XXXXXX

Passing out apparently is in style for me this season—I seem to be doing a lot of it lately.

I am awake for a bit before I open my eyes. Gods, my head feels like its exploded, then been packed into a sardine can. A hangover perhaps, though in mass proportions. Lord, I need some Midol or aspirin or something. What had I done? The last thing I remember is coming home after work to an empty flat. After that, nothing. It kinda reminds me of that time, after the labyrinth, where I could barely remember the day before—

Oh.

The labyrinth.

The labyrinth. The Goblin King. Who came to…to…last night. And we…I…there was a chase! And I…

Won?

No. I couldn'tve. I fell. I was injured. I must be….

But I'm not.

Oh. Oh dear.

Realizing that I might not actually be awake, I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists. I am not much a philosopher, so I have not explored much on the whole death concept, like where you when kick it, or if you can come back. Heaven and hell. Stuff like that. I am very, very scared to open my eyes, though…it cannot be too terrible if the air smells like honey and it feels warm and fresh. There is a faint trace of pine. As I wake more and more, I feel more of my body. I am covered by something soft, heavy, and warm. So warm, it is almost stifling. Finally, I open my eyes to pull it off.

My eyes are met with a wooden ceiling. And then a quilt. The yellow story quilt my great-aunt made. I sit up. With one hand, I trace out one plump pink rose. This quilt is probably over fifty years old, yet looks as though the last seam was threaded only yesterday. I am in my grandmother's cabin. My Nana's cabin, which I had left in the wee hours of the morning to explore the lakeside after feeling an unreasonable urge to move.

Had it just been a dream?

I ease myself into a sitting position. Morning light streams through a gap in the curtains. Shards of light reflected from the lake water dance upon the rough wooden floor. It is positively enchanting. Minutes pass as I watch the shimmering flecks.

It must have all been a dream. I had thought about the Goblin King and the labyrinth a lot the day before, and as I drifted off to sleep. It made sense. From what I learned in psych class, it was perfectly normal for me to create the situation in my dreams after focusing on a particular subject for a great deal of time. I only hoped Freud's dream theory wasn't applicable to this specific situation.

Deciding it was time to get up, I stood, crossing to the carved wardrobe. This cabin was built before closets were really popular. This wardrobe was brought over from Russia by my great-great-great grandfather on Mom's side. Nana always said it smelled "of the old country," which she had visited only once, when she was 60. I keep a small selection of clothes there for every visit, but I brought some I'd rather wear today. It's decided that I shall return to the city. That dream was just too trippy for me.

It's time for a shower. I pull out a bathrobe and pair of jeans, then stoop to my duffle for a clean t-shirt. All I can find is a white tank top and my pink floral button down. It's cute, really. But I frown, sure that I had brought more than this. Hadn't I packed that one neon blue shirt I'd gotten for donating blood last semester?

Something in my brain clicks, and I tug on the hem of the bright blue shirt I am currently clad in. I could've swornI wore my black drama club shirt and grey sweats to bed. I stare for a minute at the blue fabric in my hand. Then I shrug it off. I must have been half-asleep last night when dressing for bed.

With all my necessary items in hand, I open the bedroom door, intent on using the bathroom. However, I am stopped in my tracks upon seeing that I am not the cabin's only occupant. And my memory that last night's events were not the result of a dream.

The Goblin King stands in my tiny kitchen, filling my ancient kettle with tap water.

For a full twenty seconds, I stand gaping. Then I drop my clothes, and back into the bedroom, shutting the door as the Goblin King turns in surprise.

XXXXXXXX

I watch as Sarah flees to her quarters, paling with each hurried step. She is obviously in shock. Sighing, I cross to knock on the door of her room. My efforts are met with a muffled, "Please go away."

"I cannot." I pause. "Sarah, let me in."

Silence.

Without another plea, I apparate into her room, landing into the corner furthest from the bed. She has draped herself across the mattress and tucked her head under one pillow. I venture to sit on the edge of the bed.

"This has to be a dream." The girl moans, curling her knees to her chest.

"I am afraid not, my love."

"How?" She sits up, eyes on fire. "I…must be hallucinating."

"You're not." I prove by stroking one hand. Sarah snatches her limb back, glaring at me. "And this attitude is not going to change anything."

She freezes, eyes locked onto mine. "Did I lose?" She whispers. I glance to my hands, encased in their usual black leather. Her gaze follows my own. Seeing my hands clench, her shoulders drop. "Jareth, did I?"

There is no kind answer. "I am sorry."

She cannot answer. Her eyes are unfocused and her breath is held.

"Sarah," I begin gently. "There was no other way. I tried, but the severity of your wounds… I am sorry. But to watch you die—it was not an option."

She just shakes her head.

I snap. "Sarah, I would never let you die on me for the cost of your pride. Not if I had the means to prevent it. Be mad if you will, throw a childish fit, but nothing can make me regret my actions. Yours, however, are the only ones I can feel any remorse over."

Looking thoroughly confused, Sarah pulls her knees closer to her chest, squeezing her pillow. She looks smaller, more childlike. I cannot help but move closer, caressing her hair.

"You saved me?"

"Yes."

"And…we're bound, or whatever, now?"

"Yes." I say slowly. "Is that alright?"

I receive no vocal answer. Sarah wordlessly leans out of my touch, only to push me against the headboard and arrange herself against me, using my chest as a pillow. Grabbing my hands, she removes the gloves and hesitantly entwines our fingers. She looks up, as if inquiring "Is this okay?" I just squeeze her hand.