Chapter Seventeen, part 3: ... And Fly Away
Sarah nearly snapped the book closed after what she had just recently read.
However, her curiosity had won her over, and better judgment was cast to the wind. She
flipped through the yellowed pages, scanning entries here and there, all the while
bombarded with evidence of the Goblin King throughout Emelia's life.
"Such love as is found between us, can never be described by fickle words. This is the emotion sung by
birds, heard in melodies, seen in nature, felt only by a select few. How I wish I could write exactly what it is,
but my vocabulary is limited by the English language..."
Sarah flipped another page, "Love" overly evident in each and every entry.
Infatuation simply leaked from between sentences and finely crafted script. Here and there
a letter found its way between the pages, its whiteness turned brown from ages against the
old ink and tarnished paper. Most were simple poems, written perhaps by Emelia about
her love, or from the great King himself.
One of those stray sheets of paper slipped from the fanned pages, and landed
delicately atop Sarah's lap. The thickness varied mildly from the other letters, having an
appearance closer to that of thin cardboard. Sarah set the diary down upon the bed, and
averted her interested gaze to the peculiar object.
With a single tentative hand she lifted it, feeling the tell-tale texture of gloss on one
side, which instantly informed her of exactly what had collapsed upon her. Sarah hitched
in a breath, not sure if she was quite able to turn it over and look, but knowing that there
was no way she could deny the urge to merely glance at the mystery...
"Come on Sarah," she urged and flipped the artifact over.
Almost simultaneously her shock and horror registered over her ashen face. Sarah
held the picture there for a moment, only able to stare. Then her grip weakened, and the
photograph plummeted to the ground, spiraling and tilting all the way down. Her gaze
followed it, unable to make the image erase itself from her mind.
However, almost mockingly, the photo remained face-up, leering rather than filled
with happiness. Two figures, sitting closely together as the picture was taken, both
smiling... unlike most pictures taken in those days. Both were strikingly obvious,
considering that Jareth had changed little since those two hundred years past. The other
took the remainder of Sarah's breath away.
"She looks like me," Sarah whispered in a voice devoid of emotions.
Her words were true, for the young woman was Sarah's striking double. Long
tresses of chestnut hair hung over Emelia's shoulders, and was partially done up in an
intricate style. Even their features were similar, though Emelia's face was slightly rounder
than Sarah's. Save the small exceptions, Sarah could have easily been the woman in the
photo.
The similarities struck a deep memory, one from an earlier time in Fontridge
Manor. Sarah had seen the mysterious woman, who had seemed so tender and gentle.
Then she had promptly disappeared, which proved that her presence was an otherworldly
one. Now, as Sarah's chestnut gaze trailed over the slightly faded photograph, she
realized that the woman she had once seen, was, in fact, Emelia Fontridge.
"Why did you show yourself to me?" Sarah asked, her voice quivering only
slightly. At last, she managed to tear her gaze from the picture and towards the diary.
The book, it held the answers to all of her countless inquiries. Sarah hurriedly
reached for it, and plopped the heavy thing upon her lap. There was no time to lose. She
flipped through pages like a mad woman, scanning words hundreds of years old, for
proof... information of what had happened to cause...
Had anything happened? Had Emelia and Jareth's love been cast to the stones
during one stormy night? The tale Gabrielle had told would make one believe so, but was
it truthful, or rather formed through the years? Sarah paused her search to contemplate
what she believed she was bound to find within the yellowed pages.
Without a thought she glanced down, to where she had stopped when her mind
had interrupted her searching. It had been quite some time since the first meeting Emelia
had with Jareth. Sarah slowly began to read, drawing in tales of the past as one might
read the latest romance novel. This, of course, had truly been someone's life.
"There is a word for what I have done, but am unable to admit it to myself. Father would readily cast
me from the house, and mother disown me. I would be proclaimed a harlot, and shunned from society. Albeit, I
am unable to stop.... and do not wish it to ever end....,"
* * * * * * * *
Emelia turned her tender chocolate eyes downwards, to the clear crystalline pond,
which stood so very still. Her reflection was easily shown, and the calm waters provided
little distortion. A part of her ached for some falsities in the image, for what it portrayed
was what she had become, and it hurt to know the truth.
Lazing still in the patchy green and tan grass, Jareth paid little attention to Emelia's
melancholy attitude. He could not really see the look upon her face, nor did he notice her
stooped shoulders and paled face. It was, perhaps, better that way. Emelia did not wish
to explain the complex workings of her mind.
Her undergarments shown in pristine whiteness, the same shade she had once
associated with herself. Now she was blackened with sin, with immoral acts, and the
feelings of lust whirling about in her abdomen. There was little to do to remedy the
situation, especially while she still longed for more.
She swept her long chestnut locks over her shoulder, and turned her head just
slightly to see the highlights of the sun upon her cheekbones. The way the colors fell, and
her hair flowing free, added years to her childlike appearance. There was not much
disguising her lack of adulthood, for Emelia had only experienced sixteen years upon the
earth.
With a deep, and drawn out sigh, Emelia turned to acknowledge her lover, whom
still rested, alluring eyes shut and chest raising and falling in rhythm with herself. Merely
looking at him, his body a perfection crafted from pure alabaster, brought a pang of heart
felt emotion into her being. His golden mane of unruly hair, which draped over the paths
of grass like a divine liquid, caught the rays of the sun.
She reached out one delicate, and tentative hand to thread through his silken hair,
as if it were strung gold. He stirred, and she withdrew her fingers, eyes widened in shock,
and awe as his muscles twitched in waking. Then those eyes, pale cornflower and
shocking chestnut, opened to observe her in a most scandalous attire.
"Emily, come and lay with me," Jareth urged as he opened his arms to take her
beside himself.
Emelia hesitated briefly, during which she glanced up to the sky to deduce the
approximate time. Not nearly afternoon, which meant that she would not be missed at the
house for another hour... or more. She was quite safe, but the fact remained that the
secretive act was quite wrong... but so right as well.
She laid herself down upon the uneven, sparse grass, beside Jareth. His arm
instantly found its way around her shoulders, cradling her head upon his biceps. She
turned, gazing into his mysterious eyes, as deep as the unknown sea, and twice as
powerful.
"Who are you, Jareth?" Emelia asked, then immediately averted her eyes, fearing
the anger that would follow her rude inquiry.
However, there was no explosion of tempers, nor the flurry of her love's dressing
and running from the clearing. Rather there was but a single, deep sigh, which almost
enveloped the entire perspective of melancholy emotions. She could feel his arm slack a
bit, the original comfort gone out of the muscles, but he remained.
"My home is very far, Emily, and out of your own thought. These are such trivial
matters to speak about when you, my dear, appear as lovely as the morning rays of sun,"
he whispered, at once tightening his arm about her so that she was quite forced to roll
nearer to his side.
She giggled, despite vehement warnings from her own self that such an act would
spoil the entire romantic mood which had overtaken the two. However, the laughter did
little to phase Jareth, as he wrapped her in his strong embrace and pulled her nearer still.
All around swept the feel of power, and magic beyond any of Emelia's most wild
fantasies.
Jareth warm lips pressed against her own, with intensity that she had yet to grow
accustomed to. She returned his passion, hungering for the sustenance that was provided
with his touch. The caress of his palm against her arm, and shortly her undergarments had
slid down, seductively low. He pressed his mouth against the pale flesh upon her
shoulder, and slid delicately across her exposed collar bones.
"We... I must... what would they think?" Emelia managed through breathy moans
filled with intensity and pleasure.
Jareth did not answer, but continued in his urgency of lust. He guided her
undergarments away, the pristine white cotton slipping delicately to the forest floor.
Then, with almost aching slowness, Jareth leaned away, and gazed down at Emelia as she
laid upon the ground. Her chest rose and fell with harsh breaths and her chestnut mane
laid like a halo around her beautiful face.
He placed a tender hand upon her cheek, the last of her baby fat having faded to
nothingness the past year, which left her sculpted features free to behold. Her cheekbones
were momentarily highlighted by a flush, which only accentuated her lovely looks.
Widened eyes took in Jareth's form, his gray tights still completely upon his body, while
the pale shirt that he had worn earlier had met the same fate as Emelia's clothing.
Without warning, once again, he dove in and wrapped Emelia up in his aura of
fantasy, and magical dreams filled with sweet oblivion of pleasures. She savored his
touch, the scent of such raw power which surrounded his being at all moments. Her hands
rose to his golden locks and her fingers threaded about strands of his unruly hair.
She felt their hearts, suddenly taking each others rhythm as their own. Even a
warm silver light, that she sensed more than felt, had become part of her own soul. This,
Emelia understood as Jareth's intoxicating touch moved along her body, was his essence,
Jareth's utter self merging within her.
She could not ever decide how or when it happened, but without his pausing to
decloak himself, she felt their bare fleshes unrestricted by the smooth material of his pants.
Emelia did not dwell upon the mysteries, but rather allowed the pleasure that erupted
within herself take over her entire consciousness, as magical presences danced about the
lovers.
* * * * * * * *
"You haven't touched your meal, Emelia," Mr., Fontridge proclaimed in a
stentorian voice.
She jerked in her chair, having suddenly been ripped from the daydream that had
encompassed her mind till that moment. Emelia instantly snapped her gaze to her strict
father, subservience overtaking her surprise the next second. A fork clattered to the
wooden floor, which had been precariously placed at the edge of the grand table.
Emelia swallowed deeply, straightened her posture to appear as a proper young
lady, and then bent to retrieve the dropped utensil. She was stopped, however, by a
powerful grip upon her shoulder, the same that had been tantalized by Jareth's touch but a
few hours earlier. Thoughts about her secret double life were instantly dissipated as a pain
surged through her tender flesh.
"You have not been yourself, as of late, young lady," Fontridge exclaimed,
emphasizing his point with a crushing squeeze of her poor shoulder.
Emelia cringed, unable to ignore the agony that flared through her delicate bones.
Fontridge released his vice-like grip and then forced her face upwards to his own, so that
their eyes met. His cold, heartless gaze burned deeply into her warm brown eyes, as if
accusing without knowing the truth of her guilt.
She could find nothing to say, so merely remained in silence. He had not yet
demanded an answer, and in such cases it was important to remain wordless as long as
possible. Across the way she could hear her mother, the enabler... believing that her
husband was the master and so entitled to the occasional abuse bestowed upon his
daughter.
"Speak child, tell me where you go everyday... and remain to all hours. Ah, she
believed I had not noticed. Do you think me that ignorant, Emelia?" he asked and
removed his hand with an abrupt snap.
She looked into her lap, still able to sense the powerful man's presence near by.
He would not accept anything, but instead proclaim her to be a liar until the worst case
scenario was told. However, in this instance, the worst possible had occurred, and still
would if Emelia had her freedom.
"I go into the woods, sir," she stated, knowing already that the punishment would
be great even for that venial sin.
Fontridge stalked away and sat stiffly in his chair, the one positioned at the head of
the table. He did not, however, once remove his scrutinizing gaze from his daughter.
"Too easy... he will demand more shortly," Emelia thought to herself and glanced
up to meet his icy gaze.
She nudged her once touched plate a bit away, cueing that she was finished with
the dinner. Her father observed her, his daughter's seemingly adult glint, the wild look
that occasionally overtook her eyes, that faint but persistent blush which rose to color her
generally pale cheeks. There was far more to find, but for now, for the sake of the meal,
he would send her to her chambers for an early slumber.
He waved his hand, gesturing that she might go, and then turned his hardened gaze
towards his wife. She smiled, and then watched as Emelia casually rose from the chair
and, dropping a slight curtsy, nearly ran from the room in a fit of anxiety.
At the head of the table, Fontridge slammed his fist upon the wooden surface,
sending a crystal goblet to its ultimate demise upon the hard, unforgiving floor. Red wine
pooled about his feet, seeming like true blood spreading as he watched.
* * * * * *
Emelia had only to turn the corner to know that her punishment would be quite
brutal. She leaned against the smooth surface of the wall nearest by, and breathed deeply,
chest heaving against the tight constraints of the unrelenting bodice. Her eyes flitted
momentarily towards the dining room, and then she looked to the window across the way,
showing the fading light of dusk.
"I only wish that I could fly away with you, Jareth," she whispered, a single tear
slipping down her cheek and dripping over the curve of her chin.
Emelia forced herself away from the strength of the wall and slowly made her way
to her room. The house and everything about it, simply drove in on her poor fragile soul,
trying to crush hopes and destroy what little happiness she was able to call her own.
Fontridge Manor was the devil, the destructive force that she knew she had to escape, or
die trying.
Her gaze once again stole out of the window, and down towards the
well-maintained lawn. Many groundsmen toiled through the day to keep the garden in
perfect condition. Or at least up to her father's standards, most of which were physically
impossible. Emelia had learned that early on.
However, down amidst the dying light of the setting sun, she noted a darker
shadow, strolling along the edge of one of the large sculpted bushes along the outskirts of
the emerald grass. She instantly rushed towards the window, threw it open and leaned out
as far as she could, a smile plastered upon her youthful face.
"Duncan!" she yelled, no longer in fear that her father would see his daughter
fraternizing with the help.
The young stable hand looked up, his face gone white and a general shock
overcoming his poor body. A look of relief stole over his features the next instant, as he
realized just whom had called out to him. He placed a trembling finger to his lips,
signaling silence and then motioned further down, away from the dining chambers and
Fontridge's prying eyes.
Emelia watched attentively, throwing open the windows as she continued down
the dismal passageway. Duncan, nervous as a mouse, stole fleeting glances over his
shoulder, perhaps fearing a detective had happened on to his trail.
"Is this all really necessary?" Emelia sighed and leaned against the window sill,
chin placed lazily in the palm of her hand.
Duncan hushed her again, and then slipped nearer to the manor's wall. His figure
was momentarily out of sight, and Emelia leaned out dangerously far so as to see her
friend. She did not catch sight of him, but did notice the trellice, lined with creeping ivy,
which reached high up one side of the tall wall, seemed horribly dangerous and imposing
and...
A warm hand fell on her shoulder and Emelia nearly flew directly out the open
window. She gripped the sill, knuckles going a frightening shade of white, and hauled
herself back in. She placed a trembling hand to her chest and stared, wide eyed, at the
now smiling Duncan.
"You incorrigible, immature....," she began as Duncan fought against the laughter
which poised directly behind his tightened lips.
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Why did you call on me, my grand mistress?"
Duncan chided, bowing as he scooped his hat low to the ground. The playful feather she
had placed into the band actually scraped against the wooden floor.
Emelia rolled her eyes and then snickered a bit at his antics. Duncan had been such
a dear friend, far longer than any other she had ever known. Of course their close bond
was frowned upon, and had been for nearly ten years now. Still, his family worked like no
other servant, and her father regretfully allowed them to remain in employment... Duncan
included.
"I am in need of assistance, Duncan," Emelia replied, still half joking, but her tone
had taken on a serious quality suddenly.
Duncan edged in a bit closer and replaced his odd hat upon his head, cocking it a
bit to one side in the process. Obviously he was attentive, waiting to see what mission he
was to be sent on. Emelia had once called upon him for everything, just to see how long it
would take Duncan to realize that half the messages she sent were to a person whom
never existed. It had been quite fun, in those childhood years.
Now, life had grown serious and adulthood stole over the face of youthful games.
Love had waltzed, care-free, into the scene and Jareth's face overcame her entire soul.
She sighed a bit at the mere thought of him and silently hoped that he could be reached,
although Emelia had been to his small dwelling but once.
"I need you to deliver a message, an important one, to someone real this time," she
added, noting Duncan's annoyance with her old games.
Duncan still appeared doubtful and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to see
exactly whom she had such an important note for. He was not about to leave without
some form of details, so as to avoid embarrassment.
"I am going to spread my wings, which have been clipped for so long, and fly away
with someone who has brought more magic and fantasy into my life than any story I could
ever read. You will bear my message to him, and offer him my heart through the written
words. We must hurry along, time is so short," she whispered, her chestnut eyes
darkening with each word.
With that said she gripped her childhood playmate's hand and rushed him along to
her chambers, and towards her newly discovered path.
Sarah nearly snapped the book closed after what she had just recently read.
However, her curiosity had won her over, and better judgment was cast to the wind. She
flipped through the yellowed pages, scanning entries here and there, all the while
bombarded with evidence of the Goblin King throughout Emelia's life.
"Such love as is found between us, can never be described by fickle words. This is the emotion sung by
birds, heard in melodies, seen in nature, felt only by a select few. How I wish I could write exactly what it is,
but my vocabulary is limited by the English language..."
Sarah flipped another page, "Love" overly evident in each and every entry.
Infatuation simply leaked from between sentences and finely crafted script. Here and there
a letter found its way between the pages, its whiteness turned brown from ages against the
old ink and tarnished paper. Most were simple poems, written perhaps by Emelia about
her love, or from the great King himself.
One of those stray sheets of paper slipped from the fanned pages, and landed
delicately atop Sarah's lap. The thickness varied mildly from the other letters, having an
appearance closer to that of thin cardboard. Sarah set the diary down upon the bed, and
averted her interested gaze to the peculiar object.
With a single tentative hand she lifted it, feeling the tell-tale texture of gloss on one
side, which instantly informed her of exactly what had collapsed upon her. Sarah hitched
in a breath, not sure if she was quite able to turn it over and look, but knowing that there
was no way she could deny the urge to merely glance at the mystery...
"Come on Sarah," she urged and flipped the artifact over.
Almost simultaneously her shock and horror registered over her ashen face. Sarah
held the picture there for a moment, only able to stare. Then her grip weakened, and the
photograph plummeted to the ground, spiraling and tilting all the way down. Her gaze
followed it, unable to make the image erase itself from her mind.
However, almost mockingly, the photo remained face-up, leering rather than filled
with happiness. Two figures, sitting closely together as the picture was taken, both
smiling... unlike most pictures taken in those days. Both were strikingly obvious,
considering that Jareth had changed little since those two hundred years past. The other
took the remainder of Sarah's breath away.
"She looks like me," Sarah whispered in a voice devoid of emotions.
Her words were true, for the young woman was Sarah's striking double. Long
tresses of chestnut hair hung over Emelia's shoulders, and was partially done up in an
intricate style. Even their features were similar, though Emelia's face was slightly rounder
than Sarah's. Save the small exceptions, Sarah could have easily been the woman in the
photo.
The similarities struck a deep memory, one from an earlier time in Fontridge
Manor. Sarah had seen the mysterious woman, who had seemed so tender and gentle.
Then she had promptly disappeared, which proved that her presence was an otherworldly
one. Now, as Sarah's chestnut gaze trailed over the slightly faded photograph, she
realized that the woman she had once seen, was, in fact, Emelia Fontridge.
"Why did you show yourself to me?" Sarah asked, her voice quivering only
slightly. At last, she managed to tear her gaze from the picture and towards the diary.
The book, it held the answers to all of her countless inquiries. Sarah hurriedly
reached for it, and plopped the heavy thing upon her lap. There was no time to lose. She
flipped through pages like a mad woman, scanning words hundreds of years old, for
proof... information of what had happened to cause...
Had anything happened? Had Emelia and Jareth's love been cast to the stones
during one stormy night? The tale Gabrielle had told would make one believe so, but was
it truthful, or rather formed through the years? Sarah paused her search to contemplate
what she believed she was bound to find within the yellowed pages.
Without a thought she glanced down, to where she had stopped when her mind
had interrupted her searching. It had been quite some time since the first meeting Emelia
had with Jareth. Sarah slowly began to read, drawing in tales of the past as one might
read the latest romance novel. This, of course, had truly been someone's life.
"There is a word for what I have done, but am unable to admit it to myself. Father would readily cast
me from the house, and mother disown me. I would be proclaimed a harlot, and shunned from society. Albeit, I
am unable to stop.... and do not wish it to ever end....,"
* * * * * * * *
Emelia turned her tender chocolate eyes downwards, to the clear crystalline pond,
which stood so very still. Her reflection was easily shown, and the calm waters provided
little distortion. A part of her ached for some falsities in the image, for what it portrayed
was what she had become, and it hurt to know the truth.
Lazing still in the patchy green and tan grass, Jareth paid little attention to Emelia's
melancholy attitude. He could not really see the look upon her face, nor did he notice her
stooped shoulders and paled face. It was, perhaps, better that way. Emelia did not wish
to explain the complex workings of her mind.
Her undergarments shown in pristine whiteness, the same shade she had once
associated with herself. Now she was blackened with sin, with immoral acts, and the
feelings of lust whirling about in her abdomen. There was little to do to remedy the
situation, especially while she still longed for more.
She swept her long chestnut locks over her shoulder, and turned her head just
slightly to see the highlights of the sun upon her cheekbones. The way the colors fell, and
her hair flowing free, added years to her childlike appearance. There was not much
disguising her lack of adulthood, for Emelia had only experienced sixteen years upon the
earth.
With a deep, and drawn out sigh, Emelia turned to acknowledge her lover, whom
still rested, alluring eyes shut and chest raising and falling in rhythm with herself. Merely
looking at him, his body a perfection crafted from pure alabaster, brought a pang of heart
felt emotion into her being. His golden mane of unruly hair, which draped over the paths
of grass like a divine liquid, caught the rays of the sun.
She reached out one delicate, and tentative hand to thread through his silken hair,
as if it were strung gold. He stirred, and she withdrew her fingers, eyes widened in shock,
and awe as his muscles twitched in waking. Then those eyes, pale cornflower and
shocking chestnut, opened to observe her in a most scandalous attire.
"Emily, come and lay with me," Jareth urged as he opened his arms to take her
beside himself.
Emelia hesitated briefly, during which she glanced up to the sky to deduce the
approximate time. Not nearly afternoon, which meant that she would not be missed at the
house for another hour... or more. She was quite safe, but the fact remained that the
secretive act was quite wrong... but so right as well.
She laid herself down upon the uneven, sparse grass, beside Jareth. His arm
instantly found its way around her shoulders, cradling her head upon his biceps. She
turned, gazing into his mysterious eyes, as deep as the unknown sea, and twice as
powerful.
"Who are you, Jareth?" Emelia asked, then immediately averted her eyes, fearing
the anger that would follow her rude inquiry.
However, there was no explosion of tempers, nor the flurry of her love's dressing
and running from the clearing. Rather there was but a single, deep sigh, which almost
enveloped the entire perspective of melancholy emotions. She could feel his arm slack a
bit, the original comfort gone out of the muscles, but he remained.
"My home is very far, Emily, and out of your own thought. These are such trivial
matters to speak about when you, my dear, appear as lovely as the morning rays of sun,"
he whispered, at once tightening his arm about her so that she was quite forced to roll
nearer to his side.
She giggled, despite vehement warnings from her own self that such an act would
spoil the entire romantic mood which had overtaken the two. However, the laughter did
little to phase Jareth, as he wrapped her in his strong embrace and pulled her nearer still.
All around swept the feel of power, and magic beyond any of Emelia's most wild
fantasies.
Jareth warm lips pressed against her own, with intensity that she had yet to grow
accustomed to. She returned his passion, hungering for the sustenance that was provided
with his touch. The caress of his palm against her arm, and shortly her undergarments had
slid down, seductively low. He pressed his mouth against the pale flesh upon her
shoulder, and slid delicately across her exposed collar bones.
"We... I must... what would they think?" Emelia managed through breathy moans
filled with intensity and pleasure.
Jareth did not answer, but continued in his urgency of lust. He guided her
undergarments away, the pristine white cotton slipping delicately to the forest floor.
Then, with almost aching slowness, Jareth leaned away, and gazed down at Emelia as she
laid upon the ground. Her chest rose and fell with harsh breaths and her chestnut mane
laid like a halo around her beautiful face.
He placed a tender hand upon her cheek, the last of her baby fat having faded to
nothingness the past year, which left her sculpted features free to behold. Her cheekbones
were momentarily highlighted by a flush, which only accentuated her lovely looks.
Widened eyes took in Jareth's form, his gray tights still completely upon his body, while
the pale shirt that he had worn earlier had met the same fate as Emelia's clothing.
Without warning, once again, he dove in and wrapped Emelia up in his aura of
fantasy, and magical dreams filled with sweet oblivion of pleasures. She savored his
touch, the scent of such raw power which surrounded his being at all moments. Her hands
rose to his golden locks and her fingers threaded about strands of his unruly hair.
She felt their hearts, suddenly taking each others rhythm as their own. Even a
warm silver light, that she sensed more than felt, had become part of her own soul. This,
Emelia understood as Jareth's intoxicating touch moved along her body, was his essence,
Jareth's utter self merging within her.
She could not ever decide how or when it happened, but without his pausing to
decloak himself, she felt their bare fleshes unrestricted by the smooth material of his pants.
Emelia did not dwell upon the mysteries, but rather allowed the pleasure that erupted
within herself take over her entire consciousness, as magical presences danced about the
lovers.
* * * * * * * *
"You haven't touched your meal, Emelia," Mr., Fontridge proclaimed in a
stentorian voice.
She jerked in her chair, having suddenly been ripped from the daydream that had
encompassed her mind till that moment. Emelia instantly snapped her gaze to her strict
father, subservience overtaking her surprise the next second. A fork clattered to the
wooden floor, which had been precariously placed at the edge of the grand table.
Emelia swallowed deeply, straightened her posture to appear as a proper young
lady, and then bent to retrieve the dropped utensil. She was stopped, however, by a
powerful grip upon her shoulder, the same that had been tantalized by Jareth's touch but a
few hours earlier. Thoughts about her secret double life were instantly dissipated as a pain
surged through her tender flesh.
"You have not been yourself, as of late, young lady," Fontridge exclaimed,
emphasizing his point with a crushing squeeze of her poor shoulder.
Emelia cringed, unable to ignore the agony that flared through her delicate bones.
Fontridge released his vice-like grip and then forced her face upwards to his own, so that
their eyes met. His cold, heartless gaze burned deeply into her warm brown eyes, as if
accusing without knowing the truth of her guilt.
She could find nothing to say, so merely remained in silence. He had not yet
demanded an answer, and in such cases it was important to remain wordless as long as
possible. Across the way she could hear her mother, the enabler... believing that her
husband was the master and so entitled to the occasional abuse bestowed upon his
daughter.
"Speak child, tell me where you go everyday... and remain to all hours. Ah, she
believed I had not noticed. Do you think me that ignorant, Emelia?" he asked and
removed his hand with an abrupt snap.
She looked into her lap, still able to sense the powerful man's presence near by.
He would not accept anything, but instead proclaim her to be a liar until the worst case
scenario was told. However, in this instance, the worst possible had occurred, and still
would if Emelia had her freedom.
"I go into the woods, sir," she stated, knowing already that the punishment would
be great even for that venial sin.
Fontridge stalked away and sat stiffly in his chair, the one positioned at the head of
the table. He did not, however, once remove his scrutinizing gaze from his daughter.
"Too easy... he will demand more shortly," Emelia thought to herself and glanced
up to meet his icy gaze.
She nudged her once touched plate a bit away, cueing that she was finished with
the dinner. Her father observed her, his daughter's seemingly adult glint, the wild look
that occasionally overtook her eyes, that faint but persistent blush which rose to color her
generally pale cheeks. There was far more to find, but for now, for the sake of the meal,
he would send her to her chambers for an early slumber.
He waved his hand, gesturing that she might go, and then turned his hardened gaze
towards his wife. She smiled, and then watched as Emelia casually rose from the chair
and, dropping a slight curtsy, nearly ran from the room in a fit of anxiety.
At the head of the table, Fontridge slammed his fist upon the wooden surface,
sending a crystal goblet to its ultimate demise upon the hard, unforgiving floor. Red wine
pooled about his feet, seeming like true blood spreading as he watched.
* * * * * *
Emelia had only to turn the corner to know that her punishment would be quite
brutal. She leaned against the smooth surface of the wall nearest by, and breathed deeply,
chest heaving against the tight constraints of the unrelenting bodice. Her eyes flitted
momentarily towards the dining room, and then she looked to the window across the way,
showing the fading light of dusk.
"I only wish that I could fly away with you, Jareth," she whispered, a single tear
slipping down her cheek and dripping over the curve of her chin.
Emelia forced herself away from the strength of the wall and slowly made her way
to her room. The house and everything about it, simply drove in on her poor fragile soul,
trying to crush hopes and destroy what little happiness she was able to call her own.
Fontridge Manor was the devil, the destructive force that she knew she had to escape, or
die trying.
Her gaze once again stole out of the window, and down towards the
well-maintained lawn. Many groundsmen toiled through the day to keep the garden in
perfect condition. Or at least up to her father's standards, most of which were physically
impossible. Emelia had learned that early on.
However, down amidst the dying light of the setting sun, she noted a darker
shadow, strolling along the edge of one of the large sculpted bushes along the outskirts of
the emerald grass. She instantly rushed towards the window, threw it open and leaned out
as far as she could, a smile plastered upon her youthful face.
"Duncan!" she yelled, no longer in fear that her father would see his daughter
fraternizing with the help.
The young stable hand looked up, his face gone white and a general shock
overcoming his poor body. A look of relief stole over his features the next instant, as he
realized just whom had called out to him. He placed a trembling finger to his lips,
signaling silence and then motioned further down, away from the dining chambers and
Fontridge's prying eyes.
Emelia watched attentively, throwing open the windows as she continued down
the dismal passageway. Duncan, nervous as a mouse, stole fleeting glances over his
shoulder, perhaps fearing a detective had happened on to his trail.
"Is this all really necessary?" Emelia sighed and leaned against the window sill,
chin placed lazily in the palm of her hand.
Duncan hushed her again, and then slipped nearer to the manor's wall. His figure
was momentarily out of sight, and Emelia leaned out dangerously far so as to see her
friend. She did not catch sight of him, but did notice the trellice, lined with creeping ivy,
which reached high up one side of the tall wall, seemed horribly dangerous and imposing
and...
A warm hand fell on her shoulder and Emelia nearly flew directly out the open
window. She gripped the sill, knuckles going a frightening shade of white, and hauled
herself back in. She placed a trembling hand to her chest and stared, wide eyed, at the
now smiling Duncan.
"You incorrigible, immature....," she began as Duncan fought against the laughter
which poised directly behind his tightened lips.
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Why did you call on me, my grand mistress?"
Duncan chided, bowing as he scooped his hat low to the ground. The playful feather she
had placed into the band actually scraped against the wooden floor.
Emelia rolled her eyes and then snickered a bit at his antics. Duncan had been such
a dear friend, far longer than any other she had ever known. Of course their close bond
was frowned upon, and had been for nearly ten years now. Still, his family worked like no
other servant, and her father regretfully allowed them to remain in employment... Duncan
included.
"I am in need of assistance, Duncan," Emelia replied, still half joking, but her tone
had taken on a serious quality suddenly.
Duncan edged in a bit closer and replaced his odd hat upon his head, cocking it a
bit to one side in the process. Obviously he was attentive, waiting to see what mission he
was to be sent on. Emelia had once called upon him for everything, just to see how long it
would take Duncan to realize that half the messages she sent were to a person whom
never existed. It had been quite fun, in those childhood years.
Now, life had grown serious and adulthood stole over the face of youthful games.
Love had waltzed, care-free, into the scene and Jareth's face overcame her entire soul.
She sighed a bit at the mere thought of him and silently hoped that he could be reached,
although Emelia had been to his small dwelling but once.
"I need you to deliver a message, an important one, to someone real this time," she
added, noting Duncan's annoyance with her old games.
Duncan still appeared doubtful and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to see
exactly whom she had such an important note for. He was not about to leave without
some form of details, so as to avoid embarrassment.
"I am going to spread my wings, which have been clipped for so long, and fly away
with someone who has brought more magic and fantasy into my life than any story I could
ever read. You will bear my message to him, and offer him my heart through the written
words. We must hurry along, time is so short," she whispered, her chestnut eyes
darkening with each word.
With that said she gripped her childhood playmate's hand and rushed him along to
her chambers, and towards her newly discovered path.
