Chapter Seventeen, part 2: Spread Your Wings...

Sarah paused, her mind suddenly alive with countless questions all concerning the
sudden appearance of a certain figure from her past. His presence haunted her life, and
seemed even to infest history.

"Jareth," she thought, her mind a feverish whir of inquiries, "How have you
become so involved in this place?"

A harsh series of knocks upon the door startled Sarah from her pondering. She
jumped to her feet, and then instantly glanced back down to the diary sitting out in the
open. That certainly would not be appropriate, for others would not understand. Sarah
rushed back, slipped the diary beneath her downy pillow and hurried back to the locked
door.

With a series of fluid movements she adjusted the robe about her waist, flipped her
hair over her shoulders and unfastened the lock, allowing those outside entrance into her
room. The door burst open before she could begin to turn the knob, and very nearly
slammed into her body. Sarah leapt back at the final second and then stood, gasping
against the shock she had sustained.

"Sarah!" Peter exclaimed and hurriedly took her into his arms.

She remained there, stunned, shocked, experiencing every odd sensation and
disturbing feeling that she could ever imagine, and then forced herself free from the
emotions. Sarah straightened her robe, feeling horridly bare, and then tried to calm the
flush in her cheeks.

The flustered look of the group of actors at her door did nothing for her current
uneasiness. They all seemed beyond words at the sight of her, which was unnerving, to
say the least. Peter, above all, looked horrid. His skin was ashen and black hair fell in
disarray around his face. Even his eyes had dulled, leaving him only a part of the man
whom Sarah had originally met several days ago.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sarah demanded, holding the neck of her robe shut
with one hand and resting the other on her door.

"You haven't heard? You can't be serious, Sarah," Peter remarked, edging nearer
until Sarah narrowed her eyes in anger towards him.

She turned from them and walked further into her room. There was no point in
keeping them out, and the book was properly hidden. She would just place herself upon
the bed, and protect her wonderful treasure. The others followed her in. There were six
in all, not including herself.

"What have I not heard, Peter? I've been in here all morning, relaxing after
yesterday," she shot him a dirty look after her comment.

Peter seemed equally confused about her anger as the six came in. Sarah noted
another odd thing, all the crowd was men. Gabrielle was missing, which was not a usual
occurrence. She was, after all, Sarah's closest friend in the mansion.

There was Peter, the older man, the blonde whom had found fun in harassing her,
the younger boy, the brunette, and two others Sarah had not been acquainted with yet.
She watched as each one leaned, or sat upon the sparse furniture as they waited for Peter
to explain.

"The screams, Sarah," Peter remarked sullenly, his eyes downcast and fixed on his
interlocked hands, which rested heavily upon his lap.

Sarah started, her heart leaping into her throat, and the sudden thought of those
missing broke into her frenzied mind. Faces of those not in the room flashed before her
blank eyes, and at last she realized the extent of the trouble within Fontridge. Worst still,
Gabrielle had fallen victim.

She placed a trembling hand over her lips, eyes as wide as those of a doe, caught in
the light of oncoming traffic. Sarah's face had paled considerably, and warm circles of red
stood out upon her cheekbones.

"No," she whispered, from behind her hand.

Peter rose suddenly, but could not begin to approach her before Sarah leapt to her
own feet and turned from them all. Her back heaved several times, preparing for the flow
of surging emotions. She wrapped her arms about herself, and looked out the large
window, towards the blue sky and the forest.

It had happened last night, for that was the only time Sarah had been away. She
had been drawn by the mysterious steed, and found by the Goblin King himself. Pieces of
a puzzle seemed to drop casually together, and reveal a picture that Sarah did not want to
see, at least not again.

"He did it," she whispered, without knowing that she had actually spoken the
accusation out loud, where all those in her room could easily hear.

Peter rushed towards her, his hands forcing their way to her shoulders, in order to
confirm what he had just heard. Sarah tried in vain to shrug his palms away,
understanding, already, the mistake she had made.

"Who, Sarah? Who did it? There are three missing and.... Please," Peter begged.

A hush fell over the room as Sarah remained in silence. She shook her head,
unable to tell them about her knowledge, but lost as to how she would find her way out of
the tricky situation. They would sooner believe that she herself had committed the crime,
than a Fae lord.

"No one. Can you please leave me? I need to... think about this alone," Sarah
stuttered, though she did not move from her position before the window as she spoke.

A gentle murmur spread across her room, as others exchanged their views on the
situation, and what should be done. However, there was no action taken, and soon they
rose, if not somewhat still wondering what it was Sarah had meant. All milled out, save
Peter, whom remained behind the young brunette, a glimmer of doubt embedded in his
mind.

Sarah sensed him rather than hearing or seeing his presence. Although the touch
of his breath against her neck, and the slight reflection which was cast in the window,
easily confirmed her feeling.

"You know more," Peter remarked calmly, as if he had the right to interrogate her
for a crime she had not committed.

"I know nothing. Please, leave me alone," she begged, her voice meek and
hitching as her emotions threatened to burst free from the barricade she had established
about them.

This did not satiate Peter's search for the truth. He circled Sarah, until standing
directly before her, his emerald eyes boring holes into her downturned face. She could not
look, and show him how much this had all affected her.

Sarah bit her lip, wishing with all her heart that Peter would leave, and just ignore
what she had said earlier. Her breathing increased its rate, and her heart fluttered wildly,
offering the sensation of a cardiac arrest, or something of the sort.

Sarah snapped her gaze up, shock overcoming her features at the strange
sensations that had stolen over her body. However, the true terror was not to come until
she did glance upwards, and realized that she was now completely alone. Peter had left, in
the mere matter of seconds, and had made no noise in the process.

She exhaled in one shaking breath, her lips trembling in fear and her eyes snapping
across the room in a rushed fashion. Nothing appeared different, and there was no Goblin
King waiting to pounce. Sarah, relieved only mildly, collapsed atop her bed. She cringed
as the corner of the book drove into her spine, and grasped it from below one of the many
pillows atop the mattress.

"Gabrielle, I'm so sorry," Sarah whispered, clutching the diary close to her chest.

She had never intended anything of the sort to happen, not even to the rude
woman she had met in the theatre. However, Gabrielle had done nothing to deserve any
such treatment. Sarah felt a tear slip down her cheek at the thought and brushed it away
briskly, with the back of her hand.

The diary, that was what was left of her life. Sarah opened it where she had
stopped and quickly began to read. Emelia's life was her escape and salvation from the
fall of her own existence.

* * * * * * * *

"I waited anxiously for the following week, and our scheduled visit to the marketplace. Jareth's
handsome, pale face has not left my mind since I first saw him. The story I bought, entitled simply as
"Labyrinth", has heightened my sleep with dreams of him. I fear, however, that these night fantasies are
cloaked in sin, for I find myself overcome by passion.
Father warned me of those that seek to corrupt the innocence of youth, and I know now that Jareth is
one of those. Nonetheless, there is no other way I would rather ruin my immortal soul, than through engaging
with this mysterious stranger..."

Emelia ran a silver encrusted brush through her thick chestnut mane. Each hair
shone with a fiery brilliance, especially when touched by the light of the morning sun. She
looked over to her mother, whom acknowledged her daughter with a questioning look.
Emelia had never acted so odd, especially when traveling to the mere market... such a
commonplace duty.

The carriage lurched a bit and the attention was immediately drawn off of
Fontridge's daughter. The man of the house peered out, and bellowed at the driver.
Surely such service could easily be replaced by another. The driver answered by pulling to
a stop, having arrived at the market in splendid time. Not another harsh word was uttered
to the silent driver.

"Might I stroll through the booths, Mother?" Emelia asked with a genuine act of
sincerity.

Madame Fontridge looked her daughter over with a scrutinizing eye, noting the
hair worn surprisingly long for a day in the market. She toyed with a lock of Emelia's
chestnut hair and then allowed the faintest smile to grace her pale features.

"Stay near, Emelia. Mr. Fontridge and I shalln't be long," she warned and then
walked with her genuine refined nature, towards the closest friends.

Emelia positively beamed, her lovely face lit up with radiance nearing the splendor
of the sun. She lifted her heavy garments and hastened her way to the stall, in which
Jareth had positioned himself last. She paused momentarily to bid a welcome to her dear
friends, whom had grown accustomed to her business. This day, however, was not meant
to browse, but rather learn more about the lovely....

She paused in mid stride and stared in shocked awe at the bleak corner, devoid of
anything, where Jareth had been only last week. Not even the empty stall was left, nor a
single artifact from the items he had had for sale.

Her stun was evident to each passing patron, and the shop vendors. From one side
Emelia could scarcely hear the far-off call from the older man, whom had sold her so many
priceless pieces of literature. She shrugged his calls off, and turned abruptly, perhaps to
leave and never again return.

"He had promised," her mind whispered in stubborn, mule-headed surety that
Jareth would still be there.

Emelia sniffed against her tears and forced her innate ladylike mannerisms to
capture any sadness that dwelled in her heart. She had not quite realized how much this
meeting had meant, until it had not occurred. She forced herself to not draw a crowd with
depressed actions, but could not front the false charade as she had once been able.

"Why turn from me Emelia? I have waited quite some time to see that lovely face
again," the silken voice stated from nearby.

Her spirits soared as she turned and beheld the object of her utter affection. If she
had not been in public, and had not been stifled by strict morale upbringing, then surely
she would have thrown herself into his arms. Emelia instead allowed a luminous smile to
cross her full pink lips and curtsied slightly before Jareth.

His attire had not altered much from the time she last saw him. Jareth had tied his
long golden locks back, and secured it with a silken white ribbon, one that matched his
simple, flowing shirt. Still his gaze was cloaked in majesty and filled with strange urgency
that Emelia feared as much as she longed to be with him.

"I thought you had not come, sir," Emelia remarked, begging with every last ounce
of her being that he would take her from the sight of others prying eyes.

Jareth offered her his arm, which she took, only offering a single backwards glance
toward the general direction of her mother. There would be much punishment if she was
to allow anyone of any importance to see her, the daughter of the prestigious Fontridge,
with an unknown man. Rumors would abound, and could easily ruin her well forged
reputation among the elite of society.

However, that fear did not hinder her immediate acceptance of Jareth's courtesy,
and she followed him as he continued to walk among the scores of people milling from
booth to booth. They strolled in silence for a while, Emelia's heart ready to explode,
while Jareth appeared as calm as if he were used to such goings on.

"You dwell in the manor outside of town," Jareth remarked suddenly. The
statement was more a comment than question, and his strange knowledge settled poorly
with Emelia.

"Yes," she replied shortly, and turned her soft brown eyes downwards.

The silence returned, and did so with a vengeance. Everything had felt so right
before, and now they were unable to engage in typical conversation. Emelia struggled
with several things, trying to ask about where he had been before, what he had done, and
why he sold such odd stories. She had never heard of them, and her novel bore no author
name.

Jareth suddenly stopped, and Emelia realized that he had guided her away from the
crowd, and to the back area, in which his stall had been the week prior. Now there was
nothing, save patchy grass and the occasional muddy puddle. Emelia cringed and
sidestepped away from the filth.

With a haste that she had not even begun to notice, Jareth gripped her arms tightly
and forced Emelia to look up into his eyes. They burned with fire and ice, and drove her
nearly insane with countless inquiries and the oddest desires. Her skin broke into shivers,
and a warmth spread through her stomach, just as he looked at her.

"Let me take you elsewhere, Emily. This is not for you. Social constraints, fears
of being judged. Free yourself," he whispered, all the while staring into her deep
chocolate eyes.

Emelia glanced around, instantly concerned that some stray shopper should happen
across the two, so close in the darkness offered by other booths. Yet, she found that she
could not deny him, and secretly had hoped that he would do just this. She nodded in
response and then followed him as he led her through a maze of back alleyways,
constructed behind the booths at the market.

"Where are we going?" she called with a laugh as he sped into a run, trailing her
behind him.

"It doesn't matter, Emily, as long as we are free," he replied and stopped as they
broke into the warmth of the sunshine.

They had found their way into a pasture, separated by a crumbling wall from the
bustling marketplace. Emelia laughed breathlessly, as she looked from whence they had
come, and found herself instantly overcome with freedom, after being bound for so long.
Jareth's insistent hand upon her forearm forced her to look back at his smiling face.

"I feel as if I could fly," she stated, spreading her arms outwards and upwards as if
preparing to soar into the blue skies overhead.

Jareth caught her about the waist, and drew the distance between themselves to
nothing. Emelia gasped, but remained stiffened only a moment until she found herself
relaxing against his tender embrace. Her lovely smile resurfaced and spread across her full
lips, bubbling forth with musical laughter.

"Then spread your wings, milady," he whispered, pressing his mouth near her ear,
and sending a trace of fire across her cheeks.

Jareth tightened his grip and spun the shocked Emelia about. She gazed into the
sky, and allowed her arms to spread once again as the feeling of weightlessness enveloped
her sensations. Jareth's hands around her waist were the only thing that remained, which
told her that she was still fastened upon the earth.

Then he stopped, and she found herself planted firmly upon the uneven ground.
Emelia turned to look at Jareth again, her face brightened with the rush of the experience
and her hair tousled from exposure to the wind. Then, a seriousness spread across her
features as Jareth's soft hands stroked her flushed cheeks.

Without warning he moved in, and touched his lips against her own, in a kiss that
deepened with passion and intensity before Emelia could being to register what was
actually occurring. His strong arms drew her closer, and they kissed beneath the expanse
of freedom, which was the morning sky.