-"

"Ah yes!" Hattie exclaimed, clapping her hands. "English Major, right? So you're the new helping hand, eh?"

Sarah nodded, smiling. Two years at college had proved more expensive than she'd anticipated, especially when she's moved into a flat share. What with the rent and the expenses of drama club, it soon became apparent that she needed a job. Luckily for her, Student Services had hooked her up with a job onsite. Originally Sarah had thought the library she'd be working at would be the newer one she'd been using for the past two years. How had she missed this place?

"That's right, mam, I-"

"Hattie, ple-ease," interrupted Hattie with a laugh. "Don't make me feel ancient, I'll start sprouting grey hair on the spot!"

Again, Sarah laughed at the older woman's eccentric ways. Already, she could feel herself warming to her and silently thanked the snooty woman at Student Services. "Alright, Hattie then."

With a firm nod, Hattie blew at her floppy fringe, put her hands on her ample hips and announced, "Right, Newbie! Tour time. Grab your things and follow me."

Falling in line with Hattie's childish ways, Sarah clicked her heels together like a soldier and said, "Yes sir! Come on feet, time for the tour."

Hattie flashed Sarah a delighted grin as they began to weave through the many bookshelves, deeper and deeper into thick clots of shadow…

Xxx

Deep. Dark. Shadows like velvet. Moonlight like icing. A coldness that seeped and sunk into the very marrow of the bone, slipping like ice through the veins until every organ grew hard and sharp with cold. It consumed everything, every movement, every thought, growing into something almost alive. Alive and cruel.

The Goblin King pretended not to notice.

His boots were sure in the snow. His gloved hands were clasped in determined fists yet his expression remained aloof, almost uninterested in the goings-on around him. For hundreds of eyes watched him.

Closely.

Whispers echoed throughout the dead, frozen trees. Feet scuffled. Animal voices cackled.

The Goblin King came to a halt before what looked to be a giant flower of ice. Its petals were diamond shaped and closed, tight and sparkling in the silver light.

"Well," drawled Jareth, speaking to the air. "I must say I've never received such a literal, icy reception."

At the sound of his voice, something moved in the construction of ice. A shadow flickered from within. All at once, the voices hushed and the rustling ceased as the flower began to melt. From the liquid emerged a man, tall and pale blue with long, black locks that flowed like water. His eyes, dark as the oceans themselves, regarded Jereth coolly.

"King of the Goblins," he acknowledged in a voice like a babbling brook.

"Prince of the Many Waters," Jareth returned with much sarcasm and an elaborate bow. "Soon to be king I hear, what wonderful news- putting aside your father's coming death of course."

The Prince's eyes narrowed. Jareth smiled serenely.

"Why have you come?" asked the Prince. "You took down two walls of ice to reach these parts, the damage was quite substantial."

"Ah, yes, that," began Jareth. "You see-"

"And youmelted my captain of the guard."

"Charming fellow." Smiled Jareth.

"The watch tower?"

"A mere misunderstanding, I assure you-"

"Not to mention the civilian homes that were destroyed."

"Now that," said Jareth, holding up a finger. "Was completely your fault, chap. Silly place to put a water reservoir, really."

Sighing heavily, the Prince asked warily. "What do you want, Jereth?"

At this, a devilish smile graced the Goblin King's lips. A crystal sprung to life in his hands, glinting like starlight as Jareth began to toy with it. "What does anyone want?" he asked, turning the crystal this way and that.

"More of your riddles?"

"A question, nothing more."

Suddenly Jareth stopped his tricks and tossed the crystal at the icy prince, who plucked it with ease from the air. He regarded Jereth's smirking face for a moment. There was mischief hanging about the Goblin King, thick as cologne. Reluctantly, the prince glanced into the shimmering ball.

His eyes widened.

"But how-?"

"Ah, ah, ah," said Jareth, wiggling his finger. "Answers are something given when earned, so save the questions for when the price has been payed."

Anger surged through the prince's frame. His muscles tensed like bow strings and the water all around him sharpened into ice and splintered into deathly arrows. Rage swirled like angry waves in the Prince's eyes but his voice was low and soft.

"Your price?"

"A favour," Jareth said simply. "And your word, of course."

"And the favour entails?"

But Jareth was already turning on his heel, waving a disinterested hand in the air.

"All in good time, my dear boy, all in good time."

And then, he was gone.

Xxx

Hattie thought Sarah was just brilliant- no, brilliant was the wrong word. Marvellous. There, that was right. Just marvellous.

A lot of the students who wondered into the Sphinx's Library were there simply because a professor had recommended them a book which was not housed in the newer building. They breezed in and they breezed out, like tumbleweed. Of course, a few appreciated the finer details of the building, the hidden gargoyles carved into the creaking wood, the way the light transformed through the stain glass windows, dappling across the floor in reds and golds, but these students generally wanted quiet and study, so Hattie didn't get to chatter.

With Sarah though, she chatted away like there was no tomorrow. What's more, the girl actually seemed to listen.

"Oh my…" Sarah murmured now. She pulled a book carefully from one of the cases and her face erupted in joy at faded leather and golden lettering. "It' beautiful,"

Hattie glanced over and grinned. Yep, Sarah was definitely a keeper.

"Well, we have to do old Oedipus justice, since the library's named after one of the more famous parts of his story." She said, pleased and a little smug.

With gentle hands, Sarah began to leaf through the pages of Oedipus the King, made soft by the passing hands of time. "We did this last semester, if I'd have known there was a copy like this…" Sarah looked up dreamily. "How did I miss this place?"

"It's a little out of the way, I suppose," said Hattie. "And it's awfully expensive to keep up- the college isn't too keen on showing visitors when there's mould in the rafters, not to mention a few bats." She coughed. "But you've found it now, love, and you're a part of the team."

They wound their way back to the main entrance and Hattie offered Sarah the seat, before plonking herself on the desk. "It'll be lovely to have some help. Which reminds me…" she refiled through some papers and then handed Sarah what looked to be a handout. "Everything you need to know is in there- what with dealing with reference books, a lot of the tomes in here aren't for taking out, you see. You'll work alternate days in-between your lectures- but that was sorted out before, wasn't it? Oh! And feel free to bring your work here, some days are awfully slow." She smiled, hands clasped in her lap and asked. "Any questions?"

Licking her lips, Sarah ventured, "Could I take another look around?"

The joyous laughter of Hattie echoed throughout the Sphinx's library.

Xxx

When Sarah trudged home that night, she did so with an armful of borrowed books- an array of fairy tales and quests, swashbuckling adventures and wild romances. The ache of her arms was tiresome and the muscles in her shoulders twanged in acidic protest, but Sarah didn't care. She felt like a bubble, light and happy and rising up.

The start of spring had proved the beginnings of a very fruitful semester.

All around, people milled about, tangling into a knotted mess of coats and boots, hats and outstretched arms. People chatted loudly on phones, students laughed together in close groups, children raced each other, parents scolded and shook their heads, anger quickly forgotten and an old lady (still dressed in thick winter clothes, woolly hat included) squatted amongst a group of pidgins. Only, she didn't feed them breadcrumbs, but rather a whole, apple pie- scattered into pieces.

Sarah drank it all in, letting the beating heart of the city, the pulsing veins of life wash over her and fill her with a sense of contentment. Moving to Vermont had been pure genius, on her part. Of course, it had taken a certain amount of genius to make it into Canterbury to begin with- what with it' leading expertise in the arts. Luckily Sarah's vivid imagination had always translated well on paper and the strength of her writing had pulled through. Really, she would have to thank Irene one day for pushing her into entering all those writing competitions.

When Sarah was praised highly by her English teacher back in high school for her poetry, Irene had made sure to take an interest in her stepdaughter's work from then on. It made them closer- having a middle ground- and the silly tantrums Sarah had thrown were soon forgotten.

Well, thought Sarah, smiling. Mostly.

She rounded a corner and came upon her flat which sat above a small coffee house. The barrister was outside, smoking, and flashed Sarah a smile.

"Why, if it isn't Lady Luck herself," he said, warmly.

Gil was a man on the small side, but thick limbed with coils of muscle twinned beneath the skin. His hair was jet black and a piercing split his lower lip. It glinted when he grinned.

Sarah returned the grin pointedly. "And if it isn't the grand coffee master himself, what's up, business not booming?"

Puffing out a cloud of smoke, Gil leaned away from the building and snatched Sarah's keys from her to unlock the door. "No need for juggling, if you're not a circus clown," he said, winking wickedly.

Sarah nudged him with her shoulder good-naturedly.

"Scoring points with her best friend, won't make a lick of difference to Martina, you know." She reminded him.

"Ah," sighed Gil, clasping his heart. "Tis true, but a man can dream, no? Besides…" he flicked open the door with a flourish. "I believe hold heartedly in the powers of our own lady luck and maybe she could drop in a good word where this lowly person is concerned- especially if the aforementioned unattainable Lady mentions a proposed date she received this morning?"

Finally, Sarah could take it no more. "Oh my god Gil, how are you not on a Shakespearean stage?"

Shrugging off his character, Gil ruffled a hand through his hair. "But then who would serve the coffee?" he asked.

Feeling all of the good events of the day flutter about in her stomach like butterflies, Sarah laughed freely. "Very true," she said. "Instant coffee is so hard to find after all."

Gil looked at her seriously then. "Instant? You wound me, Sarah!"

But Sarah merely bobbed in a curtsey.

"Seriously though, could you talk to her?" asked Gil, lowering his voice. "I think I might have a shot this time."

Backing up through the door, Sarah threw a wink at Gil and said, "I'll try my best, Sir Coffee, but alas the lady is one tough cookie to crack."

And then she skipped up the stairs, hair streaming behind her like ribbons of shadow.

Xxx

One thing to keep in mind about Martina… or rather several. Martina did not do pink. She did not do shiny. And nor did she do babies, sparkles, glitter, puppies, ponies or princesses.

"Why be a princess?" She'd once said. "When you can be a freakin' queen?"

To which Sarah had replied. "What if your mum and dad are still around?"

"Murder," Martina had answered at once. "I've always wanted to use a chainsaw."

When Sarah found her roommate, she was nestled on her bed (sheets all black) and was sketching something fine and intricate. Martina always wore her glasses (a funky pair of checkered specs) when the artwork was detailed. Paired with her thick eyeliner, they made her green eyes pop like two emeralds amidst of a sea of onyx. They seemed to spark with the ebb and flow of her concentration, mirrored in the swift movements of her hand.

"The book worm returns," she said, without looking up. Her Canadian accent was softer than the American Sarah was used to, which contrasted with Martina herself drastically, since she was anything but soft.

"And the vampire artist remains at home," tutted Sarah, not failing to notice that Martina had yet to change out of her skull and cross-bones pyjamas from this morning. "Have you even seen the sun this week?"

A smirk curdled Martina's lips. She held her drawing up to the lamplight, scrutinising, before continuing with her work. "Sun's overrated," she snarked. "What's so great about the sun?"

At this point in time Sarah was finding it rather hard to keep the tower of books balanced in her arms as she toed her way out of her brogues. Shoes in the house was a Canadian no no.

"Oh I don't know," she huffed. "Warmth, vitamin D, tanning?"

"Urgh, don't even talk about tanning," Martina grumped. "Tanning's for Malibu Barbies."

With her shoes finally off, Sarah allowed herself a dry chuckle, and then padded over to her bed. Her side of the room was a good shade less gloomy and 'hard rock' than Martina's. She'd chosen to populate the walls with artwork she bought from the market every now and then, usually renditions of fairy tales, and a strong, tall bookcase took up most of one wall. A picture of her family stood on her bedside table, and the ticking clock proclaimed the time to be five thirty.

After a few beats of silence, Martina ventured, "Did bean boy bother you?"

Sarah hid a smirk.

"He wouldn't bother me," said Sarah simply. "If you'd actually talk to him for more than thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds is plenty of time to say something important," countered Martina. She bit the end of her pencil. "Help. I'm dying. I need money. There's someone in my house. See- all thirty second worthy. Anything over that is a waste of my time."

"You talk to me longer than thirty seconds," Sarah said, lightly.

Finally Maritna looked up, a smart alec reply poised on her lip, and then she saw the mountain of worn-looking books. "God, what did you do? Rob an old person?" she unfolded herself from the bed and padded over to Sarah's side. "It looks like the inside of my grandma's room." She picked up the topmost book on the pile and read the cover: Wuthering Heights. "Yep, definitely lonely, old lady territory."

Finally, Sarah managed to unbundle the books onto the bed with a relieved sigh. "Thanks for the help, by the way," she said dryly.

"No problem." Martina quipped, throwing Emily Bronte's masterpiece onto the mound. Her head only just reached Sarah's shoulder, but there was a certain grace about Martina despite her small size that was unmistakable. She glided over to their shared dinning table and said casually,

"Did bean boy not offer to help?"

Sniffing out an opportunity, Sarah replied with an equally casual air, "You know, for someone whose not interested, you're awfully interested in his comings and goings, aren't you?"

With a twisted smile, Martina picked up a stray wad of crushed paper and chucked it at Sarah's head. "Oh shut up, I know he mentioned the date to you. You two are always in cahoots."

"Cause he's a nice guy," said Sarah. "And likes you despite the cold shoulder you're so fond of,"

Martina toyed with the chains on her jeans. "I know," she said, quietly. "And that's it. He's too nice. I'm not nice- and don't give me that look. I'm not. You, are an exception." She sighed. "I guess I'm.. nervous." She admitted. "Like, it's been ages since I was last with a guy, I've think I've forgotten how to function properly around them- and what if I say something stupid?"

In three long steps, Sarah was before her friend, a stern look in her eye. "You. Are not. Saying no. Because of this." She said, firmly. "Martina Bennett has no fear- she's the most kick ass person I know."

Martina looked at her dryly. "Well duh," she said. "God, I hate pep-talks,"

"Then don't whine like you need one!" exclaimed Sarah with a laugh. "Go out and be you. Easy as pie."

"Easy for you to say," Martina grumped. "Everyone loves you,"

For a moment, Sarah faltered. "That's not true," she said.

"Oh please, you can twist anyone around your finger. Look at that woman at Student Services, I swear I was gonna turn to stone under her glare and you still managed to sweet-talk her. If you weren't nose deep in books all the time you could run for freakin' president."

"Martina, that's ridiculous."

"No it's not- it's this thing you do. It's like your charm becomes real- like glitter," she said with a click. "It's like you throw your glitter at people."

"That sounded stupid."

"Your face looks stupid."

"Oh my god!" Sarah exclaimed, aspirated. "Are you going or not?!"

For a moment, Martina said nothing. Then, quietly, she said, "If you come with me."

"Huh?"

"It's a circus, Sarah," Martina said, at last, and her eyes got narrow with focus. "It's dark so he'll never know. I'll buy you a ticket, I just need some moral support."

"You want me to follow you around a circus," said Sarah, slowly. "On a date?"

Martina nodded, as though she'd merely suggested coffee.

"You're crazy," she said, sighing. But the more she rolled the idea around in her head, and the narrower and more threatening Martina's eyes got, the more Sarah crumbled. "How is it that you'll chase some pervert down the street for me, but then turn into a big pile of useless goo when a boy likes you?"

"So you'll do it?"

In the end, all Sarah could do was nod.

Xxxx

Later that night, after their weekly session of trash TV and popcorn (Martina loved taking the piss out of the reality shows, this week was an episode of Sixteen and Pregnant) Sarah found herself alone in their spacious apartment. Martina had popped out to meet some of her art friends down at a bar, leaving Sarah with nought but her thoughts for company. She flicked over to the weather forecast, and saw that summer was on its jolly way tomorrow with a spell of hot weather and sun.

As the weather man droned on, her mind wondered, as it often does, to the many stories floating about her head. At the moment, the story at the forefront of her thoughts involved a young boy who came home one day to find his house had become a maze. A disjointed jigsaw of dead ends and lengthy passages. A labyrinth.

The thought caused a strange twist to coil through Sarah's stomach. The childhood dream she'd had, so often forgotten and then so often remembered, was something she visited in her thoughts frequently. There was a time when Sarah would have sat before a mirror to talk to Hoggle about her stories, but that was before.

Before she discovered that a story was just that. A story. A dream. And the day comes when a dreamer has to wake up, when you have to start taking reality seriously. She'd never let go of her dreams, of course- they were far more precious than most things, but now Sarah merely kept them in a drawer and focused on living her life to its fullest in this world.

"You can't take anything for granted," she murmured, feeling the lull of sleep. "Right, Hoggle?"

And as the dark curtains of sleep fell across Sarah's mind's eye, something flickered outside. If she'd been alert enough, Sarah might have thought it was the wings of a white bird. Even more peculiarly, there seemed to be (just as the weather man suggested sun block might be appropriate tomorrow) a flurry of… snow, outside the window.

It fell, soft and white, like licks of lace on the breeze, as Sarah fell deeply into sleep.