Author's Note: Keep forgetting this. . .grumbles

Disclaimer: Upon my window sill you read a parchment plain and simple, to lawyers, prosecuters and meanies my smile gives no dimple. Things in fanfiction are not mine, just about them do I write,
so please do not sue me for a fine that's out of sight!!

(A.N. This Disclaimer applies to the prologue, this chapter, and all other future chapters. Thank you.)

To the following reviewers I show eternal gratitude for giving me the courage to continue this story when I thought that I might/should not:

White rain- I am very glad you have enjoyed it so far. I shall try and keep you on your toes. :-)

Moonjava- A story without description is like a human without blood- there is no life. I'm so glad you like my tale. :-)

Onto Chapter 1. . .
Chapter 1: O'er the horizon, a blood dawn breaks.
Hazel and blue, mixed in an odd combination to form a striking stare, looked out over the horizon. As the orange sun dawned, reatures below that had been raking spindly bone fingers over the stone, dropped as the blood rays touched upon their heads. There they would rest until night fell again.

The land lit up like a pockmark on charred skin. Ugly, and gruesome, the twisting maze looked threatening to even its king. So much had happened over the past ten years, and he had been unable to stop it. It had started out with minor events, such as goblins disappearing randomly. It was only one day that Jareth noticed the maze shifting. It was not unusual for the maze to shift, except for the hedge mazes. They never moved. . .and yet, he had looked out one day to see them absent from the center if his Labyrinth.

Then, as quickly as he had blinked, they had reappeared, but in a much altered state from their true form. Vines with heads the size of buffalo reared their ugly selves from above the hedge mazes walls, fanged, black teeth glittering in the sunlight. It was then that Jareth realized that something was happening to his Labyrinth.

It had taken many, many months of research to discover what had happened. It was in his library, with an old, dusty tome in his lap, that Jareth found new information on his Labyrinth that he had not know. Apparently, when someone had beaten the Labyrinth, the Labyrinth gave the victor a piece of it to carry always. In return, the human would supply dreams for the Labyrinth to flourish and thrive.

If, however, the owner forgot how to dream, the Labyrinth would begin to decay and die. It was with heavy heart that Jareth placed the tome back into his library. Determining that his Labyrinth should live, he found himself wandering Sarah's dreams, begging for her help, but she could not hear him. She had lost her ability to believe, and therefor, had lost her ability to see him, even in her dreams.

Bitterly, Jareth stared out over his Labyrinth. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to pause the decay of his Labyrinth, and keep it from decline, but alas, to no avail. It was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could simply sit in his window for all of his immortal life and remember his Labyrinth when it used to be vibrant and alive.

Anger washed over him at the thought that Sarah would never dream again, and he would be cursed for eternity to sit and remember what his Labyrinth had once been. As rage flooded through his veins, he stood and began to kick the debris of his throne room hear and there, until he tired himself out enough and returned to the window sill.

Sarah. . .

There wasn't a day that hadn't gone by that he hadn't thought of her, hadn't wished that she had not refused his offer. Yet, she had been so young, and he should've known better than to offer his heart to a girl-child that would not understand.

There were days when he would summon his crystals, and stare for hours on end at the ravishing beauty she had become. Seeing her live her mundane life, a life devoid of her dreams.

Summoning a crystal, he held it gingerly in one rough-gloved hand and peered down into its wavering depths. A young woman with hair the color of a raven's wing was deep in sleep. The moon shone through her window, the pale light dancing upon her skin, causing it to glow like the loveliest of pearls. Sighing, he tried once more to slip into her dreams, only to be shoved violently away by the wall of unbelief.

Despair washed over him, and he hung his pale head over the crystal, as his shoulders shook silently.

And in the emptiness of the throne room, the Goblin King gave into despair. . .
Sarah was dreaming.

In the midst of the cold room she sat, peering into the void before her as if trying to understand it. Suddenly, from all around her, yellow pinpoints of dim light appeared. Reflected in the orbs, like cat-eye marbles, was a dim light that reached out to shine upon her skin. Whispers carressed her like a gentle breeze, and Sarah called out to her dream.

"What are you?"

"We are they."

The voice sounded like stone rubbing against gritty brick. Dry, and hollow in its make.

"And what is they?"

"You are conquerer of we."

Sarah blinked, wrapping her arms around her and staring at the thousands of eyes that interrupted the fabric of her black dream.

"What do you mean?"

"You kill us with your lack of faiths."

The voice hissed in sudden pain.

"We's is dying. Yous must helps us!"

Sarah shook her head.

"I don't understand."

"Helps us!"

Suddenly, spindly arms reached out from the darkness for Sarah. They were the most gruesome bits Sarah had ever seen. Moss colored bone was adorned by charred flesh, hanging off in masses from the greened limb. Thin strings of ligaments held flesh to certain places, and blood as black as tar dripped down to pool at Sarah's feet.

"We needs you to live! We needs yous!"

And Sarah screamed. . .

Sarah awoke from her sleep, sitting up in bed, as straight as a board. Terror flashed across her face, until she realized that she'd simply had a nightmare. Glancing over at her alarm clock she saw that it was far too early to get up: 3:30. Sighing, Sarah tried to forget her dream and lay back down to sleep.

Yet, as she drifted off, she couldn't help but wonder why her dream felt so important, and why her dreams seemed to consist of a man of loveliness always crying as if he were to live his life in death and despair. . .