Rule Three: You must know where you truly belong
There is an itch in the back of his mind. There is a disquieting hollowness inside of him; he fills it with the inane babble of his subjects and books he has read so often they turn to ash in his impatient hands.
His crystals remain dull and unresponsive when he attempts to scry.
The pervading sense of wrongness refuses to abate.
If he were of a more amiable, forgiving temperament he might laugh at his Lover-Adversary's ingenuity. Hope was the cruellest of gifts to offer, he would know.
Sarah, beautiful Sarah, how lovely she was when she begged for him to free her husband and child, from the binding of her own hasty words.
How breathtaking she was when she negotiated with blistering confidence and an infuriatingly knowing smile.
So convinced was he by her half-truths and the devotion in her eyes, he had neglected the snare that lay at his feet. For all his taunting and insistence of the contrary, he was not her husband. Not yet, and may never be.
Jareth-The-Other, who met each challenge readily, so sure he could best that which he once failed so painfully, easily fell to an unavoidable trap. He should have been the one that failed; he owed her that much.
How he despised his older counterpart.
It was the gratingly casual return of endearments that fell from Sarah's mouth when she called to him. It was the ugly softness in his gaze as the formidable Goblin King of his future unravelled at the edges with detestable kindness.
I had her too. In my Labyrinth, on my throne.
His future self wasn't a better version than him. And this older Sarah was not, alas a better version than her vivacious and stubborn teenage self.
At least the younger Sarah had been sincere. Her proclamation of fear didn't sit well in the hungry cavern of his chest that once clamoured for her fealty. Innocent young Sarah, who had been hurled into his path by the uncaring Goblin Queen that thought only of her own family, perhaps as much a victim as he.
The Goblin Queen was not so reluctant as she pretended, her eyes would burn and her sharp tongue would jab at his unhealed wounds, yet all it took was a touch and some well-placed words to make her bend.
In the end, he was the one that had been bent to her will, snapped in half and discarded as she reclaimed her husband in exchange for a promise that withered and died like a rejected dream.
Sentiment had slid between his ribcage as he had allowed himself to dream that one day he might have what his despicable future self had, so long as he trusted the Goblin Queen and released her family.
But Sarah didn't want him.
Remorse had been the knife that cleaved young Sarah from him as he second-guessed his convictions and the aggravating fascination that refused to let him think of any other.
Now he had neither Sarah, just the memory of how the Goblin Queen had tasted under his practised tongue, and the knowledge that his Fairytale-Sarah, The-Princess-That-Would-Grow-Up-To-Be-A-Queen had recoiled from him in horror before banishing him.
Rejected thrice. He would laugh if it didn't cause the shards of glass in his chest to rattle and tear at his unprotected organs.
Being inexorably bound to the fate of both Sarahs by a single frayed piece of yarn was not enough.
He had coveted the girl that called to him with her Words and untamed imagination. What a fascinating little thing she was. Losing her to her victory over the Labyrinth had been an exquisite agony.
Sarah-The Goblin-Queen, Thrice-Champion-of-the-Labyrinth had been something else entirely.
"If you've quite finished brooding," an impatient voice called out.
Jareth's attention snapped to the figure at the foot of the dais his throne was mounted on. "As pleasant as ever I see." He noted, "Do make yourself at home, Ayra."
His guest gave the throne room a cursory glance with her signature disdainful expression. "And what a home it is." She ascended the steps, coming to a stop in front of her brother.
He felt an odd pang of something regretful as he took notice of the long silence that stretched out between them. How long had the throne room been deserted? How long had it been since he'd allowed his subjects to share his company?
"I am in need of your assistance," he finally spoke. The words curdled in his mouth like sour milk.
Ayra tilted her head curiously, something cold and alien in her regard. "So you said. It is quite unseemly for one such as I to be at the beck and call of idle requests." With a casual twist of her hand, a stream of clear liquid shot forth, the strands braided together in the air, forming a throne, before solidifying. She arched an eyebrow at Jareth, daring him to comment on the audacity of her actions as she seated herself beside him. The heavy layers of her golden, jewel-studded gown rustled loudly as she lay back languidly. "You know where my Kingdom is," she reminded him.
"How could I forget?" He tried to mask the bitter undertones in his retort. "It is your memory expertise I require."
"My expertise is far more than memory."
"Your Kingdom is built upon little more than memory cast in crystal," he rebuked. His memories of the Crystal Kingdom always evoked a feeling of intense coldness and sterility. The eerie echoes and disjointed beings that served as her subjects unnerved him to this day.
Finally, there was a flash rage in his sister's topaz eyes, before it was quickly masked under an icy veneer of civility. "You underestimate the importance of memory." A strangely sharp smile crossed her face, "Or perhaps you don't. What ails you, brother dear?"
"A memory," He breathed. A sharp lance of pain shot through him as he recalled a taunting smile, a startling viciousness and a longing that refused to abate. "A memory of a perfect day."
Ayra's eyes widened in surprise, "That's all? You can't rid yourself of it?"
"It is...entangled with other memories that I desire to keep."
His sister let out a sigh, slumping forwards in a manner that would have given their mother a conniption fit. "Is it that girl?" He hated the patronising smile she wore as she spoke so indifferently about her. "You'd be better off rid of her entirely. Pining will do you no good."
"I do not pine." He snapped at her. A creeping sense of worry worked itself through him as he frantically tried to recall a time he had mentioned the Champion to his sister.
He felt the Labyrinth tentatively reach out to him. He forced it away with a practised ignorance he had spent years cultivating. Despite ignoring its offer of assistance the Labyrinth saw fit to shatter Ayra's throne beneath her, sending her tumbling back onto a pile of shards.
Jumping to her feet immediately, she brushed off the fragments of crystal while glowering at him. "This is how you ask for help is it, have you no self-control?" She loomed over his throne threateningly. For a moment he wondered whether she would strike him. But no, that wasn't in her nature. The abrasive note that had entered her voice faded away.
Part of him regretted that she so often left her resentment unvoiced, her feelings trapped away within a cage of ice and steel.
"Your beloved." Her mouth twisted in distaste, "Will not be too young forever. And willing or not there are many strategies that can be deployed to claim a bride," she continued, conversationally.
Jareth felt a flash of heat surge inside of him, he forced himself to push away the thoughts he had spent far too long entertaining. He was well aware of the numerous ways he could trap Sarah. The Goblin Queen's gift had been exactly what he needed to do so.
"I will not do that to her." He forced the words out wearily. No matter how close he had come to trapping her in the fairy ring. Besides which, Sarah's banishment had made it nigh impossible to commune with her in any meaningful way, aside from a dull, aching tug in an indeterminable direction
There had been multiple attempts where he'd tried to keep Sarah's future self with him, to bind her with the inaccuracy of her words and her hasty declarations. Throughout it, all she had never feared him and the astonishing devotion in her eyes had given him the vindication to follow through in his plans.
Thinking back to the horror reflected in Sarah's eyes as she shoved him back and choked on her lost Words was deeply unsettling.
He couldn't stand her looking at him like that.
"I could." She offered, offhandedly.
"No, I think not." His own smile was jagged as he fought off the desire to expel her from his castle, violently.
"Very well." Ayra conceded. "Look around you, brother. When did you last look at your Kingdom?"
"I am looking at it now." Jareth stared at musty drapes, clinging to grimy windows, he looked at the cracked pillars bowing under the weight of the ceiling, he glanced at the door that was rusted shut from disuse.
"No, you're not." She shook her head sadly. "But if you think it will help you, I shall rid you of your tormenting day. I just hope you remember that I warned you."
~*o0o*~
"Sarah, Sarah look!"
She blinked up in surprise as her younger brother dropped a fluorescent green item onto her lap. She closed her book and set it down beside her, casting a warning look at the spider adjacent to it.
"Nice one Tobes. You found a glow stick; I guess someone must have been having a party." Taking note of her lack of pockets, Sarah wrapped it around her wrist and hid it beneath her sleave, somewhat wary of her seven-year-old brother deciding to snap it and drink the contents. He'd been known to drink stranger things. There was a reason the shoe polish was placed in one of the higher cupboards.
The other reason was that the contents kept mysteriously vanishing, and definitely wasn't being used to give Ludo's reddish fur some highlights in an impromptu salon session.
She leaned back against the tree, trying to find a comfortable position against the uneven surface. With a scowl she flicked the spider off the cover of her book, daring it to come back.
"Will you play with me?" Wide blue eyes turned to her beseechingly and she felt her heart melt under her brother's gaze.
"Give me ten more minutes. I just need to finish this chapter off." She assured him. "Maybe you could play with the other children?" She gestured to the swing set across from them, occupied by a boy around Toby's age wearing a backwards baseball cap.
Toby shrugged; instead, he planted himself next to Sarah and rested his head on her shoulders. Karen had gone a little bit overboard with the head shaving, she thought to herself, as short blonde bristles ticked her neck.
She shifted again, torn between asking Toby to get off of her so her circulatory system could be relieved and the desire to remain still. Her brother wouldn't always be an adorable child who leapt at the chance to spend time with her.
Attempting to focus on her book, she read the same paragraph over and over again. Each time she read it, the words made even less sense than the last. It was just one of those days. The relief that came with having time off of college was swiftly crushed, like an elephant's dreams of becoming a professional ballerina, when she learnt how much coursework she was expected to complete.
With an irritated huff, she nudged Toby, who yawned and staggered to his feet with bleary eyes.
"Ugh, I think that's enough of that for today. Let's go play then." She gave him an encouraging smile, which he attempted to return with a slight waver.
"Why are you reading the book if you don't like it? Mum says that I should only pick out a library book if I think it looks en-gage-ing." He sounded the last word out deliberately, with a proud grin. "Is it not a good book?"
Sarah groaned quietly, "It's not that kind of book. It's the kind of book where people like to give their long complicated opinions on uncomplicated topics. What I wouldn't give, to have the time to read something fictional for fun."
"Maybe we could go home and read," Toby suggested.
"Karen says the fresh air will do you good." Sarah started, before immediately relenting. Toby did look rather tired. "Oh well, I guess we can come to the park tomorrow instead." She let Toby pull her to her feet, but paused for a moment when she found a small bird perched on it.
"Hi, Mr Bluebird." Toby greeted, cheerfully.
The bird chirped back and flitted off onto one of the lower branches of the tree she had been sat under. Sarah stared at it for a moment, unable to shake off the feeling of anxiety that welled up inside of her. The bird seemed to stare back, unperturbed by Toby's attempts to reach it.
It's not like it's an owl.
She mentally berated herself for thinking she had some kind of built-in detector for bird-imposters. There was a far simpler word that described her wariness towards birds in close proximity. Paranoia. Despite, not seeing a trace of the Goblin King for six years, it didn't mean that he was far from her thoughts.
Under Toby's prompting, she gave the bird a hesitant wave before forcing a certain glittery Monarch out of her mind. She didn't like to think about the way his victorious smirk had faltered, and what looked like concern had bled through his taunting exterior. She wouldn't feel sorry for the baby-snatching, dream-stealing-chicken.
~*o0o*~
Sarah watched her mirror ripple in front of her with trepidation. This was the twelfth time this week she'd tried to call for her friends, to no avail. It was only Tuesday. She attempted to brush off her concerns, maybe they were busy. They did have lives outside of her.
Maybe they'd finally been dunked in the bog for some innocuous slight against the King. She hoped Hoggle had finally worked up the courage to teach the Goblins that song he wrote about their esteemed leader, whilst drunk on ale.
She ignored the haze of guilt settling uncomfortably in her chest. She didn't call for them as often as she used to. There had been a time they were with her every night, her constant companions to battle against the darkness and the hollow grief that her dreamless sleep left her with.
Now her nights were awash with colour and warmth, a dizzying variety that had been jarring at first. When she'd regained the ability to dream, it had been all she wanted to spend her time doing. There is an indescribable delight that comes with submerging one's self in fantasy and watching the responsibilities of reality fade away.
"Any time now guys," she murmured, under her breath.
The rippling ceased. The only thing the mirror reflected was her own alarmed expression and the nervous tap-tap of her fingers against her leg.
With a heavy sigh, she fell back on her bed and shut her eyes. Sarah hadn't been home in months, but when she looked at the faded wallpaper and peeling posters it was almost like she'd never left.
There was a small niggling doubt in the back of her mind. One that whispered she'd created a complex delusion to cope with her past insomnia, a delusion that had followed her to adulthood.
What if her friends never responded again?
Stupid. Sarah hissed at herself, tampering down on her spiralling thoughts. It can't be healthy to assume the worst all of the time, even if it did dull the blow of disappointment.
Dependent. It was another ugly word she could ascribe to herself, on top of the paranoia.
What would her life be without the memories of her adventure into the Labyrinth? She couldn't imagine being cut off; no longer seeing a flash of a short scaly creature in the cupboard doorways or a glimpse of a tiny glittering form shrieking abuse at her neighbour's gardener for pruning the roses too vigorously.
The world was a grey and monotonous place, as she trudged from one task to another, desperately fending off her parent's questions about what she was planning to do with a degree in English Literature. For starters, if they knew just how many backpacks she'd worn through, carrying her textbooks around campus, perhaps they'd give her a break.
After seeing that the universe was a lot more complex than it appeared, it would seem that reality often fell shockingly short of her expectations. Clocks didn't hold thirteen hours, gravity wasn't subjective and dreams were just dreams. The last one should have been a relief.
Right, right, dependency...
A year without dreams had made their return all the sweeter. Karen had been concerned by how often she'd slept in, how she clung to the images in her mind that were a sharp contrast to the yawning abyss that had awaited her night after night.
So cold. Trapped. Lost. Alone. This wasn't darkness...this was something worse...it is absence...it is bein n
A small part of her wondered whether she would have been happier had she never set foot in the Labyrinth. To grow up without the knowledge she'd been walking around blindfolded. To allow fairytales and wishes to fade into childish obscurity.
Too late now.
The Labyrinth had taken root in her mind, a world of the impossible; a world of change. It pained her to think that even dangers untold and hardships unnumbered would be better than laborious routines and endless essays.
What would have happened if she had stepped into the circle?
No. She wasn't going to think about it...or him.
The only reason he had looked so sad was because he'd lost again. He'd lost Toby and failed to trick her into giving him up at the end. Even if he had offered her dreams.
Sarah allowed a slight smile to cross her face as he recalled his indignant surprise when she'd called upon the Goblins to remove him. Not that she expected it had done anything over than send him back to his castle to sulk.
Clearly, his intentions were anything but harmless.
He seemed very invested in forcing her into glittery dresses while his guests mocked her behind masked smirks. Maybe she would never have remembered who Sarah Williams was if she hadn't been lucky enough to wish for his name.
Nowadays, she went as far as avoiding to think his name. If she could dream, then there was always the chance that he could come back.
~*o0o*~
"Sarah, dear. Don't play with your food." Her stepmother chided, tilting her head in the direction of Toby. The message was clear: don't encourage your brother to mess around. The last time he ate lasagne, we were here for two hours while he pushed it around his plate before sculpting it into a row of people.
Sarah nodded back in the affirmative, no Karen, we wouldn't want a repeat of the great lasagne war saga, as the troops of béchamel-pasta fought bravely against the marmite?-broccoli battalion.
She dearly longed for the day when Karen would realise that her mother was not a fantastic cook, and inflicting her recipes on her own children was a stepping stone away from child cruelty.
Marmite may be a savoury ingredient but it did not belong in lasagne by any stretch of the imagination.
"What are your plans for this evening?" Her father asked, he too seemed to be hiding pieces of burnt lasagne underneath his vegetables.
"Probably read for a bit." And see if she could get through to her friends. Was there such a thing as an inter-dimensional power cut that could stop her friends from crossing over?
"You and those books." He shook his head. "There's more to the world than stories. When I was your age, I had apprenticeship work at a law firm. That certainly made me grow up quickly."
"Yes. I'm sure the hardships of negotiating over an apple tree infringing on another person's property, really opened your eyes to the gruelling world and the cruelty of man."
Sarah grinned at the amused snort she managed to earn from Karen as her father looked at them both disapprovingly. Her father's witty rebuttal was cut short when the Paratrooper-Lemon-Zest-Carrots were propelled onto his plate by a bored Toby.
"Mom, will you read me a story tonight?" He pleaded.
"Only if you finish your dinner."
Toby looked like he'd rather be shot. Hell, Sarah would rather be shot.
"The lad's had a long day." Their father pleaded for mercy on his son's behalf. "Maybe we should let him go to bed. A story will do him good."
Karen frowned at this. "You haven't been telling him funny stories, have you, Sarah?"
"No?" She blinked in confusion, "Why?"
"He's not slept through the whole night in weeks." Karen continued, reaching over to press a hand to her son's forehead with an expression of grave concern. "You're not sickening are you, pet?"
Toby shook his mother's hand off him, "If I am, does that mean I don't have to eat any more of this?" He scrunched up his face with all of the tact that only a seven-year-old could possess.
Karen's face grew stony and Sarah leaned back in her chair in preparation for the inevitable fall out.
~*o0o*~
Sarah was following a bluebird. She wasn't sure why exactly; only that it had seemed a good idea at the time. It wasn't the best rationalisation, she was sure that her mother had thought it was a good idea at the time to spend her college fund on gifts for her latest boyfriend. That hadn't turned out well.
This probably wouldn't either.
She followed the bird up the winding path of a hill, watching it dance from tree to tree before it shot ahead into the branches of one particular tree.
Was 'tree' the right word to describe the behemoth she was approaching?
The top of it was obscured by the bank of clouds it pierced through. Embedded within the branches, glinting out from between broad, emerald leaves, sat small lights. Gold and glowing they remained steady and silent.
Sarah wasn't sure why silence was a notable characteristic of the lights. Aside from the low buzz of the hallway light bulb in her student accommodations, most lights she came across were on the quiet side.
If the tree was coniferous, she would have sworn it was a Christmas tree. Admittedly, on the larger side. She knew a few malls that would be envious of its size.
The floating architecture, on the other hand, they could do without.
Then again, Ikea was quite ambitious, so you never know.
Pillars and broken archways drifted past with a gentleness that belied the weight of the hefty stones it was composed of.
The closer she drew to the tree; the clearer it became that there was a figure slumped against its mighty trunk in repose. There was a bowed head with long golden hair splayed out across the lengthy cloak of feathers, draped around the body like a shroud.
The Goblin King.
Sarah's feet became glued to the spot as she stared down at him, unwilling to move closer but at the same time, too curious to run away.
Why would I need to run, this is just a dream?
Dreams are dangerous. She corrected herself, dreams are his domain; I'm not safe here.
Sarah held her breath, convinced that should she exhale too loudly his eyes would snap open in an instant. She couldn't hold her breath forever; so she released the air as quietly as she could.
There was no reaction.
Oh, okay then. Losing some of her qualms, she inched forwards slightly. If he wakes up, being one metre away or ten isn't going to save me.
Close up, she realised that the Goblin King didn't look well. His face was drawn and haggard, his lips almost bloodless with great bruise-like shadows under his eyes.
He didn't look like he was breathing at all.
Sarah knelt down beside him, a strange prickle of concern fought against her hesitancy and ultimately won. She held a hand out in front of his face, wondering whether she should try to find his pulse, but thought better of it. She eyed him like he was a feral dog, waiting to snap her fingers off.
Once again, given no indication of movement, she reached out again, letting her hand rest a few millimetres away from his face. There was a faint trace of warm air, tickling the back of her hand.
Still alive then.
She wasn't sure how she should feel about that...relieved? Sarah assumed that finding a dead body was rarely cause for celebration, and being a decent person she would hardly revel in the King's demise.
Nonetheless, something was wrong. She couldn't recall seeing him so still before, the animacy of the fire behind his eyes was wholly absent as he slumbered beneath the tree.
There was always the possibility that this Goblin King was a figment of her imagination.
Sarah was almost offended at the prospect of the trickster King, who so enjoyed tormenting her, would barge his way into her dreams, only to do nothing but sleep in them.
This could be a new tactic. She thought to herself, her bewildered mind congratulated her on this canny insight. He could be trying to slowly drive her mad by appearing in her dreams innocuously...only too...what? Smother her with a pillow?
He was probably trying to lull her into a false sense of security.
Even still, he really did look ill.
Sarah braced herself against the enormous tree trunk. She was startled to find how warm it was under her fingers. It was unnaturally hot with an odd vibration radiating through it. She recoiled abruptly as she became cognizant of a deep, solid thump against her touch.
It had a heartbeat.
What the actual fuck.
As she drew away, one of the lower branches reached out and coiled around her arm to halt her actions. Instinctively, Sarah fought against the grip of the tree and was surprised to find it released her immediately. The branch remained poised in front of her but made no more attempts to grip her again.
Okay, weird..sentient? tree. I've seen stranger.
Sarah didn't know how long she'd been in this dream. There was a sense of timelessness as she continued to stare at the Goblin King's prone form and the glittering tree, towering over him.
She couldn't say what compelled her to reach out towards him again. She'd already ascertained that he was alive-ish.
Sarah had almost forgotten the bluebird she had followed here. Before her hand could make contact with the King's face, the bird sang out in alarm and she found herself abruptly ripped away from her spot beside him.
Her back slammed into the ground and she let out a pained groan. Sarah heaved herself into sitting position, blinking hazily at the sight in front of her.
There was a shadow next to the Goblin King.
Except it was more than a shadow, it looked solid. It had certainly felt solid when it hurled her through the air.
It was difficult to make out any discernable features as to the identity of the figure. Its form was androgynous with long hair spiralling out around it. When the tendrils made contact with the Goblin King's body, he jolted slightly, his face creasing into a grimace before smoothing out into thoughtless oblivion.
The figure was watching her, and she was utterly terrified.
Her skin felt blisteringly cold where it had made contact. One by one, the lights in the tree began to sputter out.
"You shouldn't be here." Its voice was saccharine, almost childish.
It wasn't even a reprimand, just a statement.
Its form drifted forwards, tendrils disentangling from the helpless King. Despite having legs it made no attempt to walk, simply hovering above the ground and drifting forwards like a piece of seaweed upon a gentle tide.
As it drew closer, Sarah was able to see her breath form in the frosty air. She tried to scramble backwards on her hands and knees; casting a lingering look of worry at the slumped form of the Goblin King, she noticed that the bluebird was circling the tree, almost frantically.
Its face drew closer to her, void of facial features, she was unable to discern what it was feeling...whether it could even feel.
It bent its head towards her; its breath smelt sweet and rotten, like decaying lilies.
"Wakey, wakey."
~*o0o*~
Sarah gasped awake; her arms coiled around her body as she realised how frigid her room was.
Strike that. When did she sleep on top of damp leaves and muddy grass?
"Oh, crap, crap, crap." She began to chant as she struggled to her feet. The dim light of the streetlamp across the road provided enough illumination for her to recognise she was in the park. Sarah could make out the swing set, somehow eerier as its chains creaked in the absence of children leaping on it.
How did she end up out here? The park was a good twenty minutes walk from her house. Did she sleepwalk here?
It seemed unlikely, but then again, she recalled the time her father had told her about the friend of his that had driven to work whilst asleep. In comparison, this wasn't nearly as remarkable.
At least her sleeping self had had the foresight to put on a pair of boots, instead of her fluffy pink slippers that would have immediately become sodden after a trek through the grass. On the other hand, she was wearing navy blue flannel pyjamas with combat boots, not to mention her glowstick accessory. Sleeping Sarah was clearly not a fashion-savvy icon.
"You couldn't even grab a dressing-gown." She grumbled to herself as she made her way over to the gate.
Just as her hand rested on the latch, a small bird landed upon it. The darkness made colours a bit less distinct but recently she had become rather familiar with the bird in front of her.
"You've got to be kidding me." She kept her voice low in case there was anyone of ill repute, hanging around the park in the dead of night. To be fair, she'd likely be given such a label herself if someone passed by and found her in her pyjamas addressing the wildlife.
The bluebird chirped at her, almost warningly as she lifted the latch.
Sarah hesitated. It seemed in following the bird in her dream, she'd somehow managed to follow it physically too.
The Goblin King's gaunt face flashed through her mind, along with that thing.
"You led me to him." That alone was a petrifying prospect. "Why?"
The bird darted off of the gate, into a bush a few metres away. Sarah inched closer, only for the bird to take off again, never straying far enough to become out of sight.
She cast a longing look back at the gate as she thought of the warmth of her bed back home. The bird trilled once more, as though impatient for her to follow.
At least she was right. She did have an inbuilt bird-imposter-detector.
Ha. It's not paranoia when the birds really are out to get you.
But it is still idiocy when you're deliberately chasing them into danger.
She really didn't think she had room in her life for two bird nemeses. Hopefully, this one was the benevolent sort of nemesis. Then again her last nemesis had given her the courtesy of a six-year reprieve, so she probably wouldn't be as lucky this time around.
Sarah continued to follow the bird. It occurred to her after around the fiftieth tree she passed that she should have come to a fence by now. But the lights in the distance grew dimmer and following the bird grew harder as she came to rely on the sound of its song as her guide.
She had no legitimate reason to be doing this. Why should she follow a bird of dubious origins in the dead of night? There could be a horrible trap lying in wait for her.
No, she'd entirely lost her sense of reason.
She felt excited.
Her heart thrummed loudly in her chest, and her blood sang in her veins as she drew closer and closer to something.
Magic. It was magic that left the stain of static-like anticipation prickling her skin and wonder swooping through her chest.
How long had it been since she tasted magic, aside from the paltry shimmer of her mirror, foretelling the arrival of her friends? How long had it been since she could breathe it in?
Sarah came to a halt in front of a pair of trees. Their trunks contorted forwards into a narrow archway. Beyond the archway, there was only darkness, thicker and heavier than the night time shadows that painted the park with obscurity.
The bluebird passed through the archway before twisting and turning before her eyes into the form of a woman. Despite the blackness of the park and the further blanket of shade cast by the trees, Sarah could make out every detail of the person she had followed.
Her skin radiated a gentle light like a faraway star, but her golden hair and amber eyes burnt like the sun in a frighteningly familiar face. There was something about the dramatic sweep of her brows and the aristocratic planes of her face that sent warning bells clamouring in her mind.
"You're more trouble than your worth." The woman spoke with a desperation that failed to be concealed behind her supercilious words. "But I suppose you'll do."