{revised}
Framed elegantly in the granite edged window stood a solitary figure, his once regally pale skin stretched and translucent, pulled tight over a handsomely featured face to reveal un-Kingly fatigue. Snow hued locks blew past cold, hard blue eyes, though the man made no move to brush them aside, but instead occupied his hands by twirling and exchanging a glittering crystal sphere. From time to time, he pulled his gaze away from the orb, in who's curved interior danced the picture of a beautiful young girl, to survey the spread of the land over which he ruled. Before him stretched his beloved labyrinth, intricate turns and deceiving traps were invisible when viewed from such an altitude, making the blasé beige expanse appear, almost, innocent. At the edges of the Goblin Kingdom, though, in the mist blanketed lands belonging to No One, a black green shadow had begun to spread, slithering along the edges of the Goblin Kingdom's boarders, and beginning to sluggishly move over the edge. The shadow looked almost alive, turning all it touched a sickly black-jade, and, when it managed to engulf something living, turning the animate object into a grotesque statue of identical hue. A few edge-dwelling goblins had already succumbed to this fate, and stood frozen amidst their plans to flee, ghastly grimaces plaguing their charmingly warty faces.
Jareth, the Goblin King, could no longer deny that something was most certainly very wrong. His magically protected kingdom was being invaded by and indescribable enemy. Slowly turning away from the window, Jareth cast his gaze into the crystal, watching the female within bustle about her room, as if preparing for an evening event. A small sigh of frustration, anger, betrayal, and longing escaped his lips as he angrily dropped the crystal, allowing it to fall and shatter upon the floor.
'Perhaps the fault is hers,' he thought to himself as he kicked away the remains of his crystal with the metal-encrusted toe of one heeled black boot. 'A plague brought from the Abovewold…a menacing aftereffect of conceding to the whims of selfish, adolescent women.'
"If she's the cause," he then began aloud in a pensive tone, a small smirk tugging at the edges of his pale, thin lips, "Then perhaps she is the cure."
With a flick of it's master's wrist, the crystal reformed upon the ground, as if the entire scene were being replayed backwards, and floated back into his hand, once again displaying the visage of the young, beautiful girl. "Oh, Sarah," Jareth mused to himself gravely, his tone smooth as the edge of a sharpened blade.