DISCLAIMER: Alas, I won't ever own anything related to Labyrinth, David Bowie or Jim Henson and Co.

CHAPTER NINE

A wish in vain.
A gift to forget.
A promise in silence.

He was there. The thought was as terrifying as it was thrilling. No, it was far more than that. It was a dangerous and inappropriate gladness that bubbled inside her like the effervescent spring water physicians insisted were good for the health.

For a brief moment she heard complete silence: her spine went rigid, her heart skipped, confronted by his cloak-draped form, broad and tall— towering. He unnerved her— drew her— appealed to her on some level she could not explain. His presence made her feel safe, while all at once she felt off balance and unsure. Sarah couldn't help but stare up at him, understanding neither herself in that moment, nor the wild, turbulent, emotions rolling about inside her like the charcoal-lined clouds of a storm.

Taking a deep breath she dared to meet his eyes, terrified of what she might find in their depths. Sarah expected to catch him smirking; one side of his mouth pulled in amusement at her bane. He had mocked her once and there was nothing to stop him from doing it again.

To her surprise— her relief— his brow furrowed in concern as he took a step closer, though he said nothing— but neither did she. He looked grave, an invisible weight resting heavily on his shoulders, the sight so different than that of the confidant roue she had met before.

Sarah exhaled, forcing her apprehension down, unclenching her hands from the painful fists they had formed at her sides. Studying his face, her emotions spiraled; he was here, staring down at her with unwavering intensity that set her skin ablaze. Her heart was racing with fear again, but the closer he came, the straighter she stood, her jaw tight.

He traced the line of it with his eyes, down the column of her cream-colored throat. His hand rose to follow where his eye led before he realized what he meant to do. A war waged within him, but he controlled himself with great effort. The monster inside quivered and roared, anxious to be out, to find those who had hurt her, frightened her, and destroy them. Were it that simple, he would have done it before he dared to see her again— but there were rules. True, he had bent, shaped, twisted and marred them, but never broken.

Very few ever had.

"Sarah—" Her name was a breath. A whisper. A question. It was barely a sound, but she heard it— so small and filled with so much distress it almost burst on the air. He wasn't quite sure what had possessed him (though it seemed rather obvious in the hours after they parted) but he opened his arms to her, offering refuge from the tempest of her sorrows.

Crashing against him, Sarah buried her face in the soft linen and leather at his chest. Her hands grasped the wide lapels of his thick coat, clinging to him with all she had left. For the first time, she let herself weep without restraint—these tears different from those she had allowed herself to shed behind her closed door.

"You never came!" she bellowed against him as his arms came to wrap around her protectively as her sobs grew louder. "You didn't—" the sound died as she pulled back, her eyes round, expectant.

It was his turn to speak, to fix what hope had been shattered in the small confides of her kitchen. He needed to apologize. Explain. Atone for what he had done— for all he hadn't done.

"I know." The words were weak. Useless. Wrong. Her eyes grew wide, lip trembling as her beautiful, tear-burned face wilted. For a fractured second, she simply stared, immobile. Dumbfounded.

Anger crashed in an icy wave, dampening her terror and panic and unreasonable joy: anger at his absence, at the men who had assaulted her— anger at her father, herself, and the circumstances of her life— anger at the way her heart lifted simply because he was there.

Suddenly wild, she struck him. Hard. Her fists barreling painfully against his chest. He didn't stop her. "I begged for you! I begged!" The pitch of her voice raised, the words a hysterical ululating rant. "I wished for you! I b-begged— begged for you and you didn't come!" A piteous cry careened from her lips; he flinched as another blow landed. "You lied! You lied." He had not known two words could be filled with so much desperation and emptiness, and he hated that he had any part of it. "You— you— " After a breath she hit him again— and again. And again.

"He struck me— he hurt me!" She choked on her whisper, gasping as she drowned on her sobs. "He touched me! He— he— would have— but I stopped him, before-before— he—" her voice hoarse, the words tangling together. "You didn't—" The crescendo of her wallowing mess closing on one final, sibilated note: "You said you'd come back— you lied."

Each strike after landed softer than the last, until he embraced her once more, his arms pulling her firmly against him— not to stop her vicious onslaught, but to comfort where he knew his words would fail. His explanation would do nothing, save give her more reason break. "Shhh," he murmured, "shhh." Her body shook in the aftermath of her rage. "I'm so sorry." He held her tighter, repeating himself. "I'm sorry."

He ventured a glimpse down at the woman who brought him peace amid the chaos she caused, wanting to savor the calm that flowed through his veins like warm wine as he held her. A troubled breath caught in his throat, and he rebuffed the sudden contentment she'd brought him. He did not deserve it— not now. Not from her. It was selfish to savor the incandescent ardor of her presence while she remained dolor.

The urge to brush his lips across her hair flared with such power, he nearly choked on the image. Pushing the thought away, he stared out above her head into the dark. His blood flared: he was furious— with himself and the rules he was bound to follow— with the men that had threatened her. He had not heard their reasons, trapped outside behind the glass— but he could assume her father was once again to blame for her sorrows. He hated him too.

Instead, his hand traced the path down her hair, his fingers following the ridges of her braid to the base of her neck. He wanted her closer, though very little separated them. It was selfish— he knew— but he did it anyway, regret be damned! Sarah hissed, as he squeezed her neck, shifting away in an awkward, jerking motion.

"Forgive me—" He said quickly, stepping back to see her better, wanting her at arms length. Had hurt her. Again. "The knife— " He had seen the knife push hard against her neck— heard her cry out. How could he have forgotten?

Sarah's eyes remained downcast, "You didn't wield the blade," she whispered bitterly and closed the distance he had placed between them. His strength fed her own. For that long moment, she needed him as much as she needed his answers, his explanation. The first was attainable— she didn't wish to dwell on the impossibility of the latter.

When he stepped away, mastering himself with a visible, almost painful endeavor, Sarah thought her heart would break. His mask of repose slid into place to obscure the burning rage she knew she had not mistaken. "Sarah," he rasped, his eyes locked on hers. He shook his head, and she felt lost, barren, already missing the connection her tears had created. "Bloody bastards! If— "

"But your weren't there." She whispered, bringing her hands to his forearms, wrapping her fingers around the midnight leather, his own resting firmly on her shoulders maintaining distance. The green of her eyes shone even under the stars, the hint of the moon illuminated the drop disbelief as it sank deeper in her mind. Her brow pinched, chin tilting toward the earth. "Did— did your bird tell you?" Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed by the absurdity of her question, but she didn't recant. "The owl— "

His head cocked— didn't she know? Hadn't she seen? He had assumed she knew. If she did— his hands rose defensively before him, his voice calm, quiet. "Sarah, let me explain."

"Did-did you see?" Her breath caught, her pale face loosing the last of its color. She gasped and stumbled back, an icy chill swept over her, distress clenching around her heart. "Or— no. No! You watched? " Her small hand went to her stomach, as she swayed in place. Her clouded eyes searching the clearing before settling back on him, unseeing. Sarah felt ill, confused— afraid.

His silence damned him.

"You watched them hurt me!" She blinked rapidly as the weight settled upon her. "You saw him take my dre— oh God." Humiliation stung her cheeks— she could feel the blush in her toes. Had he seen it all— the lift of her skirts as she was bent over a table, her legs on display for the heathens to lust after? The surrender of her gown to degrade her? Had he seen her standing in naught but her stays and underskirts?

Had he enjoyed it? Had he wished they'd done more?

She covered her mouth as bile rose to her throat, each question ailing her more than the last. "Did you enjoy watching me suffer?" she finally said, the usual melodic sound of her voice turned dead on her tongue. "Did you enjoy my humiliation?" Sarah tried to slow her frenzied pulse. Her eyes were damp but no tears fell; she was more enraged than frightened. "Do you wish they'd done more?"

"I want them dead for what they've done!" he growled, stepping closer, his lean body rigid, tense like a caged animal plotting its release. "I want them to suffer ten fold. Were this my kingdom, they would be flayed alive under a scalding sun then left to rot in the bog!"

"You didn't stop them! You were there— and you let them touch me!" She stood on her toes, chin raised in defiance. "I stopped them— me— not you! They meant to rape me, and you-you-" Sarah chewed her lip, her fervor diminishing in the night. A surreptitious grin pinched her lips, "Say what you will to assuage your guilt but the truth remains— you're a coward." She turned, grabbing her skirts, retracing her steps to the cemetery. Stopping abruptly, she looked back, her voice an eerie calm. "If you wanted to stop them, you would have." The words left her empty, wounded. "My mother used to say that every lie has a mistake— that was yours."

Turning Sarah fled into the forest.

She made it three steps, and he was suddenly— impossibly— before her. She shrieked, staggering back, as his hands clamped firm around her biceps steadying her. "I could do nothing! Do you understand?" He shook her, his eyes frenzied, a strange emotion rising to the surface. "Nothing!"

"I screamed for you! I wished for you— you never came!" His grip tightened to something on the precipice of pain— an intense pressure, that reminded her of his strength. It only served to agitate her to further hysterics. "Let go of me! Let go of me! You monster— you beast!" She spat in his face, a snarl on her lips as his eyes darkened, but his hands never moved, the pain never followed.

"You never wished!" He glared down at her, his words a venomous bark as he shook her once more. "You begged, you cried, but you never wished. 'Wish me back,' I said. WISH. Me. Back." He leaned closer still, his breath hot on her cheek, searing her skin. "You think me a beast?" he articulated, drawing out the word in low purr. "A beast would not chafe knowing that when you leave him, you are being pawed at and wounded, and he can do nothing to stop it. A beast would not plot your revenge, nor wish death upon your attackers. A beast would have enjoyed your torment, and relished in your suffering— no matter how loudly you screamed." His lips rested against her ear, and Sarah could not help but shiver at his touch. His words so quiet, she strained to hear them, "I have done neither." He pulled away, only a fraction, but it felt like miles. "In my world, even kings are bound by rules."

It was enough to silence her, but not a victory: merely facts shouted in anger and panic. His words had been said in defense of his character, and his point had been made, but the pain in her eyes only made him ache— that she could believe him so faithless, so sinister, twisted his heart— leaving him cold, and hollow. He knew what he was— who he was. He could be ruthless, cruel— frightening. He was not a good man, but nor was he the villain she wanted to paint him as.

Sarah looked up, meeting his strange eyes, shame and regret marring her perfect features. She believed him, though she could give no logical reason as to why. Somewhere in the furthest reaches of her soul, Sarah knew he had been honest with her. Whatever he was, whoever he was, she was certain of one thing: he would not hurt her.

It would be so much easier if she could hate him— if she loathed the very thought of him. God knew she wanted to, but that fine line in the sand was far easier to draw than it was to cross. If she made the leap to the other side, it would be near impossible to turn back. Hate was as powerful as any drug and could be fueled with the smallest kindling.

Determined to mend the bridge that had blackened in the flames, Sarah turned the conversation to safer ground. "Why must I wish for you?"

Her question threw him off balance. He had expected more heated words and cruel descriptions. Truth be told, he had expected so much less from her, the thought made him pause. "Rules." He said with a sardonic grin, then turned to the water, unsure of how much he was prepared to divulge. "I am the Goblin King, ruler of dreams and nightmares," -and the Labyrinth, he thought to himself, unwilling to travel that path until he knew more about her impossible dreaming and what had caused it. "In my world, I have free reign as any sovereign does, but here— " he gestured to into the night, "here my power is limited to mortal wishes— and owls." he said, arching his brow in amusement.

Quizzically, Sarah turned to the lake, stooping to grab a small handful of rocks. She toyed with one between her fingers thoughtfully. "King of dreams and nightmares?" She repeated his words softly to herself and did not look his way, fearing what she might see hidden behind his mask of indifference.

Hesitation hung in the air, though it was not so much a surprise. She sensed, even in that short interlude of their first meeting, that he had depths like a rolling ocean in the midst of a raging tempest. Sarah sensed he meant his words, his title, as a warning of something deeper, something greater. But he was not ready to tell her. Not yet. What he had shared was of great import just now, some secret that shimmered between them and slid away like smoke. She tried to clasp it, to see it clearly, but the meaning dissipated, and she was left with the certainty that his words had revealed something she could not quite grasp.

So many questions swirled in dizzying disarray; he was so much more than she had expected, and she was so much less than he. The overwhelming thought to walk away and never look back whispered like a tempting siren in her ear. She wanted to give in, to turn this night into a terrible and distant memory—but a softer, more powerful voice, one she had not recognized in herself before, begged her to linger on the hope of more. "Are you— that is, did you make me dream of you? Is all of this your doing?"

"No."

Her lips pursed, "Then how have I dreamt of you?" She peeked up through her lashes, grateful he wasn't watching her.

"That, dear Sarah, is the very problem I am trying to solve." He plucked a crystal from the air, dancing it over his gloved fingers, and she was again mesmerized by the grace and fluidity of his parlor trick, finding it hard to look away. "It eludes me at every turn. Like trying to catch fog in a fisher's net." The ball stopped, caught firmly in his hand. "You wouldn't happen to know the answer, now would you? I would be eternally grateful."

"I've never been good with riddles." She said dryly, the ghost of a smile touching her rosy lips, even as her face flamed. "Owls are considered wise— maybe he can solve our problem." Sarah could feel his eyes on her, but he said nothing, only grunted back a laugh. They both stood silent until his sudden movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention.

In one quick swing, he hurled the glass orb at the turret jutting up from the still waters. Sarah jumped; the glass shattering against the stone, splintering into a million glittering shards that vanished into the water. Unease fluttered in her heart as she looked back, wide eyed at the man beside her. "I find it therapeutic," he smirked, then extended his hand, baring another perfect crystal. "Though, I wouldn't take my word for it. Try it for yourself— see if I am right." One black brow arched as he offered her the strange glass.

"I shouldn't." she said with a bashful shake of her head.

"Why? You want to."

"No— no, but thank you." Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, she yelped, her nail skating over the open wound hidden there. She brought her hand forward to discover a shining crimson smear across her fingers. Sarah could see herself trembling, before she felt it coursing through her veins. Her breath hitched as fear slithered, unwanted, up her spine.

"Sarah." The gentle rumble of her name pulled her back from the edge of panic, grounding her firmly to the uneven earth at edge of her sanctuary. "Its alright," he hummed, stepping in front of her, his boots splashing in the frigid water. Cupping her cheek, he drew her eyes up to his curious gaze, sighing as she leaned into his touch. He had not hoped, nor dared to think she would welcome his touch again; he was thrilled to discover he had been wrong. In that moment, he hated the gloves that separated them, and for the first time in his life, he wondered what had ever possessed him to wear them.

"Here." he said, reluctantly pulling back to offer the crystal once more. "If it doesn't make you feel better, we can try something else. Perhaps, I will bring a goblin next time, and you can throw him." He chuckled softly, confusion written plainly across her face. "Don't worry, my dear— they are quite small and rather resilient— it makes them very easy to toss." A bright laugh rose within him and he did nothing to contain it; enjoying her odd and horrified look at his merriment.

Taking the offered orb with delicate caution as though it would burst against her palm, Sarah looked to the lake, her eyes wary. She didn't understand her lie, her hesitation: she did want to. Habit reined in her desires. Too often she had stifled her emotions to keep her father's drunken temper at bay, hiding her rage and tears in the sweat of operose housework. Washing the porcelain table settings and delicate glassware her father so often made use of, it was easy to imagine the painted white shards erupting wildly across the freshly cleaned tiles, the sound of destruction echoing within the walls of her kitchen. Oh yes, Sarah took great joy in smashing the precious dishes against the floor within the safety of her mind, where he father's wrath could not find her.

Sarah looked down, her distorted reflection frowned. Had her morose expression become the benchmark for her emotions? Do I always look so unhappy? Squinting, her free hand came to trace the dark moons under her eyes, following down the curve of her cold-bitten cheeks to rest at the odd setting of her lips. They remained fixed in a slight purse, the edges turned downward in displeasure. Her chest puffed, as she jerked her hand away.

Her father was not here.

The men who barged into her home, who taunted and shamed her, had not come because she was alone. They had come for her father— because of her father— and she had no doubt they would be back.

The stranger of her dreams— the Goblin King— was not responsible for what happened tonight. If she had never made her wish at this very spot five nights ago, she wouldn't have begged for him. She wouldn't have known.

Robert Williams could have prevented the assault and near-rape of his only daughter if he'd had a modicum of self-control. The last six years of her life were the result of his failings— her home, her employment, her reputation— her engagement. Tonight would change nothing: he will still expect her to provide their living, pay his debt and marry a man who would feed and encourage all his addictions.

Her jaw clenched as her arm snapped back. With as much force as her overworked body could muster, Sarah hurled the beautiful ball directly into the target. It nearly missed, clipping the edge of the curved stones, but that little contact was enough to send the shards singing in every direction.

A smile, so quick she nearly missed the pull of it across her face, ignited behind her dark-rimmed eyes. He was right. She felt better. The sound had been enough soothe the wounds of her terror, but the image and the knowledge that she had done something so out of character, so forbidden, was a balm throughout her mind. Worried that he would find her reaction odd or inappropriate, Sarah looked to the beautiful man standing beside her with hesitation, then dared to meet his entrancing eyes.

He looked pleased.

Without asking for another, her companion produced one after the other, each shattering with a resounding crash as they met the unforgiving structure. She wasn't certain how much of her temperament lightened because of his lingering presence or the sheer joy she found in destruction, but whatever the cause, she was grateful.

Her breathing eventually grew shallow, and she smiled at the exertion. Her arm was tired; a dull discomfort hummed at the juncture of her shoulder, but she did not mind. She welcomed the pain, however inconsequential, because for the first time, in a very long time, she felt at peace. Happy.

A smile bloomed, warm and inviting across her face, the evidence of her tears fading. The cold had lessened the puffed rings around her eyes, returning them to their brilliant mossy jade. This is what he had wanted, what he had hoped to see upon their next meeting— her smile, her happiness. It was dangerous, he knew, to pursue her— haunt her this way. Too many questions remained unanswered, and too many secrets were kept behind lock and key— but he pushed the thoughts aside; they would keep for another day.

The silence swept between them, it was not unpleasant, but an awkwardness lingered on the edges, prompting him to speak.

"Many a crystal have died by my hand. Though I admit more have been lost to boredom rather than anger." His voice was light, though neither looked at the other, too afraid to break whatever bond was forming between them. He studied the lake and the darkness that surrounded them, then turned to her, flashing a kind—sincere smile. Despite everything— her fear, her breathlessness, her pain— that smile touched a place inside her, making it crackle and flare like a spark roused to flame.

"I scrub forgotten rooms, wash unseen walls." A soft laugh puffed past her lips as she smiled, braving to look at him. "What a pair we make— you make messes in your agitation and I clean. Perhaps we should be bored together— for practicality, of course."

"Of course." He had not expected an answer and found himself delighted at just the sound of her voice. "I am certain my staff would thank you." Then it was back, that warm silence that rested gently against someplace he had long forgotten, but sorely missed. He couldn't name it: the emotion that took up residence deep within him filling voids he hadn't known existed. This girl— with her strange dreams and pitiful tale— this mortal that made a wish to the wind and called to him in her darkest hour— was something all-too-familiar and altogether new. He couldn't explain the effect she had on him, only that he craved more of its rich, fulfilling taste.

Her voice was soft, not the whisper of fear, but the hushed tones of contentment and a trace of concerned disquiet. "Are you worried?" Her arms wrapped, again, around her middle, "If you aren't responsible for my dreams— "

"Then who is?" He finished for her, his expression grim.

"Yes— " she whispered, suddenly unsure, "Does that frighten you? The not-knowing?" Her eyes, that could tell him more than any of her words, remained locked on the glassy surface before her. He could sense her trepidation— her fear— but he would not fuel it.

"I am curious." He stepped behind her, to the discarded lantern resting amid the grey stones, a spider-vein crack sprawled across a single pane. Opening the small door, he blew slow breath and a flame danced to life once more. "I am very curious why you are dreaming of me, but I am not worried, nor should you be." He stepped forward, his chest only inches from her back, his warmth seeping through her many layers to scald her in delicious heat. "What harm ever came from a dream?" His soft chuckle purred in her ear, as she stood breathless before him.

Sarah couldn't help but smile. She could feel the delicate line shifting in the sand, pulling her to an edge was afraid to find. What happened when she did? Would she be brave enough to cross or run screaming to the other side where black emotion festered?

Whispering, she dared face the question that itched at the back of her skull. Her voice was soft as the words tumbled free, "If I'd had wished for you—" her breath caught, her eyes shut painfully tight, "w-would you have stopped them?"

"Yes."

Her flesh prickled at the force of that single word. Her heart was about to beat out of her chest. She knew there was more hidden in that single sound. He leaned closer then, almost too close. The cuff of his trousers brushed against the hem of her skirt— the small contact was enough to steal all the air from her lungs. Still breathless, his long arm came around her— but still not touching— holding the cracked and forgotten lantern. Sarah looked at the proffered gift and slowly reached for the dark metal handle.

His fingers brushed hers as she took the light, and for a brief moment, surprising herself, Sarah wished his gloves hadn't been there. For a moment, one that seemed longer than the actual passage of time it encompassed, they were bound by this simple act of mutual touch. An inexplicable energy flowed between them, reigniting the coil of heat in the pit of her stomach. And then, the moment passed. Sarah tried to regain her bearings before he could guess the strange effect he had on her.

She blinked, and just as he had been five nights ago, he was instantly before her, framing her face in his hands and dropping his forehead to hers. Without her mind's consent, her fingers wrapped around his and her eyes closed once more— swept away in the peaceful connection that lingered taunt between them, shining like dew in the morning sunlight. He moved, only just, his lips pressing soft and warm against her temple, the act almost reverent. He leaned back a fraction, a breath; his long fingers drew faintly, slowly along her cheek, and across the curve of her chin. A pained groan swept between them as he pulled back, and Sarah wasn't certain to whom the strangled sound belonged.

He cared for her.

The thought had come to her between one breath and the next, the moment his fingers had brushed her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw as if it were delicate glass work. Her heart leapt, her face flushed red-hot. He would not press his palm to her face, as though he were afraid even that small touch might shatter her into a million pieces, if she did not matter at all.

Her eyes flashed open as his hand slipped to her elbow, and he stared, searching her face— there was a wealth of meaning in those captivating, inhuman eyes, but her mind was too fogged to discern what it might be. The only thing she could be certain of was the pain, thinly veiled, etched within them.

"I've brought you a gift." he whispered, his words dark, flat. The tone of his voice felt wrong— the hairs on her neck raised in anticipation, her skin prickled with uncertain awareness. Without releasing her, he brought his free hand near her face: a crystal balanced precariously on the tip of his skilled fingers. Her brow creased. "A crystal. If you look into it, it will show you your dreams, and help you forget."

Sarah tried to step back, but his grip only tightened on her arm, holding her fast. Her eyes fell to the crystal. It looked the same as all the others she had destroyed tonight, but this one felt different— was different. Forget what— him? Tonight? Her thoughts danced slow and calming in her mind as she stared down at his supposed gift. Forget— the word engulfed her in with a promise of peace and calm. Forget— the sensations felt familiar: slow and gentle, unfurling something within her she wanted, but was just out of reach. Forget.

Her day had been tedious and her night a terrifying disaster. She hated every minute of it— except now. This small, stolen moment under the sparkling starlight stirred a place inside her she hadn't know existed— or had completely abandoned. If she forgot the mortifying events in her home, she wouldn't remember why she had wished for him—or the alluring safety of being enfolded within his arms, the gratifying destruction of those fragile glass orbs, and the smile she was certain had been meant for her.

Walking away with no memory of this night and all that had transpired would mean walking away from the only from the first person (save for Blythe and Constance) that made her feel important— wanted. In the few stolen moments between the fear and worry, the hesitation and anger, he had managed something her fiancé had scarcely accomplished.

She did not want to forget; she wanted to remember.

Softly, she tugged her arm away from him, and he released her. His mask of indifference replaced with one of questioning anger— one might dare to call it torment— as he watched her with unwavering intensity. She swallowed unsure of what to say, "It is very late— or early I suppose." A small, gentle smile pressed her rosy lips, "I must go— b-before they wake and worry where I am." She stepped back from him, but did not turn away, her eyes expectant. Hopeful. Ask me to stay.

The thought startled her— scared her. He was an enigma shrouded in darkness. She had not missed the vagueness in his answers, nor the glint of dither in his haunting baritone as he spoke. Sarah had no reason to want him to stay— oh, but you do, her conscious crooned, and she prayed he hadn't heard her sharp intake of breath.

He heard, but remained silent. The King couldn't conceal the curious, if not dumbfounded look smeared across his face. Once again she had refused his gift to forget, even when it would lessen the pain and heartache he knew raged within her. He had offered it as reprieve— refuge from the storm, and she rebuffed him all the same. He wasn't angry— far from it— he was bewildered, bewitched, by the mortal watching him, her expression serious, but lacking any form of the resentment he had so callously earned.

Were he a mere man, he might not have heard the startled noise, nor glimpsed the keen flicker of awareness that passed before she could blink it away. But he had seen, and he knew what it meant.

This was her goodbye.

He could feel the words hanging unspoken between them. She was drawing the courage to say them aloud, bracing for whatever reply he might give. Will she think of me? Miss me? He wondered in the spaces between the seconds as he watched her teeth worry the corner of her lip, her eyes never lingering on his person too long, before darting to the ground She still feared him— that was good he supposed. If she feared him it would be easier for her to walk away and never look back. It is what he had wanted initially, wasn't it— to have her dreams stop and all memory of him forgotten?

Careful what you wish for…

Sarah's head bobbed slightly, her hand curled in the fabric of her cloak, the other still holding the newly lit lantern. The soft yellow glow illuminated her skin, as the shadows kissed the curve of her brow and down along the straight edge of her nose, sweeping under the line of her chin. He had never seen anything so alluring, so perfect, as she was in what he knew were their last moments, and he couldn't help but study her. To take his fill of her before he lost her— the thought left a strange hollowness in his chest as he watched her turn on a sigh and slowly slip into the night.

To his surprise, she stopped before the line of the trees, looking back over the delicate line of her shoulder; he couldn't place her expression, but he knew what it meant. Here it came, the single word that held so much power, so much meaning: Goodbye. He hated the word and all that it promised, the thought of it on her lips. He had always cautioned the importance of words (those used for wishes especially) and not for the first time, and he supposed not the last, he felt an overwhelming hatred for them and the power they held. She was within his reach by some unforeseen reason and because he failed to explain the rules they both had lost the game. He for the second time. Tonight he would lose her the moment she uttered that horrid, unwanted word.

"Goodnight."

A/N: Thank You for reading! Please! Please review! Sorry it took so long, but I hope the two chapters made up for it! Thanks to all those who review and read! Let me know what you think! I love writing this and am excited for where the story is going!