Disclaimer: not mine, copyright Labyrinth Enterprises (at least, that's what it says on my copy Of the movie). Thank you Mr. Jim Henson way up high for creating such loveliness.
If you like Jareth, this tale will upset you.
The Pied Piper
Three
"You are a Fae."
He smiles, both gentle and arrogant. Twirls her around in the narrow space between the other dancers. Their colours are reddish brown, moss green, soft pink and gold. They are like the earth and the woods and the morning mist. They hide their faces behind a devils grin, painted on their horned beasts masks, scull faces, cat's eyes.
He is her royal blue Midnight Sky and she his pure and radiant Star. When she is close to him, the gemstones on his frock coat glitter with a life of their own and his eyes sparkle in tune. When he is close to her, she has the wisdom of belonging.
"You are a girl."
While his lips keep smiling, there is regret in those eyes. Indignant she replies him.
"I'm nearly a woman!"
He pushes for more space and some of the other dancers disappear. The room gets clearer, wider. The bubble fans out and solidifies into the castle walls of yellow grey stone. Golden servants offer resting guests their wine, little goblins scurry around, delivering messages, clearing up after the guests, mostly unseen, trying to avoid the tall dancers. Large gothic windows appear, open to the wonderful fresh air outside.
"Nearly, but not just yet, my pet." he rhymes, both regretful and teasingly.
Candles flicker into existence, all over the ballroom, huge mirrors reflect the soft light thousand fold and the dancers swirl through a sea of stars. Chandeliers above them, heavily hung with diamonds and pearls again reflect the light. The dancers see only each other.
She has an arrogance all of her own, Holding up the side of her white satin gown, breathing a little difficult for the tight bodice sewn with pale diamonds and the rich yet heavy necklace at her throat she answers haughtily.
"I'm not your pet."
He pulls her against his body and she gasps. Quickly he brushes his lips over her brow, then allows the little space between them again.
"Let me give you your dreams."
She smiles.
"But we are dreamers now."
He nods.
"How true."
There is no time for more. Suddenly the ballroom is divided with the remaining Fae, the servants and the goblins at one side, The King and his lady at the other. One Fae takes of the grotesque mask.
"Where are you!" he demands.
Like all of his kind, he is beautiful and slender. In contrast to the King he is very dark haired, black, like a raven's wings. Yet his blue eyes are as uneven as the King's. His palms are open and his voice is pleading.
"Come back, I need you."
"Ashemelon- I stand right before you." He looks somewhat befuddled at his lady and she looks back, frightened.
Other Fae take their masks of, whispering.
"Come back to us."
"Where are you."
"We can't find you."
"We miss you."
"Use your magic."
Taking back a step, away from them and letting go of his lady's hand, he answers.
"But I am using my magic, all the time-"
The first Fae to speak steps up to him and stands close to the young woman.
"Not enough, brother- never enough! The chasm between their world and ours is one we can never as easily bridge. That was always one of your talents."
Than he tries for humour.
"Please come back- Your goblins are driving me nuts!"
The girl places her hand on the arm of the stranger Prince to attract his attention.
"Come back? But he stands before you. Come back where from? How can the goblins drive you nuts- He is the one that rules them."
The dark Prince turns to the girl.
"You always forget your dreams. And he just can't seem to remember. Find him for us!
"Why! What is going on!"
"Guide him back to us. Find him for us. Make him use his magic more than he has ever done before- Than we can find him. You are our only hope, child of the other world. Only you remember. Only you believe."
"What has happened?"
"We know so little."
The King embraces her from behind, protective. His voice is deceivingly sweet and openly sarcastic.
"Yes my dear, do tell."
She does not protest, for once. He is real and solid and she needs to feel him.
One by one, the candles splutter and die. One by one, the Fae, the golden servants and the goblins, fade and disappear. She feels him go from her and spins around.
"No!" she cries, seeing light only far away and runs to it as fast as her gown allows.
One by one, the candles splutter and die and he is unable to keep them alive. Which is odd, if you think about it. Suddenly she is gone, calling for him from great distance but he cannot react to her voice. The light around him his harsh, coming from a dirty pole. There is an awful smell, rivalling the bog with it's intensity. Males have relieved themselves here, people have vomited here- and there are odd bags with old dirt and flies- He inspects one of the bags, without touching it, holding an elegant perfumed lace handkerchief before his nose and mouth.
"Plastic!" he says disdainfully, understanding instantly where in the nine worlds he has ended up- but still very much without the why.
She runs to the light and is closing. Does he not hear her cry? Does he not see the shadows, nearing him from behind? Oh yes, thank god- he does.
Slowly he turns towards the harsh voices speaking in obscenities. When they come for him, the first is thrown into the bags and the dirt, the second is forced on his knees by the iron grip around his wrist, making him drop the shining blade.
He laughs. Arrogantly, proudly. Unworried.
Too damn sure of himself, she thinks, closer yet still to far away. He cannot see the first one moving among the dirt in-between them. She reaches them, finally- but she is behind a wall of invisible bricks and she can't find a way to break through. She knows without reason from his end, all he sees is the wall.
The third one takes to his heels, followed by his laughter. He seems unaware of the first.
"No!" she screams. "He has a gun!" she shouts.
When he finally turns to the muffled sounds, it is too late, the silent drop of metal already on its way. He reacts too quick for the human eye and jumps, yet the wound in his side is unavoidable and he falls. The shadow comes for him again- he grimaces, flicks his wrist- thousands of ants were the shadow stood and the weapon falls to the ground with a clattering sound besides a small pile of cloth. The shadow with the broken wrist screams-
With great difficulty, a wounded red splattered owl tries to fly away- then there is a light searing and bright, high in the air out of her reach. The smell of burning feathers- darkness.
They would always wake up wild and terrified grasping for hell knows what, only catching the smell of burning feathers.
If you like Jareth, this tale will upset you.
The Pied Piper
Three
"You are a Fae."
He smiles, both gentle and arrogant. Twirls her around in the narrow space between the other dancers. Their colours are reddish brown, moss green, soft pink and gold. They are like the earth and the woods and the morning mist. They hide their faces behind a devils grin, painted on their horned beasts masks, scull faces, cat's eyes.
He is her royal blue Midnight Sky and she his pure and radiant Star. When she is close to him, the gemstones on his frock coat glitter with a life of their own and his eyes sparkle in tune. When he is close to her, she has the wisdom of belonging.
"You are a girl."
While his lips keep smiling, there is regret in those eyes. Indignant she replies him.
"I'm nearly a woman!"
He pushes for more space and some of the other dancers disappear. The room gets clearer, wider. The bubble fans out and solidifies into the castle walls of yellow grey stone. Golden servants offer resting guests their wine, little goblins scurry around, delivering messages, clearing up after the guests, mostly unseen, trying to avoid the tall dancers. Large gothic windows appear, open to the wonderful fresh air outside.
"Nearly, but not just yet, my pet." he rhymes, both regretful and teasingly.
Candles flicker into existence, all over the ballroom, huge mirrors reflect the soft light thousand fold and the dancers swirl through a sea of stars. Chandeliers above them, heavily hung with diamonds and pearls again reflect the light. The dancers see only each other.
She has an arrogance all of her own, Holding up the side of her white satin gown, breathing a little difficult for the tight bodice sewn with pale diamonds and the rich yet heavy necklace at her throat she answers haughtily.
"I'm not your pet."
He pulls her against his body and she gasps. Quickly he brushes his lips over her brow, then allows the little space between them again.
"Let me give you your dreams."
She smiles.
"But we are dreamers now."
He nods.
"How true."
There is no time for more. Suddenly the ballroom is divided with the remaining Fae, the servants and the goblins at one side, The King and his lady at the other. One Fae takes of the grotesque mask.
"Where are you!" he demands.
Like all of his kind, he is beautiful and slender. In contrast to the King he is very dark haired, black, like a raven's wings. Yet his blue eyes are as uneven as the King's. His palms are open and his voice is pleading.
"Come back, I need you."
"Ashemelon- I stand right before you." He looks somewhat befuddled at his lady and she looks back, frightened.
Other Fae take their masks of, whispering.
"Come back to us."
"Where are you."
"We can't find you."
"We miss you."
"Use your magic."
Taking back a step, away from them and letting go of his lady's hand, he answers.
"But I am using my magic, all the time-"
The first Fae to speak steps up to him and stands close to the young woman.
"Not enough, brother- never enough! The chasm between their world and ours is one we can never as easily bridge. That was always one of your talents."
Than he tries for humour.
"Please come back- Your goblins are driving me nuts!"
The girl places her hand on the arm of the stranger Prince to attract his attention.
"Come back? But he stands before you. Come back where from? How can the goblins drive you nuts- He is the one that rules them."
The dark Prince turns to the girl.
"You always forget your dreams. And he just can't seem to remember. Find him for us!
"Why! What is going on!"
"Guide him back to us. Find him for us. Make him use his magic more than he has ever done before- Than we can find him. You are our only hope, child of the other world. Only you remember. Only you believe."
"What has happened?"
"We know so little."
The King embraces her from behind, protective. His voice is deceivingly sweet and openly sarcastic.
"Yes my dear, do tell."
She does not protest, for once. He is real and solid and she needs to feel him.
One by one, the candles splutter and die. One by one, the Fae, the golden servants and the goblins, fade and disappear. She feels him go from her and spins around.
"No!" she cries, seeing light only far away and runs to it as fast as her gown allows.
One by one, the candles splutter and die and he is unable to keep them alive. Which is odd, if you think about it. Suddenly she is gone, calling for him from great distance but he cannot react to her voice. The light around him his harsh, coming from a dirty pole. There is an awful smell, rivalling the bog with it's intensity. Males have relieved themselves here, people have vomited here- and there are odd bags with old dirt and flies- He inspects one of the bags, without touching it, holding an elegant perfumed lace handkerchief before his nose and mouth.
"Plastic!" he says disdainfully, understanding instantly where in the nine worlds he has ended up- but still very much without the why.
She runs to the light and is closing. Does he not hear her cry? Does he not see the shadows, nearing him from behind? Oh yes, thank god- he does.
Slowly he turns towards the harsh voices speaking in obscenities. When they come for him, the first is thrown into the bags and the dirt, the second is forced on his knees by the iron grip around his wrist, making him drop the shining blade.
He laughs. Arrogantly, proudly. Unworried.
Too damn sure of himself, she thinks, closer yet still to far away. He cannot see the first one moving among the dirt in-between them. She reaches them, finally- but she is behind a wall of invisible bricks and she can't find a way to break through. She knows without reason from his end, all he sees is the wall.
The third one takes to his heels, followed by his laughter. He seems unaware of the first.
"No!" she screams. "He has a gun!" she shouts.
When he finally turns to the muffled sounds, it is too late, the silent drop of metal already on its way. He reacts too quick for the human eye and jumps, yet the wound in his side is unavoidable and he falls. The shadow comes for him again- he grimaces, flicks his wrist- thousands of ants were the shadow stood and the weapon falls to the ground with a clattering sound besides a small pile of cloth. The shadow with the broken wrist screams-
With great difficulty, a wounded red splattered owl tries to fly away- then there is a light searing and bright, high in the air out of her reach. The smell of burning feathers- darkness.
They would always wake up wild and terrified grasping for hell knows what, only catching the smell of burning feathers.