Chapter Five: Silver Illusions

Sarah reached back, to grasp her flailing hand around a fold of the rich, satin
material that had made his coat. Instinctively she tore at it, hoping only to inflict as much
damage as possible, in the shortest amount of time. The sweet sound of the divine cloth
ripping rung in her ears, and despite the horrid situation, a strange smile found its way to
her paled lips.

The hands that had since then secured her in close quarters, immediately dropped
away, to leave Sarah panting and still holding the cloth in a trembling fist. She looked at
the navy color, that was evident even in such poor lighting. However, in the twinkling
moonshine she could tell that the garment was covered in a fine spray of glittering crystal
dust.

"Jareth!" she nearly growled his name.

After all she had been through, he had chosen that moment to appear to her. Sarah
twirled about and glared at the angered Goblin King. However, his foul mood was only to
last a short time. In the matter of moments his ripped jacket appeared back in its full and
natural state. All her effort had been for naught, leaving him only slightly troubled with
her 'poor manners.'

Jareth clasped his hands behind his back and flashed his normal sly smile, showing
those predatory teeth. Sarah nearly flinched, but would not allow herself the moment of
weakness. He had put her through hell. First, when he took Toby, and again when his
image remained burned forever in her mind, dreams, everything.

"I thought we could meet on more pleasant terms," Jareth took a few steps toward
Sarah, while she only retreated enough to keep their spacing the same.

"So very stubborn, that you must deny what your own heart yearns for, eternally .
Sarah, why must you torture yourself?" Jareth asked, now deciding to circle her, so that
there was nowhere to back away.

She followed him with her eyes, as a mouse might watch the cat stalking it from
nearby. She could not run, for Jareth was much too quick to allow that. Her only hope
was in keeping him at bay until help could arrive.

Just as her thoughts began to mull over that of help and escape, he swept forward.
Sarah was taken quite by surprise as a hand, still cloaked in black leather, traced a line
along her cheek and paused just at the base of her neck. Sarah shivered, unable to control
herself and the emotions his touch had invoked in her body.

"Stop!" she demanded, though her voice was not quite as powerful as she had
wished it to be.

Jareth moved his hand once again and placed it directly below her chin. Sarah was
very much free to slap him away, though she did not make a single move in that direction.
Instead, she seemed to have focused on an internal conflict. His grin deepened and Jareth
stepped closer, so that his face was but a breath from her own.

Sarah gasped, and he tilted her face upwards so that their gaze might meet. Cold
ice and pools of rich chestnut melded together in an eruption of lightning emotions. For
seconds they remained that way, both transfixed by the others equally shocked stare.

With something that resembled pain, Jareth recoiled from her and drew his hand
against his chest. It rested directly over his heart, moving only slightly from the deep
breaths that heaved through his body. The Goblin King seemed almost frightened as he
looked at her, though entirely avoiding her eyes, still able to note her confusion.

"Leave my sight!" she demanded, suddenly full of herself again, and reminded of
just who this was that she had allowed to remain so close.

Jareth dwelled a moment in that spot, as if debating doing what she had said.
Perhaps he had changed over the eight long years she had been away. Then he raised his
hand and pointed at Sarah. His face remained set, devoid of the original teasing humor
and mischief.

"You have become too involved Sarah, leave while there is still time to do so, or
your sanity will be the lowest price you will pay," Jareth warned ominously as he took
several steps backwards, and towards the fireplace.

He produced a single crystalline orb and then showed it to Sarah for a breathtaking
instant. She did not look, but instead glanced at the clock. He would not use any of his
old tricks on her, for she had become sly as well, through her hardships. He noticed her
stubbornness and tossed away all other theatrics.

"Heed my warning, young girl," Jareth declared, and then hurled the crystal in her
direction.

Sarah yelped in fear, but realized the next moment that there was nothing of which
to be frightened. The crystal collided against her stomach, but simply felt as if she had
been hit by nothing more than a feather. It toppled to the ground and then popped, as if it
had always been a bubble. She watched the remnants filter away, and then turned to see
what had become of the Goblin King while she had been distracted by his trick.

As she had guessed, Jareth no longer remained in the room with her. However, a
fleeting image of a snowy white owl, only accentuated by the jet expanse of sky, showed
her where he had gone. She was mildly surprised that there had been no grand
performance as he left. Jareth had always been one for putting on a spectacular show.

She strolled back to the window. Still Sarah felt a slight tingle down her spine
from the memory of his touch, and the breath against her ear as his intoxicating voice
drifted by, tantalized her mind. She swallowed deeply, assuring herself that this was all
unimportant, for Jareth had that effect on most every woman that happened near him.
After all, lust was quite a distance away from any feelings of love.

He had left the window ajar, allowing a cool breeze entrance into her otherwise
warm, if not a bit uncomfortable, room. Sarah grasped the window and pulled towards
herself, as if to close it against the cold night weather. A drifting scent of rain snaked
through her senses, though it still remained relatively clear outside.

Then, as if a ghost returned to terrorize her newly found peace, gentle sobs filled
the silence. Sarah paused, still glancing down to the ground, with one hand holding the
open window. The noise that she had only heard in her dreams had now entered reality.
It was as if the barrier between fantasy and actuality was ever so slowly eroding away,
until nothing was left.

"What? What do you want from me?!" Sarah demanded.

As if in response to her question the eerie gray mist that had remained beneath the
trees all through her confrontation with Jareth, suddenly edged out into the clearing. It
swirled about in strange magical patterns, those that could not have existed normally in
her world. Sarah bit her lip and dared to lean out of the window, so that she could watch
the fog twist and turn into some form that seemed nearly familiar.

Long, smooth legs, muscled and powerful formed in the same ghost-like shade as
the fog had been. Next a body, sleek and shining in the streaming moon light, which made
the entire spectacle almost silver sequined, appeared. Its neck rose, stretching to gaze into
the night sky through wide, tender eyes. The being's head, noble and majestic, turned to
look at Sarah, and acknowledged her with almost human sadness. Silver rivers of hair,
forming the spirit horse's mane and tail, rode a lone breeze that drifted over it.

Sarah placed her shaking hand over her mouth, attempting to block the cries of
shock that struggled to break free. Still the horse watched her, not moving from the spot
at which it had formed. She stepped away from the window, drawing it closed with
silence and grace Sarah had believed she lacked. Even her withdrawal did not disturb the
creature, but rather only intensified the yearning, sad gleam in its deep chestnut eyes.

"Sleep. I'm just tired," Sarah muttered as she trembled uncontrollably.

Still the image of the horse was burnt forever in her mind. She was unable to
ignore its presence, for the power of its gaze drilled right through the wall and to her very
soul. Sarah laid upon the downy bed and turned from the window.

The sobbing deepened, circling her entire shivering form. Sarah wrapped the
covers around her body and buried her face in the pillows. Despite her greatest attempts
to achieve silence, the crying broke through, almost as if it emanated from her mind and
not some point in the room.

She snapped her eyes back open and turned to glance about, perhaps see if some
phantom woman had not found her way into the haunted room. Gabrielle had warned, but
she had not quite told Sarah the extent of the troubles the room faced each night, or at
least that certain time... the witching hour.

"Please," Sarah muttered, drawing the sheets up to her chin in some childish form
of protection.

She could only pray that it was a nightmare. However, since sleep still managed to
evade her tired body, Sarah doubted that that was a possibility. Her deep breaths mingled
with the air in the room, the latter of the two which had quite suddenly become noticeably
cold. It was such an intense chill which bit through her blankets, sheets, and clothes, and
turned her breath into a spray of white mist. She watched it drift away and then fade, only
to return with her next exhale.

The crying strengthened, maddening in its power. It echoed, reverberating back
and forth until Sarah could not tell which was the actual spirit. She was sure that
everyone would hear the nearly deafening sobs and hitches for air. Yet, no one knocked
on her door, nor did she hear the faintest call of another human in the entire manor. Sarah
was alone.

"Stop. Stop. Stop!" she screamed, clutching her hands over her ears.

This time there was a sound, but not that of help. Instead a medley of whispers in
strange languages she did not understand. They came from all corners, though none
reaching the decibel the crying phantom had. Just as suddenly as they had begun, the
voices faded away. It took nearly five minutes before the last sound drifted to her ears,
and then silence blanketed everything.

She dared to look at that point, and opened her blurred and burning eyes. The
only constant noise was that of the clock, ticking on and on towards two in the morning.
Sleep would not be possible that night, which would leave Sarah a complete mess once
rehearsal time happened around.

Of course the clock took no notice of her plight and continued its rhythmic sounds.
And yet, even with that firm normalcy as a clock's tocks, Sarah found a strange uncertain
difference disguised only slightly. It was almost like the high chipping sound of something
sharp striking glass, to the beat of the timepiece.

"Perhaps a tree limb brushes the window when the wind blows," Sarah thought to
herself, though already did not believe the feeble excuse.

She knew very well that there was no tree anywhere near Fontridge Manor. Sarah
had easily seen the clearing the mansion sat within. The only explanation for the strange,
continuing sound, would be one more fantastic than a regular tree. She could nearly see
the cause of the disturbance, without even looking at the window.

With a grand sigh, to hide the fear that was still so embedded in her every
movement, Sarah rose from her bed. The covers fell, unceremoniously to the ground in a
rather crumpled heap. Their luxuriant appearance lowered to that of regular linen, and
messy at that. However, the sure sin she had committed by treating such grand material in
a horrid way went unnoticed as Sarah strode towards the window in attempts to act as her
normal, defiant self.

A flash of shadows, grayed against the still curtain, appeared before her widened
eyes. Sarah paused, gasping in shock. She had certainly not expected to see such an
obvious sign of 'his' presence, as that of the white owl trying desperately to enter into her
room. However, there it was, if only in shadow form behind the curtain, amidst a flurry of
wings.

"Jareth! How dare you...," her voice cut off as she drew the curtain aside, to
accentuate her point.

In an instant the owl vanished, and a low thrumming sound of pure energy
attacked her. Sarah winced, but was unable to do much more. It only lasted for the
briefest time, before everything simply exploded upon her. The glass of the window
shattered, and shards rained upon her as Sarah tried to block the onslaught with her tender
hands.

A thrill of pain rushed through her wrists, and instantly the world swam in crimson
tides of nausea. Sarah plummeted to the ground, falling painfully atop large, slicing pieces
of glass and gritted bits that had been completely shattered. Her hands fell into her lap,
but all she managed to do was gaze in stunned horror at her two slashed wrists, in the
same spot as where scars could be found. Even as blood, thick and nearly black against
her white sweats in the darkness, began to pool, Sarah did not scream nor make a move to
help herself.

She merely closed her eyes, and slowly slumped backwards, into what she believed
to be the hard, carpeted floor. Yet, she did not strike any surface, but rather continued to
fall into nothing. It was nearly like falling from a dream, when one is hovering between the
realms of sleeping and waking. Everything was dowsed in cold gray tones, and all was
suddenly silent.

Sarah bolted straight up in her bed and gasped a struggled breath into her burning
lungs. Wild, nearly crazed eyes scanned the entire room, and at last she leaned back into
the gentle pillows that had cradled her head through the night. Yet, what a night it had
been!

"A dream, nothing but a dream," Sarah muttered to herself, raising one trembling
hand to sweep a stray lock of hair from her face.

It was then, that she realized the true horror of the night prior. Her hand was
smeared in blood, and turning it over revealed a large gash that still oozed the red
substance. Everywhere she saw it, covering her vision like a fog. Her mind rushed in
circles, unable to find any rationale reasoning that could work with this situation.

With intensity that could have very well rivaled that of the most primal beast,
Sarah screamed, and did not stop until frantic voices where heard from outside of her
door.