Counterpoint: Circling

The corridor was pitch black. Sarah walked with her arms outstretched, fingers scraping over the dusty walls. It moved oddly, sometimes arcing upwards, other times plunging deeper into the earth, undulating as if it had been cut through the stone by a giant serpent. It seemed she'd walked for miles in the featureless black. She had no way of telling if it had been minutes or hours, only the nagging soreness of her feet marked the time.

Her thoughts worked madly, twisting as much as the tunnel she walked through. She was angry, clear through to the bone. How dare that mirror reflect such an image, claiming it was what she wanted...she couldn't deny that it had been taken to the smallest detail from her fantasies, but she strongly resented that it had been picked from her thoughts. Dammit, she wasn't some kind of...pervert. It was nobody's business what she thought of. Maybe she did want it, but that wasn't all she wanted...

She stopped abruptly in her tracks. What did she want?

Her steps resumed at a slower pace, almost meandering. Such a simple question, but when was the last time she asked herself that? And why couldn't she answer? She wanted happiness. That was easy. But she had no idea how to go about getting it. She bit her lip as she walked. When was the last time she was really happy? It had been quite a while, far longer than it ought to be. But she didn't think of her own happiness much, she'd mostly focused on what had to be done to get by.

"Ok," she said under her breath, trying to focus. What would make her happy? Companionship naturally came to mind. "Great, I'm no better than that mirror showed me," she muttered. But there was more than that, she was certain of it. She paused again, this time sitting on the hard-packed ground, back against the cold, uncomfortable stone, her fingers tracing random patterns she couldn't see in the dirt.

She had been telling the truth when she said fairy tales were for children- despite the life of fancy she'd led, she didn't really want to be the fairytale princess anymore-the very idea was absurd and rather unsatisfying, as if she was sinking back into the lonely unreality of her dreams. No. But reality as she knew it was almost as grim...she sighed heavily, holding her hands before her face, though it was too dark to discern them.

What was there when the dreams were over and the waking world was a nightmare?

**** **** ****

In the palace, Jareth was wondering much the same thing.

His mismatched eyes studied the clock, watching the sword-shaped hands moving steadily onward. Not much time left, and she was far enough from the center that he didn't think she could make it. And now he'd have to decide what to do with her.

Of course, he was not entirely without ideas; the crystal mirror had been quite illuminating. His cheeks warmed and he shifted in his throne as he recalled the vivid image it had pulled from her mind. Yes, he'd be happy to grant her that dream, but that wasn't really a solution.

He sighed and stood, walking to the window to gaze out over his kingdom, unable to withhold a small but triumphant smile; the land was becoming quite green again. His eyes drifted lower, surveying the goblin city that encircled the castle. The houses were still tumbledown, thatch scattered from crooked roofs and falling into the street, bricks and stones in piles. But it too was changing-creatures moved industriously, beginning to clear the streets, cutting back the overgrowth of plants. The Goblins were coming out of their slumber.

He returned to the throne room, drawing a crystal from the air and rolling it absently over his hands as he thought. If she won he supposed he'd have to send her home; that's what he'd told her. And if she lost, as it seemed she would...he sighed again, drawing a gloved hand over his eyes as he dropped into his throne. He was thinking in circles again.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't want to send her back. He liked the thought of her in his Labyrinth, living in a tiny thatch-roofed cottage, or better yet in the castle itself, where he could see her, touch her... And he was lonely. By the gods, he was almost as lonely as she was. But his willful pride stood in the way of what he wanted. Any other woman and he'd take what he wanted, which was to have her near, both servant and companion. He supposed he could still do this-once she lost, he'd have power over her once more, but he doubted her iron will would bend before him.

And, oh gods, he loved her, wanted her to be happy. He was disdainful, suspicious of these soft feelings, instinctively shying away from them as he would from any weakness. Were it not for the love, he could have dealt with her easily...

He stood again, walking across the throne room, gazing at her three companions. The beast and the knight slept, the smaller of the two snoring quite loudly. The dwarf--was it Hedgewort or Hogwart?--was the only one still awake, looking as tense as Jareth felt. The dwarf met his gaze, cringing and fearful but still stubborn. This repugnant creature loved Sarah as well, though with a fatherly vein that was alien to Jareth. Smiling suddenly, he rested his hand on the dwarf's head.

"You have served me well," he said under his breath. Hoggle bowed his head but made no reply.

Jareth turned again to gaze out the window, his gloved hand again over his eyes, as if he bore up to great pain. Behind him, Hoggle watched, openmouthed with surprise.