Sameth stood shrouded in darkness. He slipped a hand under his cloak and withdrew something flat and circular. It was a mirror, round and dark. It was time to check that it worked. He spoke a word and the mirror began pulsating a dull green light. Then he spoke a second word. "Sara"

The mirror shone for a moment with blinding white light, then the image of a girl gradually appeared on its surface. Her dark hair surrounded her like a halo on her pillow. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful. Sameth watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she drew deep, slow, rhythmic breaths.

He reached out a long nail-tipped finger and touched the edge of the mirror. Bringing the mirror to his face, he exhaled as softly as a child does to fog up a cold window. The mirror did not fog. Instead, his breath passed through the mirror's surface and became a writhing, snake-like thing, black as the night. A nightmare.

Sameth watched through the mirror as it swirled about Sara's head. It swooped towards her ear, coiled and plunged into her head. Sameth watched with amusement as her serene expression became fear, then pain. Then a different emotion took over.

"Sweet dreams" he whispered softly. He waved his hand over the mirror's surface and his world was plunged into darkness once more.

Sara stands tall and still in a once magnificent sculpture garden, now eroded, crumbling and faded. Vines have broken through the stone floors to devour the rubble of fallen fragmented pillars. A thin veil of mist and cobwebs dulls the sunlight pouring through the gaps where the roof has fallen and gives everything a blurry edge.

Sara notices a moth, perched on a nearby statue whose arms and head lie in pieces at its feet. It has brown wings, gingerbread at the tips but gradually darker and darker until it is a deep auburn at the body. Sara wants to touch it, to gently caress it. She reaches out slowly but it flutters away. Her arm drops.

The moth re-appears, further away. Sara walks toward it but it has already flitted away. She follows the moth to a clearing where it spirals up and out a hole in the roof. But Sara doesn't notice. Something else has caught her attention.

Before her is a stone fountain, the once elegant spout now turning green in the murky water. Floating face down in it is a body in a white gown. Sara can't see its face. She runs to help this person, plunging through the icy waist-deep water without a second thought. She reaches the body and flips it over in case the person is still alive and needs air. She pushes the person's wet stringy hair off of its face… and screams. Her own face, pale and lifeless, is staring back at her with clouded white eyes. The body in her arms is her own.

Suddenly the body – her body – is ripped from her arms and pulled down into the murky depths. She stares down at her receding dead face then in a flash she is seeing through its – her – point of view, looking up through the filthy water at her former self, frozen with its – her – mouth still open in a scream. Then she is dragged deeper still and everything is dark. Sara doesn't know what is pulling her. She is unable to go upwards, the same way it is almost impossible to swim upstream.

Sara now desperately needs air. Her lungs burn and the pain is almost too much to bear. She feels dizzy, she flails out. Her hand touches something. Glass. She rubs it to clear the muck. Through it she can see a room. People are standing just feet away. Watching. Why aren't they helping? Sara wonders. She bangs on the glass. The people laugh and point. Sara feels anger rising along with panic from lack of air.

Then her eyes meet a mismatched pair. Jareth. He is not laughing. With her very last breath she yells his name, calls to him. As the bubbles float upwards her body convulses violently and her vision begins to fade. Her lungs are screaming for air. And suddenly Jareth is there. His hair floats around him like a halo. He looks worried and is staring at her, searching her face. He cups her chin and presses his mouth on hers, and gives her his air.