Jareth: The Slowness of Time
Normally, twelve years would scarcely register for the Goblin King.
After all, he'd ruled the Underground for a thousand years, and still he was young and vibrant. Twelve years was barely a day.
But the years since he'd met Sarah had dragged unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Lonely day bled into lonelier night, and nothing he'd done seemed to dispel the dark cloud over him. Even hunting and provoking mortals, long his favorite hobby, had grown dull and unsatisfying. For every mortal woman he saw was now imperfect in his eyes. They could never be as beautiful, as winsome, as terrible as his Sarah, who'd forsaken him, left him behind with the dreams of childhood.
In fact, he'd been all but obsessed with her since she'd renounced him. His only real consolation was that she had been so unhappy. It gave him a certain perverse satisfaction to watch her suffer-though when she'd cry it was as if a knife twisted in his heart. Still, he could not look away; all these years he'd silently watched over her like a malevolent guardian angel.
The only time he'd distanced himself was when she'd wed that mortal boy. It wasn't the cruelty and violence, though he'd hated to see her beautiful body marred with bruises. That was agony to watch, but he could stand it. No, it was the sick feeling of jealously he had when that mortal boy touched her that had driven him away. Even now, the thought alone caused a shudder of revulsion. It wasn't fair that another man had taken what Jareth had awakened in her, had intended for himself all along. He clenched his fist. It wasn't fair.
He had wanted to go to her, to make himself known to her, to claim that dizzying, blooming womanhood for his own. Jareth wasn't used to having his lust unfulfilled; he was a man of action, and women had never resisted his charms. He longed to show her the end of what he had begun, to be no longer her enemy but her lover.
But Sarah had said those fatal words, banished him from her life. Truly, since those words left her lips, he'd had no power over her, though she'd held power over him like no other.
And now.
Now he did not know what would happen. Just as no one had defeated him before, no one had ever returned. Was this to be a rematch? Another game of wits, where she strove to overcome him, finally to leave him once more? He didn't want that, and he didn't know that she was strong enough for such an ordeal. Nor did he want to sweep in like the hero of a fairytale, the triumphant king to claim his rebellious queen. No. He thought more, pacing about his throne room aimlessly.
The spark he'd always found so enchanting was still inside her, though its flame no longer lit her beauty from within. It was muted, heaped with ashes. But it still existed. He wondered if her trip through the Labyrinth would ignite it once more...and perhaps make it burn for him rather than against him.
Normally, twelve years would scarcely register for the Goblin King.
After all, he'd ruled the Underground for a thousand years, and still he was young and vibrant. Twelve years was barely a day.
But the years since he'd met Sarah had dragged unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Lonely day bled into lonelier night, and nothing he'd done seemed to dispel the dark cloud over him. Even hunting and provoking mortals, long his favorite hobby, had grown dull and unsatisfying. For every mortal woman he saw was now imperfect in his eyes. They could never be as beautiful, as winsome, as terrible as his Sarah, who'd forsaken him, left him behind with the dreams of childhood.
In fact, he'd been all but obsessed with her since she'd renounced him. His only real consolation was that she had been so unhappy. It gave him a certain perverse satisfaction to watch her suffer-though when she'd cry it was as if a knife twisted in his heart. Still, he could not look away; all these years he'd silently watched over her like a malevolent guardian angel.
The only time he'd distanced himself was when she'd wed that mortal boy. It wasn't the cruelty and violence, though he'd hated to see her beautiful body marred with bruises. That was agony to watch, but he could stand it. No, it was the sick feeling of jealously he had when that mortal boy touched her that had driven him away. Even now, the thought alone caused a shudder of revulsion. It wasn't fair that another man had taken what Jareth had awakened in her, had intended for himself all along. He clenched his fist. It wasn't fair.
He had wanted to go to her, to make himself known to her, to claim that dizzying, blooming womanhood for his own. Jareth wasn't used to having his lust unfulfilled; he was a man of action, and women had never resisted his charms. He longed to show her the end of what he had begun, to be no longer her enemy but her lover.
But Sarah had said those fatal words, banished him from her life. Truly, since those words left her lips, he'd had no power over her, though she'd held power over him like no other.
And now.
Now he did not know what would happen. Just as no one had defeated him before, no one had ever returned. Was this to be a rematch? Another game of wits, where she strove to overcome him, finally to leave him once more? He didn't want that, and he didn't know that she was strong enough for such an ordeal. Nor did he want to sweep in like the hero of a fairytale, the triumphant king to claim his rebellious queen. No. He thought more, pacing about his throne room aimlessly.
The spark he'd always found so enchanting was still inside her, though its flame no longer lit her beauty from within. It was muted, heaped with ashes. But it still existed. He wondered if her trip through the Labyrinth would ignite it once more...and perhaps make it burn for him rather than against him.
