Chapter Ten: Damaged and Broken

Sarah opened her eyes slowly, feeling almost worse than she had before drifting off
to sleep. Of course her body was at last rested, but her mind was still ill at ease. In
addition to everything, the excess work she had participated in the day prior made her only
that much more groggy.

Her last memory had been of those cold hands across her bare skin, and then
wakening to experience that dream. Her entire body shuddered at the thought of the
lustful fantasy, and Jareth as the man who had started the electricity in her soul.

"How dare he force these things upon me, attacking my mind!" Sarah exclaimed,
throwing the blankets aside in a fit of anger.

Her gaze immediately turned to acknowledge the fact that she was not clothed as
she had been in the nightmare. Rather she was dressed modestly, as she always was, and
had been when preparing for sleep the previous night. Sarah touched the warm gray
sweats, as if to assure herself that they were in fact real. In her mind, the gentle rustling
caress of the silken lingerie, forced another shiver down her spine.

A series of knocks upon her door broke apart the reverie. It was just as well, for
Sarah felt nearly sick thinking about what she had wished Jareth to do in her nightmare.
She raised herself to a sitting position and pasted a friendly smile upon her rather paled
face. However, to let the truth be told, she still felt remarkably better, only a touch
confused about.... everything.

"Come in," Sarah called in a pleasant voice.

The door swung open, without a creak. Obviously someone took great care to
keep such unwanted creaks out of the old doors. Peter gazed in on her and immediately
greeted her with a delighted smile. However, Sarah could not help but falter a bit in her
personality. Memories of horrid things that he had done in her dream drifted over her,
threatening and trying to prove that it had all been true. She knew better, in her heart, that
Peter would not be such a beast, and that the entire act had been directed by Jareth, using
the dream as his stage and the image of Peter as a puppet.

Peter offered to her a bound package of paper, secured with a crimson velvet
ribbon. He had obviously taken great pride in presenting the present to her in proper
form. Otherwise, she believed he would have merely allowed another person to deliver it,
lacking any extra pleasantries.

"I brought you a gift, milady," he chided, dropping into a mock bow before Sarah.

She stifled a laugh and then snatched the present from his hands. Gifts always had
a way of cheering her up. She undid the ribbon, and at once realized what he had brought
her. It was the beginning of the script, as well as what had been written over the past two
nights. She flipped through a few pages, allowing the scent of fresh paper and dried ink to
brush past her face.

"Thank you, Peter. I've been curious about this ever since arriving," Sarah stated,
allowing the script to close again.

Peter leaned in, perhaps to kiss her. However, the image of the dream, and the
way he had leered at her near naked body, suddenly drifted over her eyes. Sarah dropped
her face, so that he was left looking only at the side of her head. Peter paused and cleared
his throat, quite taken aback at Sarah's sudden coldness towards his emotions.

He sat promptly upon the bed, gazing at Sarah with a certain seriousness. She
knew what was coming, and longed to wait until later in the day to have this conversation
with Peter. It was obvious, however, that he was determined to place his feelings in the
open, where she could either accept them, or deny them.

"What happened? Yesterday I thought that you felt the same," Peter tried, but
words failed him.

Sarah tapped the script nervously with her fingernails and then ran her hands over
the bandages. They had bled during the night, leaving horrid red stains over the white
gauze. She could not look at him, which would only confuse Peter more. Sarah wished
that the horrid dream had never come, and that she had never been so frightened of his
tenderness by it.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," Sarah whispered, though she knew it was not
an answer in the least.

She heard Peter sigh, and knew very well that what he had offered her, was now
hopelessly damaged. She had broken him, had hurt him without a single thought. Sarah
finally turned her eyes to look at him, and found Peter gazing at her intently. He reached
out and took her hand into his own.

"I understand that you've been through a lot, Sarah. I want to help, but you have
to let me in. Why must you remain so detached?" Peter asked, his emerald eyes deep and
pleading for another chance at a relationship.

Sarah bit her lip, trying with all her might to remember how it had felt when Peter
had kissed her. She remembered feeling something, some strange happiness that had since
then been hidden within her broken soul. She could recall a longing for human touches,
for love, but had it all been directed towards this man? She wasn't even certain of her
own feelings at that moment.

"I'm not ready for this," Sarah stated shortly and withdrew her hand from his
grasp.

Peter nodded ever so slowly and then stood from the bed. He was crushed, and
that was evident in every aspect of his features. Sarah watched him back away, trying to
say something, anything, that could perhaps lighten the entire conversation and offer him a
bit of hope at the same time. There was nothing she could do to make it better.

"If you need to talk, Sarah, I'll be here," he remarked with a sigh, and then walked
through the door, closing it behind himself.

She remained seated atop the bed for a few scant moments, yet her stomach
growled angrily at her. All the work that they had undertaken the day prior had caused
the intense hunger. Of course, that sort of labor usually burned calories, hence the need
for sustenance.

Sarah took the script carefully in hand, determined to find out which part was hers,
and to learn her lines better than anyone else. However, before she could even begin to
study, she would have to satiate her hunger, for her stomach was quite angry. Sarah rose
from the bed and, grabbing a brush from the dresser, rushed out her door.

She ran the silver-accented brush through her snarled hair, wincing as it caught
time and again. The soft bristles almost worked as a massage for her scalp, dulling the
pain that was caused from her roughly yanked hairs.

Sarah paused at a door, only slightly down the hall from herself, that stood open.
She easily remembered what Gabrielle had said, about her room being the only other
occupied in this section. It was obvious that someone was in there, for the orange glow of
a lamp filtered out the opened door.

"Gabrielle!" Sarah exclaimed, throwing the door wide open and offering her friend
a large cheerful smile.

Yet, she had made a mistake. A young woman, with shimmering chestnut hair,
and eyes like molten chestnut, turned to look at Sarah. Trails of tears rushed down her
cheeks, to land on her already dampened dress. The lovely silken ballgown was a lovely
hue of palest cornflower blue, save the single growing area of darkened sapphire, due to
the flow of tears. She was not shocked to see Sarah in this room, but only acknowledged
her with several hitched sobs and those eternally heartbroken eyes.

Sarah nearly gasped at the sight of the woman, for at first glance one could easily
mistake the two. If it was not for Sarah's slightly more refined, older features, she would
have believed that this person was her twin. She stood for a minute in silence, before
gathering her wits back together.

"Excuse me. I-I'm so sorry for barging in like this. You must think me terribly
rude," Sarah stammered, backing away to make her quick escape from the crying woman.

The strange pale girl rose from the bed, with grace that burst from her every
movement. She clutched a pristine white handkerchief in trembling delicate hands, forever
ringing it with her grief. She walked to Sarah, staring deep into her eyes, as if searching
for something that no one else could see.

"You are so broken inside," the mysterious guest stated, taking Sarah quite by
surprise.

Sarah glanced behind herself, just to be sure that the door was still open to offer a
quick get-a-way. She had not seen this woman anytime during her short stay at Fontridge,
but she had not been looking very closely at the others. It was possible that this person
had been ill, or maybe just blended into the crowd.

The young woman reached out and grasped Sarah's forearm, coming dangerously
close to the wounds on her wrists. She flipped it over and looked closely at the bloodied
bandages. The girl touched the wounds softly and then turned her gaze back to Sarah,
almost hurt to see such a thing. Embarrassed, Sarah withdrew her arm in one quick
movement and hid the injuries from sight, behind her back and beneath the protective
material of her sweats.

"So hurt, so damaged, and nearly dead inside. The colors of youth have dulled to
black within you," the somber woman replied, turning to walk to the French doors across
the other side of the room.

Sarah nearly left at that point, but found herself drawn to this woman, and all the
mystery surrounding her. She needed to know why she was here, especially when
Gabrielle had remarked about her room being the only other occupied in this hallway.
Sarah instead walked further into the room, leaving the open door behind herself, just in
case.

"I don't understand," Sarah stated, waiting for the lady to turn and look at her
once again.

However, that was not meant to be. The strange woman merely threw open the
glass doors and stepped out on the balcony, adoring the sun rays that fought through the
light clouds that morning. Her hair glistened as if it where spun copper highlighted with
golden accents, and her gown shone with the light of a thousand hues.

Sarah waited in silence, feeling almost as black and damaged as the woman had
said she was. After all, here was someone who was truly kind, for that was evident in her
soul. After long lost, the lady spun around and offered a hand out to Sarah, so that she
too would come out on the balcony.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly. I have to go eat, and get to the script," Sarah stuttered,
waving the hand that still held the silver-laden brush to emphasize her many points.

Nonetheless, the mysterious guest continued to urge Sarah to come to her, though
did so silently. Her hand, extended in a show of trust, was all that needed to be done.
Sarah dared a single glance at the door and then walked towards the woman, never once
hesitating.

"I do really have to get going," Sarah said again, trying to get the woman to
understand that she was very hungry.

"Shh. Just look over there, past the rolling hills, and tops of ancient trees," she
commanded, pointing one dainty finger in the general direction.

Sarah did as she was told, but did not see a thing. She could easily observe the
patchy grass, the cloudy sky, even the cows grazing in the far distance. However, there
certainly was nothing out of the ordinary. She turned to look at the strange woman for an
answer, or at least and explanation.

Yet, she found that the room's resident had stepped back within the mansion, and
off of the balcony. She had her thin arms wrapped about her body, as if she was cold.
Sarah immediately rushed back inside, she herself feeling a bit of a chill, even through her
baggy sweats. She stopped beside the woman and looked into her shattered expression.

There was something about her, some strange feeling that Sarah recognized. It
was almost as if they had met before in some point of time. Yet, there had not been a
moment when Sarah could recall ever speaking, or even catching a scant glimpse of this
person. Either way, she was perplexed.

"There are ruins over there, far off past the pastures and the woods. I used to go
there often, many times. You must go sometime, Sarah, and mend that shattered soul so
that you might have your wings again, and fly home," the woman remarked, speaking in
riddles.

Sarah cleared her throat at that and began towards the open door. She was
becoming slightly worried about her new 'friend', and what was wrong with her. Sarah
turned around to pause at the door and then summoned up her courage. She was not
going to be rude and just walk out without a single word.

"Thank you for being kind, and caring about...," Sarah turned around and instantly
stopped her flow of words.

The room was entirely empty. Upon that startling sight, Sarah also realized that it
laid in shambles. The wallpaper was blackened, as if it had sustained some flames, but just
the appearance of the paper was shocking. The rest of Fontridge's walls were decorated
simply by tapestries and paintings. The bed was without a mattress, and quite broken.
The floor was completely bare and all other furniture that had since then been in the room,
was gone. Even the French doors were broken, shattered glass left laying scattered over
the floor. The drapes blowing in the wind, were tattered beyond repair.

She opened her mouth, but no sound would come out. She was terrified, but
unable to run. Sarah could only stand there, like a statue, horrified. At long last she
shook her head, her chestnut locks streaming about her face as they caught the breeze
drifting through the broken window. Still she could not utter a single sound.

"Sarah!" a voice broke her stunned state.

At once she twirled around and found herself only a few feet from Peter. His face
was set with a serious frown, and his eyes burned with rage. Sarah only bit her lip,
wondering if the way she had acted earlier had been the cause of his foul mood. However,
he had not seemed so angry then. Peter had been only upset, and perhaps disappointed
that things had not worked out.

He grasped her by the arm and nearly flung her from the room. Sarah jerked
herself away from him, now infuriated that he should treat her so poorly. She rubbed her
soar arm and then turned her anger towards him.

"How dare you..," she began, but was unable to finish.

"I can do anything I wish. This is my home, and I invited you here. I expect you
to never go into this room again! If I was thinking properly, then you would surely be
kicked out on your own! Sarah, this is your only warning!" Peter demanded, and then
quickly produced a key with which to look the door.

She backed away from him, hurt by the harsh words and still terribly shocked at
what had happened. She did not know what to say, for she doubted that Peter would
believe in ghosts. He seemed more down-to-earth than that. Instead she merely turned
about, in a blind rage, and rushed down the hallway, hopefully towards the kitchen. At
that moment she wanted only to be alone and find some food.

After that she would dwell on the other problems at hand.