Regrets.

Chapter 1: Haunting Memory.

Jareths' Point of View.

Regrets, I have them piled sky high. Regrets of what I've done, regrets of what I've let other people do and regrets of what I should have done.

I have a lot of shoulda, coulda, wouldas in my life. Far to many.

That's the price of immortality, it all just piles up and up. All the deaths, all the mistakes, all the loneliness and all the hurt. All I can fell is the great big crushing weight of the hurt, the pain in me. Maybe that's why I steal babies.

I can't really recall. Why should I recall? I know the reason is bad, and that it will cause more pain in me to remember the past. They say don't live the past, live the present, but isn't there something to learn from the past?

I know I'll never make that mistake again, the one that burns in the back of my brain, that echoes round the cavity of my head.

You wouldn't' give me the chance.

***

Jareth snapped his head up. You, he thought. So much for not remembering.

Wine hadn't worked; kicking his subjects hadn't worked; fighting hadn't worked; drugs Aboveground hadn't worked. Nothing worked, not even the waging war that was in him.

He knew that if he saw her again it would spilt him down the middle and he would be no more.

That was part of the problem though. If he changed his clothes, five times a day, and five times a night, there was no one in the Goblin Kingdom to care or to see.

Just a memory...

And a memory that was slowly driving him mad, if he wasn't already classed as insane. Even his subjects where avoiding him and sitting in desperate silence, praying that he didn't notice him. One thing it meant that his castle wasn't so messy, if any thing the dust was having a chance to settle. He could feel his gasping lungs draw huge breaths of it in, like a swimmer coming up for oxygen after a long dive, to find that God had taken the air away and replaced it with sulphur.

Of cause it could just be the excess of Goblins that he chucked in the Bog.

No, he knew what he'd do. It had been thirteen months since... she had been here. Let him take his revenge now.

Grinning savagely, Jareth took flight, his stiff wings stirring the air to create clouds of dust in his castle. As he popped through to Aboveground he remembered how much he liked to fly above, in the frozen air, close to the silver moon that flowed through the leaden air.

It cleared his head, so when he landed in her room, he was cool, calm and collected for what he was about to do.

***

Okay, I'm sorry it's short, but let me know what you think and if it's worth adding to. And how loose Jareth should be. Naiyla, my muse reckons I should let him kill her. I'm not so sure...

Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth.