Update! Finally!

Other chapters can be found online at ff.n under Aviry Nolane.

*sigh*

I'm not at all very happy with this chapter, but it will do. 'The Way Back' is becoming an epic, it's going to be lengthy... sigh, but its okay! it really begins to pick up now, and im excited about where its going!

any reviewers worshiped for all eternity -

* aviry

Title: The Labyrinth: The Way Back
Author: Aviry Nolane, Slvrluna47@aol.com
Date: 1-26-02
Rating: PG-13?
Notes:

SIGH

MY GOSH THAT TOOK SO LONG.

this chapter was the hardest thing to write in the history of time. Many thanks to all who reviewed, especially Vorbis , whose comment i recieved today and i HAD to write another chapter, and to Midnight Lady i will get that "book thing" cleared up in the next chapter -- promise! MANY THANKS TO EVERYONE! i wouldn't have written anything if it wasn't for you. Also, a special thanks to Solea, who gave me the time of day! I never in ten million years would have gotten the next few chapters designed if it hadn't been for responding to her email, which was then deleted, and then deleted again before i could send it - - but nonetheless, it was helpful! Thank you all! keep r&ring or i may die!

- - - - avi

Chapter 12 - Rude Awakenings


The foyer was silent.

This may not have seemed out of ordinary to the unaccustomed visitor, but to the
seasoned guest it was a rare and completely puzzling occurrence. In fact, it was an all together unheard of occasion for the home of the infamous Goblin King.

Suddenly the clock bells sounded their awakening, breaking the calm silence and
resonating their tune a full seven times before the eerie noiselessness once again claimed the castle.

Down the west hall a single panel doorway looked on, oblivious to the part it played in the intentional silence that took hold of the royal wing. It tuttered on, busying itself with the chores of a palace door, making sure it stayed continuously shut, ensuring that the doorknob was firmly fastened on the face of the door, and of course, closely monitoring the circumstances of the room behind it and the visitors within, to pick up on delightful tidbits of courtly gossip to share with other less fortunate doors which enclosed kitchens or servants quarters. The door scoffed to itself, wouldn't this just make fantastic news? Some unconscious ragamuffin mortal girl swaddled in the Underground's riches right behind its very door frame. It could hardly contain its glee as it went about its chores.

Inside the room the mood was much different. Away from the prying hinges of the
royal door, the young woman slept on, her quiet, dreamless sleep filling the chamber with a feeling of reservation. The soft light of mismatched candles flickered against the milky pastels of the silken room. The floor was swathed in rich rugs and tapestries, creating the look of an ancient storybook's colorful pages. Over all of this, the doors of the balcony splayed open, the sunset spying in across the peaks of the underground, the last tinges of light illuminating the carpeted floor with streaks of purples and golds.

A simple crystalline melody sang into the room, the open doors welcoming in both the sweet scent of the garden and the ancient songs of its gilded chimes. The light tunes of the song crept into the soft folds of the chamber, running over the rounded edges of the room and filling it with a resonating chime. It was the expressively beautiful, a spectacle that few people other than the very rich and the very imaginative ever get to see.

Unfortunately, the splendor of the king's good graces were lost by the sole inhabitant of the chamber. One Sarah Williams, of 426 Olive Court, Apartment 4B, The Aboveground, who had just found herself thrown right smack into the center of what amounted to the 20th century version of a fairy tale meets felony abduction.

Yes, she was virtually the next "Story at nine" heroine.

There was a slight stirring from the rumpled form of the maiden on the bed. The dark folds of her chestnut hair cascaded onto the silken linens of the billowing cushions, framing her face in a strange mixed halo of both dark and light. From the halo, a magical glow seemed to emanate, the peaceful tranquillity of her sleeping disposition seeming to portray an almost mystical feeling. At the first glance, one would think her a princess, perhaps even a queen. It was only upon closer inspection that one would begin to notice the telling inconsistencies, like the angry pout that crossed her face even in sleep, the chipped hangnail on the index finger of her left hand, not to mention the split ends and the tragically unhip, even for the Underworld, Guess Jeans.

"Oaaeewww..." All at once Sarah opened her eyes, the magic induced groggy haze falling away from her, and tried painfully to register with her surroundings. "Where am..."

It took only a moment.

Her eyes widened in horror.

Oh yes, she knew very well where she was.

She kicked the blankets from her legs and swung herself down from the high four
poster brass bed. She strode to the far wall of the bed chamber and stood directly in front of the largest wall tapestry. She glared at, perhaps trying to burn a hole through the offensive object with her eyes, if that was in fact the case, she came very close to doing so. The tapestry's figures cringed, the scantily clad maiden gripping ever tighter onto the hardware of the valiant knight.

Sarah glowered at the obvious resemblance between the dark haired harlequiness
and herself. "Funny," she quipped to the portrait, "I don't remember you having brown hair." And with that she was off, blazing her way through the door and down the west hall, which rang unceremoniously with her angry footfall.

She strode confidently down the hall toward the marble staircase, her eyes fixed on the intricately carved goblin heads which donned the guide rail. Her eyes flashed. She was going to find him. She was going to tell him exactly what she tough of his little gifts. Most importantly, she might even be able to lay her hands on some semi-precious magical artifact to hurl at him.

Not that she knew anything about where she was or just where she was going.

Poor thing.

It almost makes you feel sorry for her.


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