CHAPTER XIV
The illusion room was a cube shape, each wall possessing its own stairway. Gravity's laws did not preside here; the laws of sheer will were master, as one could stand on any stairway on the six walls, and not fall. Upon one wall was a clock, ticking away as a relentless bomb. Jareth sat thoughtfully upon the steps, his arms pivoting about his knees. This was his favorite place for reflection, and there was much to be considered.
"She is human, simple to understand, simple to control," he mused quietly. "If that is so, what is my trouble?"
A timid knock came from the door to his left, and he bid whomever was on the other side to enter. It was Isabelle, holding a chalice of wine. "I brought you drink, sir, as you asked."
He took the chalice and stared at it a moment. "Thank you, Isabelle. You may go now."
She curtsied and made haste out of the room.
Jareth drank fitfully, then gazed at the clock. It swam before him, unconquerable. Time always eluded him of late. His control was dissipating at an unbelievable pace; control over time, over others, over his very self had become difficult.
His gaze shifted to the chalice in his hand. It was full again. He dropped it, and it hung suspended in the center of the room, the fluid it once contained dancing about it in a growing river. With a sweep of his hand it disappeared, but the wine's effects stayed nonetheless.
Sarah had switched his wine glass with the one he had attempted to give her earlier that evening. How she had done it was beyond him. She must have made the switch just before she came to him in the dining hall. But how.
Jareth did not know whether to curse or laugh. He began to feel lightheaded, yet somehow completely in control of his actions. It was as if one part of himself had been put to sleep due to the wine's spell, while another part was allowed to fully awaken with this partial loss in control. In his mind's eye he pictured a dream, one in which he was dancing with Sarah. Sarah must see me for who I truly am, he thought, gazing at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. I do not have much time, and time, for once, is not under my control.
The beautiful, elusive emotion that had once passed over him made another appearance. It stayed, drifted through his being like frothy cream in hot cider, melting away and dissolving into his being. He relished the taste, savored it like a fine wine, and tried to figure out what this strange liquor was. He suddenly knew that this drink had always been with him, but had merely been locked away.
He looked up and out into the room.
"I love her," he whispered. "If only she could know."
The illusion room was a cube shape, each wall possessing its own stairway. Gravity's laws did not preside here; the laws of sheer will were master, as one could stand on any stairway on the six walls, and not fall. Upon one wall was a clock, ticking away as a relentless bomb. Jareth sat thoughtfully upon the steps, his arms pivoting about his knees. This was his favorite place for reflection, and there was much to be considered.
"She is human, simple to understand, simple to control," he mused quietly. "If that is so, what is my trouble?"
A timid knock came from the door to his left, and he bid whomever was on the other side to enter. It was Isabelle, holding a chalice of wine. "I brought you drink, sir, as you asked."
He took the chalice and stared at it a moment. "Thank you, Isabelle. You may go now."
She curtsied and made haste out of the room.
Jareth drank fitfully, then gazed at the clock. It swam before him, unconquerable. Time always eluded him of late. His control was dissipating at an unbelievable pace; control over time, over others, over his very self had become difficult.
His gaze shifted to the chalice in his hand. It was full again. He dropped it, and it hung suspended in the center of the room, the fluid it once contained dancing about it in a growing river. With a sweep of his hand it disappeared, but the wine's effects stayed nonetheless.
Sarah had switched his wine glass with the one he had attempted to give her earlier that evening. How she had done it was beyond him. She must have made the switch just before she came to him in the dining hall. But how.
Jareth did not know whether to curse or laugh. He began to feel lightheaded, yet somehow completely in control of his actions. It was as if one part of himself had been put to sleep due to the wine's spell, while another part was allowed to fully awaken with this partial loss in control. In his mind's eye he pictured a dream, one in which he was dancing with Sarah. Sarah must see me for who I truly am, he thought, gazing at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. I do not have much time, and time, for once, is not under my control.
The beautiful, elusive emotion that had once passed over him made another appearance. It stayed, drifted through his being like frothy cream in hot cider, melting away and dissolving into his being. He relished the taste, savored it like a fine wine, and tried to figure out what this strange liquor was. He suddenly knew that this drink had always been with him, but had merely been locked away.
He looked up and out into the room.
"I love her," he whispered. "If only she could know."