Insert the usual disclaimer. I don't own anything but the original characters that I haven't really introduced yet. Oh, but the plot is mine. Especially since my muse took off with my cat. :)
Golden Threads
Chapter 2:
Sarah sat at her desk, once again. Typing away with some sense of satisfaction, she was working on her short story. Her CD player across the room was clicking between one CD and another. She was still humming the last song, one in Spanish, to herself. The story was finally making some headway! On a whim, she had cleared her desk of all but her most recently used items. Two water glasses and a soda can, along with a bowl of what her father lovingly called "gruel". It was one of her concoctions that fed her and didn't taste too terrible, but only required ONE pot to do it. Today was rice gruel, mostly burned, where her sticky rice had 'stuck' to the bottom of the pan.
She felt eyes on her, but that was a normal paranoid thought for her. She always felt someone watching her. Sometimes it made her feel very violated, and others it made her feel safe. Today, she was indifferent. She was finally writing without chewing a pencil to splinters. Her keyboard clacked away and the next CD began to play, with Sarah singing along in her sweet voice. This band was an indie band, a bit too popular for her usual tastes, but addictive all the same.
Jareth watched Sarah from a crystal. Her hair was a bit different from the 'uncreated' Sarah's. Where the Sarah that was portrayed in the movie had long, nearly black hair that hung fairly straight and thick, this Sarah's hair was a more moderate color, and nothing even resembling straight. Still very dark, still lustrous as ever, this new Sarah's hair had tones of red and gold streaked through it, with bouncing waves and curls coming to fruition, if she were to allow it. Currently, though, Sarah kept her hair cut fairly short, around her shoulders, and normally straightened it severely. Shoved into a short ponytail and jammed up under a bandanna, Sarah wrote her story.
Sitting at his own desk in his study, Jareth chuckled at how similar the 'uncreated' Sarah and the new Sarah were. Essentially, to him, they were the same girl, but with a change in appearance. The moss green eyes of the former gave way to the magical, brilliant shades of colors in the new. Sarah's eyes were like a sea after a storm. Grey and blue and green. Like a fae herself, Sarah's eye-color shifted with time and emotion. Sometimes, they blazed the brilliant turquoise, while sometimes they were the gentle calm of faded denim. Jareth longed to look into those magical eyes in person. Framing these, she had long black lashes, thick and supple, and finely arched eyebrows. The change in eyes is what really held Jareth captive. Where the first Sarah had straighter and thicker brows, the new one had distinct arches and sharp lines to hers. Thankfully, she never did the penciled in brows that many in her age had moved to. The history, the pain, and the wisdom that he could see pooled in her eyes was fascinating to him. While his special Sarah sat writing, the king sat and watched her, never ceasing in his thoughts about the differences and overwhelming similarities between the two.
The fates worked their loom silently, listening to the song of life that the universe sang about them. They tied their knots, sliding strings into and out of the pictures they created. Indeed, they had "The Big Picture" in their very hands. The smallest fate held a needle in her tiny hand. Pulling on a sparkling thread, she located the newly metallic strand of a very old soul. She threaded it into her needle, and began stitching power into the life. She brought attention to the soul from the other caretakers of universes. So many universes existed, so many tapestries. Threads could be seen around her, some connecting souls from various universes. She smiled, and threaded a tiny crystal sphere into her tapestry. Soon, Destiny would be satisfied. Unification.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Sarah groaned, and kicked her foot towards the corner of the mattress. There was an alarm clock somewhere around there, and she was determined to make it shut the hell up. Contact! Her heel managed to find the snooze button, and she buried her head under the pillows. A few more minutes, she told herself, and then I'll get up for work. Darkness re engulfed her, and she fell asleep. Before she knew any time has passed at all, the beeping had returned. She repeated the process of kicking the helpless alarm clock and snoozing for about ten minutes for nearly an hour. Finally, with a groan and some very colorful cursing, Sarah launched herself from her bed. "Morning can bite my large white ass," she grumbled at her stepfather, as he attempted a greeting in the kitchen. Grinning, he simply pointed at the full coffee pot.
After quickly downing a cup of overly sugared coffee, Sarah practically sprinted through the shower, especially when she realized how late she had actually slept. Smearing on her concealer and other make-up, Sarah rushed through her routine. "Whose bright idea was it to schedule me in the morning, anyways?" she grumbled at the cat, who just looked at her aristocratically before yawning and curling tighter into the quilt on the bed. "Punk," she said, scuffing up the cat's immaculate black hair, "see if I bring you anything home!"
Jumping in her old car, Sarah sang along with the radio as she raced to work. Speeding, it seems, was the only way she knew how to drive. Arriving at work, barely in time, Sarah rushed into the bookstore, shoving an apron on over her anime t-shirt. At 23, Sarah felt that working in a bookstore's cafe was a bit below her, but it was easy and worked around her school schedule, so she just dealt with it. Giving a half-hearted smile to Mary, who had opened the cafe that morning, She washed her hands and began taking inventory of what needed to be baked, and playing barista. She really was starting to hate mocha.
A few hours passed, the girls talking about music and school. Jokes were made about Zepplin and Sex Pistols, with Sarah's random comments of "Mocha of DOOM" and random phrases from one of her language classes making Mary either giggle at her, or give her the "maybe I should call the men in white coats" look. It was normal, though. This was how Sarah managed to NOT strangle her customers on a daily basis. Weirdness, she was used to, and often proved to be her mental savior. Her mental images of things, her fairytales, her science fiction, her daydreaming. These things saved Sarah from the harsh realities that could have driven her mad. The realities that she faced often made Sarah sad, or melancholy. Some saw her as manic depressive. Others saw resiliency. Sarah was strong. Sarah was a basket case. Of course, the Goblin King thought she was perfect.
About halfway through the chilly workday, Sarah was ready to give up and go home. Her fingers hurt from spilling the boiling water over them, and she stunk like milk and coffee, but not in the good way. If there was one. Another cafe person had come in, and it was finally time for Sarah's lunch. If she could afford much of one. After settling for a cup of soup and some potato chips, she made her way to the employee breakroom in the back of the store. It was boring, but glaringly bright. A blue covered tabe sat in the middle, surrounded by tattered office chairs and grungy folding chairs. The flourescent lights glared down on marketing schemes and old magazines. With a sigh, Sarah settled into one of the ratty padded office chairs and gulped down her small meal. She flipped through a few pages of magazine, before throwing her head down for a few minutes. Closing her eyes, visions began to invade her mind. First, the small hands with the shining threads, then a hazy memory of a medical office, then a breathtaking face. She knew it. It was the Goblin King. Blone hair framed the exotic face. One eye, the color of sky and sea. The other, containing all the colors of the forest, browns and greens and golds. The ivory skin. Her breath caught. It was not the face of David Bowie, who had played the Goblin King in the movie, but of someone else. But, her mind whispered, that IS the Goblin King. The real one.
Reaching forward in her vision, Sarah tried to touch his face. He stepped towards her, and then pointed to a clock. She looked down at herself, and saw her work apron and startled awake. She only had a minute to clock back in and get back to work. With a grumble, she cleared up her dishes and headed back up to "the box" as she thought of it. Mary asked her about her lunch, bur only received a mumbled response about an "overactive imagination" and "less movies, more sleep". Shrugging, they got back to work. Fake smile plastered on, Sarah turned to the next customer in line, taking their yuppie coffee order and answering questions.
Slumping into his throne with relief, Jareth gazed at a spinning crystal in his fingertips. He had nearly been able to speak with her. All he could do was motion to the idea of time, though. Time was running out, and not just in the way of making her late coming back from lunch. The fates had sent him a dream, and it all showed that he needed to secure his holdings and produce an heir in the near future. The kingdom to the West, known as Shazin, was plotting to invade, according to this dream The very thought of producing such an heir with anyone other than his soul-mate made him naseous. He begged fate to give him his reason to contact Sarah.
Days passed, much the same. Sarah blearily made her way through working, only to come back home and slump into her computer chair and write for a few hours, and pass out. Wash, rinse, repeat. Finally, school was about to start back up. Sarah, who was finally finishing her degree, was glad to be back in the world of learning. Sure, it was her fifth year of school, but she had taken her time in deciding on her major. She had settled on Foreign Languages, with a minor in anthropology. The other always drew her attention. Other cultures, other ways of communicating, all of it fascinated her. She often read the folklore of the cultures she studied and made friends with native speakers, or those who had lived in the countries that fascinated her. She had friends from China, Japan, Australia, the UK, France, Central and South America, New Zealand, Germany, Italy, Russia, and the Middle East. In a way, she knew she was looking for a place, a culture that seemed like home to her. So far, she had found cultures that she enjoyed, and each had something that made the right impression with her, but none had ALL of the parts that felt right.
Sitting at her desk, typing away at her little story, Sarah thought about her next semester. It started in a few days, and she was excited. Sure, she felt a little silly, like an elementary student. Most students wish school wouldn't start for another month, but there were a few classes that she was hoping would be worth her time. Reaching over to the cat, she ran through the class list mentally. "I wonder, Aurie," she said softly, "will mythology be really boring, or as interesting as it sounds?" The cat merely blinked her lamp-like eyes and yawned. The minty green flashing caught Sarah's attention, momentarily. She had been noticing small details like that more often lately. Just recently, she had been watching movies, and somehow took notice to the titles on the books that a character would have, or the type of car they drove. She especially had started noticing accents and speech patterns, and found that she could tell you exactly where the person came from, if she knew the language. Shaking her head, Sarah reached down and scratched the cat's ear. Perhaps she was just getting more observant. That's something she liked to think. Back to her scheduling for the next semester, she found that her free time would be fairly limited. When would she have time to fit her artwork and story into daily life? Again, she shook her head. It doesn't matter that much, Sarah, she thought, it won't help you reach your goals anytime soon. Too much work to do. With that, she flipped on her constant companion movie, Labyrinth, and turned herself back to her desk to organize her next few months.
Eyes watched her organizing. One the color of the sea, the other of the forest. Such determination, and such a dream that she refuses to follow. Shaking his head, the Goblin King turned to Hoggle. "Why does she obsess over the fictional version, Hogwal?" The dwarf huffed a moment, mumbling something about his name being improperly pronounced and then regarded the image in the spinning crystal orb.
"Well, sire," he said, "she seems to draw comfort from it."
"Comfort?" the king asked quietly.
"Something the wiseman said, sir," Hoggle grumbled, "I had to decipher it to mean that an old soul like hers would be more comfortable with the world of magic and fantasy, but that she is living in a world of logic and cold iron. Too bad he couldn't just come out at say it."
"The old man always talks himself in riddles," the king said, with a chuckle, "but he's well connected with the realities and fantasies." Hoggle merely nodded and returned his gaze to the orb. The small image of Sarah in the crystal was distracted. She kept trying to focus herself on her tasks, one of them writing more to her story, the other organizing her room into some semblance of clean. However, her attention constantly turned to the movies she watched. Labyrinth had ended earlier, leaving her wistful. Now, Phantom of the Opera flickered beautiful images and haunting music in the corner of her room. She sighed wistfully, thinking of the romances that the movies always showed. Her own life and romatic endeavors were nothing short of sad.
Sarah thought back on her past. She had always liked the fantastic, the magical, the very unrealistic. She remembered her first real boyfriend, back in high school. That hadn't lasted more than two months, before she realized that the drama associated with high school romance was just NOT her way of doing things. It had lacked a spark, any sort of wonder, like she had expected and hoped. He had been the first guy she had ever been able to really kiss. But even with the first attempts at more than a peck, no wonder had come into her thoughts. She hadn't tried again until college. She thought back to her first couple of years in college. She had lost her virginity, and hadn't done what she had hoped. She hadn't waited for someone she loved. He had been a passing fancy. While she knew now that sex was enjoyable, it still held no wonder for her. Slowly, she had fallen victim to herself. She began seeking only the physical pleasures with most of her male classmates. She began sleeping around a bit. She began drinking heavily and often. She remembered having a threesome with two male friends, just for fun. She remembered sleeping with three different guys in one night. Sadly, she crushed her cigarette into an empty soda can. I was SUCH a slut and alcoholic back then, she thought to herself, and I'm ashamed of what I was. Glancing back at her movie, and yearning for simple, innocent romance, Sarah turned back to her story and began typing. I hope I never date again.
Sarah had nearly flunked out of her first college. She had dropped out, moved out of her parents house, and into a shabby apartment. Barely heated, full of cockroaches, she had struggled to just keep things in balance. She had still done her usual routine of sleeping with anyone who would show her any attention. She worked as a waitress, in retail, and anywhere else that would help her make ends meet. There hadn't been much in the way of food, and she had quickly fallen ill. Eventually, Sarah had admitted defeat and moved back in with her family, as they moved halfway across the country. She had started over. She was back in school, working on a degree that she hoped would allow for travel and personal fantasies.
Turning off the television and lights, Sarah turned to the candles that sat on her table and tried to relax. She was tired. Scratch that. She was spiritually exhausted. In an attempt to stave off the nightmares, Sarah had began meditating before bed. At first, it had worked beautifully. Emptying her mind, and focusing on something natural, like her heartbeat, had let her relax and sleep without the nightmares and strange way of snapping awake in the middle of the night. Now, though, it was different. While meditations made her more calm at night, and more focused during the day, they had started having a strange side effect. Visions. Sarah had visions during her meditations, but refused to stop. These visions seemed important, but were, as of yet, undecipherable. With a few deep breaths, she prepared to clear her mind and focus inward. A slight smile played across her lips as the feelings began to fill her, and the images began to flow through her mind.
A strange tapestry, glowing threads and flickering candles came into her mind. Small hands deftly weaving an intricate pattern. A strange clock was chiming. It had too many numbers on it's tarnished face. An ocean eye blinked, replaced by an earthy hazel one. A great winged creature landed on a stone wall. A circle of platinum, a single stone on one side. An orb, crystalline, rolling across leather. A trunk of wood, a swinging lock on it's latch, with light streaming from it's opening. Mumbled voices and glitter. The images coming faster and faster. A talking gargoyle turns it's head, glowing golden eyes aflame. It's great mouth opens and instead of the mighty roar, it whispers. "Sarah, waken from your slumber."
Sarah slowly returned to reality from her meditations. The hauntingly beautiul voice of the gargoyle staying in her mind. Her candle had burned low, the incense having finished with no traces of it's smoke remaining. In the flickering light that remained, Sarah reached to clean up the table before bed. Looking down, a sparkle caught her eye. Thinking that craft glitter had spilled, she wiped at the shine on her hands, only to find it wouldn't come off. She turned on a lamp, but didn't see it anymore. Shrugging, she turned off the lamp and blew out the candle, crawling into bed. Snuggling into her covers, Sarah resolved to get more sleep and watch fewer movies. She blinked slowly, watching the moonlight play over the comforter, and then sat up abruptly. There, fully visible in the moonlight, was a faint tracery of silver across her hands and wrists. An intricate pattern, somewhat resembling henna, traced it's way up her fingertips and hands, fading at the wrists.
Jareth watched this in his crystal orb, and seeing the the silver tracery, he dropped it with a crash. Crystal shattering across the floor grabbed at Hoggle's attention.
"Sire?" he asked.
"It has begun, but I'm not sure what it is" the king said, "but I really need to find out."
Author's Note: Thanks to Not Human for the first review! I wasn't sure if I should bother continuing with the story until I had one! If anyone has suggestions, my muse ignores me after I get started, a lot...so yeah, I'm off to find another soda. Please review! I'll even take flames!