Chapter Sixteen: Emelia Fontridge
Sarah clutched the chipped, and slick bricks that formed the ancient wall, with
numb fingers. Her entire hand lacked most feeling, as did the major portion of her body.
After the rain had subsided, deeply frigid wind had taken the opportunity to attack. She
shivered uncontrollably and the dress hung like icicles about her chest.
Nonetheless, the deterrence would not hinder her progress towards the center of
the ruins. Never had she seen such a piece of history, hidden away from the rest of the
world by the expanse of forest. Despite the distance between it and civilization, still the
walls had crumbled, and the door laid rusted on the muddy ground.
"Wh-wh-why...?" Sarah tried to ask the phantom horse, though she knew very
well that the animal had left quite some time ago.
She was unable to speak, for her blue-tinged lips worked awkwardly, denying her
control over them. Without warning, another vicious onslaught of icy wind cut like a
knife through the barricade of trees. Sarah recoiled behind the wall nearest to her, but
found little solace in its ancient masonry. She slumped to the ground, clutching her arms
around her knees in attempt to gather what little warmth still remained with her.
It seemed that, despite her determination, she would not succeed in seeing what
the horse had been so forceful about. There had to be something more than simple ruins.
For there was nothing more to learn here than a brief history lesson about the previous
occupants of the crumbling remains. Perhaps one day, long ago, it had been a grand
estate, but not any longer.
Sarah huddled into the one remaining corner, which conjoined the two tallest
walls. This offered the most shelter that could be possible in such an open area. Sarah
squirmed against the bricks, slopping mud over her legs in the process.
Her numbed knee struck one loosened brick, and a flare of pain died away
instantly. The skin no longer felt, nor did it hurt. Sarah looked dumbly down towards her
injury, which had begun to trickle blood, ever so slowly. Bright crimson beads, the shade
that her dress had once been, mingled with the pattering remnants of rain and slipped
delicately to the forest floor.
*What?* she thought, knowing already that to speak would prove only useless.
The brick she had struck, had slipped slightly, giving way to a dark hole in the
midst of the wall. Never had she guessed the walls to be that thick, but obviously she had
been wrong. Sarah grabbed the heavy brick several times, fumbling with her
uncooperative fingers against the slick surface.
At long last it glided to the mud, raising a stream of droplets which splattered her
already soiled face. Sarah wiped at several specks of mud, but only succeeded in smearing
them across her cheek and forehead, but then paid them no attention. What good would it
do, for she was stuck in the elements, hopelessly lost, and in the midst of a freezing storm.
Still, her curiosity had been sparked, and she (once again) found her determination
raising its ugly head within her soul. Curiosity and determination, they were both her
downfalls. Without a thought about what could be lurking in the dark hole that laid
exposed in the side of the wall, Sarah probed inside with one slender hand.
Instantly she felt something, quite out of the ordinary at that. She furrowed her
brow, trying desperately to convince her hands to grasp the object, despite how awkward
and heavy it was. In one final pleading moment, she firmly caught the corner of the
mysterious treasure, and pulled it free, missing the mud by mere inches.
"B-b-b...," Sarah stuttered, her teeth chattering as another unrelenting gust tore at
her interesting find.
*Book, book!* her mind demanded, but her lips would not comply.
It was luck that the steady sprinkle of raindrops ceased at that moment, leaving the
book safe in the open. The thing appeared to be ancient, and the reason for its good
appearance puzzled Sarah more than finding it in the wall. Surely those who lived in the
estate had found their own hiding places for precious items. However, it had been so
long, and she believed that the pages would have long ago crumbled to dust.
The cover, made from a rich burgundy shade of crushed velvet, appeared worn,
which was the only evidence of the item's actual age. She could only guess at when this
book had been new, or when it had been hidden, or why it had been forgotten as the grand
mansion slowly tumbled to the ground, relenting to the years and lack of attention. Or
perhaps...
Sarah opened the cover to gaze in awe at the intricate network of spiraling vines,
embossed in gold, which decorated the simple front page. In the center of the artwork a
name had been scripted, in fine slanting penmanship. It too bore the same golden
appearance as the vines.
Her shock was evident, as her mouth dropped and her breath hitched in. Sarah
clasped the book closed, and slammed it down upon the brick that had slipped to the mud
puddle beside her. The name, the name simply could not be. It didn't make any sense.
However, it had been there, and Sarah relented as she stroked the velvet cover
with a single shaking finger. These ruins were, by far, Fontridge's elder, and could have
very well been vacant at the time of the other mansion's youth. In that sense, such a place
would prove a fabulous hiding spot, as well as a secret, silent get-away.
*Emelia Fontridge. Were you the girl Gabrielle told me about?* Sarah thought,
entirely encompassed by the past, and the taste of history which sat directly beside her.
The book seemed so inconspicuous, bearing a few spattered dots of mud upon its lovely
cover.
With a shaking breath, which produced a fine cloud of vapor in the chilled air,
Sarah lifted the large book into her hands once again, avoiding her damp clothes in the
process. Once again curiosity would get the better of her; she would be forced to look at
the ancient book that had once belonged to a young girl, living far from everyone else, in a
lovely fairytale mansion. She must have been miserable.
Sarah paused once again on the first page, still amazed at how well skilled the
young Emelia had been with the pen. Her name seemed to be a piece of art, crafted upon
the paper, and fitted into letters which formed her lovely name. Sarah almost managed a
smile, but her lips convulsed as she pulled them tight. She bit them for control and
perhaps to blow some of the warmth from her air over their numbness.
Then, her hands shaking, but not entirely from the frigid weather, she turned the
cover page. Sarah stared scrutinizing at the next yellowed, thick sheet of paper. Atop
was a date, done in the same vine-like calligraphy as had been present on the first.
Directly below that, Emelia had begun to write.
*Her diary,* Sarah thought.
She had given up on conversational speech, finding it much easier to think than try
to make her numb lips form coherent words. She swallowed deeply, now unsure about
continuing on, in fear of rampaging in on some adolescent's deepest, darkest secrets, and
everything that had been special to her. Sarah sighed, debating the pros and cons in her
overactive mind.
The girl had been dead for quite some time, and surely that would give Sarah every
right to go ahead and read. After all, many people had read Anne Frank's diary. It was
practically required in most every highschool. That had been the same secrets and feelings
as were found in this.
Sarah touched the page as she thought and briefly went over the first sentence,
considering still if she dared to continue. However, after finishing it any and all questions
the ethics surrounding this situation, even though Emelia had been deceased for some
time, were cast away.
"I have met Hell today. The grand spectacle of Fontridge Manor may seem like an
answer to father and mother, but I find the estate dark...foreboding. I wish to return
nearer the town, and leave the damp, stormy weather found in the bleak countryside.
There is little hope for my plight, and my only solace lies in the comfort of the woods, so
mysterious and ancient. Father and Mother would not approve of my wandering through
their many trials daily, but they have yet to discover my well-hidden secret," at that Sarah
stopped her reading and glanced around.
Emelia had been captivated by the woods as well. Her mind worked in ways
similar to Sarah's own. Another unnerving shiver worked its way down Sarah's spine. It
was time to leave, or else she could easily fall ill, lost in the largely overgrown forest.
Sarah forced herself to raise, clasping the diary firmly in her hands as she made her
way through the sticky mud puddles, and deeper pools of water, some of which she found
reaching to the midline of her calf. The icy water, and attacking wind, did not hinder
Sarah, even as she scaled the foliage wall, and gradually (as if led by some unknown divine
intervention) made her way back to Fontridge.
A blackened area, perhaps only a dozen acres in circumference, was the only
evidence of the fire Sarah had witnessed ignite. Gray ash lumped around one fallen tree,
evidence that it had succumbed to the power of the flames, however short lived they had
been. She skirted the entire devastated area.
Sarah could not begin to estimate at how long she had been out in the forest, or
subject to the intense weather, but merely knew that her entire body felt far too heavy, and
her muscles ached. She trudged on, dragging the heavy ruined dress, just another added
weight.
Her bare feet, torn blistered and bloodied from countless harsh rocks and thorn
ridden vines, stung relentlessly with each agonizing step. Even her legs felt as if they
would collapse beneath her, lacking any strength. She stumbled briefly, falling against a
near by oak tree, and striking her should against the rough bark.
"Help...h-help," Sarah struggled, her voice raspy and barely audible over the
roaring wind.
She clutched the diary close to her chest, thinking not about the wet material
which would soak the old, delicate pages. The ink had lasted this long, and she could only
hope that it would continue to remain in its near mint condition. The cover now had
darkened when exposed to the wetness of her dress, and seemed almost purple, instead of
the lovely shade it had been before.
She slunk, unrelenting, to the muddy floor. The puddle resting at the base of the
large ancient oak, greeted her sinking body. It laid amidst the massive roots, which jutted
forth from muddy soil. Sarah folded her legs beneath her, ignoring the pins and needles
that attacked at the presence of the icy water.
"H-help," she begged, unable to speak any longer, but rather forced a series of
raspy breaths from her vocal chords.
However, at her pleas the wind died, leaving the woods in an eerie moment of
calmness. All around darkness still presided, and the heavy gray clouds overhead
remained. Still, it seemed warmer, if only a few scant degrees. Somewhere in the distance
a light, purest white in its shade, began to form and creep ever closer to Sarah's exhausted
form.
She watched in awe, and terror. Fearing that this thing had come to claim her, and
take her from the living. She shuddered, unable to control the convulsive shivers which
gripped her every muscle in a sudden icy clench. She huddled against the tree. However,
little protection was offered from the ever approaching light.
"No," Sarah thought, her mind trying in desperation to convince her body to rise
and run, flee from the potential threat of danger.
She was helpless, and merely watched as the illumination paused, only a few feet in
front of her now. Sarah turned her widened eyes upwards, realizing for the first time that
a strange blur had begun to cover her vision. Perhaps her time of suffering had ended, and
at last she would be at peace. Sarah allowed a brief relief to pass over her emotions, and
slumped against the tree.
A hand broke through the barrier of white light, and touched a stray strand of her
matted chestnut locks. They hung, dripping sullenly down her ashen face. Sarah recoiled
from the tender touch and gazed, frightened, at the figure whom now stood, domineering
before her.
"J-J-Jareth," Sarah stuttered, her hoarseness only slightly louder than silence.
He smiled, appearing resplendent as he always did. A cocky grin spread across his
countenance, and slightly pointed teeth flashed in a predatory light. Sarah shook her head,
and grasped for some form of a handhold against the tall tree behind her. She did not wish
to be in Jareth's debt. Even if it meant death.
'....Certain death...ohhhh," memories of the labyrinth suddenly bombarded her
fragile mind.
"'You can't take anything for granted...'"
Her mind spun feverishly in odd spiraling formation of thoughts. She grasped for
coherency, but found the results horribly lacking. And the onslaught continued.
"'That's your opinion'...
'And you Sarah, how are you enjoying my labyrinth?'...
'A piece of cake'..."
A seductive grin, leaning in to entice her with certain feelings of attraction. He had
known from the beginning how to send her heart fluttering madly. Even now, drenched
and relenting to the cold, Jareth edged nearer and stroked her icy face with his leather
gloved hand.
"Come, Sarah," he spoke with a sigh, as if suddenly defeated when he had been so
very far ahead.
At that moment, when he lifted her into his strong arms, she found consciousness
slipping away. Perhaps it had been the effect of such intense magic overcoming her
weakened body, but Sarah did not experience the journey to Fontridge, nor did she realize
how she managed to find her way to her room.
However, the feelings of lips, tender and coursing with unbridled magic, upon her
forehead, was unmistakable. The memory sat with her, even as she rolled over in a warm,
comforting bed, and drifted off into a deep sleep.
Sarah clutched the chipped, and slick bricks that formed the ancient wall, with
numb fingers. Her entire hand lacked most feeling, as did the major portion of her body.
After the rain had subsided, deeply frigid wind had taken the opportunity to attack. She
shivered uncontrollably and the dress hung like icicles about her chest.
Nonetheless, the deterrence would not hinder her progress towards the center of
the ruins. Never had she seen such a piece of history, hidden away from the rest of the
world by the expanse of forest. Despite the distance between it and civilization, still the
walls had crumbled, and the door laid rusted on the muddy ground.
"Wh-wh-why...?" Sarah tried to ask the phantom horse, though she knew very
well that the animal had left quite some time ago.
She was unable to speak, for her blue-tinged lips worked awkwardly, denying her
control over them. Without warning, another vicious onslaught of icy wind cut like a
knife through the barricade of trees. Sarah recoiled behind the wall nearest to her, but
found little solace in its ancient masonry. She slumped to the ground, clutching her arms
around her knees in attempt to gather what little warmth still remained with her.
It seemed that, despite her determination, she would not succeed in seeing what
the horse had been so forceful about. There had to be something more than simple ruins.
For there was nothing more to learn here than a brief history lesson about the previous
occupants of the crumbling remains. Perhaps one day, long ago, it had been a grand
estate, but not any longer.
Sarah huddled into the one remaining corner, which conjoined the two tallest
walls. This offered the most shelter that could be possible in such an open area. Sarah
squirmed against the bricks, slopping mud over her legs in the process.
Her numbed knee struck one loosened brick, and a flare of pain died away
instantly. The skin no longer felt, nor did it hurt. Sarah looked dumbly down towards her
injury, which had begun to trickle blood, ever so slowly. Bright crimson beads, the shade
that her dress had once been, mingled with the pattering remnants of rain and slipped
delicately to the forest floor.
*What?* she thought, knowing already that to speak would prove only useless.
The brick she had struck, had slipped slightly, giving way to a dark hole in the
midst of the wall. Never had she guessed the walls to be that thick, but obviously she had
been wrong. Sarah grabbed the heavy brick several times, fumbling with her
uncooperative fingers against the slick surface.
At long last it glided to the mud, raising a stream of droplets which splattered her
already soiled face. Sarah wiped at several specks of mud, but only succeeded in smearing
them across her cheek and forehead, but then paid them no attention. What good would it
do, for she was stuck in the elements, hopelessly lost, and in the midst of a freezing storm.
Still, her curiosity had been sparked, and she (once again) found her determination
raising its ugly head within her soul. Curiosity and determination, they were both her
downfalls. Without a thought about what could be lurking in the dark hole that laid
exposed in the side of the wall, Sarah probed inside with one slender hand.
Instantly she felt something, quite out of the ordinary at that. She furrowed her
brow, trying desperately to convince her hands to grasp the object, despite how awkward
and heavy it was. In one final pleading moment, she firmly caught the corner of the
mysterious treasure, and pulled it free, missing the mud by mere inches.
"B-b-b...," Sarah stuttered, her teeth chattering as another unrelenting gust tore at
her interesting find.
*Book, book!* her mind demanded, but her lips would not comply.
It was luck that the steady sprinkle of raindrops ceased at that moment, leaving the
book safe in the open. The thing appeared to be ancient, and the reason for its good
appearance puzzled Sarah more than finding it in the wall. Surely those who lived in the
estate had found their own hiding places for precious items. However, it had been so
long, and she believed that the pages would have long ago crumbled to dust.
The cover, made from a rich burgundy shade of crushed velvet, appeared worn,
which was the only evidence of the item's actual age. She could only guess at when this
book had been new, or when it had been hidden, or why it had been forgotten as the grand
mansion slowly tumbled to the ground, relenting to the years and lack of attention. Or
perhaps...
Sarah opened the cover to gaze in awe at the intricate network of spiraling vines,
embossed in gold, which decorated the simple front page. In the center of the artwork a
name had been scripted, in fine slanting penmanship. It too bore the same golden
appearance as the vines.
Her shock was evident, as her mouth dropped and her breath hitched in. Sarah
clasped the book closed, and slammed it down upon the brick that had slipped to the mud
puddle beside her. The name, the name simply could not be. It didn't make any sense.
However, it had been there, and Sarah relented as she stroked the velvet cover
with a single shaking finger. These ruins were, by far, Fontridge's elder, and could have
very well been vacant at the time of the other mansion's youth. In that sense, such a place
would prove a fabulous hiding spot, as well as a secret, silent get-away.
*Emelia Fontridge. Were you the girl Gabrielle told me about?* Sarah thought,
entirely encompassed by the past, and the taste of history which sat directly beside her.
The book seemed so inconspicuous, bearing a few spattered dots of mud upon its lovely
cover.
With a shaking breath, which produced a fine cloud of vapor in the chilled air,
Sarah lifted the large book into her hands once again, avoiding her damp clothes in the
process. Once again curiosity would get the better of her; she would be forced to look at
the ancient book that had once belonged to a young girl, living far from everyone else, in a
lovely fairytale mansion. She must have been miserable.
Sarah paused once again on the first page, still amazed at how well skilled the
young Emelia had been with the pen. Her name seemed to be a piece of art, crafted upon
the paper, and fitted into letters which formed her lovely name. Sarah almost managed a
smile, but her lips convulsed as she pulled them tight. She bit them for control and
perhaps to blow some of the warmth from her air over their numbness.
Then, her hands shaking, but not entirely from the frigid weather, she turned the
cover page. Sarah stared scrutinizing at the next yellowed, thick sheet of paper. Atop
was a date, done in the same vine-like calligraphy as had been present on the first.
Directly below that, Emelia had begun to write.
*Her diary,* Sarah thought.
She had given up on conversational speech, finding it much easier to think than try
to make her numb lips form coherent words. She swallowed deeply, now unsure about
continuing on, in fear of rampaging in on some adolescent's deepest, darkest secrets, and
everything that had been special to her. Sarah sighed, debating the pros and cons in her
overactive mind.
The girl had been dead for quite some time, and surely that would give Sarah every
right to go ahead and read. After all, many people had read Anne Frank's diary. It was
practically required in most every highschool. That had been the same secrets and feelings
as were found in this.
Sarah touched the page as she thought and briefly went over the first sentence,
considering still if she dared to continue. However, after finishing it any and all questions
the ethics surrounding this situation, even though Emelia had been deceased for some
time, were cast away.
"I have met Hell today. The grand spectacle of Fontridge Manor may seem like an
answer to father and mother, but I find the estate dark...foreboding. I wish to return
nearer the town, and leave the damp, stormy weather found in the bleak countryside.
There is little hope for my plight, and my only solace lies in the comfort of the woods, so
mysterious and ancient. Father and Mother would not approve of my wandering through
their many trials daily, but they have yet to discover my well-hidden secret," at that Sarah
stopped her reading and glanced around.
Emelia had been captivated by the woods as well. Her mind worked in ways
similar to Sarah's own. Another unnerving shiver worked its way down Sarah's spine. It
was time to leave, or else she could easily fall ill, lost in the largely overgrown forest.
Sarah forced herself to raise, clasping the diary firmly in her hands as she made her
way through the sticky mud puddles, and deeper pools of water, some of which she found
reaching to the midline of her calf. The icy water, and attacking wind, did not hinder
Sarah, even as she scaled the foliage wall, and gradually (as if led by some unknown divine
intervention) made her way back to Fontridge.
A blackened area, perhaps only a dozen acres in circumference, was the only
evidence of the fire Sarah had witnessed ignite. Gray ash lumped around one fallen tree,
evidence that it had succumbed to the power of the flames, however short lived they had
been. She skirted the entire devastated area.
Sarah could not begin to estimate at how long she had been out in the forest, or
subject to the intense weather, but merely knew that her entire body felt far too heavy, and
her muscles ached. She trudged on, dragging the heavy ruined dress, just another added
weight.
Her bare feet, torn blistered and bloodied from countless harsh rocks and thorn
ridden vines, stung relentlessly with each agonizing step. Even her legs felt as if they
would collapse beneath her, lacking any strength. She stumbled briefly, falling against a
near by oak tree, and striking her should against the rough bark.
"Help...h-help," Sarah struggled, her voice raspy and barely audible over the
roaring wind.
She clutched the diary close to her chest, thinking not about the wet material
which would soak the old, delicate pages. The ink had lasted this long, and she could only
hope that it would continue to remain in its near mint condition. The cover now had
darkened when exposed to the wetness of her dress, and seemed almost purple, instead of
the lovely shade it had been before.
She slunk, unrelenting, to the muddy floor. The puddle resting at the base of the
large ancient oak, greeted her sinking body. It laid amidst the massive roots, which jutted
forth from muddy soil. Sarah folded her legs beneath her, ignoring the pins and needles
that attacked at the presence of the icy water.
"H-help," she begged, unable to speak any longer, but rather forced a series of
raspy breaths from her vocal chords.
However, at her pleas the wind died, leaving the woods in an eerie moment of
calmness. All around darkness still presided, and the heavy gray clouds overhead
remained. Still, it seemed warmer, if only a few scant degrees. Somewhere in the distance
a light, purest white in its shade, began to form and creep ever closer to Sarah's exhausted
form.
She watched in awe, and terror. Fearing that this thing had come to claim her, and
take her from the living. She shuddered, unable to control the convulsive shivers which
gripped her every muscle in a sudden icy clench. She huddled against the tree. However,
little protection was offered from the ever approaching light.
"No," Sarah thought, her mind trying in desperation to convince her body to rise
and run, flee from the potential threat of danger.
She was helpless, and merely watched as the illumination paused, only a few feet in
front of her now. Sarah turned her widened eyes upwards, realizing for the first time that
a strange blur had begun to cover her vision. Perhaps her time of suffering had ended, and
at last she would be at peace. Sarah allowed a brief relief to pass over her emotions, and
slumped against the tree.
A hand broke through the barrier of white light, and touched a stray strand of her
matted chestnut locks. They hung, dripping sullenly down her ashen face. Sarah recoiled
from the tender touch and gazed, frightened, at the figure whom now stood, domineering
before her.
"J-J-Jareth," Sarah stuttered, her hoarseness only slightly louder than silence.
He smiled, appearing resplendent as he always did. A cocky grin spread across his
countenance, and slightly pointed teeth flashed in a predatory light. Sarah shook her head,
and grasped for some form of a handhold against the tall tree behind her. She did not wish
to be in Jareth's debt. Even if it meant death.
'....Certain death...ohhhh," memories of the labyrinth suddenly bombarded her
fragile mind.
"'You can't take anything for granted...'"
Her mind spun feverishly in odd spiraling formation of thoughts. She grasped for
coherency, but found the results horribly lacking. And the onslaught continued.
"'That's your opinion'...
'And you Sarah, how are you enjoying my labyrinth?'...
'A piece of cake'..."
A seductive grin, leaning in to entice her with certain feelings of attraction. He had
known from the beginning how to send her heart fluttering madly. Even now, drenched
and relenting to the cold, Jareth edged nearer and stroked her icy face with his leather
gloved hand.
"Come, Sarah," he spoke with a sigh, as if suddenly defeated when he had been so
very far ahead.
At that moment, when he lifted her into his strong arms, she found consciousness
slipping away. Perhaps it had been the effect of such intense magic overcoming her
weakened body, but Sarah did not experience the journey to Fontridge, nor did she realize
how she managed to find her way to her room.
However, the feelings of lips, tender and coursing with unbridled magic, upon her
forehead, was unmistakable. The memory sat with her, even as she rolled over in a warm,
comforting bed, and drifted off into a deep sleep.
