Author's Note: My primary artistic goal for this story is to practice telling a good tale without massive length and depth. My other primary goal is to finish it fast so I can redirect all my Labyrinthine attentions to Persephone…and the three-plus original projects currently batting. So, without further ado, thanks to all who read and review. Wow, rhyme.
Destroying Delusions
The butterflies in her stomach refused to quiet; Sarah fought to keep her stomach. Though the transport spell only left her slightly nauseous and the gown that appeared in her closet looked fabulous, she still felt faint.
Sarah fought to keep her breathing steady and composed. Her breasts rose and fell quickly, creamy and exposed against the neckline of her dress. Ivory feathers and snowy lace covered the corseted bodice, laced half-open in the back. The skirt swirled wide away from her legs, curiously light despite appearances. Having no one else to help, she'd done her hair herself, the way she had for prom so long ago, half up and half down in curls. Longer now, her tresses tumbled down her back, chocolaty dark against her pale skin and gown. Sarah felt like a Goblin Queen. She knew she looked the part: foreboding, yet dramatic, romantic. In a way, she looked a little like the female version of the king at their last encounter, when the world crumbled. She shoved the image away.
Terror rushed through her bones.
Sarah touched the door knocker anyway.
The heavy door swung open.
Colors swirled before her as dancers twirled. The women's skirts flared out as they spun. Sarah felt dizzy because her mind recognized their forms, but the features swirled. How could she make intelligent conversation when she couldn't make eye contact? She'd make a fool of herself in front of her fellow royals. After swearing under her breath, Sarah forced herself to inhale. In reality, she figured she'd look foolish regardless, since she didn't know much about proper protocol or the social elite.
The sea of figures parted like the biblical red sea, creating a wide aisle down the center. Shifting faced courtiers stared at her—at least, she felt as if they did. Swallowing hard, Sarah walked between them. The reveling ranks closed behind her.
The walk seemed to take forever. Drawing on what little the single, hopefully-up-to-date etiquette book she could actually understand had taught her, Sarah tried to take suitably small steps, keep her hands open at her sides, and modestly lower her chin. She thought she heard the courtiers laughing at her, but forced her mouth into a smile. Her cheeks wouldn't move less if she'd glued them.
Hours seemed to pass before she reached the far wall. A dais dominated that end of the room, providing the sole throne a perfect view of the immense crowd. A loud voice that must have belonged to a herald announced her in a dozen of languages, halting between each repetition like the announcements at an international airport. Finally, the English version confirmed what Sarah suspected. While the courtiers disdainfully covered their ears, Sarah knelt to present herself to the high king. She couldn't see through the fog around his shifting image to even manage a peak.
"Majesterium," she murmured ceremonially, full of reverence, lowering her head to reveal the vulnerable back of her neck in submission. An invisible weight settled on her vertebra, testing her strength. Sarah pushed her shaking hands into her lap.
The high king's response echoed through the chamber. Sarah guessed he gave a blessing to confirm her succession, but she couldn't understand, or see him, so she couldn't really tell. Of course, his majesty didn't deign to speak in English, French, or even the tiny bit of Russian she understood. For all she knew, the high king could have damned her to oblivion or chided her for arriving late. She hoped she hid her agitation well. Sarah hated ambiguity. Mentally, she flung a deluge of insults at her lord, now proven the pompous, inconsiderate, boring, tedious ass she'd expected him to be. Finally, the high king's strange speech ended and she knew she was dismissed to her party. The pressure on her neck disappeared. The ceremony was the epitome of anticlimactic. When she stood, Sarah's dizziness increased ten-fold.
She turned back to the crowd, dissolving into it without trying, desperate to find a friendly face or at least one that stayed constant for more than a minute. Who was she kidding, a college student from a different world so out of her league? She probably had a nervous zit on her nose. Despite her reputation for making friends, trying to start a conversation felt like gasping for breath while drowning. The fish out of water analogy had never seemed so painfully appropriate.
The rest of the party was horrible, especially for a party held in her honor. No one talked to her, but they stared, pointed, and whispered behind their hands with mouths that came and went like camera flashes. Only their elusive, musical speech remained omnipresent. It nattered at her like insects; feeling the pecks on her bare arms, Sarah wanted to swat the sounds away.
Unable to enjoy the music, dancing, or conversation, Sarah left the party early. At first, she hoped she wasn't being too rude, but a minute later, after no one made any attempt to be civil, she didn't care. It wasn't all that different from the college drinking scene, she thought unimpressed, especially once the dancers' revelries turned lewd.
Collapsing on the floor just in front of her settee, Sarah decided she'd never felt more alone. At least the luxurious dress cushioned her behind. She heard the fabric tear and sighed. She glanced at the desk, piled higher with incomprehensible important papers than ever before. Additional sheets of parchment appeared from thin air to land mockingly on top of the heap. She cringed: so much for finishing that chore if the party went south.
After her first experience running the labyrinth, Sarah intended to give up crying. Now as its queen, for the first time in years, she lowered her head to her hands and sobbed. Sarah didn't notice the feather that appeared in her hand until its fluff stuck to her runny nose. She sneezed all over her cream-colored bodice. Thoroughly ruining the incredible dress only made her sobbing worse.
x x x x
At first, she blamed the feather for the tickle in her nose. Two days later, after nearly killing herself by sneezing during the transportation spell, Sarah somehow pulled herself out of the dorm room wall and discovered she officially had a cold. After two years at school, she knew what havoc a few germs could wreck on one's studies; Sarah soon learned that germs truly were the plague of royalty.
Afraid for her welfare, some of the goblins walked around on their best, tip-toeing behavior. Those that liked her feared she might die like the old king. Unfortunately, the remaining two-thirds more than made up for the peace by trying to get away with anything and everything of which they'd ever dreamed.
Eventually, Sarah told Ludo and Didymus to do their best and locked the door to her chamber. She had a rasping sore throat. And a fever. And a new city-income budget to develop and assess, according to her desk. And her first three hundred level midterm. And a supposedly short, sweet, simple ten-page paper. And several party invitations to decline, if she could figure out to whom to send them. And a chemistry midterm. And other temporarily less pressing matters. And four inane small-claims cases to preside over at tomorrow's goblin court. And a stuffy nose that defied tissues. And graciously mild menstrual cramps. And speaking of periods, was periodically throwing up.
In the end, she slept through both the goblin court and chemistry midterm, which made everything much worse instead of better. Now, she needed an A on her final and every remaining assignment just to keep her average. For the first time in her life, a professor received a late, unimpressive paper from Sarah Williams, and no excuses about a sick aunt would undue the damage. Wistfully dreaming about summer vacation briefly bolstered Sarah's fortitude, until she realized she'd need to hide her frequent disappearances from a snooping stepmother and eagle-eyed little brother. And make enough money for next year's tuition and books. And look for an internship. And maybe catch up with a few high school friends. And baby-sit Toby when her father and Karen went out to dinner. And…
"Hoggle, how did the old goblin king, Jareth, ever do this without loosing his mind?" Sarah wheezed to her only confidant, sipping chamomile tea pilfered from her dorm supplies. Apparently, even calming herbs and hot water required too much of her kingdom. Or at least, she didn't know where to find them.
"Maybe he did. After all, neither ah us liked him." Her friend shrugged, looking into his own cup with curiosity. "He wasna never nice to anyone."
"I don't care about nice," Sarah snorted. "Nice is a thing of the past. I just care about sane."
He wanted to be nice to you, a dangerous tickle at the back of her mind noted, even if he wasn't very good at it, he wanted to try.
Sarah very politely told the little voice to shut-it; she had enough nonsense to think about already without her own mind betraying her.
Maybe if not for Toby, you could have let him try a bit harder. You might have. He wanted to try again before…
She didn't want to think about his demise. Even months into her new life, Sarah didn't want to think about his lonely death bed. Truth be told, she didn't want to think about his lonely life either. She didn't want to think about how similar to his hers might become.
His life wouldn't have been so lonely, not if some kind soul could see all the turmoil behind his mask.
Sarah wanted the nagging voice to stop being so smart, and so well-spoken, and to go away. She told it so.
"What's that Sarah?" Hoggle asked. His forehead crinkled. "Is ya listening to me?"
"No, I," she stammered, "what did you say?"
"I's said: 'he only had one life to lead.'"
"Doesn't matter." Sarah shook her head to clear it. Her sinuses rattled. She noticed the exponential increase of her mental cussing. "I can barely keep the castle in order. He ran the labyrinth, harassed challengers, played in the political scene. I'm a failure."
"No." Hoggle's smile warmed his whole face, but it wasn't enough. "You'ra novice."
Luckily, a fit of coughing drowned out the need to reply. By the time she recovered her breathing, Sarah decided to go to bed and bid Hoggle goodnight.
In her state, she barely felt surprised to see a new off-white feather perched on the settee's pillow, just as if it belonged there with her.