Chapter Seventeen, part 1: Eyes of the Fae
Sarah rolled over, and moaned as a sharp object jutted painfully into her tender
back. In fact, that was not the only pain she was suffering as she rose from deep slumber.
She fluttered her sleep-fogged eyes open, cringing against the onslaught of sun which
suddenly burst into her vision without warning. She realized, trying to sit up, that her
entire body ached in a dull throbbing agony.
"What...what happened?" her voice came out as a mere croak, terribly hoarse, and
during the rehearsals!
Sarah glanced down at herself in disgust. She was covered in grime, and her hair
hung in sickening tangled masses, filled with twigs and chunks of crusted dirt. The dress,
if one could still call it that, had been ripped, shredded, and torn to rags, and then covered
in the same dark mud that she found on her skin. The bandaged which once bound the
wounds on her wrists, fell in crumpled heaps on her lap, bloodied and soiled. Even her
feet were bruised, and held the evidence of dried blood around several clotted lacerations.
Her mind, however, was a blank as to what had happened the night prior.
Obviously something horrid. There had been a horrendous storm, she knew that much to
be true. The memory of lightning coursing across the dark sky, and rain pelting violently
to the ground, was still fresh. However, why would such an adventure be completely lost,
as it most evidently was.
Sarah moved to swing her feet over the edge of the bed, which was surprisingly
devoid of any dirt and grime, but only managed in knocking a mysterious object to the
ground. It landed with a dull thump, and instantly the slightly damp cover fell open,
revealing finely interwoven gold vines, surrounding an equally intricate name.
"Emelia?" Sarah pondered, tasting the name as if it were some fine wine.
This struck a memory, hidden somewhere beneath a cloud of forgetfulness. Of
course, the book obviously had belonged to the girl, but where had she found the thing to
begin with.
"There was a wall, fallen down and... and a dark nook where it had been hidden.
Some secret hiding place out in...," Sarah stopped her pointless jabbering and her jaw
dropped as remembrance struck with all the power of a tidal wave.
She fumbled with words, trying to break the unnerving nature of all the
circumstances, but was unable to say a thing. She knew very little about returning to
Fontridge, but could easily recall Jareth, in all his usual frightening glory, taking her into
his arms. The rest could easily be deduced. He had brought her here, and had left the
book, which actually was a kind act on his part.
Sarah reached down and retrieved the book. She was, of course, interested in
what she would find in such an ancient diary, but her repulsive appearance came first.
There was no possible way she could stand to see herself, covered in dirt and grime, and
clothed in the brown rag. Sarah nearly gagged at the feel of wet mud against her stomach
and set the diary gently upon the bed, avoiding all wet and muddy spots.
It would just have to wait until after her shower.
* * * * * * * *
Sarah returned to her new room, ( found only a few doors away from the previous
one which had succumbed to a raging fire), a white robe tied loosely about her waist and a
towel, matching white in color, which she used to dry her long locks of wet hair. A thick
feeling of rejuvenation filled her soul, making the entire outlook for the day one of
optimism and not regrets. Perhaps she would not make her way down to the rehearsals
that morning, but rather delve into the life of one who had long since passed away.
"Well Emelia," Sarah stated as she carelessly tossed the towel atop one velvet
upholstered chair, "Why don't we just see what secrets you kept hidden so very far away."
She fell upon the bed and immediately grabbed the diary, as if unable to hold back.
After all, things such as this had always amazed Sarah to no end. A natural companion to
a love of fantasy was an obsession with the past. Especially such regal times, as in which
Emelia lived.
Sarah allowed a melancholy sigh to escape from between her lips and then fell
back, clutching the book ever tighter. The shear anxiousness that coursed through her
system was only matched with that of apprehension, and concerns about Emelia's privacy.
Surely the mere fact that the girl, or rather woman, was dead gave Sarah a right to read
what she had written. Then again....
"Would I want someone reading my own diary?" she asked herself, running a
slender finger over the lovely cover.
Sarah paused a moment longer, unable to decide between her curiosity and her
concerns. However, the pains she had gone through to get the diary proved to be the
deciding factor and she quickly flipped it open, to the page that had already been started
the night prior, in the midst of the raging storm.
"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.
There also is some enjoyment in the weekly visits paid to the market, where one can find any odd
trinkets that have ever entered one's imagination. Mother loves the ribbons, and art, and urges me to find these
items as alluring as that of the books and poetry, for which my passion lies. They do not understand, but they
never have. Meanwhile Father fancies the swords and tack for the scores of horses he plans on purchasing
shortly. I wish only for a lovely mare, whom can take me quicker into the forest and to the secret destination.
I shall write soon diary, for, one of those lovely outings to the market place I have mentioned, shall
occur today. Father beckons and I must answer at once. I will continue at a later date."
That entry ended with a lovely cursive signature. However, not quite as formal as
that found on the first page. She signed it merely with the less splendid title of "Emily."
Perhaps a pet name that had been used by her parents. Sarah's imagination was able to
form any of a thousand different interpretations.
Yet, there was no time to stop. Already her entire soul was encompassed by the
diary and she longed to read more. With a flip of the page a whole new day was revealed
and Sarah eagerly continued on with the entry.
"Today my life has changed. The most amazing creature perhaps ever placed upon this earth spoke to
me, and I felt myself melt at his voice. Is it too soon to speak of love?....
* * * * * * * *
* I had only to arrive, and stray from Mother's side, when I first saw him. He was cloaked as a
noble, but served at a new stall, one which dealt in literature*
Emelia paused as she entered the marketplace, her Mother at her side, while her
Father hurried off once more to speak to friends about this and that. The women were left
alone, as they always were, and it would only be a matter of time before Emelia wandered
off, unbeknownst to her proper Mother.
The same faces greeted her, offering their most pleasant smiles and kind words.
Many remarked on how lovely Emelia had become, even if only a week had passed since
the last time they had seen each other. She merely nodded in response and offered a polite
smile, keeping silent as she continued along behind her Mother.
"That lovely bonnet would look darling with your riding costume, don't you
believe Emelia?" her Mother questioned as she took the green hat into her hands.
Emelia nodded briefly, but averted her gaze to the areas of her choice. She longed
to purchase the newest literary material, and revel in some of the more alluring poems.
Her Mother would surely frown on such things, but she was currently overcome by the
startling amount of new merchandise to arrive, along with the darling riding bonnet.
Emelia tip toed off, her long skirts lifted enough to avoid soiling the pristine material.
Once enough distance had been forged between herself and the power of her
Mother, Emelia dropped the tedious and heavy material and quickly made her way to the
novels. The man busily categorizing and counting glanced up and laughed as the young
lady approached. He had grown accustomed to her secretive ventures to his stall, and
greeted them merrily each time.
"Well Emily, what are ye in search of this time?" he asked, his merry voice ringing
splendidly.
She pulled nervously at a ringlet of brunette hair, cast with highlights of auburn,
and scanned the many titles. There were so many, countless actually, and certainly no way
to ever read every one. However, she longed to do just that. The stories brought her out
of her life, the dull thing, and into a world of amazing adventure, fantasy, everything and
anything that was not her current situation.
"As of yet, I am not quite sure. These novels all appear so...," she paused, her
deep brown eyes flicking about the other venders that had arrived that day.
Her gaze abruptly halted at the sight of the young man, his golden locks
shimmering in the sun and his hypnotizing eyes staring directly at her. He did not change
his gaze, but merely allowed a slanted smile to grace his lovely features. If it had not been
for the hand on her shoulder, Emelia most certainly would have swooned at that moment,
overcome by the intensity of the stranger's eyes.
"Emily, child!" the man behind her called, shaking briefly to regain her attention.
She spun about, tearing her gaze from the mysterious man. However, his slender,
regal features still remained chiseled forever in her mind, even as she bent forward to
inquire as to whom the man was.
"Do you know of that young man, the one who looked at me so very oddly?" she
asked, her voice barely audible.
The older vender also glanced down the cobbled aisles which were kept open
between the many wooden stalls. At the very end, nearly out of the ring of shops, rested a
booth he had not noticed earlier that morning, around dawn, when all the regulars were
busily preparing merchandise.
The man had turned from direct view, now talking to another young lady. The
woman seemed nearly as captivated as Emelia had been, a scroll clutched closely to her
bosom, nearly tearing the delicate paper as the lad spoke. He bent in very near, a single
hand stretched out to sweep a lock of auburn hair from the young woman's brow. She
instantly blushed, turning her face downwards and covering her burning cheeks with a
pristine gloved hand.
The man merely leaned back, a wonderfully musical laughter erupting from his thin
lips. His customer looked up again, almost as if she was a deer, held in the sights of a
hunters gun. Then, without warning, the blonde youth looked back at the old man, who
could not make sense of the stranger. His gaze was more powerful than any that could be
imagined, and at first glance stories of the Fae leaped into the aged vender's mind.
"Be wary of that one, Emily. You'll be wise to remain far from his grasp," the
man warned, turning to look at the dear young child.
Once again her attention was averted, back to the youth and his remarkable
appearance. His eyes alone held enough magic to captivate all of the village's population
of young girls, and even older women. The elder tried desperately to grab at Emelia's
arm, but she quickly left his stall and started towards the man whom had caught her
entirely in his wily grip.
Emelia dared not look at the handsome youth, but instead strolled beside the
counter, scattered with scrolls and worn novels. Her hand paused atop a book, by far
smaller than the rest, but the crimson leather cover seemed to beckon to her, to perhaps
open and see what treasures were held in the yellowed pages.
With a slight hesitation she lifted the book, still feeling the vendor's eyes upon her.
Without warning a hand, pale as alabaster, closed around the book, and she quickly turned
to look at whom had stopped her browsing.
"I'm afraid, this is not what you are searching for," the pale, amazing youth stated
as he took the thin novel from Emelia's weakened hands.
She swallowed, trying in vain to hide the certain rosy blush that was beginning to
form over her cheeks. She bowed her head down, searching through the scripts, but
found the mysterious red book far more interesting than any other merchandise. It felt,
almost, as if the odd thing was calling to her, begging her to come and take it away.
"Why, sir, may I not purchase that book?" she asked pointedly, daring to catch his
gaze with her own. Her determination stood out with a single raised eyebrow of inquiry.
He leaned against the side of the booth, and lifted a circular object into his hand. It
appeared to be glass, but shone more resplendently and with a mystic aura that ordinary
products could not attain. Most certainly the orb was of some divine material, and was
constructed of something more... interesting. Then, with a dexterity and lithe movements
that Emelia had never witnessed before (save in the jugglers who had performed once in
the midst of the market, for small coins and odd trinkets) he began to spin the orb about,
and quickly placed two other amazing balls into his hand, twirling them all about at
remarkable speeds.
"You know not what you wish," he replied, and turned his eyes to her once more.
Emelia gasped, her hands quickly covering her gaping mouth in an attempt to
retain her ladylike composure. However, the shock she had received was nothing short of
overwhelming. The youth's eyes were not those of normal mortals, but were formed in
two striking colors. One was of the deepest chocolate, while the other shone like the
depths of the sea, a crystal blue shade.
"I believe," she managed to calm her startled self, "That I should be the one to
determine what I may or may not understand."
The man leaned forward, and tossed the crystal balls into the air. They remained
poised at the highest point to be reached, as if defying gravity itself, and then fell to the
counter. Emelia cringed, already preparing for the inevitable shatter that would follow
shortly after, but there was no sound. When at least she reopened her eyes, only a single
orb remained, and it most certainly was not damaged.
"You are right, milady, and I humbly offer you any item in my store, the novel of
your interest included. Beauty such as yours cannot be denied," he bowed deeply, his
wispy locks of silver-blonde hair brushing about his face in the process.
Emelia knew that she was flushed once more, but did not show her embarrassment
as she reached out to take the book firmly in her hands. The soft leather backing brushed
across her palm, and she nearly felt a strange vibration emanate from within the yellowed
pages. She nearly dropped it, but noted the man's look of interest and clutched the
unnerving book to her chest.
"What would the price be of this... novel, sir?" Emelia forced the question out as
the continuing aura of magical proportions bombarded her.
The man clasped his delicate hands together and walked out from his stall,
watching Emelia squirm slightly with her "treasure." He approached her, his white poet's
shirt flowing slightly in the cool breeze. The youth truly walked like one of noble blood,
his refined appearance accentuated only by his genuine poise and innate grace. His
movements were fluid, like a cat's and without a breath of hesitation, he was at her side,
too near for comfort.
"Only your name," he whispered and took her hand in his. His lip brushed her
skin, as if a faint breath of air had graced her flesh. A fine trail of gooseflesh covered her
arms, and Emelia was immediately thankful for her long sleeves.
"Sir, I hardly know...," she began to argue against his most simple wishes.
The man stood, and fixed her gaze once again, with his own. She found herself
weak, as if her legs were melting at his sight. Emelia scolded herself for ever venturing
closer to him. Now she was without hope of ever erasing his presence from her mind.
"I'm Jareth, and it would be a great pleasure to merely know your name, milady,"
Jareth replied and waited patiently, hands clasped behind his back.
She felt herself grown faint, and touched her paling lips with the tips of her fingers.
Emelia reached back and placed one trembling hand atop the smooth wood beneath the
piles of scrolls Jareth had had for sale. She stumbled backwards and finally steadied
herself, or rather.... warm hands had secured themselves around her waist, and the other
on her shoulder.
She shook her head and quickly struggled from his grasp, but Jareth had seen her
come close to falling and remained dutifully by her side. Emelia focused upon the ground,
trying in vain to rid herself of the embarrassing situation. The amounts of gossip that
would be sure to spring from this incident would be immeasurable.
"Please, I wish to pay," she stated when at last Jareth had backed away a safe
distance.
"I have told you that I wish only to know your name. I ask for so little," he
pleaded, although a teasing glint had touched both of his mismatched eyes.
Emelia struggled with a few words, and tried to counter his asking price for the
book. However, every word she tried, came out without any other form of support. She,
at last, caved in and looked down at the lovely book, noting the divine gold script which
the leather cover bore.
"It is Emelia Fontridge, sir, and...." she was abruptly cut off with a flick of Jareth's
hands.
"Not sir, I am not deserving of any such titles. It is just Jareth," he demanded and
then slowly walked back into his booth.
Emelia paused a moment and then tapped her fingernails atop the book, debating
whether to leave at once or inquire as to where Jareth had come from. She had never seen
him in the market before, and had heard no stories surrounding him. Most certainly
someone of his appearance would be the subject of some rumors and gossip. It was
almost as if he had just fallen into town, without a true past.
"Shall I see you again, Emelia?" he asked, the look upon his face cloaked in
mystery.
Emelia turned, but glanced back at him. Her chocolate curls cascaded through her
vision before she brushed them aside with a slow stroke of her slender fingers. Jareth
watched this all, with an intensity that was most unwelcome. However, despite his odd
actions, Emelia couldn't imagine not seeing him again. Already she was captivated, and
dared to think of love.
"If you are here when we return next week, then I shall see you. Until then,
Jareth," Emelia curtsied slightly and turned to leave once more.
"I will wait with baited breath, Emily." his reply rode the wind, and forced her to
turn and see him, if only once more.
However, Jareth was not in sight when she did look. His shop remained, but there
was no trace of the dashing young man. Emelia brushed the feeling of nervousness aside
and continued back to her parents.
Sarah rolled over, and moaned as a sharp object jutted painfully into her tender
back. In fact, that was not the only pain she was suffering as she rose from deep slumber.
She fluttered her sleep-fogged eyes open, cringing against the onslaught of sun which
suddenly burst into her vision without warning. She realized, trying to sit up, that her
entire body ached in a dull throbbing agony.
"What...what happened?" her voice came out as a mere croak, terribly hoarse, and
during the rehearsals!
Sarah glanced down at herself in disgust. She was covered in grime, and her hair
hung in sickening tangled masses, filled with twigs and chunks of crusted dirt. The dress,
if one could still call it that, had been ripped, shredded, and torn to rags, and then covered
in the same dark mud that she found on her skin. The bandaged which once bound the
wounds on her wrists, fell in crumpled heaps on her lap, bloodied and soiled. Even her
feet were bruised, and held the evidence of dried blood around several clotted lacerations.
Her mind, however, was a blank as to what had happened the night prior.
Obviously something horrid. There had been a horrendous storm, she knew that much to
be true. The memory of lightning coursing across the dark sky, and rain pelting violently
to the ground, was still fresh. However, why would such an adventure be completely lost,
as it most evidently was.
Sarah moved to swing her feet over the edge of the bed, which was surprisingly
devoid of any dirt and grime, but only managed in knocking a mysterious object to the
ground. It landed with a dull thump, and instantly the slightly damp cover fell open,
revealing finely interwoven gold vines, surrounding an equally intricate name.
"Emelia?" Sarah pondered, tasting the name as if it were some fine wine.
This struck a memory, hidden somewhere beneath a cloud of forgetfulness. Of
course, the book obviously had belonged to the girl, but where had she found the thing to
begin with.
"There was a wall, fallen down and... and a dark nook where it had been hidden.
Some secret hiding place out in...," Sarah stopped her pointless jabbering and her jaw
dropped as remembrance struck with all the power of a tidal wave.
She fumbled with words, trying to break the unnerving nature of all the
circumstances, but was unable to say a thing. She knew very little about returning to
Fontridge, but could easily recall Jareth, in all his usual frightening glory, taking her into
his arms. The rest could easily be deduced. He had brought her here, and had left the
book, which actually was a kind act on his part.
Sarah reached down and retrieved the book. She was, of course, interested in
what she would find in such an ancient diary, but her repulsive appearance came first.
There was no possible way she could stand to see herself, covered in dirt and grime, and
clothed in the brown rag. Sarah nearly gagged at the feel of wet mud against her stomach
and set the diary gently upon the bed, avoiding all wet and muddy spots.
It would just have to wait until after her shower.
* * * * * * * *
Sarah returned to her new room, ( found only a few doors away from the previous
one which had succumbed to a raging fire), a white robe tied loosely about her waist and a
towel, matching white in color, which she used to dry her long locks of wet hair. A thick
feeling of rejuvenation filled her soul, making the entire outlook for the day one of
optimism and not regrets. Perhaps she would not make her way down to the rehearsals
that morning, but rather delve into the life of one who had long since passed away.
"Well Emelia," Sarah stated as she carelessly tossed the towel atop one velvet
upholstered chair, "Why don't we just see what secrets you kept hidden so very far away."
She fell upon the bed and immediately grabbed the diary, as if unable to hold back.
After all, things such as this had always amazed Sarah to no end. A natural companion to
a love of fantasy was an obsession with the past. Especially such regal times, as in which
Emelia lived.
Sarah allowed a melancholy sigh to escape from between her lips and then fell
back, clutching the book ever tighter. The shear anxiousness that coursed through her
system was only matched with that of apprehension, and concerns about Emelia's privacy.
Surely the mere fact that the girl, or rather woman, was dead gave Sarah a right to read
what she had written. Then again....
"Would I want someone reading my own diary?" she asked herself, running a
slender finger over the lovely cover.
Sarah paused a moment longer, unable to decide between her curiosity and her
concerns. However, the pains she had gone through to get the diary proved to be the
deciding factor and she quickly flipped it open, to the page that had already been started
the night prior, in the midst of the raging storm.
"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.
There also is some enjoyment in the weekly visits paid to the market, where one can find any odd
trinkets that have ever entered one's imagination. Mother loves the ribbons, and art, and urges me to find these
items as alluring as that of the books and poetry, for which my passion lies. They do not understand, but they
never have. Meanwhile Father fancies the swords and tack for the scores of horses he plans on purchasing
shortly. I wish only for a lovely mare, whom can take me quicker into the forest and to the secret destination.
I shall write soon diary, for, one of those lovely outings to the market place I have mentioned, shall
occur today. Father beckons and I must answer at once. I will continue at a later date."
That entry ended with a lovely cursive signature. However, not quite as formal as
that found on the first page. She signed it merely with the less splendid title of "Emily."
Perhaps a pet name that had been used by her parents. Sarah's imagination was able to
form any of a thousand different interpretations.
Yet, there was no time to stop. Already her entire soul was encompassed by the
diary and she longed to read more. With a flip of the page a whole new day was revealed
and Sarah eagerly continued on with the entry.
"Today my life has changed. The most amazing creature perhaps ever placed upon this earth spoke to
me, and I felt myself melt at his voice. Is it too soon to speak of love?....
* * * * * * * *
* I had only to arrive, and stray from Mother's side, when I first saw him. He was cloaked as a
noble, but served at a new stall, one which dealt in literature*
Emelia paused as she entered the marketplace, her Mother at her side, while her
Father hurried off once more to speak to friends about this and that. The women were left
alone, as they always were, and it would only be a matter of time before Emelia wandered
off, unbeknownst to her proper Mother.
The same faces greeted her, offering their most pleasant smiles and kind words.
Many remarked on how lovely Emelia had become, even if only a week had passed since
the last time they had seen each other. She merely nodded in response and offered a polite
smile, keeping silent as she continued along behind her Mother.
"That lovely bonnet would look darling with your riding costume, don't you
believe Emelia?" her Mother questioned as she took the green hat into her hands.
Emelia nodded briefly, but averted her gaze to the areas of her choice. She longed
to purchase the newest literary material, and revel in some of the more alluring poems.
Her Mother would surely frown on such things, but she was currently overcome by the
startling amount of new merchandise to arrive, along with the darling riding bonnet.
Emelia tip toed off, her long skirts lifted enough to avoid soiling the pristine material.
Once enough distance had been forged between herself and the power of her
Mother, Emelia dropped the tedious and heavy material and quickly made her way to the
novels. The man busily categorizing and counting glanced up and laughed as the young
lady approached. He had grown accustomed to her secretive ventures to his stall, and
greeted them merrily each time.
"Well Emily, what are ye in search of this time?" he asked, his merry voice ringing
splendidly.
She pulled nervously at a ringlet of brunette hair, cast with highlights of auburn,
and scanned the many titles. There were so many, countless actually, and certainly no way
to ever read every one. However, she longed to do just that. The stories brought her out
of her life, the dull thing, and into a world of amazing adventure, fantasy, everything and
anything that was not her current situation.
"As of yet, I am not quite sure. These novels all appear so...," she paused, her
deep brown eyes flicking about the other venders that had arrived that day.
Her gaze abruptly halted at the sight of the young man, his golden locks
shimmering in the sun and his hypnotizing eyes staring directly at her. He did not change
his gaze, but merely allowed a slanted smile to grace his lovely features. If it had not been
for the hand on her shoulder, Emelia most certainly would have swooned at that moment,
overcome by the intensity of the stranger's eyes.
"Emily, child!" the man behind her called, shaking briefly to regain her attention.
She spun about, tearing her gaze from the mysterious man. However, his slender,
regal features still remained chiseled forever in her mind, even as she bent forward to
inquire as to whom the man was.
"Do you know of that young man, the one who looked at me so very oddly?" she
asked, her voice barely audible.
The older vender also glanced down the cobbled aisles which were kept open
between the many wooden stalls. At the very end, nearly out of the ring of shops, rested a
booth he had not noticed earlier that morning, around dawn, when all the regulars were
busily preparing merchandise.
The man had turned from direct view, now talking to another young lady. The
woman seemed nearly as captivated as Emelia had been, a scroll clutched closely to her
bosom, nearly tearing the delicate paper as the lad spoke. He bent in very near, a single
hand stretched out to sweep a lock of auburn hair from the young woman's brow. She
instantly blushed, turning her face downwards and covering her burning cheeks with a
pristine gloved hand.
The man merely leaned back, a wonderfully musical laughter erupting from his thin
lips. His customer looked up again, almost as if she was a deer, held in the sights of a
hunters gun. Then, without warning, the blonde youth looked back at the old man, who
could not make sense of the stranger. His gaze was more powerful than any that could be
imagined, and at first glance stories of the Fae leaped into the aged vender's mind.
"Be wary of that one, Emily. You'll be wise to remain far from his grasp," the
man warned, turning to look at the dear young child.
Once again her attention was averted, back to the youth and his remarkable
appearance. His eyes alone held enough magic to captivate all of the village's population
of young girls, and even older women. The elder tried desperately to grab at Emelia's
arm, but she quickly left his stall and started towards the man whom had caught her
entirely in his wily grip.
Emelia dared not look at the handsome youth, but instead strolled beside the
counter, scattered with scrolls and worn novels. Her hand paused atop a book, by far
smaller than the rest, but the crimson leather cover seemed to beckon to her, to perhaps
open and see what treasures were held in the yellowed pages.
With a slight hesitation she lifted the book, still feeling the vendor's eyes upon her.
Without warning a hand, pale as alabaster, closed around the book, and she quickly turned
to look at whom had stopped her browsing.
"I'm afraid, this is not what you are searching for," the pale, amazing youth stated
as he took the thin novel from Emelia's weakened hands.
She swallowed, trying in vain to hide the certain rosy blush that was beginning to
form over her cheeks. She bowed her head down, searching through the scripts, but
found the mysterious red book far more interesting than any other merchandise. It felt,
almost, as if the odd thing was calling to her, begging her to come and take it away.
"Why, sir, may I not purchase that book?" she asked pointedly, daring to catch his
gaze with her own. Her determination stood out with a single raised eyebrow of inquiry.
He leaned against the side of the booth, and lifted a circular object into his hand. It
appeared to be glass, but shone more resplendently and with a mystic aura that ordinary
products could not attain. Most certainly the orb was of some divine material, and was
constructed of something more... interesting. Then, with a dexterity and lithe movements
that Emelia had never witnessed before (save in the jugglers who had performed once in
the midst of the market, for small coins and odd trinkets) he began to spin the orb about,
and quickly placed two other amazing balls into his hand, twirling them all about at
remarkable speeds.
"You know not what you wish," he replied, and turned his eyes to her once more.
Emelia gasped, her hands quickly covering her gaping mouth in an attempt to
retain her ladylike composure. However, the shock she had received was nothing short of
overwhelming. The youth's eyes were not those of normal mortals, but were formed in
two striking colors. One was of the deepest chocolate, while the other shone like the
depths of the sea, a crystal blue shade.
"I believe," she managed to calm her startled self, "That I should be the one to
determine what I may or may not understand."
The man leaned forward, and tossed the crystal balls into the air. They remained
poised at the highest point to be reached, as if defying gravity itself, and then fell to the
counter. Emelia cringed, already preparing for the inevitable shatter that would follow
shortly after, but there was no sound. When at least she reopened her eyes, only a single
orb remained, and it most certainly was not damaged.
"You are right, milady, and I humbly offer you any item in my store, the novel of
your interest included. Beauty such as yours cannot be denied," he bowed deeply, his
wispy locks of silver-blonde hair brushing about his face in the process.
Emelia knew that she was flushed once more, but did not show her embarrassment
as she reached out to take the book firmly in her hands. The soft leather backing brushed
across her palm, and she nearly felt a strange vibration emanate from within the yellowed
pages. She nearly dropped it, but noted the man's look of interest and clutched the
unnerving book to her chest.
"What would the price be of this... novel, sir?" Emelia forced the question out as
the continuing aura of magical proportions bombarded her.
The man clasped his delicate hands together and walked out from his stall,
watching Emelia squirm slightly with her "treasure." He approached her, his white poet's
shirt flowing slightly in the cool breeze. The youth truly walked like one of noble blood,
his refined appearance accentuated only by his genuine poise and innate grace. His
movements were fluid, like a cat's and without a breath of hesitation, he was at her side,
too near for comfort.
"Only your name," he whispered and took her hand in his. His lip brushed her
skin, as if a faint breath of air had graced her flesh. A fine trail of gooseflesh covered her
arms, and Emelia was immediately thankful for her long sleeves.
"Sir, I hardly know...," she began to argue against his most simple wishes.
The man stood, and fixed her gaze once again, with his own. She found herself
weak, as if her legs were melting at his sight. Emelia scolded herself for ever venturing
closer to him. Now she was without hope of ever erasing his presence from her mind.
"I'm Jareth, and it would be a great pleasure to merely know your name, milady,"
Jareth replied and waited patiently, hands clasped behind his back.
She felt herself grown faint, and touched her paling lips with the tips of her fingers.
Emelia reached back and placed one trembling hand atop the smooth wood beneath the
piles of scrolls Jareth had had for sale. She stumbled backwards and finally steadied
herself, or rather.... warm hands had secured themselves around her waist, and the other
on her shoulder.
She shook her head and quickly struggled from his grasp, but Jareth had seen her
come close to falling and remained dutifully by her side. Emelia focused upon the ground,
trying in vain to rid herself of the embarrassing situation. The amounts of gossip that
would be sure to spring from this incident would be immeasurable.
"Please, I wish to pay," she stated when at last Jareth had backed away a safe
distance.
"I have told you that I wish only to know your name. I ask for so little," he
pleaded, although a teasing glint had touched both of his mismatched eyes.
Emelia struggled with a few words, and tried to counter his asking price for the
book. However, every word she tried, came out without any other form of support. She,
at last, caved in and looked down at the lovely book, noting the divine gold script which
the leather cover bore.
"It is Emelia Fontridge, sir, and...." she was abruptly cut off with a flick of Jareth's
hands.
"Not sir, I am not deserving of any such titles. It is just Jareth," he demanded and
then slowly walked back into his booth.
Emelia paused a moment and then tapped her fingernails atop the book, debating
whether to leave at once or inquire as to where Jareth had come from. She had never seen
him in the market before, and had heard no stories surrounding him. Most certainly
someone of his appearance would be the subject of some rumors and gossip. It was
almost as if he had just fallen into town, without a true past.
"Shall I see you again, Emelia?" he asked, the look upon his face cloaked in
mystery.
Emelia turned, but glanced back at him. Her chocolate curls cascaded through her
vision before she brushed them aside with a slow stroke of her slender fingers. Jareth
watched this all, with an intensity that was most unwelcome. However, despite his odd
actions, Emelia couldn't imagine not seeing him again. Already she was captivated, and
dared to think of love.
"If you are here when we return next week, then I shall see you. Until then,
Jareth," Emelia curtsied slightly and turned to leave once more.
"I will wait with baited breath, Emily." his reply rode the wind, and forced her to
turn and see him, if only once more.
However, Jareth was not in sight when she did look. His shop remained, but there
was no trace of the dashing young man. Emelia brushed the feeling of nervousness aside
and continued back to her parents.
