The smell of roses and the cold water roused me from my slumber. I lift my head from my bed of fabric only to realize that I must have fallen asleep before I finished fixing the costume. Sitting up, my hands run along the different textures of the fabric underneath my waking body. As I stifle a yawn, my fingers brush along something too brittle and coarse to be cloth.

There it sat, an aged slip of parchment paper with elegant text upon its delicate face. Nestled on top of the paper is a vibrant red rose. The very rose from someone's lapel. An enthusiastic whirlwind of memory of last night rushed around my mind. The soundless whisper of my attraction towards the dark man is remembered. A lovers touch where he held me all but forgotten. How could I forget? Last night was adventurous as well as sweet despite my terrible fall.

My fall! A flurry of hands check my ribs and hip only to find that the pain is long gone and I could breath with ease once more. The ghost must have brought me here and cared for me whilst I slept. A blushing warmth grew upon my chest and cheeks with the thought of such a man caring so much for someone he barely knew. Curiosity renewed, my fingers arched over the rose, almost afraid to touch it. As far I knew, the king could have seen last night after he locked me in the box and wanted to trap me in the Underground by placing magic upon the rise.

I slowly take my fingers from the air above the rose to grip the paper beneath it. An occasional ink blot decorated the page letting me know that he wrote this in a flourished hurry. The words themselves were beautifully scripted letters and words with grand curlicues and slight left slant. A grin set itself on my lips. He's left-handed like many famous artists, like myself. The paper read: Mademoiselle, I enjoyed meeting with you and look forward to find more moments to talk with you. Should you find a breath to yourself, simply sing and I shall be with you. Your Ghost. After reading those few lines, I didn't feel any fear of the rose. I went to grab it, though, when a white gloved hand snatched it from the pile of fabric.

"You seem to have forgotten my power, my dear." The silky voice I loathed so lingered in the room.

I stared at the spot where the rose once slept. "I haven't forgotten, Goblin King. You suffice by showing me everyday, though I haven't seen you in a while. Too busy with your wish-granting drug-dreaming scheme for your Runners to worry about physically stalking me?"

A pregnant silence stole the warmth from my body. "I'll be asking you not to continue, love. I'm never too busy for you." I look at his light clothing colors. So he's going for the innocent approach this time. "You haven't seen me because you've been doing so well, separating yourself from the insufferable mortals without my help. Except last night, my dear." He twirls the rose between his slender fingers.

"Nothing much happened last night." I quickly say, wanting my sweet flower in my own hands. "I just met someone who is human, but solitude, like myself."

"My dearing, you're never alone." The king knelt in front of me, taking my hands in his empty hand. "I'm always with you."

I pull away and fling myself to the other side of the now cold room, a strong bout of anger keeping me warm for the moment. "You weren't there when I fell. I didn't see you help me when I was in obvious pain. My ghost was there instead." I paced from my safe distance, fully knowing that any distance wasn't safe. "I fell because you decided to pull a low unforgivably childish act of locking the door on me. It's your fault I fell and you weren't there to fix your mistake." My hands shake with the remnants of fury. It's been a long time since I've yelled at him, ranting my feelings at him. "He was there and he helped fix your mistake. If you 'love' me so, why are you letting yourself be replaced by my Ghost?"

"Your Ghost?" His chocolate brown and eclipse blue eyes bore holes into my own olive green eyes as he straightens himself to give power into the room. "Your Ghost! I'm the one who haunts your every dream and can only be felt by those who have the gift as you do. Yet he is your Ghost? How can you compare a mortal to a Fae?"

I stand in front of the inhumanly strong being, daring him with my set face to try anything. "I compare, not by strength of the being, but by who he is, who he aims to be. I've not known him for long and he already has my respect because I could feel that he wants to be a famous artist and loving husband." I catch the rose before it could touch the ground after the king released the flower in angry shock. "You, on the other hand, depend sorely upon magic and have never been through true hardships as we mortals have. Your ego has proven that. I compare because I care."

I lift the ruby flower to my face to taken in its sweet innocence as the very air around the magical being grew dark. I'm not afraid, though. He can't touch me with his magic for I've said the right words years ago. But words don't stop him from being physical. The king loves to abuse the pure strength he has on me.

Just like now. One blink and I'm standing a good distance from him, wary of his darkening mood. In the next, I'm caught under his boots on top of the fabric bed. His eyes glow under the slight shadow of his layered sunlight hair. A sneer twists his thin pale lips flashing his slightly jagged teeth. Musky spice of magic tickled my senses, filling me with a cold power that always seduces me. I know that every time I feel this power, I'm being changed. Slowly and bit by bit, he's changing me. I do not age as fast as the untouched mortals. I cannot get easily sick nor harmed. He knows this as he looks down upon me.

"You wound me, love. I've told you before what a Fae must go through on a daily basis. Must we have this argument again?" He lifts his boot from my chest only to trap me between his arms and legs. His white feathery cloak surrounded us and covered a good portion of the fabric pile. "There is more to magic than using it and more to the Fae than shallowness, vanity, and deceit." The king nuzzled his face into my neck, breathing upon the one mark that I've never been able to get rid of. "You should know that, dearing. You've known me long enough. Don't you remember that night when I was there for you when no one else was?" He lifts his head to look at my bewildered expression. "I care for you, Sarah."

How could I not forget that night? Every solitary moment, every heated dream, all of my waking thoughts thinks of that night. My fingers brush along the mark, warm from his breath. I had called to him one night some time after my run and let my guard down. It was heavenly, that night, but the next morning was when I realized what I had done. He now had a claim over me and I couldn't break it unless I died.

"I can't feel your care, then. All I feel is your anger and want. You have no kind side for me to know. That part of your soul is missing. You can't even get heartaches like regular Fae can and for that, I hate you." My breath was shaky as I tried to control my body's want. He was purposefully trying to distract me with his own want. "I won't say the words you want me to say, though. They might be true, but how could I tell you when my words roll off your heart like water to a lily-pad."

A light chuckle from the light man filled the dark room. Instead of answering, he places several kisses upon my chin and cheeks, both warm with a blush. His willowy arms went from being prison bars to a lover's embrace as his buttery soft gloves slides along my slightly sore rib-cage and hip. As he touched me, the pain was leaving; he's healing me. I wanted to push him off for using that particular spell just so he could touch me, but all thought left when he lays a kiss upon my pale red lips. My want took over my body when I realize that he's gone.

I sit up quickly to see that the room was properly lit as it was before he came, but the note was crushed to pieces and my rose stands in a vase, burning from the tips of the petals. The aroma was wonderful as it filled the room, but I was angry that he dared to get rid of the gift. He left me with a raging amount of want yet all I feel like doing is cry. I lay down on the fabric to curl up into the warmth of the cloth and let the tears flow. They ran as long as the flower burned. I cried until there was naught but ashes at the bottom of the vase.

I must have fallen asleep. Behind closed eyes, I saw the Goblin King, but his hair was different colors. The roots were black as night while the tips were his usual blond. In between, the color transitioned from the black to the near-white. The airy locks led to his eyes. They were the same until he lowered his chin. A shadow covered his eyes, creating a golden glow. That's when I noticed that his stance wasn't as demanding as I know it to be as if he finally learned humility and hurt. This is how someone of great power should act. This is a person I could love.

"Miss Sarah!" A high voice pierced through my dream. I groggily open my eyes to see one of my female actors on her knees with a look of concern etched upon her heart-shaped face. "Miss Sarah, are you okay?"

I sit up, glad that the king had taken the pain away. "I'm perfectly fine, Lisa. I just worked late last night. Had to take in Alex's costume."

The girl looks sad then. "I'm worried about him."

I grin, knowing that her brother would be fine once I talk to the goblins again. "Don't fret. He'll come round. Believe you me."

"I hope so, Miss Sarah. I can't imagine going on stage without him being my anchor." Her eyes glitter with growing tears. "He's the only family I have left outside of the troupe." She sniffles when she seems to remember something. "Oh, I came by to let you know that you've been summoned. Apparently, the owners of this place want to introduce you to the curious royals and fabulously wealthy."

With a large intake of breath, I heavily sigh. I was hoping to avoid meeting such people. Their ignorant arrogance reminds me too much of the king. I glance over at Lisa and flash a loving grin. "I'll be up. Is everyone else up?" She nodded. "All of them practicing the ending?" She froze, face contorted with confusion. I sigh yet again. "Everyone needs to work on that ending. It's our weak link."

"Right." Lisa chirps, standing on her small feet swiftly. "I'll go tell them." She heads for the door when she pauses and looks back at me. "Take care, will you? I don't want to worry about you, too." I grimly nod as she dashes away to the cast.

To meet with royalty and the wealthy, one must look up to date with their fashion and act like them if one wants the rich to simply like them. I've never been liked. I've been loved and adored because I dress as I normally would and present myself, not a facade. Most of my normal clothes are back at the hotel, though, and the other piece of clothing I brought with me was an elegant dress for a minor character in my play. The dress isn't in my size either. Nearly desperate, I look around the costume room for something suitable.

There were dusty racks teeming with once watery fabric and firm colors along the walls of the room. I search through the layers of moth eaten suits and dresses hoping to find something decent among the age-old clothes. I push some racks behind me, revealing more clothes that have gone through a worse fate than the ones I just frisked through. A stage up from tattered rags, I still sift though the fabrics, hoping that something could be salvaged.

My fingers felt every single silky surface, all the sequins sewn in place, and smooth pleats. A near ancient smell of perfume mingled with the musty scent of time tickles my nose. I can even taste the once flowery aroma. Just looking through all of these forgotten clothes and faded colors saddened me. I rush my fingers along the sleeves of the old costumes, when I feel something out of place. It's a plastic cover protecting a costume from the harsh beating of time and the hunger from animals or bugs. It's been hiding from me, but no longer.

With the utmost respect, I pull the costume from the rack and bring it to the work tables where Alex's costume currently sits next to. My hands quiver in anticipation while I carefully dodge the racks I've moved and the piles of fabric strewn about the organized mess of the room. It wasn't often when I find a surprise that wasn't a magical trap or a drugged fruit. I grin at the memories of such sweet traps. It has become more of a joke between the king and me than a trap or sorts. It's something we can laugh at when he's not being the egotistical Fae that he is.

I lay the plastic covered costume upon the numerous sewing needles and spools of colorful thread, hoping that I've wasted time for something worth it. I hold my breath as I begin to pull the cover off of the costume. So far, the bottom of the dress is as black as snow is white. The very fabric is silk carefully lined with cashmere. I'd move the fabric and the black would seem almost like oil, catching the colors of the light unseen by unaided mortal eyes. I pull on the plastic even more to expose the fading color of the dress. Effortlessly, the creator of the dress blended the colors from the most ebony of shadows to a stone gray adding in a detail of rune-like curves within the grain of the fabric. The simplicity of the detail lead my eyes upward into the bodice of the dress that I finally uncover.

The pure white lace outlined the corset-like top that holds the color of clean cotton. The boning that shaped the bodice is nearly invisible underneath the pattern of the lace. Pinned to the hanger are two loose sleeves meant to bind on one's arm just above the elbow and hang loose as if they are actually sleeves. Like the dress, the color of the sleeves faded into black from the bind down to the hem. To think that this is a costume is a sore mistake. The fabric and design of this dress is much too delicate to play a part on stage.

Someone must have made this for one of the actresses of the opera house before it got destroyed, but the question is who. Who had this budget and creativity to create such a beautiful gown and who just left it here among the dying costumes? Either way, it's a miracle that I found anything at all. The gown is a bit much for my taste, but it's better than my work clothes. I finger the lace before I decided that I must not waste anymore time thinking.

Out of habit, I cover the mirrors in the room before I peel off my clothes and gently wipe myself down with a wash basin. The owners wanted to keep the house to keep much of its history and quirky traits like keeping a bowl full of water in the workrooms. I'm thankful for their choice at the moment. Once my skin is clean and dry, I carefully slip the dress off of the hanger and step into it. With some difficulty, I'm able to fasten the dress to my form and attach the sleeves to my arms.

I want to see how I look, but I didn't want to risk taking up any more time. If I were to see myself, I'd want to fix my hair or nit-pick at everything little detail. I physically shake my head, letting my hair fall out of its loose hold, and begin hoping that nothing goes wrong with this meeting. Of course, one could only hope.

Without another wasted moment, I swiftly rush out of the room with my bare feet kissing the cool floor of the house. A weight suddenly set itself upon my chest. Something is going to go wrong. I pause in the adorned hallways of the ground floor, lightly panting. I don't feel this way unless it's a tragic experience. Something is going to happen, something terribly great. If I could, I'd choose not to go to the meeting at all for that seems to fuel my sinking feeling.