Streaks of blue lightning cut across a hazy purple sky and illuminated the barren landscape below. What had once been a fragrant grove of lush peach trees was now little more than a graveyard of twisted husks and gnarled roots delving the parched earth for sustenance and finding none. Bitter, stagnant winds whipped through dilapidated stone walls, causing a plaintive howl to resonate relentlessly through the lands. Fountains and statues sculpted meticulously by renowned artisans had been reduced to piles of rubble in a mere fraction of the time they had taken to create. Jareth, the Goblin King, sighed as he surveyed his kingdom, or at least, what was left of it.

At one time, Jareth's kingdom had been one of the grandest in the Underground. The king was well known for his opulent lifestyle and generosity toward those few he considered friends, and his ruthlessness and cruelty toward those foolish enough to get on his bad side. His grand labyrinth had been the topic of countless stories, songs, poems, and other artistic endeavors throughout the centuries, and indeed it had once been a sight to behold. There seemed to be an endless stream of lords from various kingdoms showing up with tributes of good faith and an equally endless stream of noble ladies come calling for the monarch himself, who had been considered the most eligible bachelor in all the realms for as long as anyone could remember. Some were politically ambitious and were let down gently, others simply wanted a roll between the sheets and found that the debonair Goblin King was happy to oblige them. Jareth had been content with his life – content to rule, content to be served, content to be master of his domain and everything in it. No one would dare to challenge or defy him. His existence, while at times predictable and monotonous, had been comfortable. Until she had come along.

With one last look at the shattered remains of his life's work, Jareth moved away from the window and went to sit at his throne. The room was dark and quiet, as it often was since she had left. The goblin revelers that had once danced and drank at the foot of their king's throne were too scared of his prevailing dark moods to show their faces in his court and had fled with their kegs and livestock to the taverns that were scattered throughout the Goblin City. Jareth had always feigned annoyance at the ever-present merrymakers, but inwardly he had been delighted and amused by their antics and was stung by their absence, though he well understood why they had left and couldn't say he blamed them. He knew he was now insufferable more often than not and sometimes he could hardly stand to be around himself. He draped a lean leg over one of the arms of his throne and stared into the darkness, his chin resting thoughtfully on a gloved hand. Jareth found himself in a reflective mood and couldn't help but think about the object of his darkest fantasies.

Sarah. Spoken aloud, her name caressed his tongue like a fine brandy, fiery and sweet. In his mind, it evoked images of her sleek raven tresses, piercing emerald eyes, and creamy porcelain skin. The soft scrunch of his supple leather glove reverberated off of the cold stone walls as he flexed his hand, eyes closed, jaw gritted, trying to will away the burning desire that always came with this train of thought. Still, pointless and painful as his current inquiries were, he could not bear to tear himself away just yet. She was intoxicating to him; a drug far more dangerous and addictive than anything he could have purchased on a street corner. All he had to do was inhale deeply and he could still smell her, a mixture of the milk and honey lotion she always used and her own unique aroma, effortlessly light and feminine. Some nights as he lay in his bedchamber he swore he could hear her soft tinkling laughter on the wind, pleading with him to come to her.

He was the marooned seafarer to her siren, delirious and exhausted and unable to resist the pull of her song. Gods, how she had ruined him, spoiled him, broken him. Frustration and hurt lashed through his mind. What a fool he had been to give of himself so freely to her. He knew she had been too young to understand his true motives but he was not a patient man. His mind and body had ached for her, and the only way he had known to abate his hunger was to immerse himself in her charms, consequences be damned. In the end, he had all but groveled at her feet in a pathetic display of weakness. He had been so desperate to keep her and so fearful of losing her that he had thrown caution to the wind and poured his very heart and soul into his final words to her… but even that had not been enough to convince her of his intentions, his devotion. His love.

Aboveground, years had passed since she had left him. Underground, it had only been a few months. At first, Jareth had mourned her absence the way a blind man mourns the sun as he feels its warming rays on his skin but cannot begin to fathom what it looks like. Slowly, the melancholy had turned to anger: anger at her presumptions and demands, anger at her pig-headedness and petulance, anger at her defiance and refusal to submit. Then, as he had continued to watch her from afar and noted her transition from lanky teenager to voluptuous young woman, his anger had turned into unbridled lust and the urge to reclaim her. Her quick mind and sharp tongue had captured his interest when she was just a child, and he had to admit to himself that he had found her very charming even at fifteen. If he had merely been smitten with her then, he was downright obsessed with her now. The realization that she exceeded even his wildest fantasies in every way had steeled his nerves and brought him to a very important decision: one way or another, she would be his. His, and only his. Forever.

A knock on the large doors to the throne room shook Jareth from his musings. He said nothing and simply stared in the direction of the sound. Whoever it was, they were brave. That, or stupid. Few people dared to disturb the Goblin King those past few months, and even fewer of them had escaped imprisonment in one of his dank oubliettes.

After a few silent moments, the great doors flung open and light from the torch-lined hallway filtered into the room. A black silhouette stood against the flickering light, hands on hips, and Jareth strained his eyes to focus on its features. He didn't have to wonder who it was for long. The figure strolled toward him and with a snap of its fingers the sconces around the circular room blazed to life and illuminated the chamber with soft firelight. The Goblin King stared up dourly into the face of his older brother.

The two Fae brothers shared the same angular face and lean, sinewy physique, though Jareth was a might taller. While Jareth's flaxen hair was long and straight, his older brother's was curly and barely brushed his collar. The annoyed, mismatched gaze of the younger sibling was met with delight in the stormy grey orbs of his visitor.

"Dear brother, I had heard rumors that you had taken to spending your evenings moping about in the darkness, but I truly had to see it to believe it. Why you insist on torturing yourself over that pettish little tart is beyond me."

"Be careful, Jeriah. Brother though you may be, I am still the king here. You would dare speak of my future queen in such a manner?"

His brother scoffed. "A queen? Her? You really have lost it. You couldn't even get her to kiss you and you're already planning a royal wedding. Do you think she'll get creative and scratch your eyes out when you try to drag her down the aisle, or just stick to convention and knee you in the groin?"

Jareth seethed. "Is there some point to your presence in my kingdom, brother? Surely you haven't come all this way just to get in a few infantile jabs."

The older sibling grinned, revealing sharkish teeth. "Mother said she wrote you and told you I was coming. Have you been too busy sulking to bother checking the post? I've been making a tour of the realms, you see, and yours just so happened to be next on the list. I just left the kingdom of the forest spirits; Princess Fawnah sends her regards and bids you to call on her. Lovely girl, she is. Very… sweet, in more ways than one." His eyes gleamed lasciviously.

Jareth rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. By tradition, Jeriah had had the first chance to become the Goblin King, but had refused even in adolescence to be groomed for the role. He was a free spirit and a drifter, using his status, wealth, and charms to venture from one leisurely pursuit to the next, women not excluded. He was intelligent and cunning, but lacked the zeal and pragmatism to rule. On the contrary, Jareth had taken to the monarchy like a moth to a flame.

The king dismissed the notion with a wave of his leather-encased hand. "Yes, I'm sure she's very enchanting. Feel free to run back to the dryads whenever the mood strikes you; I'm afraid I've already tired of your foolishness."

Jeriah laughed, "Oh, Jareth. What ever will I do with you? I'd love to stay and have more fun at your expense but I find myself weary from my travels. Certainly you can spare a room for your dear old brother?"

A snap of Jareth's fingers was all it took for one of the goblin pages waiting stoically in the hall to come running. He prostrated himself at the feet of his king, fearful yet hopeful. The young goblin truly loved and admired his king and had been waiting patiently for him to go back to being his old self. This was the first his king had called upon him in weeks.

"Show my brother to the Gold Room. Draw a bath and have a hot meal delivered to him there." The goblin nodded eagerly and moved to the door, waiting for the king's brother to follow.

Jeriah flashed a wicked grin and gave an exaggerated bow. "Much obliged, Your Majesty. I shall bid you good night and leave you to stew over your little coquette until the morrow." With a flourish, he turned and strolled leisurely behind the goblin, flinging the doors to the throne room shut with a clap of his hands.

The room was once again bathed in darkness and, never one to disappoint, Jareth reveled in it. He let the gloom envelop him and found himself gazing out the window at the starless sky. As he wallowed in his self-imposed misery, he wondered what his Sarah was doing at that very moment. Did she ache with need like he did, unable to understand why she felt so unfulfilled, no matter what she did to try to take her mind off of it? Want had turned him into a glutton for punishment. He held out his palm and conjured a crystal. There, in that perfect sphere of glass, lay his dreams.

Fire surged through Sarah's veins as she jogged her usual path around the park, her limbs wailing in protest at being forced into labor. The early morning chill pinkened her cheeks and turned her ragged breaths into opaque crystalline puffs. It was not yet dawn and by all rights the girl should still have been in bed, but fitful slumber had eluded her all night and, weary of her tossing and turning and fevered dreams, she had finally given up and forced herself to rise. With a heavy sigh, she increased her pace and drifted off into thought, comforted by the sound of her soft footfalls against the pavement.

The dreams. They had decreased in intensity and frequency over time, but nonetheless they plagued her and had a habit of showing up when she least expected them. She'd never had the same one twice, but for the last three years, all her dreams had shared the same central theme: him. Not once since her visit to the Underground had she dreamt of anything else – his mismatched eyes, always twinkling with mischief, his mocking voice and the way he made her feel barely two feet tall, the almost palpable air of regality and dominance that seemed to follow him like a shadow.

For a while after her initial encounters with the Goblin King, she had actually tried to convince herself the entire thing had just been a very realistic nightmare; after all, who would believe that she had summoned a legendary member of Fae royalty to take her baby brother from the mortal realm, and had fought and won against said Fae royalty to bring him back? She had attempted to attribute the "nightmare" and subsequent recurring dreams to her vivid imagination and affinity for all things fantastical, and her denial had actually worked for a while… that is, until her nighttime fantasies had started bleeding into her everyday life.

The first incident had been one evening after school when Karen had sent her to the store for some milk and bread. The trip had taken her no time at all and the small amount of trust her stepmother had placed in her had put her into a good mood, so she had decided to go the extra mile and put the groceries away. As she reached her hand into the paper sack, it came into contact with something round and soft, but firm. Sarah had gasped and dropped it immediately; there was no question in her mind about what it was – she could barely stand even the smell of peaches since…

Sarah shuddered and slowed to catch her breath near a large tree. Actually having the dreams was one thing, but taking time to reflect on them later was another thing entirely. She didn't like to think about them; it made her uncomfortable and confused and some other swirl of emotions she couldn't quite identify. Most of all she just couldn't figure out why she was having the dreams to begin with, or why little reminders of her time in the Underground had started popping up all around her. She had bested the Goblin King at his own game and won Toby back fair and square. She had put the childish books and toys and costumes behind her and had even stopped calling on the friends she had made in order to distance herself further from the labyrinth. She had moved on with her life and grown into a level-headed young woman quite far removed from the impetuous child she had once been.

As she stood with her back to the large tree, her breath finally slowing and her muscles thanking her for the brief reprieve, an owl hooted nearby, slicing through the calm pre-dawn air like a machete through silk. Sarah jumped away from the tree and whipped her head around, trying to spot the source of the interruption. There, she saw it – maybe ten feet away, a large golden barn owl perched high in an old maple tree, its back to the waning moon, staring directly at her. It hooted again, almost in recognition of her notice. She shivered reflexively as she gazed at the bird. To her, it looked wise and sentient, as though it was purposefully watching her and waiting to gauge her next move. It was then that she knew why she had been having the dreams.

Her heart pounded wildly within her chest and she could hear the blood rushing through her head. Jareth. Just thinking his name sent her senses into overdrive. The relentless dreams of opulent ballrooms and stolen kisses under an indigo sky, the peaches, the crystals rolling out of sight around corners, the hauntingly familiar music playing over the loudspeakers at the mall that only she could hear, the grandfather clock in the hallway chiming thirteen times at midnight… it had all been him. She was sure of it now, surer than she had ever been about anything in her entire life. He had re-inserted himself into her life and had refused to let go, even after years had passed and she had done all she could to forget he existed. Somehow this knowledge did not frighten, though she knew it should, as much as it perplexed her.

Why was he doing this? Did he think there was some score to settle? Some rematch to be had? A battle of wits that he intended to enter with a stacked deck so as not to be made a fool of for a second time? This was her life he was messing with – her sanity, even. She could not even count how many nights she had laid awake in bed and stared at the ceiling, afraid of what sensual, thrilling things might be lurking behind her eyelids. That was what disturbed her most about them: they weren't entirely unpleasant. She had gotten to know dream-Jareth quite well had found him to be very different from the villain she remembered. While she slept, they had walked the labyrinth together, flanked on both sides by vine-covered walls sporting fragrant yellow blooms. They had swum in a lake outside the Goblin City and picnicked on fruit and cheese and sweet wine on the shore. He had sung to her and recited sonnets to her and waltzed with her on a marble terrace under the watchful eye of a silver moon. Why would he send her those dreams? What sick sort of game was he playing at?

The owl hooted again and Sarah marched over to it angrily.

"Jareth?" she accused, feeling only slightly stupid for conversing with a bird. The owl cocked its head at her and fluffed its wings.

"Look. I want you to leave me alone. I know you've been messing with me and I want you to stop. I won, you lost. It's time for both of us to move on, don't you think? Find someone else to torment."

The owl screeched then – a sound Sarah had never heard before, almost like a laugh. Suddenly, the bird took off from the branch it had been perched on and flew at the girl. It narrowly missed her as she ducked and covered her hair. She whirled around to watch the owl fly off toward the horizon, screeching all the way until it vanished from her sight. She stood dazed for a moment, then slowly backed away and ran toward home.