When Sarah was four, she had an imaginary friend. Mr. Winkers was a giant rabbit with a green vest and a floppy straw hat who followed her everywhere. He could do magic tricks and count to seven billion. For two years, he was her best friend in the world. The only person she could talk to.

And then, one day, she just… stopped talking to him.

There was no dramatic parting between her and Mr. Winkers. No playground bully telling her that giant rabbits weren't real or overstepping school psychologists trying to diagnose her with schizophrenia. One day, she started playing with a couple of kids on the playground, and that was that. She had a life now, as much as any first grader could. She had real friends to play real games with. She didn't need Mr. Winkers anymore.

That was the greatest lesson Sarah had ever learned: life was not a movie. There were no dramatic climaxes. No plot twists. No life-altering revelations tearing friends apart. Sometimes, things just end. They run their course and then it's time to move on. Sarah's last boyfriend, Sam, had been her true love for seven months. Then she stopped feeling the spark when they kissed and started getting annoyed by his quirky snorting habit. Within a few weeks, they had broken up. Completely mutual with no hard feelings.

Was it an interesting story? No. Was it reality? Pretty much.

You tell someone 'let's hang out sometime' and then you never hear from them again. Such is life.

That was how Sarah knew what happened in the Labyrinth all those years ago was a dream. The imaginings of a moody teenage girl on the brink of womanhood, frustrated by impending adulthood and all the responsibilities that came with it. She made up a scenario based on her favorite book, acted it out, and when it was over and out of her system, she took a step back and realized she actually had a pretty good lot in life. In a way, her dreams were a good thing for teaching her that. Because that's all they were in the end, right? Just dreams.

But when she closed her eyes and opened them, there was the Goblin King. Jareth himself in that white poet's shirt, brown vest, and hopelessly outdated hair metal mane. He never went away. Never even changed position no matter how many times Sarah opened and closed her eyes.

He took the time to finish the apple, sucking every last morsel of juice from the core before tossing it into the wastebasket. Sarah stared at it. Close. Open. It was still there.

"Ah, I needed that," Jareth said, patting his flat stomach. "Now then, shall we begin?"

He looked expectantly at her, no longer smiling but no less at ease. Like this was his apartment and she just happened to unlock the wrong door. His boots left scuff marks on her nice clean table and there was a half-full glass next to his foot. That was the last of her milk.

Sarah outlined him with an invisible pencil. She cut him out. A hole was left behind. Like he was part of the landscape and always had been. One hand was thrown over his chest and it suddenly dawned on her that he'd been reading a little red book.

As all of this sunk into Sarah's skin and enshrouded her mind, she did the only thing she could. She dropped her bag, hung up her coat, and went into the bedroom.

There she made quick work of her minimal layers of makeup and slid on her fuzzy slippers. She selected a book from the stack next to her bed and took it into the living room. Jareth watched from the kitchen, lingering in the corner of her vision as she turned her beat-up old recliner to face the opposite wall. She hummed to herself as she opened it to the marked page.

She dragged her eyes across each word, making herself comprehend them and think of nothing else. She didn't flinch at her kitchen table squeaking or the heavy thud of boots hitting linoleum. A shadow crawled over her. She hummed louder.

"Sarah," Jareth's voice said. "What are you doing?"

"Did I take out the trash? I need to take out the trash tomorrow," Sarah said, running her fingers over the page. "Better call the plumber, too. That sink is acting up again."

"Are you ignoring me?"

"Got to return those library books. No one likes late fees."

"Dearest, really-"

"Homework! Homework is important." Sarah slammed the book shut and stood, moving around him without looking and turning to ice when her hand brushed solid skin. "Man, I've got so much homework. So much to do this semester. No time to waste."

She power walked back to the bedroom. He followed her. She went into the kitchen. He followed her again. She made it halfway to the living room and stopped.

"So much to do," she repeated, pacing up and down. "So much that I'm stressing myself out. And when you're too stressed out, your brain goes haywire. And when your brain goes haywire, you start to see things that aren't there."

"What things?" Jareth asked, looking around.

"These things happen, Sarah. They happen all the time."

He stepped in her path. She winced and started walking in a different direction. "Sarah," he said.

"You just turned twenty-one. Your childhood is over and you're about to graduate. That's a lot to handle all at once. It's completely reasonable to retreat into a fantasy for protection from reality or-"

"Do you think you're imagining me?"

"This is a common thing." She ground out the words as tightly as she squeezed her fists. Hunched over like she'd been punched in the stomach. Or just ate too much fiber. "Now, you're going to close your eyes, count to three, and when you open them, he's going to be gone. Okay? Okay. Here we go. One… two… three!"

Sarah opened her eyes.

Jareth was rolling his.

"You know, when I thought about meeting you again, this isn't quite what I had in mind." He sipped the milk casually, making a face. "I think this might be spoiling."

Sarah fainted.

At least she would've if a chair hadn't slid across the carpet to catch her. Her butt hit velvet and it was like she had sat on fire. Immediately, she was across the room. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?"

He took her outburst in stride, barely raising an eyebrow. "Didn't Haggart tell you my name? Oh dear, I may have to punish him again."

"No. NO! You are not the Goblin King." Sarah pointed at his face. "You can't be because he isn't real. He's a storybook character. You're some kind of psycho home invader trying to trick me!"

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know. Money? Valuables? Doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

"I'm going to call the police." Sarah inched slowly to the kitchen, never taking her eyes off him. "We'll see how calm and collected you are when you're in handcuffs!"

"I could escape your mortal restraints easily," Jareth said. "You do remember my magic, don't you?"

"There's no such thing as magic." Sarah kept moving, slow as a tortoise. "Just stay back. You come any closer and I'll-"

He was in front of her. He'd jumped six feet in under half a second. "Like this?"

Sarah screamed. That none of her neighbors had come banging on her door yet was the worst kind of miracle. Just another testament to East Coast apathy. "G-get away. Get away!"

To his credit, he did back up. Sarah pressed herself against the wall as if she could phase through it. Her legs kicked, missing his ankles. He observed her efforts as though watching a dog gnaw on its foot. Leaning against the back of her couch, which somehow didn't slide out from under him.

"Why don't I give you… oh, another thirty seconds to compose yourself," he said, summoning an ornate clock out of nowhere and turning the minute hand. "I'm sorry I can't give you longer, but time is very much of the essence."

"What… what are you doing here?" Sarah struggled to speak while hyperventilating. It got all the harder as a door in her mind unlocked and long-forgotten memories rushed to the forefront. "I beat you. I won the Labyrinth."

"You did, didn't you?" Jareth muttered.

"So why are you here? After all this time."

"I can assure you, if I had it my way, our paths would have never crossed again." Jareth ambled past her into the kitchen, re-taking the seat he had commandeered and fishing another apple out of the bowl. "It just so happens that circumstances have necessitated our reunion. Please, sit down. There is much to explain."

Being invited to sit in her own home was an affront to her intelligence that Sarah didn't know how to process. Not that she could process much of anything right now. She continued to close and open her eyes all the way to the table, pinching herself wherever possible. He never disappeared.

Sarah sat across from him. They stared at each other. His clock was gone but her own ticked away like a metronome. A car drove by outside and a dog barked. It was so distressingly normal she could break out in a rash.

"Well, then," Jareth said, gloved hands clasped together. "First, let me say that you are looking well."

"Thanks," Sarah mumbled, lost in a heady daze.

"You are in school, are you not?"

"College. Grad school next."

"Ah, how wonderful." Jareth took a bite of the apple. "Well, as I'm sure you've ascertained, I remain in the same position as before. Though that may very well change soon if I am not careful. How much do you know of the land of my origin?"

Sarah glanced at her liquor cabinet. It was never very full, but if it were empty right now, that would explain a lot. "Am I supposed to know anything?"

"Well, you are a student of folklore, so I had assumed."

"How did you know that?" Sarah stood up, getting in his face. "Have you been watching me?"

Jareth glanced into the living room at the bookshelves crammed full of mythology texts. "Just a guess."

Sarah's anger cracked and she sullenly sat back down. "Fine. I don't know anything about where you're from." 'Because it's not supposed to be real.'

"Hmm, I figured as much." Jareth flicked another core into the garbage, then leaned his seat back like this was a day spa. "I'm sorry to say, I don't have time for a full history lesson, so let us stick to what's important. My homeland has been called many names over the years. The Underground is most common, though I can assure you, it is very much a misnomer. You would have no luck digging to reach us."

"Uh-huh," Sarah muttered.

"Regardless, my homeland is, in many ways, like your own. There is a multitude of towns, cities, and countries which exist as sovereign states. My kingdom, in the heart of the Labyrinth, equates to what you might call… 'out of the way.'"

"So it's a shitty backwater town," Sarah said. "That makes sense."

Jareth's mouth trembled as he held back a retort. "Indeed. I was given dominion over the Labyrinth some five hundred years ago and have dwelt there in relative solitude ever since. The goblins, fond of them though I am, do not make for the most stimulating company. And don't even get me started on Hogwart."

"Hoggle," Sarah snapped, a wave of indignation for her old imaginary friend… well, just 'friend' it seemed.

"Yes, of course," Jareth said. "My point is that if I lack decorum, please accept my humble apologies. It has been some time since I have enjoyed the company of my kind or yours. There may be rules I have forgotten."

"Like not breaking into people's houses?" Sarah asked.

"No, I knew that. I'm not some kind of brute, dearest." Jareth laced his fingers together. "I apologize for that, as well. Were the situation not so urgent, I never would have dreamed of such a thing."

"You keep saying that," Sarah said. "For someone who's in a hurry, you sure are taking your time getting to the point."

"Fair enough," Jareth said. "Sarah, you are in grave danger."

Well, yeah, obviously. As long as the Goblin King was real and alive and probably getting glitter all over her floor, safety would be a distant dream. That Jareth would announce it himself, almost like he was the hero on a white horse here to raise his sword in her defense, was new. Actually no, it wasn't. It was ridiculously cliche. Or it would be if he were anyone else.

"I'm in danger," Sarah repeated.

"Grave danger," he said.

"I'm in grave danger." Sarah sat back. "Of what?"

"That would also take too long to explain."

"Of course…"

"Suffice to say, when you defeated the Labyrinth, you, unfortunately, unleashed a terrible evil that has been imprisoned for hundreds of years. That's not to say it's your fault, you couldn't possibly have known, but the fact remains that this evil is now free and will stop at nothing to destroy you."

More silence. More ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Uh-huh," Sarah said, the culmination of a hundred million thoughts. "Can you tell me what it wants with me?"

"Yes," Jareth said. "Later. Once I've confirmed she has no spies listening to us."

"She?"

Jareth blinked like he didn't understand his own words. He shook his head. "As I said, later. For now, I am warning you to be careful. Don't talk to anyone you don't know or go anywhere unfamiliar. She may have tried to reach you already."

Sarah remembered the library, that weird shadow that seemed to be watching her. Swiped at her… but she shook it away because that was all in her head. She was just seeing things.

"Okay, well, other than sounding like the plot of some derivative fantasy novel that even my fifteen-year-old self wouldn't have touched, what does that mean?"

"Derivative or no, it means you require protection," Jareth said.

"Protection how? Gonna stand guard outside my door?"

"Among other things," Jareth said. "Until the threat is contained, we must assume that you are at risk of attack at all hours of the day. As such, you must be kept under guard. I have already called in a few friends to keep watch for anything suspicious, and I had hoped that would be enough."

"I'm guessing it wasn't," Sarah said.

Jareth made a fist and winced. "Unfortunately, no. She… is stronger than I anticipated. My attempts to confront her have been ill-advised."

"Kicked your ass huh?"

Sarah giggled like the obnoxious teenage girls she used to hate. The thought of her old childhood nightmare getting his ass handed to him was funnier than it should've been, and she couldn't stop laughing as Jareth rubbed his left arm and then rolled up his sleeve.

His entire forearm had been slashed open.

Sarah shut up.

The wound wasn't bleeding, but the gore told a story. He had no bandages and bits of muscle were winking at her. What little skin remained was stained with all manner of bodily fluid, mixing into a color Sarah couldn't describe, except that it made her stomach turn. His fingers sparkled as he ran them down the wound. The skin glowed and pulled together, sewn by an invisible needle.

"Forgive me," he muttered, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. "It's taking me longer than normal to heal."

Sarah stared at the wound, only hearing every other word. She swallowed, leaning forward as a dark shape flickered in the corner of her eye. She started, choking on her tongue, but when she spun around, there was only her shadow.

"I…" Sarah shook her head. That didn't sound right. Neither did anything else. "Do you… I mean…"

Jareth froze. He did nothing but breathe while the clock did nothing but tick. Then he shot to his feet. "Damn, I have to go."

He stomped to the door. Sarah scrambled after him.

"Wait a minute, what? You can't just leave." She inserted herself between him and the exit, putting her feet down like roots.

"Forgive me again, but I must return to the Labyrinth. My protective charms are cracking and I'm the only one who can recast them."

"But you just told me I'm in danger," Sarah said. "Aren't you going to like… I don't know, watch over me something?"

"It's been taken care of," Jareth said, trying to weave around her. "I promise I will be back, but I must leave now before she gets through."

"Before who gets through?" Sarah snapped. "You can't just pop back into my life, tell me someone wants me dead, and then leave with no explanation. That may work on cutesy little ingenues, but not me, pal. I am not leaving this spot until you give me some real, concrete-"

Jareth snapped his fingers in her face and then the world went black.

Sarah awoke to the chime of her alarm. It was ten in the morning.

She didn't like sleeping in, but weekends were as tempting as ice cream on a hot day. That made ten a good compromise. If she happened to hit snooze once or thrice, well, she was only human. She searched for the button, rolling around in a tangle of bedsheets. The damn clock was running away from her. She couldn't even find the nightstand.

By the time she realized she was facing the wrong direction, last night had fallen on top of her like a pile of bricks. Sarah jumped out of bed, yesterday's clothes rumpled and warm, and searched her room for intruders.

There were none. It was early morning and the curtains were closed. It was cloudy and drab outside; the farthest thing from sparkly. Sarah was completely alone. She left her bedroom and found the living room and kitchen exactly the way they always were: slightly cluttered and blissfully silent.

No Goblin Kings in sight.

Sarah yawned and scratched an itch on her scalp. There was a layer of crust on her skin, the feeling she always got when she was too tired to change and slept in her clothes. Yesterday had been exhausting. She hadn't realized how much before now.

Returning to her room, Sarah found the copy of Labyrinth on the floor by her desk, exactly where she had left it. She dusted it off, flipping through pages that never seemed to fade.

"You're causing me a lot of trouble, aren't you?" She smiled at the cover. "No, I'm doing it to myself. I really am too stressed."

Last night's dream had been intense, like nothing she'd experienced in six years. The allure of the Labyrinth was real, and she had half a mind to draft a paper for Professor Twill's abnormal psych class about the power of fantasy on the subconscious. Final projects were coming up.

Oh boy, look at her. Planning essays right when she'd just resolved to take it easy. Maybe Jessie was right. She'd be talking to meerkats and warthogs soon if she wasn't careful.

There was just enough room on the shelf to comfortably slide Labyrinth in next to Earthsea and Witches Abroad. Sarah stepped back to admire the rows of colorful spines. She would've taken longer, but her stomach was whining and she'd run out of bacon on Thursday. Bagel time!

Sarah grabbed her coat and purse. She'd take a walk after breakfast. Clear her head. Then she'd do her last shift at the bookstore and spend the rest of the day browsing the library. A perfect plan for a perfect Saturday.

She didn't bother looking at her fruit bowl before she left, otherwise she might've noticed it was short two apples.

Monday was Sarah's favorite day of the week. A contrarian she was not, but her only class of the day was Advanced Mythological Theory at nine in the morning She'd enjoy an hour of Professor Prince weaving tales of sexual politics and intrigue in the form of a woman becoming a tree, and then the rest of the day was free for her pleasure.

Which usually meant catching up on extra homework assignments and cleaning house, but the spirit was there.

Sitting in her usual seat near the middle of the auditorium, Sarah took notes on the myth of Midas as the guy sitting next to her stared at the wall and dreamed of graduation.

"Why did I take this class?" Ronnie mumbled.

"Good question," Sarah replied. "Was there a girl involved?"

"Just my mom," Ronnie said, his head sliding down his propped-up arms. "She's still mad that I didn't go pre-med like my brother. I need to bring home some kind of degree or every Christmas for the rest of my life is going to be unbearable."

"Just tell her you're studying anthropology with a focus on oral tradition. That's more or less true."

"Huh. Good idea."

By sheer coincidence, or so Sarah hoped, Professor Prince ceased pacing and looked sharply in their direction. Sarah bowed her head like she'd never been distracted while Ronnie squeaked and scrambled to find his pen. Professor Prince kept walking, eyes trailing lazily over the rows of students, all hanging off his every word.

"Here we must consider Dionysus's motivation for granting Midas's wish." He wrote a few lines on the chalkboard. "Was he a benevolent deity who merely wished to reward Midas for his hospitality, or was he a brilliant trickster looking to expose the insatiable greed inherent in mankind? If you would like a hint, it isn't the second one."

Everyone laughed, especially the girls. Sarah heard the distinct yelp of Abby's high-pitched chortle and that was funnier than all the jokes in the world.

The lesson continued uninterrupted until the clock struck ten. Professor Prince assigned another chapter of reading and saw them off with a smile and a nod. A few students stopped him on the way out, stumbling over themselves to string meaningless questions together that only served to keep him in their presence a few minutes longer. Sarah rolled her eyes and slid her books carefully into the back of her bag. Before there were notebooks, then spare looseleaf. Her pens went in the front pocket with her wallet and her daily planner.

Messy desk, clean bookbag. Those were the rules she'd lived by since her first day as a college freshman, and they hadn't failed her yet.

"Did you hear?" Jessie pushed through the dispersing crowd, earning several glares that all bounced off her.

"Hear what?" Sarah asked.

"The bioengineering program is going to do a cloning demonstration."

Ronnie, who had been trying to cram his textbook into a worn-out backpack without splitting the seams, looked up. "Woah, a real cloning? Tell me it's not Professor Marken. I had him once before I changed my major and the man smells like car oil and fish sticks."

"First off, gross," Jessie said. "Second, I'm pretty sure they're not cloning people. Also, the robotics department has some super secret speaker flying in and he's supposed to be super cool and awesome. Point is, I think the scientists have us beat."

"It's not a competition," Abby snapped, popping out of nowhere. "We're trying to convince as many prospective students as possible to join us in our noble pursuit of preserving history, and get us more grant money."

"That sounds like a competition," said Ronnie.

"And you sound like someone who shouldn't be cloned," Abby said.

"Pot, meet kettle."

"Guys, chill out," Sarah said. "Most prospective students for this school are going to be in STEM anyway, so let's just try to have fun. We'll drum up way more interest that way."

"Sarah's right, as always," Jessie said, throwing an arm around her. "Why aren't you the president of the committee again?"

"I second that notion," said Ronnie.

"Gee, thanks guys," mumbled Abby.

They finished packing as Professor Prince finally extracted himself from the mob of thinly disguised fangirls. He climbed the stairs, briefcase in hand, and nodded at them as he passed.

"Good day, everyone," he said, not looking at anyone in particular. "I appreciate your continued interest in this class, Mr. Leone."

Ronnie blanched, and if Sarah were a worse person, she would've laughed. Abby or Jessie might've, but they were too busy watching Professor Prince's backside disappear down the hall.

"God, he is so weird," Ronnie muttered.

"Maybe you're just lazy," said Jessie.

"Am not."

Sarah and Jessie left the auditorium at the front of the pack, discussing homework and Jessie's big game on Friday. They headed for the cafeteria with pizza on the brain, only to stop when someone charged directly at them.

"Hey, uh…" Eric said, not the slightest bit winded despite running like an Olympic athlete. "Sarah, you promised you'd look over my essay today."

Sarah blinked. "I did?"

Eric grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the befuddled group. He was shockingly strong for someone so thin. "It'll only take a second. See you guys later!"

"I- okay!" Sarah said.

They rushed down the hall, searching for an empty classroom. The only one was near the opposite end of the building, and Eric was muttering to himself the whole time. He held the door open for Sarah, who hesitated only a moment before walking in.

"Sorry if I was weird back there," she said. "I must have forgotten about… what's wrong with your arm?"

It was bandaged. Somehow, she'd missed it before. A thin red line seeped through the binding and he winced as he dropped it to his side. Light burst from Eric's skin as he changed shape before her eyes. Gone was her gangly 'class clown' friend. Now he was The Goblin King.

"Apologies for the ruse," Jareth said. "I didn't want to make a scene in front of your friends and… well, this might take some time."

He was all decked out in his kingly glory. Very handsome in a fairytale-like way. Very real.

Completely real.

"Oh my God." Sarah backed away from him, her bag sliding down her arms and spilling open. "No. No way."

"Now, Sarah, really-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU ARE NOT REAL!"

"Didn't we already do this Friday night?"

"That was a dream! You are a dream! You're not real!"

"Well, this is news to me," Jareth said, folding his arms though it clearly pained him. "Does that mean I didn't spend the last twelve hours reapplying turmeric salve to my arm? Because that would be lovely."

Sarah turned away. The first step toward overcoming a hallucination was knowing that it wasn't real. The first step towards that was not acknowledging it. "Okay, Sarah, think about it. You were fifteen years old, it was right after puberty. You were angry and confused and so you dreamed up a sexy rockstar to act on repressed emotions and express your burgeoning sexuality. It's only coming back now because you're about to pass another major milestone and the pressures of post-graduate responsibilities and lifestyle changes are already starting to weigh on you."

"You think I'm sexy?"

"It's not real, Sarah." She headed for the door, shielding her eyes with her hands. "Don't look at him. He's not real. He's not real. He's not-"

She ran right into him. He hadn't been anywhere near the door a second ago. That meant he just stepped out of the air like he'd been cut from one spot and pasted into another. It wasn't like Friday night; she wasn't watching him this time. He had appeared before her eyes and touched her with a hand too solid for her mind to conjure up.

"All right," he said coolly, "why don't we start this again? Is there anywhere more comfortable we can talk?"

"Comfortable," Sarah mumbled, floating away into space.

"It's only that I'd rather not be walked in on," he said. "I'd cast a spell, but I'm already expending enough energy keeping my kingdom secure."

Sarah's strength finally left her and she slumped over on buckling knees. "Right, so I'm just going to go have coffee and donuts and shoot the breeze with the Goblin King."

"Is that acceptable to you?"

"No, it is not acceptable to me!"

Sarah sipped on a dark roast brew and as a half-eaten chocolate donut rotted on her plate. Jareth had yet to touch his scone and sniffed a regular coffee with a wary expression. "This smells chalky."

She shrugged, her brain too fried to do much else.

"Ah, well," Jareth put it aside. "Shall we get down to business then? I'll have to replace the wards around the fireys' nest before sundown."

"Of course you do," Sarah said, smiling sardonically. "Okay then, fire away!"