Chapter 2: Into the Labyrinth.

It all rests in the power of a wish. Humans never seem to catch on that if you want something bad enough, you can certainly get it. What they don't understand is that the proper words can force an outlet for a strong desire. And Sarah, for all her teenaged angst, never lacked for desire--nor will.

I was watching when Sarah wished to know the words--so I gave them to her. She wished that the child be taken--I took him. And then, because she also wished to go, though she did not know it then, I gave her a path to take.

I meant it when I said "What a pity." In fact, I meant every word I ever said to her. But more specifically, I pitied both her and myself for being so suddenly disillusioned. She didn't want real dreams. She wanted to keep them safe and shining in her head, and I didn't see that until too late. I pitied myself, too. For at that point I realized I was further into it than I'd thought.

Up until then, I had just been a casual observer. An unseen force for good that would help this ordinary, creatively little child to realize her dreams. Then when I had presented myself before her, I had seen what she really was, had watched her adult self take over and had known myself to feel more deeply for her than was comfortable. I fought it. I did not want to fall in love with a silly little girl who did not know what she wanted and did not know herself at all. And yet, against my will, I did.

I took the child and my goblins back to my castle to see events play out. I had no intention of giving the child back, although by the rules that governed her wish, I was bound to give him back if she could come and get him from me. What I expected, admittedly, was that she would try to beat the Labyrinth with all the selfish strength a child can muster, to get her brother back. That is to say that when she became thirsty, hungry, tired, she would question why she was doing this and then gratefully accept my generous offer of her dreams.

Of course, she never did question her motives. It was an instinctive quest, I believe. She didn't allow herself to think about it but she simply did it. Not a very deep one, was Sarah. She didn't need to be. She had the worlds inside of her to make up for it.

Hoggle has been a denizen of my Labyrinth for at least five hundred years. He came to me from the under the southern hills where the rest of his family lived. He wanted to become a gardener, not a miner, not a creature foreign to sun light. His weakness and his cowardess are relics from his childhood. He did not grow to be strong by opposing his family. If he could have had the choice he would not have opposed them at all. But he was the way he was and when it grew to be too much, he ran away. That was his strategy for everything--to run away. To his credit, it worked quite well until Sarah came along.

I welcome most creatures to my Labyrinth, unless they wish to destroy it. Hoggle was an oddity among oddities. He was as normal a Labyrinth citizen as any. I truly did not think he had it in him to defy me. In his own eyes he owed me a debt.

He let Sarah into the Labyrinth, as was his duty. Carefully placed words, as you've no doubt surmised, are the key to my Labyrinth (As well as most other places above or below ground). Hoggle was perfectly within the rules of the Labyrinth to tell her whatever she wanted--provided she said it right. That was when his role should have ended. He walked out of the corridors, disgusted with her, and shut her into the Labyrinth.

Then, Sarah's behavior in the endless corridors started to make me think that perhaps I was wrong--that she was nothing more than an average girl, that she was not ready to embrace that adult in her and give away her fantasies. I scolded myself for imagining more than was there. I was filled with a very strange feeling--a combination of disappointment and intense satisfaction, having gained an heir, but lost something that might have been more important.

Impatient for her to give up, I distracted myself. Something stirred in me at seeing her run and run, first with annoyance and then with hysteria. I missed the worm, though I found out about it later. The worm was also following the rules of the Labyrinth. It is a Labyrinth creature born and knows nothing but the rules of the Labyrinth. It wouldn't even know how to break them if it wanted to. And so it helped her in a matter of speaking--but in true Labyrinth form, advised her to turn the less-helpful way. Of course, in it's own mind, the worm did her a great favor. Why should anyone want to come to the castle?

I watched her become cunning, using her lipstick to try and cheat. The Labyrinth, as she found out, has ways of thwarting cheating. Cheating is never against the rules--it just doesn't work. Seeing her frustrated and trapped, I went back to the baby, my future heir and tried not to think about the way her eyes went wide and helpless. That wouldn't work on me, I lied to myself.

I work my magic through two things that I have always been most gifted in--my crystals and music. I began to weave the foundations of the magic that would bind Toby to the Labyrinth and prolong his life. The goblins, perhaps because they are also bred from the Labyrinth, recognize my magic when they see it and revel in it. So I sang to Toby. I made him laugh, I gave him a link to the Labyrinth that in time would grow to an unbreakable tie. And he, in the curious knowledge of babies, knew perfectly well what I was doing. He stopped crying and took notice.

Meanwhile, Sarah solved the easiest of my logic puzzles, one that has been written down countless times to the point where all but the most naive can pass. Aglow with victory, she stepped through. And of course, got caught by the waiting hands.

I always wonder why it was she chose "down" instead of "up". Did she realize that the hole was the way to the castle? Or was it some other thing, a strange intuition, perhaps? I don't know, and I doubt Sarah truly knew herself. When she was dropped down into the Oubliette, I realized I was dealing with a real opponent, and changed my opinion of her again.