Chapter XIII
Jareth, too, was shocked and lost.
How could she? How could she just turn away like that? She had seen him! She had looked into his eyes and - he was sure – Sarah had seen that he was now powerless to resist her. Powerless.
"…as the world falls down…"
He had been powerless to comfort her when she had stood alone, all alone, lost and cold and very lonely . . . Powerless to reach out and answer to her tentative touch . . . Powerless to take her hand and turn her back…
…To take her…to bring her into his embrace by the string of emotions connecting them, like a bridge to her mind… her mind that was usually so vulnerable, so open, so inviting…
. . . to even call out to her. Powerless. Again.
Powerless even to remain on his feet, Jareth sank to the ground, his cape crumpling beneath him. Dropping his head onto his gloved hands, he sat there – exhausted, broken, trying to keep back the unwelcome emotions. Vaguely he caught himself wondering if the pain would be any less had he curled up on the grass like Sarah curled up on her bed when she was grieved or in pain. But the thought of Sarah did not ease the torturous feeling that there was a huge hole somewhere on the left side of his chest, and that it was slowly growing wider and emptier.
Trying to throw these thoughts aside, away, out of hurting distance, Jareth leaned back onto his hands, lifting his face and letting the moonbeams bathe it in delicate light, cooling and soothing as the night wind. Feeling something prick the side of his right hand, he drew it back, discovering a pale rose.
It was elegantly shaped and had not yet opened. Pale violet in color, it was darker at the tips and almost a bluish color at the center. It smelled sweet, seemed so small and beautiful and fragile, and yet already it was armed with thorns. Long ones, and sharp, too Jareth reflected, remembering that they had somehow managed to pierce leather.
Carefully avoiding the spear-like thorns, he picked up the flower hiding it in the dark folds of his cape. He felt the need to keep it for some reason, hoping against all hope and wishing against all logic that even Sarah could come up with, that maybe, just maybe, second chances were indeed a possibility.