Who's your Daddy?

Sarah's parents have died 'of unknown causes' and she resides in an orphanage. That is, until she's adopted by a certain someone. I must warn you that this will develop into a tale of sadism, murder and fetishes that may unnerve some readers.

Chapter One

Sarah sat at the desk, drawing. No longer bearing the surname 'Williams', she resided in the town's orphanage. Her room, no bigger than Toby's nursery in their previous home, contained a single chest of drawers for their few belongings, a desk and stool, a large armchair and a single bed. A small window, situated above the headboard, allowed light to filter down onto the adjacent wall, illuminating the many of Sarah's drawings that had been pinned up by her carer, despite Sarah's protests. Amidst the vertical collage was a calendar that Sarah had been using for no other purpose than to count down the days; till when, or what, even she was unsure.

Many months had passed since she and her brother had been orphaned. Sarah had been babysitting her brother when the accident occurred. She heard nothing of it until the next morning, when two policemen and a social worker arrived on her doorstep. They informed her that her parents had died 'of unknown causes'. Apparently, they had been sitting on a park bench after spending the evening dining together, and simply fell asleep. They were found the next morning, in each others' arms, stone cold and lifeless. The news destroyed Sarah. She changed; turned from a bright and outspoken child to a withdrawn and isolated teenager.

She spent her days in the orphanage sitting on her bed, legs tucked under her chin, staring out of the window. When she determined that the light was too bright to look at, she drew. When her hand ached, she slept. This was her routine, and it was evident that she was entirely unable, or unwilling, to change this.

Toby had been adopted in March. It was unusual for a sibling to be separated from another by adoption, but not unheard of. Sarah, though she missed him dearly, had never felt very close to her brother. This may have had something to do with the fact that he was Karen's son. Karen had been Sarah's step-mother; her real mother had died when Sarah reached adolescence. Sarah had inherited her father's height, dark hair and round eyes. Toby was fair-haired, just like his mother. Sarah hadn't really gotten on well with either of them; she was overwhelmed with grief at the thought of being forever unable to mend their relationship.

June 15th.

The squat, auburn-haired woman peered inquisitively over Sarah's shoulder. 'That looks lovely, dear - may I inquire as to what it is?'

Sarah sighed, the hand holding her pencil hovering over the page. 'It's a labyrinth'. A silence ensued; the woman was frowning slightly. Sarah continued:
'It's basically a huge maze, but made out of more than just hedge, and containing obstacles as well as just twists and turns'.

A longer silence. The woman took in a breath, hesitated, then said:
'Well, that certainly is lovely, dear. You keep at it'. The woman patted Sarah on the shoulder before turning to join her husband, who was scrutinising the drawings on the wall.

Sarah simply continued with her drawing, having learned not to get her hopes up about prospective foster parents; she had been refused repeatedly since arriving at the orphange and could not see why that would change any time soon. 'Sarah, dear? Not to be a nuisance, but you've drawn that Laberanth -'
'- Labyrinth' Sarah interjected - 'Yes, Labyrinth, before. You've drawn it before, my dear. See?' The woman tapped the drawing on the wall repeatedly with her forefinger. Sarah didn't turn to look; she clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on the pencil.

'I know that. Is there some law against drawing the same thing twice?'

'Oh, but my dear, you've drawn it more than twice. Several times, actually. Look!' The woman flustered, flailing her arms at a number of Sarah's drawings. Sarah exhaled, before turning on her stool to face the woman.

'I apologise sincerely. Perhaps you'd like to take those drawings down, so you aren't dizzied by their sameness?'

The woman was affronted by Sarah's patronizing tone and said hurriedly 'Oh, no, dear, I'm sure that isn't necessary. My goodness, look at the time! Clive, we'd better get a wriggle on.' And with that, the couple left.
Sarah heard the clicking of the door as they locked it behind them before turning back to her drawing.

She sat unmoving for quite a while, her mind working through what had just happened. She looked down at the paper in front of her, which depicted an extravagant maze of stone. The faint outline of a castle could be seen in the distance, though the details of the structure were yet to be drawn. As Sarah gazed at her drawing, she couldn't help but reminisce the time she had spent in the Underground.

It had been just under a year since it had happened, and her thoughts had rarely strayed too far from the Labyrinth and its inhabitants. Her lonely days in the orphange were spent daydreaming about the Labyrinth itself, and the friends she'd made there.

By night, however, her mind drifted irrevocably to a particular ruler of a certain sector of the Underground. Sarah couldn't bring herself to consciously address her feelings for the Goblin King, as she was rather uncertain about what they were. But no matter, as he was no longer an issue; she had defeated him. He had stolen Toby from her, and she had endured extremes to retrieve him.

She disregarded her fears that he might seek revenge by reminding herself that he was gone; incapable of reaching her. Though she refused to admit it to herself, she wasn't sure whether she was content with that fact. Sarah became suddenly aware of her thoughts - she picked up her pencil and continued on with her drawing in an attempt to distract her own mind from careening into an abyss of emotion that she would undoubtedly never escape from.

June 18th.

Sarah had woken. She sat up in her bed, yawned, swung her legs round the side of the bed, stood up, and stretched. She walked to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room and changed from her pyjamas into everyday clothing. She turned to sit at her desk to wait for breakfast, but noticed something on her window sill. The window was right above her bedhead, so she clambered back onto the bed and kneeled upright to examine the outside window sill. A single feather rested on the other side of the glass.

Sarah was confused; the only birds she'd ever seen from this window were sparrows and blackbirds, and this feather could belong to neither of them. It was stark white, with slight beige speckles across its middle. It curved upwards in a perfect upturned arch; had it been flat, it would have resembled a tear-drop in its shape. The feather was sheer perfection, and appeared incredibly soft - Sarah longed to touch it.

She examined the window ledge, before noticing a latch on its inner corner. She lifted it, and the window opened outwards at the bottom. There was just enough room for her to slip her fingers through the gap and grasp the tip of the feather, pulling it inside. She closed the window and sat cross-legged on her bed, stroking the feather, in awe of its flawlessness. She wondered what kind of bird it had come from - Sarah couldn't imagine any bird from this part of the country sporting feathers like this.

She sat for a while, simply stroking the feather, her thoughts on nothing in particular. When she heard the lock on the door click open (breakfast had arrived), she took the feather to the chest of drawers and placed it carefully inside the top drawer. She then settled into her everyday routine, convinced that she'd now had her months' worth of excitement. She was wrong.

June 30th.

Sarah was sitting in her usual position in the centre of her bed; legs tucked under her chin, staring intently out of the small window. The leaved branches of a large elm tree could be seen blowing subtley in the wind; it reminded her of the oak outside Toby's old nursery.

Her thoughts were on nothing in particular when she heard the door open. Someone entered the room and closed the door behind them. Sarah considered turning to address the visitor, but was distracted by a sparkle she glimpsed among the branches of the elm tree. She squinted, hoping to identify what it was that twinkled at her from outside. Before she could decide whether she had imagined the brief twinkle, her visitor spoke.
'I hope I'm not interrupting anything'. Sarah reluctantly dragged her eyes away from the window to face who had spoken. It was a man; his greasy hair slicked back into a ponytail at the base of his head and his face scarred and unshaven. She felt immediately uneasy in his presence, despite his seemingly harmless words.

Several moments passed, and Sarah realised he was expecting an answer. She quickly shook her head in response. 'Excellent', he replied, before baring his gold teeth in what should have been a smile, but wasn't. Sarah shifted her weight nervously.

'So, you're sixteen?' he asked, obviously trying to start a conversation. Sarah nodded. He nodded back, not taking his eyes off hers. A silence ensued that only added to the tense atmosphere in the room. Sarah could do nothing but look back at the man; she was slightly alarmed when he walked over to her bed and sat down next to her. He raised his hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, never once breaking eye contact. Sarah was beginning to feel rather disturbed and repulsed by his proximity. She could smell alcohol on his breath and turned away from him.

'What's wrong, sweetheart? Am I making you uncomfortable?' He rested his hand on her leg and smirked. 'You know, I'm sure you and I could have lots of fun together - all I have to do is sign a few contracts. Would you like that Sarah? Because I know I would...'
His hand began to move slowly up her thigh, and it sickened her. She stood up abruptly and pressed the attendance button on her desk. A social worker opened the door and popped her head in. 'Problem?' she enquired. 'No problem, this man was just leaving', replied Sarah.

The smile had vanished from the man's face as quickly as it had appeared. He looked from Sarah to the woman at the door, then back at Sarah. He sneered at her finally before leaving the room with the social worker.

Sarah's heart was racing; she felt dirty. She subconsciously wrung her hands, and returned to her position on the bed, being careful not to come in contact with the expanse of bedding on which the man had sat.

Sarah then remembered what the man had interrupted - she whipped around to face the window - and gasped. A magnificent barn owl was perched amongst the greenery of the elm, staring intently back at Sarah. This was highly unusual, since it was just past 2 on a June afternoon. Not only are owls nocturnal, but migratory; never before had one been seen this far south at this time of year, let alone in this part of the country.

Sarah realised almost immediately what the sparkle she'd seen had been; the eyes of this creature, twinkling brightly in the afternoon sun. She was unable to take her eyes off the bird as it stared back at her, unmoving. It was a flawless specimen; cream in colour, with a heart-shaped face and speckled feathers. ...feathers? Sarah leapt up from the bed and practically ran to the chest of drawers - she retrieved her feather and returned to her position on the bed.

She instinctively ran her fingers slowly along it's edge, appreciating its incredible softness. Sarah looked up at the owl, still perched on the same branch and sitting at the same angle. She couldn't fathom it, but she felt at ease in its presence; some sort of familiarity settled over her, as if she'd seen the bird before.

Sarah felt as though she should recognise the owl from somewhere, but couldn't put her finger on exactly why she felt this odd sense of conversance. She looked back at her feather, now absolutely certain that her feather belonged to this owl. As she gazed into it's large, kaleidoscope eyes, in awe of it's perfection, she realised that it must have been sitting in the same position all the while she had conversed with the man. She wondered whether it had understood what had happened. Not that that was possible. But the owl's sheer magnificence radiated an intelligence that Sarah couldn't quite comprehend.

She was suddenly made aware that her hands were moving; she looked down to see that she had been absent-mindedly stroking the feather. When she looked back out the window, a pang of sorrow coursed through her body; the owl had gone.

July 26th.

There was a knock on the door. 'Come in,' Sarah called. Sarah had expected to see an anxious couple, anticipating a light-hearted conversation with Sarah to determine whether or not they should adopt her as their own. Instead, the door swung open and the social worker who had saved her almost a month earlier from that foul man entered her room. The woman smiled warmly at Sarah before handing her a letter.

'This came today. It's for you. We've contacted the sender already, and it's all settled - you're to pack your things and be ready to leave by this afternoon.' The woman rested a hand on Sarah's shoulder before smiling and leaving the room.

Sarah stared after her in shock. What had she said? Something about leaving? But they couldn't kick her out - she wasn't eighteen yet! Her seventeenth birthday was fast approaching, but she was nowhere near old enough to be put out on the streets!

Sarah sat, horrified, for several moments before realising she was holding the letter. She quickly turned the envelope over and read 'Sarah Williams, Room 23, Ornithale Town Orphanage, 0314'. She found the text difficult to decipher, as it had been written in an elegant script that she had only ever seen before in text books about ancient scrolls and parchments.

Confused as to who could possibly have sent her such a letter, she proceeded to tear open the envelope. She had no living relatives, and her old school friends were hardly likely to have persuaded their parents to adopt her. She tugged the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it.

The writing on the page was of the same exuberantly loopy lettering as on the envelope, and Sarah noticed immediately that the letter was not nearly as extensive as she might have hoped. In fact, there was little more than two lines. The first word was clear.

'Sarah'.

Sarah was confronted by the blatant utilization of her name - the sender of the letter obviously hadn't seen fit to address her with a 'to' or 'dear'. She dismissed this minor detail and her eyes fell to the centre of the page. A single sentence. Her breath caught in her throat.

'Prepare for confutation.'
She read the same three words over and over again for several minutes before the message began to sink in. Not that it could - she had no idea what 'confutation' meant. Her mind was racing; what could this possibly mean? And where was she going this afternoon? Most importantly, who had sent this vague yet confrontingly minacious letter?

Sarah's eyes fell to the bottom of the page. Her blood nearly froze in her veins when she saw the elaborate symbol that had been delineated onto the page - a single letter 'J'. *

A million thoughts entered her head at once. She staggered over to the bed and sat down, staring at the symbol which had provoked such a reaction from her. There was no doubt in her mind - it was from him. She was bombarded subconsciously with questions, and pulled herself together long enough to begin contemplating their answers.

She went over the facts in her head. She had received a letter. It had been handed to her by a social worker, so it had been through the post. The post. It was difficult for Sarah to comprehend exactly how he had managed to get this letter to her; he couldn't. He had no power over her. Surely this meant he was incapable of communication, especially since it was between worlds? Sarah was certain there was no sort of postal service operating between the Underground and Overground, so how could he have passed on this letter? She dismissed this nagging thought temporarily and addressed the issue of identifying exactly what was going on. She had been told only minutes earlier that she would be leaving - and the social worker had mentioned something about having 'contacted the sender'. How was this possible? It didn't make any sense - he was Underground - how could they have contacted him? And what did the social worker mean when she said 'everything's settled'? Surely she couldn't have meant...? No, that's not possible, Sarah reassured herself. It must be some sort of misunderstanding on my part - maybe the letter's from my long-lost uncle or something, who's so old he still writes in vintage cursive and uses words no-one uses any more. That must be right. And now he's adopted me. Yes, that must be it.

Struggling to keep her mind off a very implausible explanation of the letter and its sender, Sarah set about packing her few belongings for departure from the orphanage - she wasn't a big fan of surprises, but realised in this case, she'd just have to wait and see.

The lock on the door clicked open, and Sarah picked up her bags, in a sort of daze. She still couldn't quite get her head around the fact that so much had changed within two hours. Her feather had been placed carefully inside the top pocket of her suitcase.

The social worker popped her head round the door. 'Ready to go?' 'Yes, thankyou,' Sarah replied, and headed for the door.

As she stepped through the doorway she realised that she was leaving for good. She still had no idea where she was going, but certainly had a disturbing feeling that she knew exactly who she was being delivered to, even if she didn't know how or why. Despite that nauseating notion, she felt somewhat relieved that this might just mark a new chapter in her life. She turned and glanced round her room once more, before stepping out into the corridor with the social worker.

Sarah had never actually asked the woman her name; she felt now might be a suitable time. As they walked together up the hallway, she said 'You know, you've been delivering me breakfast, lunch and dinner for the past eight months, and I still don't know your name'. The woman smiled. 'It's Lorna. And I'll admit i'm sad to see you go, Sarah. You've been a pleasure to cater for; always one of the quiet ones'. Sarah grinned, but was abruptly silenced by Lorna's use of past tense. She decided to straighten things out. 'So, where exactly are we going? I'm a little confused as to what's going on - could you fill me in on the way?' 'Well, to be completely honest with you Sarah, I know about as much as you do. I was called into the boss's office this morning, only to be told that you had been adopted. I was given the address of the residence I am to drive you to, but when I asked about who owned the place, i was told it's 'strictly confidential'. From personal experience, that basically means that whoever has adopted you wishes to remain anonymous until you meet them in person. Of course, background checks had to be done on this person's credibility, but it seems everything's worked out fine.'

Sarah took a moment to take it all in. Then she noticed something odd.
'...Hang on - you said 'this person'. Does that mean - only one? Not a couple?'

'No Sarah, you're being adopted by a man; apparently he lives alone, so yes, I'd assume he is only one person.'

Sarah was stunned. She thought her theory about a long-lost uncle had been a little far-fetched - it couldn't be the man who had come so close to molesting her, could it? Surely not, he seemed the kind of person to have a criminal record - the background check would have picked up on this, of course. And he was hardly capable of putting ink to paper in the way the letter depicted; she doubted he knew how to brush his teeth, let alone utilize cursive. Despite this, Sarah's attempts to mentally reassure herself were unsuccessful; her palms began to sweat.

There was only one other explanation, and she couldn't decide whether it was better or worse than the previous one.

'Him'.

She couldn't bring herself to comprehend the series of unfortunate events that would undoubtedly occur should a certain King of a certain realm be responsible for her adoption. Not that he could be. Because he couldn't - she'd already established that was impossible. He didn't exist any more. Well, not for her, anyway - she had severed her connection with him when she spoke those words. He was gone.

By this time, they'd reached the main entrance (or in this case, exit) and headed out into the daylight. Sarah couldn't remember the last time she'd been outside, though she'd imagined it every day whilst staring out her window. They made it to the company car and began their journey to Sarah's new home.

The sun was hovering on the horizon.

Sarah sat next to Lorna in the passenger seat, staring out the window, her thoughts in a tangle. She'd hardly noticed when they'd left town and turned on to an unsealed road. The dirt road had led to a thick, black forest of gnarled and twisted trees whose limbs seemed to reach menacingly towards the vehicle as it passed them. Lorna swore under her breath when she realised she'd taken a wrong turn - Sarah didn't notice.

It had taken almost four hours, but eventually Lorna had come across the stretch of road (more a gravel path) which split into three forks - she'd been told by her superiors to take the left one.

And now they were driving slowly through the undergrowth; headlights on, as the sunlight was fading and casting angular shadows across the ancient flora.

Sarah was in a kind of trance. She was brought back to reality when Lorna broke the silence for the first time since they'd left.

'I think we're here.'

Sarah turned her head to the front; and gasped.

The car had come to a halt in front of an ornate cast-iron gate. Its ridges intersected and spiralled intricately, creating a spectacular gothic pattern which indicated that this was the entrance to a property of magisterial proportions.

The gate had the width of at least three cars; it was wedged between two unnaturally high stone walls that reached almost to the tops of the prehistoric trees surrounding them. The walls were overgrown with ivy and moss, and crowned with a square design, like the walls that were found to surround medieval castles.

Sarah wondered what kind of abode was found so deep inside a forest that there was no evidence of its existence; no road signs, lights - the obnubilated path they had travelled along could hardly warrant the title 'road' either.

More importantly, what kind of person desired residency so far from civilisation?

And what did they want with Sarah?

Both Lorna and Sarah were abruptly startled by the screech of the gates as they suddenly opened (by themselves, it seemed), but their stupefaction intensified when they glimpsed what was hidden behind the tremendous entryway.

The meagre pathway on which they were halted transubstantiated at the point where the gates had been into a flawlessly paved driveway of beige.

The driveway seemed to extend about a hundred metres directly into the heart of the property, and was bordered by a thick tangle of the same black trees found outside the stone walls. The driveway appeared to end at the point where a magnificent fountain was situated. And just beyond the fountain was the main attraction of the chivalric theme park; an enormous and somewhat mystical castle.

Lorna and Sarah closed their mouths simultaneously and exchanged stunned glances. Then Lorna proceeded to drive the vehicle slowly through the minatory entrance and up the driveway.

The duo stood side-by-side, staring up at the monstrous double-doors. They depicted a similar pattern to that on the entrance gates, but were made of some sort of burnished wood.

Sarah had no idea what to make of the situation. It seemed only yesterday (well, it was) when she had been sitting on her bed in the orphanage staring out her window at the oak trees beyond it. And now, here she was, standing outside a castle, preparing to meet the man who'd adopted her without any prior warnings.

It all seemed so surreal. Her life had taken a sharp turn (for the better? Sarah thought it questionable.) in less than thirteen hours, and there was nothing she could do to change it. Soon, she would become the daughter of a stranger; bound by law to remain in his custody until she reaches eighteen years of age. Just over a year, Sarah thought. I can live with that.

Lorna reached out an arm and hesitated before using the odd brass door knocker which resembled the head of a bulldog. The sound it made echoed through the undergrowth surrounding the castle and shocked numerous roosting crows into flight. Their grating caws made both Sarah and Lorna uneasy; they exchanged glances once again before the large wooden doors swung open of their own accord.

The two reluctantly ventured inside and into a large entrance hall. A magnificent staircase of red and gold joined the ground floor with the second, making a 'T' shape as it split and curved round to reach both sides of the upper balcony level.

Sarah looked up; the ceiling seemed miles away. Despite the enormity of the hall, it seemed fairly void of furnishings, as if, despite the castle's prolonged existence, it had only recently become occupied.

Sarah and Lorna looked at one another. Sarah raised her eyebrows as if to question Lorna's next course of action; Lorna shrugged, before calling out '..Hello? ..Is anybody home? ..I'm here to drop Sarah off.' She paused for a reply, but none came. Sarah was still adjusting to the notion that this place may be her new home. Adapting would take some time, but at least it wasn't a dumpy apartment suite.

Lorna turned to Sarah, yawning, obviously tired from her hours of driving. 'Look Sarah, I'm not allowed to leave until I've delivered you to this man, but it's getting late. We might just have to get back in the car and come back tomorrow when someone's home.' Sarah opened her mouth to respond when -

'That won't be necessary.'

The voice was masculine, somewhat gravelly yet sensually melodic. Lorna and Sarah instinctively turned towards the sound, which came from the stairway.

A tall figure stood at the top of the staircase. Though they were too far away to observe details of his appearance, Sarah had recognised the voice instantaneously.

Her mouth fell open and she inhaled sharply.

Her heartbeat increased to a furious pace that pounded in her ears.

Her palms began to sweat and her knees shook beneath her.

Lorna dragged her eyes away from the stationary figure to see Sarah sway dangerously on the spot; she came to her aid, putting her arms under Sarah's for support.

Sarah wasn't thinking straight; her mind was incoherent. She had no clue as to where she was, or why she was there. She had no idea what could possibly come of recent events or whether she had the power to change them. Of only one detail she was certain.

It was him.

Firstly, I apologise profusely for the change of pace that occurs in this chapter; I don't believe that the ending was too fast - I believe that the beginning was too slow. If you disagree, let me know; I can use your advice to make the next chapter a more enjoyable read.

Secondly, I know this chapter seemed unremittingly boring, but please bare with me - the juicy bits begin in the next part.

And thirdly, please take into consideration that this was my first fanfic; I came back to it after writing 'The Fine Print' - I don't want reviews telling me just how bad this was. Constructive criticism always helps, but words of praise make me feel appreciated :)

And fourthly (or P.S), I decided against naming chapters in this fanfic, because I don't know how long it'll turn out. So please, if you have any plot suggestions, include them in a review and you might just see your idea in the next chapter(s) :)