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Author's note: Sorry it's been so long! There's been a lot to do with school and I've had some minor medical ailments that nevertheless needed addressing. I'm back and writing through the stabbing pain of a pinched nerve, but once again I am full of dreams. Shall we?

Sarah groaned as she slipped back and forth between dreams and reality. She could feel the cold stone beneath her crumpled and aching body, but she heard Jareth. She couldn't tell what he was saying anymore and she cursed this awakening for taking away her one last butterfly of happiness. At last it fluttered entirely from her and she could no longer remember more than the sound of Jareth's voice.

It must have been midday, because the sun was already high in the sky and she felt very hungry. As soon as she tried to stand though, nausea swept her pain-riddled body and she had to lean against the wall for support. Her head pounded like a hangover, though all of the pain radiated from a spot on the back of her head. Of course, she had fallen and hit it. Rather, she'd been thrown to the ground and hit it. The memory of last night made her tremble slightly and she crawled over to the bed and lay across it, breathing deeply. She still wore the gown of the night before, but the beautiful silk had been crumpled and warped from the water of the fountain.

Delicately, she ran her tongue over his blood-encrusted lips, moistening it until it cleaned away. She could feel the pricks where his sharp teeth had bit into her skin, swollen little cuts that stung like agony. They were already healing though, hard scabs resisting her tongue swipes.

Whenever she moved her head, her vision swam slightly and she felt as though her skull were going to collapse. She was sure she had suffered at least a minor concussion. Now, if ever she wanted one more, she wanted a cigarette. She hardly ever smoked, usually only with her art friends, but she deeply craved the deep relaxation that just one lungful would bring her.

All that she could smell was iron. Her own blood. It was all she could taste. Her knees ached from passing out onto the stone the night before. She was sure she would find deep purple bruises surfacing if she had the energy to look at her legs. The hunger was unbearable, but so too was the nausea. She lay for hours, drifting between sleep and consciousness, her mind churning fiercely with thoughts of nothing. Perhaps she had a fever. She did not know.

What she did know was that by the time she felt able to stand, the sky was tinged with orange. Night was descending like some winged bird of prey, leering at her from the edges of the horizon. Some of her nausea had subsided and she deeply longed for a bowl of chicken broth. She turned about slowly and found, to her surprise, a plate of bread and a pitcher of water. It was simple, but she dare not say it was thoughtful. At least it wasn't stale, so she immediately fell onto a hunk of the loaf.

After satiating her hunger, she allowed herself the pleasure of a shower. She turned the spigot and found, to her dismay, that the water would not heat as it had before. Nevertheless, she bathed, gooseflesh rising on her exposed skin. She dried hastily, the coarse cloth scratching her legs and arms.

She slept.

…..oOo…..

When Sarah awoke again, it was certainly somewhere in the misty depths of nighttime when sunlight is far beyond reach. Only two moons were visible in the sky, their crescents bowing in toward one another, the larger appearing to almost capture the smaller. Sarah contemplated the physics of this for a time, imagining what the alignment of the moons and the sun must look like from space. She couldn't imagine how tangled this universe must be.

She was hungry again. The bread was harder than before, untouched since her last visit. She devoured it completely then moved toward the door. She pushed, but it remained solid as a wall. She pushed again, giving it the weight of her body, but it only strained enough to prove she was locked into her room.

She was truly a prisoner.

…..oOo…..

"Tiger, tiger, burning bright,

In the forest of the night," Sarah mumbled to herself, gazing at the slivers of moons. "Tiger, tiger," she blinked. "Tiger," the lines would not come.

She bore a waxen complexion that was as pale as the moons she watched ceaselessly. With nothing to do and nothing to eat, her time fell to sleeping fitfully and gazing out the window. She gave up on her long forgotten poem and instead thought about an article she had read. Or had her mother told her about it? Women were dissatisfied with their simple, civil Victorian lives and became depressed. To cure the depression, they were locked up in their chambers. The remedy is worse than the disease. Where had she read that?

She longed for some sort of contact. Anyone would do. Perhaps some food would be nice. Just a little bit.

The door creaked open. Sarah turned around and rushed to claim the plate of bread in Etan's hand.

"There now, Sarah," he said softly. "Let's not play games with each other." He watched as Sarah tore into the loaf, devouring it as though it were a feast for a king. "You hurt me, Sarah."

She looked up from the plate, chewing fiercely. "You hurt me more, Etan. You've locked me up like a prisoner and allowed me to starve."

"Now, isn't that a bit harsh? How long has it been? Three days?"

"Four, and you know it."

"You shouldn't have been so cruel to me Sarah," he said as she bit into the loaf savagely. He continued as she chewed. "Why would you hide things from me? I, who shared with you everything." She glared up at him. "I, who only wanted to take care of you. To love you." She stopped chewing momentarily. "I should kill you right now, and I could. With my bare hands, I could squeeze the life from your tiny throat. I wouldn't even need to use my hands." Sarah watched him in terror, his face drawing closer to hers. "But I am merciful. After all, you brought this upon yourself. You are the one who struck up a bargain. You promised to treat me like any other suitor." She chewed again, biting another hunk off the loaf and looking away from him. "But you didn't, did you? You were just trying to trick me. You were afraid of me."

Etan lifted away the plate of crumbs that Sarah tried to scour. He turned on his heel and strode to the door. Just before he shut it, he turned around to face her haggard body, crumpled amidst a scattering of crumbs. "I am not cruel, Sarah. Have pity on me," and he shut the door. She listened to his footsteps echo down the hall and crawled to the door to listen as they faded away.

And then she went back to her mind, now processing all he had just said.

…..oOo…..

Sarah felt very unstable, though it now had little to do with her hunger. She stared out the window, feeling the breeze blow in over the sunlit labyrinth. She no longer thought of anything but the moment. Sun, labyrinth shining, forest, trees, breeze. Feels good.

When the door opened, she again lunged toward Etan for bread or food, but he had none. She halted in front of him, searching him everywhere with her eyes. Nothing. Oh, mercy, it had been two days since his last visit. She knelt and grasped his cape in desperation. "Please," she moaned. He hit her face hard and she recoiled onto the floor. "Please," she whimpered and he kicked her hard in the ribs. She heard once crack. "Please," she pleaded once more, something barely more than a whisper. He cocked his foot as though to kick her in the face and she winced into a fetal ball.

She heard the soft sound of metal touching stone and she uncurled to find Etan place a platter of bread before her. "Thank you," she said breathlessly as she tore into the bread.

"Wait," he said, grasping her hair and pulling her up. "Thank me properly."

Sarah leant forward and placed a firm but brief kiss on his lips. He grinned, satisfied, and left the room. Sarah forgot all about the bread for well over an hour as she just sat, rubbing her rib, and trying to sort her memories of Jareth from her memories of Etan.

At long last her mind settled and she set upon the bread. Jareth was someone else from her past. Etan was her present. Etan was the moment. He was a forgiver. Etan was a lover. Etan was her lover, yes. He loved her. She should not judge love. She loved him.

…..oOo…..

Meanwhile, out on the edge of the forest, Jareth felt a sudden twinge of pain and fell against a tree, clutching his chest.

"Your Majesty?" said a voice that seemed to come from far away.

"I'm alright. Carry on," he waved a hand at the group of firies and pushed back upright. Something tingled along his arms, a tingling he had not felt since before his kingdom was taken. He shook out his arm in the old fashion and a crystal rolled to his fingertips. "Oh no," he said, staring in horror at the simple crystal he held.