Chapter Twenty-Three: Rose Petals and Owl Feathers
"I mustn't return, for, should I be caught, I will, most certainly, be held prisoner in
my chambers, and you shall be put to death," Sarah proclaimed, as she momentarily
averted her eyes over her shoulder, perhaps expecting something to come.
The man before her shook his head and reached out, grasping her cold hands in his
own. Sarah instantly looked back towards him, her eyes brimming with misty tears, as she
realized just what was at stake. He managed to smile, only slightly, just enough to force
her sadness away.
"You will be safe, and we will meet at the bridge, nearer your house than this
clearing, and then we shall both be free," he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her lips with
passionate surety.
Then, disturbing the romantic atmosphere, a large crash resounded through the
theatre. Sarah jumped back, barely holding in a sharp scream. The actor nearest to her
tore the long blonde wig from his head and tossed it to the ground. His anger raged as he
turned to face Peter, whom rose with a start and rushed upon the stage.
"What the Hell was that!?" he demanded, skirting past the fallen wig and the two
performers.
A meek face appeared from the other side of the stage setting. Another recent
addition. Five others had been flown in, and had instantly been put to work, learning lines,
directions, and constructing the sets which were quite shabby. The play was hopelessly
behind schedule.
Sarah slunk against the constructed wall, feeling it shift quite a bit. She instantly
straightened, brushed at the wrinkles in her silken dress and turned to glance at the actor
opposite her. His gaze caught hers, and a brief, but haughty smile lit his features. Sarah
held back a nearly unstoppable urge to roll her eyes, but did turn away from him.
She, at last realizing that the rehearsals would not continue for some time, sat
upon the large wooden stage, allowing her legs to dangle over the ledge. She listened to
the bickering backstage. Peter, once more, was trying to sort things out before the chaos
got the better of him. Sarah was contented to rest, allowing her mind time to wander and
contemplate upon the meeting with Jareth, which seemed so very far away, being that it
had occurred nearly a week ago.
The hand upon her arm broke her from the sweet reveries which had encompassed
her mind. Sarah's eyes snapped open, and she flashed her shocked gaze backwards,
finding the grinning face of the blonde actor peering at her. She did smile, but shrugged
her arm to knock his hand from her.
"I sense some friction here, Sarah," he stated, placing himself beside her and
urging her to continue the conversation.
Sarah turned to look at him, serious in response to his almost friendly attitude.
She placed her script by her side and forced herself to match his stare, meeting those cool
brown eyes with her own.
"I wonder why, Jack?" she demanded, sarcasm dripping from her every word.
He was the one to roll his eyes at this, and leaned back a bit on the stage. Sarah
watched him, scrutinizing each movement he dared to make. However, Jack seemed to
show little concern with her responses to him, and continued to bask in his self-induced
illusion of fame and glory. Sarah would have scoffed, had she been incited to do as much.
"That all happened weeks ago, darling," Jack responded, folding his arms behind
his head as he laid himself down.
"I would prefer you call me by my name, and remain professional," Sarah
remarking, bitingly.
She rose from her position on the stage, and quickly leapt down to ground level.
Jack instantly rose to a sitting position, watching her walk between the aisles of pristine
chairs and the leather couch situated off to the side. Sarah did not once look back to
acknowledge him, nor the questioning looks offered by others who saw her depart.
Sarah left the stuffiness of the theatre. She had grown quickly tired that day, and
became bored with the endless overstretched pauses, which resulted from previous
backstage disturbances. Now, hearing the sound of the swinging door flap briefly in its
frame behind her, she was able to allow a sigh of relief to escape her pastel lips. She was
free to relax, for the first time in the week.
Once again her mind took the natural path back to the phenomenal event, between
herself and the supposed enemy, Jareth. Since that time she had not seen the grand Goblin
King, nor had his influences affected her life in any sort. It was what she had wished for,
what she had wanted since first arriving at Fontridge. Only, now, Sarah feared that she no
longer could continue without him in her life.
It had begun as merely her form of power, her proof that the Fae lord did not
continually reign over her. But, without her realizing, he, once more, had become
supreme dictator and she was, unfortunately, subject to his every whim. His sudden
decision to leave her alone with only her company was devastating, when all she longed
for was his presence, again.
Sarah swung open her door, pausing a moment at the threshold, her hand resting
upon the polished golden knob, which shone brilliantly as the sun's rays struck the fine
metal. She looked at her room, not the one she had first been showed to, but rather a
substitute after the unpredictable fire had consumed the other. She was, as a result of her
own spontaneous actions, the only one left along the large hallway. Gabrielle as well as
the former leading lady, and the only other female in the play, remained missing. Sarah,
however, knew where they were.
She continued inside, her mind spinning with constant clashing ideals. On one side
was that burning desire to be with Jareth, in his magical fantasy, while, on the other, she
knew that he had taken the other actresses, and had been so very cruel to young Emelia.
She was at a loss as to what her feelings should have been, or could be, for that matter.
What choice was there other than to continue on as she had begun, and hope that she was
not mislead.
Sarah fell on her bed at last, allowing her sore muscles to relax, without the strain
of weight and pressure upon them. She lounged, smiling a bit as memories of sweet
occurrences returned to her imagination, and the scene of love and lust played on in vivid
detail behind her closed eyes.
She could almost feel his touch upon her leg, his lips poised before hers. She
could feel his presence encircle her, and knew that soon he would press so near that she
would nearly die with a bursting of emotions unable to be denied.
"It is a lovely fantasy, Sarah, but just that. Step into reality," a cultured,
sophisticated voice swept through the room.
Sarah snapped her chocolate eyes wide open, and sat up, gazing at the
wine-colored chair which had been empty upon her arrival to her chambers. Now,
however, that was not the case. He rested upon the chair as divine as a sweet liquid, one
slender leg encased in black tights, was draped over the arm of the piece of furniture. He
wore only a simple cream poet's shirt, and held a lovely crimson rose in his hand, twirling
it before his changeling eyes.
"Did you think I would never come?" Jareth asked, at last breaking the unnerving
silence which had befallen them.
Sarah shook her head in denial of such a belief. Yet, there had been a part of her
which had begun to truly fear that Jareth would never return. She swallowed and rose to
her feet, but paused as Jareth brought his hand up, and averted his mesmerizing gaze
towards her.
His hand was bare. Sarah looked at the soft, pale palm with a sort of amazement.
She had never, save the instance when they had rested in her bed, seen him without his
leather gloves, those harsh black articles which were so very horrible.
"Shh, my love," he whispered and then rose with the grace of true nobility, from
the chair, rose still in hand.
Jareth approached her, his grin positively seductive as he paused, and swept the
rose's sweet scented petals over his lips. Sarah shivered a bit, but continued to watch in
awe of this divine creature, whose beauty was nothing less than mythical.
He then reached out, and touched her cheek, which rivaled the softness of the
petals, with the rose. Sarah inhaled the lovely aroma, feeling as if she was suddenly in a
garden of the flowers, instead of within Fontridge Manor, with only a single red bud. She
smiled instinctively to the gentle brushing touch.
"Why were you so long in coming, Jareth?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing a bit
with mild concern, and wonder.
Jareth did not consider answering the question for a moment, but instead drew
nearer to his lover, and hesitated, lips only a breath of a distance from hers. He cocked his
head, gazing deeply into her fathomless eyes, as if trying to understand what was inside
Sarah that had so bewitched him.
He then held the rose, his face still inches from her own, and tossed it overhead.
Sarah's smile remained, but she did not realize the true extent of his magic until the softest
of petals began to rain upon them.
She instantly looked upwards, and gasped. Rose petals, the shade of dark crimson,
the shade of the dress he had given her, and of the chairs in the room, poured from the
ceiling, cloaking the ground in a flood of red. She laughed, gazing about, literally drinking
in all that she saw, and all the magic that surrounded her.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, at last turning back to Jareth and his intense gaze,
which was not slow in meeting her own.
He pressed forwards and kissed her, passion raising and burning in that heated
moment. Jareth's arms found their way about her waist, cradling her closely, and he
lowered her to the rose-covered ground.
All around, as their two bodies merged in divine love, rose petals fell upon them,
filling the room with a heavenly aroma, and true fantasy magic.
* * * * * * * *
Laying there, in the twilight hours of dusk, when light intermingled with darkness
in their ethereal dance, everything appeared serene and perfect with the world. It felt, as
she was cradled against her lover's noble body, that she could easily leave her world for all
time, if only Jareth would swear his affections to her.
A sort of exhausted satisfaction rested in her soul, sending warmth throughout her
body, and a delicate smile upon her lips. Sarah rested her head upon his chest, listening to
each breath he took, as his ribcage rose and fell in unison. It was quite easy, in that
perfect minute, to believe Jareth was a mere mortal, which he most certainly was not.
Sarah briefly stroked a stray petal, which rested sullenly upon Jareth's abdomen.
Alone, much the same as her in this world. A loneliness she no longer wished to
experience. Life had become too gray and dull to satiate her vast palate for adventure.
She wanted more, more than could be offered anywhere.
"Jareth?" she asked gently, now taking the delicate crimson, petal into her hand to
smell its lovely aroma.
His body tensed only slightly at the mention of his name, and he averted his
wandering gaze to the lovely brunette. She did not look towards him, but rather remained
fixated on the petal, falling between her fingers, only to be taken up once more into her
palm.
"Am I going to be discarded, when you're through? Like Emelia?" Sarah
pondered, bracing herself for the forthcoming explosion her inquiry would incite.
There was nothing, save his movement to place his warm hand against her bare
back. Sarah allowed a deep breath to pass from her pursed lips, as she waited, anxiously,
to hear.
"I did not abandon her, and will not leave you either," Jareth whispered.
Sarah accepted his response, but found her curiosity roused. The diary proclaimed
something far different than what Jareth had to say. Emelia wept for months, knowing
that she had been left by a man whom she had believed loved her. Not once was it
mentioned that the Goblin King returned, to apologize. It ended with Emelia, overcome
with grief, signing her own suicide note. Then the diary was sent, possibly through her
friend, Duncan, to be hidden away. She took her life shortly later, or so one would
assume.
"You don't have to lie to me, Jareth," Sarah whispered, now, at last, turning her
dark chocolate eyes towards him, to meet his gaze.
"I wouldn't," he answered gently, running a single finger down the soft curve of
her cheek.
She managed a slight smile at this, but seriousness seemed to have blanketed the
room, and their conversation. He had carefully avoided an answer which did not lead to
more questions. Sarah rose, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms about
them. Jareth made no movement in response to Sarah's action.
With careful, decisive intent, she plotted yet another form of question, to be
directed towards Jareth. She was determined to discover what would come of their affair.
"Will you take me then, to your castle?" Sarah demanded, perhaps catching the
lounging Goblin King off guard.
An extended moment of silence blanketed the room, creating an atmosphere so
thick it could easily be cut with a knife. All around the stifling aroma of overly sweetened
flowers drifted about the closed chambers, encircling Sarah's senses, and nearly driving
her to collapse from the sheer power.
"Sarah, why must you complicate things?" Jareth demanded, his voice so very
tired.
He was tired, worn out from life and simply existence. Everything was too much,
as of late. Now, with the questions, another problem would be tossed inside, to damage
the delicate workings of their growing relationship. He listened to her breaths, closing his
eyes in suspense. She would not stop until an answer was reached.
"Is that what I am then, a complication whose entire use is for your satisfaction?"
she demanded.
Sarah made her way to her feet, throwing one of the many silken sheets from the
bed over her shoulders. She felt vulnerable suddenly, though her nudity had not affected
her until she had become angered. Now, she wished only for clothing, and the blanket
was the closest she could come at that moment.
"Sarah, there are certain workings of the law which... do not shine lightly on such
relationships, as I mentioned earlier. Why endanger yourself with these outbursts?" Jareth
asked, a sigh breaking his words in midstream.
Sarah looked at Jareth for quite some time, just gazing placidly at his closed eyes,
alabaster skin, so very flawless. She was unable to speak, unable to bring even the most
menial of coherent thought into her fluttering mind. Then the anger struck her, sending
her reeling at his response.
"Look at me Jareth!" she demanded, waiting impatiently for him to do as she said.
He opened those azure eyes, flashing with a light of their own making. The deep,
innate power, held within those mesmerizing orbs of ocean waters, nearly hypnotized her
as their gazes met. Those, the windows to the soul, truly looked directly into his magical
being. Sarah shivered, sensing all that overwhelming energy, and nearly feeling the careful
drill of electricity driving into her entire body.
At long last she tore her gaze away, trying to remember what it was that she
wished to talk about. Her mind cleared, leaving the memory of what had been said, out in
the open. Once more she tried, this time avoiding those hypnotic eyes.
"Then why did you begin this, Jareth, if it could not be carried on?" she asked,
slowly, meaningfully, and with deliberation.
She realized, only after the question had been asked, that the Goblin King was now
clothed entirely, and standing at his full height. He appeared refreshed, far from that tired
nature that had encompassed him moments earlier. He was, once more, the frighteningly
powerful creature she had always known.
"My dear Sarah, have you not guessed it yet? I came to you because that was
what you wished. Since that moment when I was first able to come back to you, through
your dreams, I have wanted nothing more than to free that trapped dreamer held within
you. Now, as you throw yourself further into this fantasy....," he stopped his explanation
there, letting Sarah draw her own conclusions.
She shook her head, feeling the first of many salty tears begin to form in her eyes.
She swallowed, a lump forming in her throat that warned of the oncoming emotion.
Jareth was not effected by her agony, as he stood, placidly, watching her break down,
slowly wilting to the ground as she erupted into tears.
"Why, why, why???" she demanded, between hitched sobs.
Her final word came out in a powerful yell. She looked upwards, to the magical
king. In that moment, when she felt so very defenseless, crumpled on the ground, and
nothing more than a bed sheet upon her naked body, she saw his mask fall. And behind it
was a man, still as handsome, still as powerful and magical, but he was not indifferent, but
rather he cared. His eyebrows drew upwards, presenting worry evident in those sapphire
eyes. Jareth appeared vulnerable, more so than Sarah herself as he tried to think of what
to say, but found that words could not bridge the gap that had been driven between them.
The abrupt knock upon the door solved the problem of silence. Jareth looked
towards it, and then his gaze fell upon the sobbing child, crouched on the carpeted ground.
His heart broke to see her, but he was tied by law.
He swept backwards, as the doorknob rattled with the sound of a key finding its
place in the lock. In one brilliant flash of light, the white owl took form and dove through
the suddenly open window. Behind him the shower of rose petals faded into shattered
gems and crystals. The lovely dust followed the King through the window, swirling
through the light breeze.
In a heartbeat's moment the grand door swung open, and Peter rushed inside. He
instantly fell to the ground, pulling Sarah's crying form into a warm embrace. She minded
not her questionable attire, but rather wrapped her shaking arms around his neck, and
sobbed into the rich material that made up his long-sleeved shirt.
"God, Sarah. What-what happened?" Peter questioned, all the while trying to
soothe her hysterics.
She just shook her head, and continued to cry. Her chest hitched with each
racking sob. Then, with great intent, she turned her face upwards, and looked at Peter.
He was so different than Jareth, but also so very similar as well. There was something,
some characteristic that made him different than all the other men she had seen.
"A dream, a horrible dream," she whispered and then laid her head back on his
shoulder.
Peter gently stroked her back, which was still shrouded by the satin sheet. He did
not inquire about her obvious lack of clothing, but did note the faint trace of roses in the
air. Peter's eyes narrowed, as he looked towards the window, and saw a single snowy
white feather drifting downwards, towards the balcony ground. His demeanor remained
caring, but the expression upon his handsome face was cast in dark, forboding light, and
his teeth clenched behind tightened lips.
"I mustn't return, for, should I be caught, I will, most certainly, be held prisoner in
my chambers, and you shall be put to death," Sarah proclaimed, as she momentarily
averted her eyes over her shoulder, perhaps expecting something to come.
The man before her shook his head and reached out, grasping her cold hands in his
own. Sarah instantly looked back towards him, her eyes brimming with misty tears, as she
realized just what was at stake. He managed to smile, only slightly, just enough to force
her sadness away.
"You will be safe, and we will meet at the bridge, nearer your house than this
clearing, and then we shall both be free," he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her lips with
passionate surety.
Then, disturbing the romantic atmosphere, a large crash resounded through the
theatre. Sarah jumped back, barely holding in a sharp scream. The actor nearest to her
tore the long blonde wig from his head and tossed it to the ground. His anger raged as he
turned to face Peter, whom rose with a start and rushed upon the stage.
"What the Hell was that!?" he demanded, skirting past the fallen wig and the two
performers.
A meek face appeared from the other side of the stage setting. Another recent
addition. Five others had been flown in, and had instantly been put to work, learning lines,
directions, and constructing the sets which were quite shabby. The play was hopelessly
behind schedule.
Sarah slunk against the constructed wall, feeling it shift quite a bit. She instantly
straightened, brushed at the wrinkles in her silken dress and turned to glance at the actor
opposite her. His gaze caught hers, and a brief, but haughty smile lit his features. Sarah
held back a nearly unstoppable urge to roll her eyes, but did turn away from him.
She, at last realizing that the rehearsals would not continue for some time, sat
upon the large wooden stage, allowing her legs to dangle over the ledge. She listened to
the bickering backstage. Peter, once more, was trying to sort things out before the chaos
got the better of him. Sarah was contented to rest, allowing her mind time to wander and
contemplate upon the meeting with Jareth, which seemed so very far away, being that it
had occurred nearly a week ago.
The hand upon her arm broke her from the sweet reveries which had encompassed
her mind. Sarah's eyes snapped open, and she flashed her shocked gaze backwards,
finding the grinning face of the blonde actor peering at her. She did smile, but shrugged
her arm to knock his hand from her.
"I sense some friction here, Sarah," he stated, placing himself beside her and
urging her to continue the conversation.
Sarah turned to look at him, serious in response to his almost friendly attitude.
She placed her script by her side and forced herself to match his stare, meeting those cool
brown eyes with her own.
"I wonder why, Jack?" she demanded, sarcasm dripping from her every word.
He was the one to roll his eyes at this, and leaned back a bit on the stage. Sarah
watched him, scrutinizing each movement he dared to make. However, Jack seemed to
show little concern with her responses to him, and continued to bask in his self-induced
illusion of fame and glory. Sarah would have scoffed, had she been incited to do as much.
"That all happened weeks ago, darling," Jack responded, folding his arms behind
his head as he laid himself down.
"I would prefer you call me by my name, and remain professional," Sarah
remarking, bitingly.
She rose from her position on the stage, and quickly leapt down to ground level.
Jack instantly rose to a sitting position, watching her walk between the aisles of pristine
chairs and the leather couch situated off to the side. Sarah did not once look back to
acknowledge him, nor the questioning looks offered by others who saw her depart.
Sarah left the stuffiness of the theatre. She had grown quickly tired that day, and
became bored with the endless overstretched pauses, which resulted from previous
backstage disturbances. Now, hearing the sound of the swinging door flap briefly in its
frame behind her, she was able to allow a sigh of relief to escape her pastel lips. She was
free to relax, for the first time in the week.
Once again her mind took the natural path back to the phenomenal event, between
herself and the supposed enemy, Jareth. Since that time she had not seen the grand Goblin
King, nor had his influences affected her life in any sort. It was what she had wished for,
what she had wanted since first arriving at Fontridge. Only, now, Sarah feared that she no
longer could continue without him in her life.
It had begun as merely her form of power, her proof that the Fae lord did not
continually reign over her. But, without her realizing, he, once more, had become
supreme dictator and she was, unfortunately, subject to his every whim. His sudden
decision to leave her alone with only her company was devastating, when all she longed
for was his presence, again.
Sarah swung open her door, pausing a moment at the threshold, her hand resting
upon the polished golden knob, which shone brilliantly as the sun's rays struck the fine
metal. She looked at her room, not the one she had first been showed to, but rather a
substitute after the unpredictable fire had consumed the other. She was, as a result of her
own spontaneous actions, the only one left along the large hallway. Gabrielle as well as
the former leading lady, and the only other female in the play, remained missing. Sarah,
however, knew where they were.
She continued inside, her mind spinning with constant clashing ideals. On one side
was that burning desire to be with Jareth, in his magical fantasy, while, on the other, she
knew that he had taken the other actresses, and had been so very cruel to young Emelia.
She was at a loss as to what her feelings should have been, or could be, for that matter.
What choice was there other than to continue on as she had begun, and hope that she was
not mislead.
Sarah fell on her bed at last, allowing her sore muscles to relax, without the strain
of weight and pressure upon them. She lounged, smiling a bit as memories of sweet
occurrences returned to her imagination, and the scene of love and lust played on in vivid
detail behind her closed eyes.
She could almost feel his touch upon her leg, his lips poised before hers. She
could feel his presence encircle her, and knew that soon he would press so near that she
would nearly die with a bursting of emotions unable to be denied.
"It is a lovely fantasy, Sarah, but just that. Step into reality," a cultured,
sophisticated voice swept through the room.
Sarah snapped her chocolate eyes wide open, and sat up, gazing at the
wine-colored chair which had been empty upon her arrival to her chambers. Now,
however, that was not the case. He rested upon the chair as divine as a sweet liquid, one
slender leg encased in black tights, was draped over the arm of the piece of furniture. He
wore only a simple cream poet's shirt, and held a lovely crimson rose in his hand, twirling
it before his changeling eyes.
"Did you think I would never come?" Jareth asked, at last breaking the unnerving
silence which had befallen them.
Sarah shook her head in denial of such a belief. Yet, there had been a part of her
which had begun to truly fear that Jareth would never return. She swallowed and rose to
her feet, but paused as Jareth brought his hand up, and averted his mesmerizing gaze
towards her.
His hand was bare. Sarah looked at the soft, pale palm with a sort of amazement.
She had never, save the instance when they had rested in her bed, seen him without his
leather gloves, those harsh black articles which were so very horrible.
"Shh, my love," he whispered and then rose with the grace of true nobility, from
the chair, rose still in hand.
Jareth approached her, his grin positively seductive as he paused, and swept the
rose's sweet scented petals over his lips. Sarah shivered a bit, but continued to watch in
awe of this divine creature, whose beauty was nothing less than mythical.
He then reached out, and touched her cheek, which rivaled the softness of the
petals, with the rose. Sarah inhaled the lovely aroma, feeling as if she was suddenly in a
garden of the flowers, instead of within Fontridge Manor, with only a single red bud. She
smiled instinctively to the gentle brushing touch.
"Why were you so long in coming, Jareth?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing a bit
with mild concern, and wonder.
Jareth did not consider answering the question for a moment, but instead drew
nearer to his lover, and hesitated, lips only a breath of a distance from hers. He cocked his
head, gazing deeply into her fathomless eyes, as if trying to understand what was inside
Sarah that had so bewitched him.
He then held the rose, his face still inches from her own, and tossed it overhead.
Sarah's smile remained, but she did not realize the true extent of his magic until the softest
of petals began to rain upon them.
She instantly looked upwards, and gasped. Rose petals, the shade of dark crimson,
the shade of the dress he had given her, and of the chairs in the room, poured from the
ceiling, cloaking the ground in a flood of red. She laughed, gazing about, literally drinking
in all that she saw, and all the magic that surrounded her.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, at last turning back to Jareth and his intense gaze,
which was not slow in meeting her own.
He pressed forwards and kissed her, passion raising and burning in that heated
moment. Jareth's arms found their way about her waist, cradling her closely, and he
lowered her to the rose-covered ground.
All around, as their two bodies merged in divine love, rose petals fell upon them,
filling the room with a heavenly aroma, and true fantasy magic.
* * * * * * * *
Laying there, in the twilight hours of dusk, when light intermingled with darkness
in their ethereal dance, everything appeared serene and perfect with the world. It felt, as
she was cradled against her lover's noble body, that she could easily leave her world for all
time, if only Jareth would swear his affections to her.
A sort of exhausted satisfaction rested in her soul, sending warmth throughout her
body, and a delicate smile upon her lips. Sarah rested her head upon his chest, listening to
each breath he took, as his ribcage rose and fell in unison. It was quite easy, in that
perfect minute, to believe Jareth was a mere mortal, which he most certainly was not.
Sarah briefly stroked a stray petal, which rested sullenly upon Jareth's abdomen.
Alone, much the same as her in this world. A loneliness she no longer wished to
experience. Life had become too gray and dull to satiate her vast palate for adventure.
She wanted more, more than could be offered anywhere.
"Jareth?" she asked gently, now taking the delicate crimson, petal into her hand to
smell its lovely aroma.
His body tensed only slightly at the mention of his name, and he averted his
wandering gaze to the lovely brunette. She did not look towards him, but rather remained
fixated on the petal, falling between her fingers, only to be taken up once more into her
palm.
"Am I going to be discarded, when you're through? Like Emelia?" Sarah
pondered, bracing herself for the forthcoming explosion her inquiry would incite.
There was nothing, save his movement to place his warm hand against her bare
back. Sarah allowed a deep breath to pass from her pursed lips, as she waited, anxiously,
to hear.
"I did not abandon her, and will not leave you either," Jareth whispered.
Sarah accepted his response, but found her curiosity roused. The diary proclaimed
something far different than what Jareth had to say. Emelia wept for months, knowing
that she had been left by a man whom she had believed loved her. Not once was it
mentioned that the Goblin King returned, to apologize. It ended with Emelia, overcome
with grief, signing her own suicide note. Then the diary was sent, possibly through her
friend, Duncan, to be hidden away. She took her life shortly later, or so one would
assume.
"You don't have to lie to me, Jareth," Sarah whispered, now, at last, turning her
dark chocolate eyes towards him, to meet his gaze.
"I wouldn't," he answered gently, running a single finger down the soft curve of
her cheek.
She managed a slight smile at this, but seriousness seemed to have blanketed the
room, and their conversation. He had carefully avoided an answer which did not lead to
more questions. Sarah rose, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms about
them. Jareth made no movement in response to Sarah's action.
With careful, decisive intent, she plotted yet another form of question, to be
directed towards Jareth. She was determined to discover what would come of their affair.
"Will you take me then, to your castle?" Sarah demanded, perhaps catching the
lounging Goblin King off guard.
An extended moment of silence blanketed the room, creating an atmosphere so
thick it could easily be cut with a knife. All around the stifling aroma of overly sweetened
flowers drifted about the closed chambers, encircling Sarah's senses, and nearly driving
her to collapse from the sheer power.
"Sarah, why must you complicate things?" Jareth demanded, his voice so very
tired.
He was tired, worn out from life and simply existence. Everything was too much,
as of late. Now, with the questions, another problem would be tossed inside, to damage
the delicate workings of their growing relationship. He listened to her breaths, closing his
eyes in suspense. She would not stop until an answer was reached.
"Is that what I am then, a complication whose entire use is for your satisfaction?"
she demanded.
Sarah made her way to her feet, throwing one of the many silken sheets from the
bed over her shoulders. She felt vulnerable suddenly, though her nudity had not affected
her until she had become angered. Now, she wished only for clothing, and the blanket
was the closest she could come at that moment.
"Sarah, there are certain workings of the law which... do not shine lightly on such
relationships, as I mentioned earlier. Why endanger yourself with these outbursts?" Jareth
asked, a sigh breaking his words in midstream.
Sarah looked at Jareth for quite some time, just gazing placidly at his closed eyes,
alabaster skin, so very flawless. She was unable to speak, unable to bring even the most
menial of coherent thought into her fluttering mind. Then the anger struck her, sending
her reeling at his response.
"Look at me Jareth!" she demanded, waiting impatiently for him to do as she said.
He opened those azure eyes, flashing with a light of their own making. The deep,
innate power, held within those mesmerizing orbs of ocean waters, nearly hypnotized her
as their gazes met. Those, the windows to the soul, truly looked directly into his magical
being. Sarah shivered, sensing all that overwhelming energy, and nearly feeling the careful
drill of electricity driving into her entire body.
At long last she tore her gaze away, trying to remember what it was that she
wished to talk about. Her mind cleared, leaving the memory of what had been said, out in
the open. Once more she tried, this time avoiding those hypnotic eyes.
"Then why did you begin this, Jareth, if it could not be carried on?" she asked,
slowly, meaningfully, and with deliberation.
She realized, only after the question had been asked, that the Goblin King was now
clothed entirely, and standing at his full height. He appeared refreshed, far from that tired
nature that had encompassed him moments earlier. He was, once more, the frighteningly
powerful creature she had always known.
"My dear Sarah, have you not guessed it yet? I came to you because that was
what you wished. Since that moment when I was first able to come back to you, through
your dreams, I have wanted nothing more than to free that trapped dreamer held within
you. Now, as you throw yourself further into this fantasy....," he stopped his explanation
there, letting Sarah draw her own conclusions.
She shook her head, feeling the first of many salty tears begin to form in her eyes.
She swallowed, a lump forming in her throat that warned of the oncoming emotion.
Jareth was not effected by her agony, as he stood, placidly, watching her break down,
slowly wilting to the ground as she erupted into tears.
"Why, why, why???" she demanded, between hitched sobs.
Her final word came out in a powerful yell. She looked upwards, to the magical
king. In that moment, when she felt so very defenseless, crumpled on the ground, and
nothing more than a bed sheet upon her naked body, she saw his mask fall. And behind it
was a man, still as handsome, still as powerful and magical, but he was not indifferent, but
rather he cared. His eyebrows drew upwards, presenting worry evident in those sapphire
eyes. Jareth appeared vulnerable, more so than Sarah herself as he tried to think of what
to say, but found that words could not bridge the gap that had been driven between them.
The abrupt knock upon the door solved the problem of silence. Jareth looked
towards it, and then his gaze fell upon the sobbing child, crouched on the carpeted ground.
His heart broke to see her, but he was tied by law.
He swept backwards, as the doorknob rattled with the sound of a key finding its
place in the lock. In one brilliant flash of light, the white owl took form and dove through
the suddenly open window. Behind him the shower of rose petals faded into shattered
gems and crystals. The lovely dust followed the King through the window, swirling
through the light breeze.
In a heartbeat's moment the grand door swung open, and Peter rushed inside. He
instantly fell to the ground, pulling Sarah's crying form into a warm embrace. She minded
not her questionable attire, but rather wrapped her shaking arms around his neck, and
sobbed into the rich material that made up his long-sleeved shirt.
"God, Sarah. What-what happened?" Peter questioned, all the while trying to
soothe her hysterics.
She just shook her head, and continued to cry. Her chest hitched with each
racking sob. Then, with great intent, she turned her face upwards, and looked at Peter.
He was so different than Jareth, but also so very similar as well. There was something,
some characteristic that made him different than all the other men she had seen.
"A dream, a horrible dream," she whispered and then laid her head back on his
shoulder.
Peter gently stroked her back, which was still shrouded by the satin sheet. He did
not inquire about her obvious lack of clothing, but did note the faint trace of roses in the
air. Peter's eyes narrowed, as he looked towards the window, and saw a single snowy
white feather drifting downwards, towards the balcony ground. His demeanor remained
caring, but the expression upon his handsome face was cast in dark, forboding light, and
his teeth clenched behind tightened lips.
