Chapter Twenty-Four: The Portrait
Sarah meandered casually through the large room, lit on all sides by wall-mounted
torch-like electrical lamps. It stretched far and wide but was so markedly barren that it
drilled loneliness into her already broken self. The entire expanse of the ground was lined
with pristine shimmering tile which reflected her figure dutifully back to her widened
chocolate eyes.
As she stepped into the exquisite, grand ballroom, her mind instantly faded back
into a time hidden in the depths of her past. A crystalline dance hall, filled with gearing,
masked guests, consumed her imagination. And dominating the center of the chaos, was
none other than Jareth, resplendent in navy and shattered magic. In his eyes dwelled the
mysteries of the Underground.
It had been weeks now... since Jareth had left her in a flurry of downy feathers,
along with his incantation. Weeks since she had felt him beside her, and still her heart
ached uncontrollably with the pain he had inflicted. Sarah stopped walking and glanced
out the massive windows which completely lined one wall of the ballroom.
The night outside was perfect, without a single marring cloud dwelling in the
lovely navy sky. She remained that way, paused in the middle of the deserted, polished
floor, her eyes fixed on the scenery through the glass.
"Sarah?" A sudden voice jarred her from her thoughts and sent her reeling around.
She managed a shaky smile directed towards Peter, who leaned against the
doorframe. He stood straight and then began to walk inside, his steps echoing with each
time his heels clicked upon the tiles.
"I found it. I'm sorry, was I not supposed to be here?" Sarah inquired, turning
once more to look over the land.
"Fontridge is open to all. Do you enjoy it here, Sarah? Are you happy?" Peter
questioned, stopping just behind her so that she felt the need to look at him once more.
Sarah nodded her head, with a bit too much hesitation to prove that she was
indeed happy. Lying was not her strong point, and Peter instantly understood. He almost
reached out, to touch her shoulder, to, perhaps, comfort her, but stopped before making
any sort of contact. Sarah shied away before he could reconsider and go through with
what was originally intended.
"I'm fine. It's lovely here, really. Anyone would be a fool not to enjoy it entirely.
It's like...like a fairytale," Sarah whispered, a strange twinge resounding deep in the
innermost core of her being.
"Then why do I not believe you? Sarah, what happened that day, when I found
you?" Peter forced the question on her suddenly, without any semblance of a warning.
She faltered noticeably at this sudden change of conversation. Peter however
appeared calm, and waiting for the answer. Without a word Sarah turned away from him
once more, and leaned up against the wide window, which appeared so very clean that it
seemed there was no glass at all separating her from the sky outside.
She remained there, trying to sort the rambling thoughts in her mind, and knowing
that Peter was anxiously awaiting the answer to his inquiry. She could feel his eyes
drilling into her back, as she stalled.
"It was a dream, like I said. I went to sleep and had a horrible dream, and woke
up stripped from my clothes. I thought... I don't know, but I broke down and you found
me then," Sarah stated, rushing through the explanation as if she had planned it all out
ahead of time.
Peter was silent for some time, perhaps going over her response in his head. She
swallowed, nervously awaiting what he would say next, either accepting or denying such a
statement. Then she felt it, warm breath against her neck. Sarah squirmed, but found
herself pinned beneath the body behind her and the window.
"We both know that that was not how it happened. Sarah, tell me the truth, for
once, please," Peter begged from behind her.
Sarah continued to gaze out of the window, wishing it all to be gone. She wanted
only to be free from the entire world that had held her captive for so very long. It was so
wrong, all of it. Her life, her experiences, the feelings she now experienced, they had all
been horribly warped when compared to the "typical" woman her age.
She moved her head just enough to gaze somberly into Peter's emerald eyes. They
flashed, appearing nearly cat-like, in the lamps' illumination, and brought not so distant
memoirs of *HIS* eyes to her imagination. There was so much different about Peter,
more than Sarah cared to know.
"I told you already, Peter," she replied, and felt him move away, relinquishing her
from her constrained position.
She nearly tripped upon the gown she wore. Sarah steadied herself, straightened
the lovely costume and then fixed Peter with her most serious expression. He was not,
however, in the mood for her anger, and slowly turned to leave her alone.
Sarah watched, silently, as he walked from the ballroom, his shoulders hunched
and his spirits shattered. She tried to say something, anything to lighten the atmosphere.
Yet, it was too late. Peter's form was gone when, at last, she uttered a whispered "wait."
"What did I do?" Sarah asked gently, shaking her head in complete confusion.
There was no easy answer. Once more, her mind troubled with thoughts of what
could have been done differently, she turned to gaze out of the clear window, and into the
night. Shards of crystalline stars dotted the vast velvet sky, and the moon hung, glowing
with white serenity.
Everything bore labyrinth undertones, even the night landscape. Sarah slowly
walked forward, the high heels of her shoes echoing as they clicked against the ground. It
was a strange hallow sound, forcing loneliness all around. After all, she was the only soul
in the vast room, which would appear more comfortable with masses of people.
The ground, trees, even the lovely stable, where all bathed in the white illumination
from the overhead moon. It was so lovely, so breathtaking, but, despite herself, Sarah
yearned to be gone. She knew, somewhere deep inside, that the night witnessed in the
Underground would put this one to shame.
A slight waving outline, almost only a shadow, reflected against the flawless
window. Sarah instantly spun about, and gasped. The room, the ballroom, had become
what she believed it should have been..... filled with lovely people.
Countless ladies and gentlemen whirred about, dancing to a waltz which sounded
as if it came from some great distance. They appeared so very lifelike, but their figures
blurred in and out of reality as Sarah watched, unable to move. Her shock overcame any
actions she wished to have taken, or any words she would have spoken.
"Sarah," a soft, musical voice stated from her side.
She managed to turn her head, and look at the nearly identical woman who stood
there, hands clasped together.
"Emelia?" Sarah asked, her voice shaking horribly as the truth pounded into her
fragile mind.
The girl managed a smile, though it pained Sarah to see it. Emelia was so hurt,
and eternal tear stains rushed down her pale cheeks. She was clothed in the same
cornflower blue dress that she had worn when Sarah first saw the young spirit. Yet,
Emelia's hair was done up this time, for the ball, into lovely chestnut spirals raining down
around her face.
Emelia reached out and took Sarah's hand into her own. She tugged gently, but
insistently, urging Sarah to follow her. What choice was there really? They were in the
middle of a grand ball that had taken place some hundreds of years ago. Sarah had,
already, admitted to herself that she had sunken completely into insanity.
"Come, Sarah," Emelia whispered.
The young woman seemed to float upon the ground, never once pausing to step.
Sarah took up her skirts, and followed quickly behind, anxiously wondering where she
was being led. The wove between couples, oblivious upon the dancefloor, and through
crowds of men talking about politics, and other matters which were of no interest to either
girl.
They stopped abruptly at the farthest wall, which was covered, in majority, by a
massive painting. Three people were portrayed by the amazing artist, whom had created
such a masterpiece. Sarah, at once, recognized Emelia, perhaps at the age of ten, and
took the man and woman to be Mr. and Mrs. Fontridge.
Emelia motioned once more, urging Sarah to hurry, and not dawdle past the
portrait. The spirit stopped at a door, which matched the golden shading of the walls
perfectly. Even the knob appeared to be but an extent of the ornate designs done in
plaster over the expanse of the entire ballroom. Emelia swung the lovely, camouflage
door open, and then disappeared inside, in the darkness which it led to.
Sarah followed close behind, ducking inside shortly after Emelia. At once she was
overcome by blackness. There was nothing, save the eternal dark which ate up anything
that sat beyond the door. Then, with a resounding slam, the door blew closed, leaving
Sarah prisoner in the frightening, mysterious room.
"Emelia? Where, where...?" Sarah began, finding herself unable to continue as
shivers raked across her body.
Then, with a hiss as the candle was lit, a orange flame sputtered forth in the dark
abyss. Sarah fixed her eyes upon the dancing fire, and slowly crept towards it, and the
dancing illumination it offered.
A small, delicate hand wrapped about her forearm, feeling so real that Sarah nearly
screamed. Then the familiar face of the young woman appeared in the light, orange hues
cast over her pallor. She pressed a single finger to her lips, urging Sarah to remain silent
in the darkened room. Sarah nodded, though was beginning to feel the need to leave the
confines of the black chamber, and do so soon.
Emelia turned, and tugged lightly on Sarah's arm, as she walked further into the
nothingness of the room. A heavy velvet drape brushed against Sarah and she pushed it
away. Instantly a face was there to meet her, only barely distinguishable in the scant
amount of light offered by the small candle Emelia held. Sarah, instinctively, jumped away
and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to prevent any screams.
"It's a portrait, Sarah," Emily whispered, and urged Sarah onwards, into the
seemingly never-ending chamber they had entered.
Sarah looked the picture over, and realized the folly of her ways. She had taken
the lovely face to be real, and not some concoction of an artist's mind. She paused
momentarily to look over the portrait, noting several similarities in the way the face was
shaped, and the youthful glimmer in the man's eyes.... Such a lovely shade of emerald,
and hair so very dark raven in color.
"Peter?" Sarah asked gently, reaching out to touch the canvas, when she was
abruptly driven away by ever insistent tugs on her arm.
Sarah turned her gaze towards the ghost, whom had suddenly become quite
urgent. Yet, before the living woman could utter a single word of complaint, she found a
sight of overwhelming proportions fill her field of vision. Just as the shock attacked her,
Emelia's hand dropped away, and left Sarah to see it all alone.
A young man, clothed in dated attire, which certainly did not belong to this era,
was atop a majestic black steed. The horse's noble head rose proudly into the cerulean
sky, and his coat glistened with perfection. His eyes rolled slightly back, revealing white
sclera to the world. Both mane and tail rode a timeless wind, which never ceased in its
playful nature. Sarah had seen such a beast but once.... in Fontridge's stables.
The rider had acquired the most of her attention. He was handsome, debonair, and
suave. There was no grin upon his pale face, but his eyes shone with utter mischief. They
blazed forth from the canvas in an array of lovely emerald hues, dancing with a light of
mirth that Sarah could recall witnessing in a certain Goblin King's eyes. His own mane of
raven hair also drifted in the wind, as did his crimson cloak.
Most disturbing was the way he looked at her, from that portrait. It was so huge,
nearly lifelike in size, and, being lit only by the flickering candle's flame, it seemed more
sinister than it should have been. The man's eyes bored directly into hers, as if, through
the paint and canvas, he wished to rule her, dominate her, and control her.
Sarah shivered, and backed away, her heart racing at a truly unnatural pace. She
could not remain, not when the revelation of who this appeared to be, struck her. It could
not be, but it seemed as if there was no denying the fact upon the aged canvas.
The rider was, or at least appeared to be, Peter.
Sarah meandered casually through the large room, lit on all sides by wall-mounted
torch-like electrical lamps. It stretched far and wide but was so markedly barren that it
drilled loneliness into her already broken self. The entire expanse of the ground was lined
with pristine shimmering tile which reflected her figure dutifully back to her widened
chocolate eyes.
As she stepped into the exquisite, grand ballroom, her mind instantly faded back
into a time hidden in the depths of her past. A crystalline dance hall, filled with gearing,
masked guests, consumed her imagination. And dominating the center of the chaos, was
none other than Jareth, resplendent in navy and shattered magic. In his eyes dwelled the
mysteries of the Underground.
It had been weeks now... since Jareth had left her in a flurry of downy feathers,
along with his incantation. Weeks since she had felt him beside her, and still her heart
ached uncontrollably with the pain he had inflicted. Sarah stopped walking and glanced
out the massive windows which completely lined one wall of the ballroom.
The night outside was perfect, without a single marring cloud dwelling in the
lovely navy sky. She remained that way, paused in the middle of the deserted, polished
floor, her eyes fixed on the scenery through the glass.
"Sarah?" A sudden voice jarred her from her thoughts and sent her reeling around.
She managed a shaky smile directed towards Peter, who leaned against the
doorframe. He stood straight and then began to walk inside, his steps echoing with each
time his heels clicked upon the tiles.
"I found it. I'm sorry, was I not supposed to be here?" Sarah inquired, turning
once more to look over the land.
"Fontridge is open to all. Do you enjoy it here, Sarah? Are you happy?" Peter
questioned, stopping just behind her so that she felt the need to look at him once more.
Sarah nodded her head, with a bit too much hesitation to prove that she was
indeed happy. Lying was not her strong point, and Peter instantly understood. He almost
reached out, to touch her shoulder, to, perhaps, comfort her, but stopped before making
any sort of contact. Sarah shied away before he could reconsider and go through with
what was originally intended.
"I'm fine. It's lovely here, really. Anyone would be a fool not to enjoy it entirely.
It's like...like a fairytale," Sarah whispered, a strange twinge resounding deep in the
innermost core of her being.
"Then why do I not believe you? Sarah, what happened that day, when I found
you?" Peter forced the question on her suddenly, without any semblance of a warning.
She faltered noticeably at this sudden change of conversation. Peter however
appeared calm, and waiting for the answer. Without a word Sarah turned away from him
once more, and leaned up against the wide window, which appeared so very clean that it
seemed there was no glass at all separating her from the sky outside.
She remained there, trying to sort the rambling thoughts in her mind, and knowing
that Peter was anxiously awaiting the answer to his inquiry. She could feel his eyes
drilling into her back, as she stalled.
"It was a dream, like I said. I went to sleep and had a horrible dream, and woke
up stripped from my clothes. I thought... I don't know, but I broke down and you found
me then," Sarah stated, rushing through the explanation as if she had planned it all out
ahead of time.
Peter was silent for some time, perhaps going over her response in his head. She
swallowed, nervously awaiting what he would say next, either accepting or denying such a
statement. Then she felt it, warm breath against her neck. Sarah squirmed, but found
herself pinned beneath the body behind her and the window.
"We both know that that was not how it happened. Sarah, tell me the truth, for
once, please," Peter begged from behind her.
Sarah continued to gaze out of the window, wishing it all to be gone. She wanted
only to be free from the entire world that had held her captive for so very long. It was so
wrong, all of it. Her life, her experiences, the feelings she now experienced, they had all
been horribly warped when compared to the "typical" woman her age.
She moved her head just enough to gaze somberly into Peter's emerald eyes. They
flashed, appearing nearly cat-like, in the lamps' illumination, and brought not so distant
memoirs of *HIS* eyes to her imagination. There was so much different about Peter,
more than Sarah cared to know.
"I told you already, Peter," she replied, and felt him move away, relinquishing her
from her constrained position.
She nearly tripped upon the gown she wore. Sarah steadied herself, straightened
the lovely costume and then fixed Peter with her most serious expression. He was not,
however, in the mood for her anger, and slowly turned to leave her alone.
Sarah watched, silently, as he walked from the ballroom, his shoulders hunched
and his spirits shattered. She tried to say something, anything to lighten the atmosphere.
Yet, it was too late. Peter's form was gone when, at last, she uttered a whispered "wait."
"What did I do?" Sarah asked gently, shaking her head in complete confusion.
There was no easy answer. Once more, her mind troubled with thoughts of what
could have been done differently, she turned to gaze out of the clear window, and into the
night. Shards of crystalline stars dotted the vast velvet sky, and the moon hung, glowing
with white serenity.
Everything bore labyrinth undertones, even the night landscape. Sarah slowly
walked forward, the high heels of her shoes echoing as they clicked against the ground. It
was a strange hallow sound, forcing loneliness all around. After all, she was the only soul
in the vast room, which would appear more comfortable with masses of people.
The ground, trees, even the lovely stable, where all bathed in the white illumination
from the overhead moon. It was so lovely, so breathtaking, but, despite herself, Sarah
yearned to be gone. She knew, somewhere deep inside, that the night witnessed in the
Underground would put this one to shame.
A slight waving outline, almost only a shadow, reflected against the flawless
window. Sarah instantly spun about, and gasped. The room, the ballroom, had become
what she believed it should have been..... filled with lovely people.
Countless ladies and gentlemen whirred about, dancing to a waltz which sounded
as if it came from some great distance. They appeared so very lifelike, but their figures
blurred in and out of reality as Sarah watched, unable to move. Her shock overcame any
actions she wished to have taken, or any words she would have spoken.
"Sarah," a soft, musical voice stated from her side.
She managed to turn her head, and look at the nearly identical woman who stood
there, hands clasped together.
"Emelia?" Sarah asked, her voice shaking horribly as the truth pounded into her
fragile mind.
The girl managed a smile, though it pained Sarah to see it. Emelia was so hurt,
and eternal tear stains rushed down her pale cheeks. She was clothed in the same
cornflower blue dress that she had worn when Sarah first saw the young spirit. Yet,
Emelia's hair was done up this time, for the ball, into lovely chestnut spirals raining down
around her face.
Emelia reached out and took Sarah's hand into her own. She tugged gently, but
insistently, urging Sarah to follow her. What choice was there really? They were in the
middle of a grand ball that had taken place some hundreds of years ago. Sarah had,
already, admitted to herself that she had sunken completely into insanity.
"Come, Sarah," Emelia whispered.
The young woman seemed to float upon the ground, never once pausing to step.
Sarah took up her skirts, and followed quickly behind, anxiously wondering where she
was being led. The wove between couples, oblivious upon the dancefloor, and through
crowds of men talking about politics, and other matters which were of no interest to either
girl.
They stopped abruptly at the farthest wall, which was covered, in majority, by a
massive painting. Three people were portrayed by the amazing artist, whom had created
such a masterpiece. Sarah, at once, recognized Emelia, perhaps at the age of ten, and
took the man and woman to be Mr. and Mrs. Fontridge.
Emelia motioned once more, urging Sarah to hurry, and not dawdle past the
portrait. The spirit stopped at a door, which matched the golden shading of the walls
perfectly. Even the knob appeared to be but an extent of the ornate designs done in
plaster over the expanse of the entire ballroom. Emelia swung the lovely, camouflage
door open, and then disappeared inside, in the darkness which it led to.
Sarah followed close behind, ducking inside shortly after Emelia. At once she was
overcome by blackness. There was nothing, save the eternal dark which ate up anything
that sat beyond the door. Then, with a resounding slam, the door blew closed, leaving
Sarah prisoner in the frightening, mysterious room.
"Emelia? Where, where...?" Sarah began, finding herself unable to continue as
shivers raked across her body.
Then, with a hiss as the candle was lit, a orange flame sputtered forth in the dark
abyss. Sarah fixed her eyes upon the dancing fire, and slowly crept towards it, and the
dancing illumination it offered.
A small, delicate hand wrapped about her forearm, feeling so real that Sarah nearly
screamed. Then the familiar face of the young woman appeared in the light, orange hues
cast over her pallor. She pressed a single finger to her lips, urging Sarah to remain silent
in the darkened room. Sarah nodded, though was beginning to feel the need to leave the
confines of the black chamber, and do so soon.
Emelia turned, and tugged lightly on Sarah's arm, as she walked further into the
nothingness of the room. A heavy velvet drape brushed against Sarah and she pushed it
away. Instantly a face was there to meet her, only barely distinguishable in the scant
amount of light offered by the small candle Emelia held. Sarah, instinctively, jumped away
and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to prevent any screams.
"It's a portrait, Sarah," Emily whispered, and urged Sarah onwards, into the
seemingly never-ending chamber they had entered.
Sarah looked the picture over, and realized the folly of her ways. She had taken
the lovely face to be real, and not some concoction of an artist's mind. She paused
momentarily to look over the portrait, noting several similarities in the way the face was
shaped, and the youthful glimmer in the man's eyes.... Such a lovely shade of emerald,
and hair so very dark raven in color.
"Peter?" Sarah asked gently, reaching out to touch the canvas, when she was
abruptly driven away by ever insistent tugs on her arm.
Sarah turned her gaze towards the ghost, whom had suddenly become quite
urgent. Yet, before the living woman could utter a single word of complaint, she found a
sight of overwhelming proportions fill her field of vision. Just as the shock attacked her,
Emelia's hand dropped away, and left Sarah to see it all alone.
A young man, clothed in dated attire, which certainly did not belong to this era,
was atop a majestic black steed. The horse's noble head rose proudly into the cerulean
sky, and his coat glistened with perfection. His eyes rolled slightly back, revealing white
sclera to the world. Both mane and tail rode a timeless wind, which never ceased in its
playful nature. Sarah had seen such a beast but once.... in Fontridge's stables.
The rider had acquired the most of her attention. He was handsome, debonair, and
suave. There was no grin upon his pale face, but his eyes shone with utter mischief. They
blazed forth from the canvas in an array of lovely emerald hues, dancing with a light of
mirth that Sarah could recall witnessing in a certain Goblin King's eyes. His own mane of
raven hair also drifted in the wind, as did his crimson cloak.
Most disturbing was the way he looked at her, from that portrait. It was so huge,
nearly lifelike in size, and, being lit only by the flickering candle's flame, it seemed more
sinister than it should have been. The man's eyes bored directly into hers, as if, through
the paint and canvas, he wished to rule her, dominate her, and control her.
Sarah shivered, and backed away, her heart racing at a truly unnatural pace. She
could not remain, not when the revelation of who this appeared to be, struck her. It could
not be, but it seemed as if there was no denying the fact upon the aged canvas.
The rider was, or at least appeared to be, Peter.
