Skipped the Lady to the Master's Gate
Written by A Lady Grinning
"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn . . . "Sarah muttered beneath her breath, a curse with each stomp down the halls towards her room. The shatter of glass and the corresponding burst of the bubble still echoed in her mind. The nerve of him . . .
Just before her door she paused, contemplating how much she really wanted to go back to a near-duplicate of her old life. Sarah let out a screech of exasperation then started back to the throne room, which she would soon find to be eerily vacant once more.
"I thought this was the Castle in the Goblin City," Sarah pointed out to the echoing emptiness. "So where are the goblins?!"
In a fit of sudden madness, perhaps, Sarah crossed to the Goblin King's throne, turned, and addressed the room, "As the true creator of the Labyrinth, I command my subjects to come forward!"
She waited, eyes closed, nails biting her palms, for an answer that she knew could not come.
She threw herself backwards, emitting yet another groan, in an action far too reminiscent of her returning moment to the Labyrinth that day. She half expected to see Jareth's face looming over her when she finally opened her eyes.
There was as little peace to be found here as there was at home.
Sarah was then aware of another presence entering the room.
"What're you doin' here, Sarah?"
Her eyes flew open, and there, poking his head out from the door leading towards her room, was her safety.
With some difficulty, Sarah smiled.
"I'm so glad to see you, Hoggle."
As soon as it had been verified that Sarah had no interest in describing why she was back in the Labyrinth, Hoggle had enough respect to keep his mouth closed and simply walk beside Sarah as they approached the double doors leading to the dining hall.
Sarah paused before crossing the threshold.
After studying her face for a moment, Hoggle patted his friend's hand and said, "Don't worry, Sarah. He ain't comin' back for a while now."
Sarah gave a small smile of acknowledgement and proceeded.
"Maybe not for a day or two, even," Hoggle continued, as the two ventured down into the gardens. "Don't know where he goes, but he do take his time there."
Sarah mused upon the King's mastery of his craft; he had even given the Labyrinth's inhabitants false memories regarding his absences when he was dealing with other worlds.
"What a perfectionist," she murmured.
"Wha'd you say?"
Sarah paused, then said, "I don't understand him at all. What did you call him, Hoggle? Right after you jumped out of that giant gatekeeper? A rat?"
Hoggle laughed. "Yeah, I guess I did."
Sarah laughed with him, but she could not help but feel guilt.
Damn him.
Sarah and Hoggle passed the morning by flippantly discussing whatever crossed their minds while avoiding certain topics and experimenting with the odd looking fruits of the land. Each was delicious while still possessing tastes of no fruit she had ever before tried. Once again, Sarah admired Jareth's skill and loathed herself for the sentiment.
To escape the discomfort, Sarah looked wildly around the miniature hedge maze for an unfamiliar path. She found one almost immediately.
"Hoggle! I found another fruit tree!"
Sarah ran to it, eager for something to divert herself with and unaware of the dwarf's spoken doubts. But it now was too late, for Sarah noted that the type of fruit that grew from this tree was very recognizable, indeed.
"I tried to stop ya, Sarah, but--"
"It's--it's okay, Hoggle," Sarah sputtered, backing away. The scent was noxious. "I think . . . I think I'm going to go now."
"Well, all right, Sarah."
Sarah feverishly turned to her friend, who looked down at his feet in shame.
Guilty once again, Sarah said. "I want to explore the Castle. I'm not used to it, and--I want to get lost."
Hoggle looked up and said, "Sorry, Sarah."
"No, Hoggle--"
"I'll take you back."
"Really, I'll be fine," Sarah assured him, backing towards the way they had come. "If I can solve the Labyrinth, this garden will be a piece of cake!"
The two exchanged farewells as Sarah fled the peach orchard.
Somehow she found herself in the throne room again.
"Wasn't this where I was supposed to solve the Labyrinth?" she asked herself, peering out the window.
She turned and looked around the vacant room.
"So I spent an entire day trying to find this damn place, and now I can't get away from it," she softly said to herself.
Allowing her eyes to drift upon the shards of glass now bloodied by careless goblins, recalling the way it had all come about, Sarah clenched her jaw, then released it in a whisper.
"You cocky, arrogant . . . URRRGH!"
Sarah stormed out of the throne room and towards her own, desiring a conference with her dinosaur pillow. As she approached the door, however, she reconsidered.
"Sarah, you child!"
She tore down the adjoining hallway, desperate for something to exert her rage upon, and recalled Didymus's assertion from the trip they took down it: "I should imagine that these rooms are very rarely used, and that my lady would find nothing of interest within them."
"Well," Sarah scoffed, in a surge of defiance. "Let's see, you stuffed animal."
She pushed through a door that looked exceptionally promising.
And when Sarah saw the empty room, she was more certain than ever that she hated him. Hated his games; hated his deceptions; hated his eyes when they were steeped in sincerity.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Sarah returned to the hallway and tried another door, praying for a room worthy of her fantastic reality but certain that it would not come.
The closer Sarah grew to the looming doors at the end of the corridor leading to the dining hall, the more hesitant and more frantic she became. A need for something new? A disgust in seeing the King's portrait? Sarah was unaware of what motivated her throwing ajar the doors one by one, but she knew that she would be safe again once she found a furnished room. Still, every one leered back at her an empty hole with blank, windowless walls. And closer still Sarah came.
And then, but a few doors from those to the dining hall, Sarah found an opening. Another door, rather, behind one of those she had thrown open. It lay within a small corridor--mahogany, carpeted--with a lantern on either side of it unlike those in the main hall. These were small chandeliers, lucid fires smoldering within clusters of crystal, which, for no reason at all, made Sarah's stomach lurch. This small place was unlike the great, echoing, silent spaces that the castle comprised in every way, yet it was so familiar to her. She slowly reached for the handle (glass!), and opened it.
She found herself immersed in her surroundings, with no door to be seen.
Her breath was, quite literally, taken away, at the sight of her hallucination and the feeling that it was not such a hallucination after all. But it was all here, and here she was within it, though Sarah felt a little out of place. She wasn't dressed right, at all.
She took a step and was shocked to hear her footfall reverberate across the floor, across the great glass dome above her head. Somewhere within her she wondered how she would ever get out, and something within her objected everything her senses detected, but something about the ballroom was so peaceful now, without so many people, and Sarah put her other foot forward.
After a moment of readapting to the bubble, Sarah felt more comfortable, and walked towards the edge of the high section of the room that she was on. Her memory replaced the crowd of grotesque dancers, and she turned in repulsion. She walked towards the stairs to her right, hoping to escape the discomfort and see this truly lovely room with new eyes, but Sarah was distracted by the sensation that someone was behind her, watching her. She swiftly spun around, only to be met with her distorted reflection on the curving surface behind her. Sarah moved on once again, albeit cautiously. There had been a warm breath on her neck only a moment before, she was certain of it. As she approached the next platform, another recollection panged her mind; the clock had been here. It wasn't anymore, though. She wondered what the time was, but not really.
Her foot touched the next open area, and he was there, gazing at Sarah like there was no one else in the room. Even now, so far away from that week-or-maybe-longer ago, she was poisoned. As her mind's phantasm moved toward her, Sarah took a half step back, full aware that, had she been wearing that ballgown, it would have looked terribly awkward. So she paused the memory for a moment, composed herself like a princess might, and reopened her eyes. The little princess grasped her escort's hand (startled that she only held air at first, but only momentarily) and followed his lead with the dignity of a young lady.
And, yet, as he led her down the next series of steps, she betrayed her memory and looked deeper, beyond the glitter dusting his cheekbones and noticing for the first time that his eyes were different, and saw that the corners of his mouth were slightly taut. His eyes glanced down to her own mouth every so often. Sarah could hardly bear it.
She was whirled to her left, then back to her right. No, Jareth--she smiled--it wasn't too much fun at all. Too fast for her, she could hardly hold on to his jacket . . .
He was singing to her. Jareth was singing to Sarah. Really singing. That he would be there for her--oh--as the world falls down.
And he was. But she threw him off the edge.
So, to repay the generosity, Sarah didn't pay attention to the laughter and watched his face soften. Stayed when through the chiming of the clock. And when it chimed seven, maybe, she heard his echo, that she was not falling, but that someone was falling in love.
And as Sarah turned, back and forth, in perfect timing with her reflection on the wall, clutching the gloved hand for dear life, someone was.
Just you wait . . .