She is sitting in class listening to the wind howl and the trees beat against the windows when it happens.
The lecture is boring, almost insufferably so, and she might have briefly considered making a wish, but Sarah cannot remember the actual act.
But then suddenly, she is not sitting in class. Sarah is sitting on a carved wooden bench that has to be in a garden, because the overwhelming smell of crushed rosemary greets her nose from at her feet.
She is, of course, bewildered. The last time she was… here, wherever here was at the moment, she had saved a very young Jareth. What could possibly be dangerous to somebody in a garden?
But that is not a question that will be answered, she thinks, because there is nobody there. She can hear the sound of the wind in the trees and the steady hum of crickets, but nothing else.
The sun is hot on her back—not like at home where the day could be described as overcast at best, and at worst something akin to a tornado—and she moves to take off her jacket. As she reaches around to ease the jacket off of her back, she catches sight of a mass of blonde hair.
"Jareth?" She calls out, standing swiftly. He approaches and for a second she wonders if she's made a mistake. He does not look the same as the first time she saw him—too young for that—and he doesn't look like the last time she saw him—too old for that—but his hair is almost the same time and his eyes are still mismatched.
"Sarah? What are you doing here?" He takes her jacket from her hands.
"I don't know." She cocks her head and stares at him. "You…"
She is cut off by the sudden embrace he traps her in.
"I've missed you." He whispers to her.
"I've… missed you too." She says, after a brief pause.
He tucks a sprig of rosemary behind her ear.
A/N
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.
Hamlet
