Truth Hurts, Little Girl
Sarah



Author's notes/Disclaimer: First off notes. I know, this isn't Harry Potter fanfiction! Oh, heart! *watches as the few readers she has die of shock* Blast. In any event, I've decided to finally do some Labyrinth fanfiction. Good thing too, because I watch that movie far too much for my own health. A word comes to mind: obsession.

Well duh. Certainly a concept I'm familiar with.

In any event, here it is. Labyrinth is © someone who is not me. It's a Jim Hensen film (man was a genius), and I mean no disrespect to anyone involved in the movie, because oy, do I love it.


As always, please please please review!



Why is it that we so often realize our mistakes only after we make them?

In those final moments, my triumph clouded my emotions. I was going to win. I was going to take Toby home, and Jareth could swallow that smirk of his and wallow in his defeat. I was the victor, I had won fairly in a world that wasn't ever fair, and he hadn't been able to stop me.

Now, I wonder how I could have ignored what was right in front of me.

His eyes, for instance, in the ballroom. I was so dead-set on winning the game - that's how I think of it now, the game - that I forced myself to ignore the way he looked at me. That gaze was set on me so many times, and each time I pushed him away.

My father's room.

The entrance to the Labyrinth.

The fantasy.

Even the Relativity room. His voice entranced me from the start, and even while I searched for Toby, the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, his voice was in my head, echoing and telling me he loved me in every note.

I... can live... within you...

It was so hard to watch him when he said it, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Even in that moment, he knew it was over. He knew I was going to defy him.

He knew I loved him, and I was going to leave anyway.

And still, he acquiesced. The memory haunts me when I go to bed it night – it greets me in the morning, tortures my dreams. Sometimes I'm back, and I tell him he has no power over me, and instead of throwing that globe into the air and sending me home, he shakes his head and smiles that aggravating smile, that terrible smile that haunts me. Oh, God. If he had, would I have been a miserable as I now am? Would I still dream of him every night if he hadn't let me go back home?

And I do believe he let me. Just think on the power he possessed! He shifted time, he moved me to another world, and still I won. It doesn't quite seem right, does it? Having all that power, yet falling to my declaration of his powerlessness. Was it true, though? Did he really have no power over me?

Perhaps he knew. Perhaps, in a way, his power lies in the fact that he is never far from my mind, despite my wishes. You cant really say I think about him – because it's really more of a possession. I see him in every face, hear him in every song. Oh! His beautiful voice. The magic entrapped in his voice alone should have won over any woman.

I think, perhaps, he was in love with me, and I know, four years later and alone, that I am in love with him.

So maybe I'll die alone.

And maybe I'll sleep with a man who doesn't exist to me for the rest of my life.

And maybe my heart is wedded to ice.

But for some reason…

I don't think so.