But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18
500 Years Ago
.
On a midsummer night, the High King of Faeries received one unexpected surprise.
It was during one of his numerous revelries, where mead flowed abundantly and the smell of sex hung heavily in the air. It was his favorite.
Perched on his lap was a beautiful mortal woman - whose name he couldn't remember, but with wide blue eyes and beautiful, long blonde hair. Her body was to die for, and her breasts promised him many wonders, and more. She had a large smile on her face but her gaze was vacant, as in a daze. His kin's food was dangerous for humans. He didn't feel guilty - nor did he care. He was King, after all. He kissed her bare neck, and let himself smile when he felt her shiver.
His hands on the girl's hips, he suddenly felt the change in the air. It was quite brutal, as a storm coming dangerously. He let a guttural growl escape his mouth, clearly annoyed.
He hadn't received words from the Three Witches since the day of his coronation, centuries ago. They had promised him a long reign, an heir, and everything a King could ask for. What more could they, especially now, tell him?
Clearly not in the mood anymore, he abruptly let go of the girl. She looked at him, confused, and he suppressed the need to roll his eyes.
"Go home, girl." he told her, annoyed. "I don't need nor want you there anymore." With a move of his hand, the girl disappeared, along with her memories of the event.
The babe, however, he kept.
It was sleeping in his castle's nursery, blissfully unknowing of its fate. He still hadn't decided what to make of it. He was High King of Faeries, for sure, but he also was the Goblin King. Should he turn it into one of its own? Or into a goblin? With a snap of his finger, he let chance decide the baby's fate.
A few seconds later, he saw one of his goblin maid sigh, and head for the nursery.
He grinned.
Rising from his throne, he headed to the High Tower where he knew the Sisters would be, carefully avoiding the bodies of his subjects on the floor, too fully absorbed in their orgy to even notice their King. He sighed, absolutely jealous of the sight. He would rather join them than being alone in a room with the Witches waiting for him.
They were not pleasant to watch, nor to talk.
Before he could reach the stairs, a voice interrupted him. This time, he didn't stop himself from rolling his eyes.
"Your Majesty", told him a feminine voice.
He turned, and smiled. He recognized her - Aoif, the High Lady of the Court of Roses. She had curly, chestnut hair, and warm blue eyes. Her cheeks were pink and she seemed genuinely happy to be there, clearly not disturbed by the fact that her husband's mouth was devouring another woman's cunt. He attributed that fact to hormones. She was clearly, heavily pregnant.
She bowed to him, as was expected of her. He patiently waited for her to speak.
"I noticed you seem to escape the revelry. Is everything alright, your Grace?" she sounded surprisingly worried, which made him arch a brow. His kin, faes, were known to be vicious, especially pregnant ones. This one must have mortal blood in her. A weakness.
He plastered a diplomatic smile on his face.
"Sadly, a King's duty is never over, my Lady." He told her, as pleasantly as it was possible. He tried not to show he was rather impatient to leave. "I have matters I have to attend to, but rest assured that I'll be back very shortly."
She smiled, satisfied with the answer. She then looked at him rather coyly, and told him in a lower tone, "Will you join me, after you are done ?"
Hormones.
He grinned. "Of course, Lady Aoif."
He would not.
He kissed her hand, and took the stairs, this time uninterrupted.
.
"You are late" told him an ethereal voice. It froze his blood, though he tried not to show it. A King shall not be scared - but the Witches frightened even him.
He smiled, and tried not to show his nervousness.
"Witches," he told them. "Welcome in my realm. I sensed your coming, but I am afraid I do not understand the reason you…" He dared look at them in the eyes - three grotesque bodies in one, with empty, bloody cavities as eyes. The mouths were sewn - it was a wonder they could even speak. One was a child, one a woman, and one a crone, their bodies grossly stitched together.
Sometimes magic could be a wonderful thing. But sometimes, it was just horrifying. He wondered what went through Hecate's head when she decided to give birth to her… Apostles. Messengers. Whatever the hell they were.
"A prophecy we shall give you", told him a toddler voice. Clotho was her name.
A frozen smile was carefully plastered on his face, but confusion could be read in his eyes.
"I'm afraid I was already given a prophecy a long time ago" He tried to be polite - he really did, but he wasn't comfortable being in the same room as them. They stared at him (how could they even do that, he didn't know) and did everything in his power not to gulp. He waited.
He heard an older voice - Atropos, the crone - sigh.
"Macbeth really was better at this."
His eyes twitched.
"Macbeth is also very much dead", he replied coolly, momentarily forgetting his fear. He didn't like being compared - especially to mortals. They were fools, men and women alike, and deserved to be despised.
"Listen to our wisdom, young King" finally told him a young woman's voice, sweet to even his ear. But he was not fooled. Lachesis might have a beautiful and charming voice, she was still the monster in front of him.
And he wasn't young. At all.
He crossed his arms. "Why now? If you had something to say, why didn't you say it the day of my coronation?" Jareth was a rather impatient man, and despite the fear, this conversation was starting to bore him. It seemed like the whole word decided to especially annoy him today.
The three of them laughed in unison, and never had he heard a sound so bone-chilling. This time, he didn't repress his gulp.
"You shall indeed have a long reign, feared and respected by all. King of the Kings, they shall call you, and many wars will you win." they started, as if reciting a spell - or a curse. So far, Jareth was not impressed. It was almost word by word what they had already told him. "But", and he thought he could hear their smile. His brow furrowed. "One dreadful night, a mortal girl shall you meet - her will as strong as yours, and her kingdom as great. Twice will she break the order of things. Twice will she best you."
After a silence, they silently added.
"She will be your downfall."
Jareth only blinked. Once, and twice. And then…
He laughed.
"A mortal girl ?" He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. Never in the history of his kin had a mortal win against one of his own. Especially not a woman. He saw the Witches as they were now - just old women trying to scare a young king. He was not going to let that happen. "Sorry, I'm not buying that." He wiped his eye, for good measure. He always had a flair for the dramatic. "Anything else ?"
The Witches only looked at him, smiling. As if they had expected this reaction. Still, he let it not bother him. He knew the truth, now.
"Turning that baby into a goblin before we could eat him is really poor manners", is the only thing Clotho told him.
He wrinkled his nose, disgusted.
.
Centuries had passed, and King Jareth had long forgotten the prophecy. He was feared and respected, and indeed, many wars did he win. His kingdom was great, and his will was strong. His subjects said he could even move the stars - and maybe one day, he would.
He still challenged mortals, men and women alike, to his labyrinth. Stealing their powers, for nothing shines as bright as a mortal's belief, and their babies.
All was well.
Until he met her.
Sarah Williams.
.
Present days
.
At 25, Sarah Williams considered herself quite lucky, all things considered. Sure, she didn't follow her dream to be an actress, and she would probably never be in the same movie as Brad Pitt, but she found following the footsteps of her popular mother would have been too exhausting anyway. And teaching at university wasn't so bad. Especially when offered a phD position at Oxford. Classic English literature has always been her thing, after all, and she was too enamored with Shakespeare's works to say no to such an opportunity. A Midsummer's Night Dream was her favorite - though she tried not to think too much as to why.
She had friends. Sure, she didn't have many, and most people she met found her quite weird at first, but still. She wasn't the savage girl she used to be as a teenager. Like everyone else, she enjoyed her coffee with sugar, she liked going to the mall, and she blushed when a nice and charming boy, and even sometimes a girl, flirted with her.
She had been in relationships. Some ended well, some ended badly. She had loved and she had hated, as it was the case in life.
She had let her hair grow very long, then cut them very short, and then regretted it and let them grow long again.
She loved her father, and found her step-mother wasn't actually the diabolical ogress she thought she was. She grew to love her, too.
Her relationship with her mother was complicated, and they didn't talk as much as she wanted to, but she knew Linda tried. It was better than nothing.
And she loved her little brother to death. Sure, they still fought sometimes, and she just wished he would stop spending so much time playing video games, but kids were kids, and she used to be one as well.
In other words, Sarah Williams, 25 years old today, was a normal woman, thank you very much.
Minus, of course, the whole "15 years old girl wishes her baby brother away, found herself in a magical land with dwarves and talking dogs, and somehow succeeds in besting a Goblin King in love with her". That's the part, she supposed, that made her less normal. But in the last 10 years, she didn't receive words from her magical friends nor from the diabolical King. So far, so good.
Tonight, her friends had invited her to the local pub to share a few drinks for her birthday. She didn't live too far from the city, thankfully, so she could allow herself one pint of beer or two. Or more.
Her phone suddenly buzzed, and she looked at it to see who had sent her a message.
It was her little brother, using their father's phone.
"I'm sooooo excited 4 tomorrow! I miss u :( also pls bring me a gift".
She laughed. She did miss her brother too, and couldn't wait to spend a whole week of well-deserved vacation in her country. Half of her money was spent on this trip, and even if she had to eat instant noodles almost every day because of it, she knew it was worth it.
"Miss you too. But it's MY birthday, shouldn't I be the one receiving gifts? Love you. Oh and stop playing CoD - I know that's totally what you're doing rn."
An angel emoji was his only answer. Rolling her eyes, she huffed a laugh and started to prepare for the night to come. She internally debated on what to wear. England could sometimes be a cold country, but still, they were in the middle of summer. Eventually, she decided to settle for a black velvet dress, perfectly hugging her body. It was knee-length, with long sleeves. Wearing it always made her feel like a sort of modern Morticia Addams. She always had a flair for the dramatic.
She applied light makeup, checked that she turned off all the lights, and headed out for the night.
.
The music was not too loud tonight, which was a blessing. She didn't like having to yell to have a conversation with her friends. The pub was currently playing "Lullaby" by the Cure, which could be odd all things considered, but she found she didn't mind. Sarah liked gothic rock, it made her feel like she was the heroine of a Bronte's sisters novel. This particular penchant had nothing to do with a Goblin King - no, not all.
"So Sarah…" began Mark. Her friend was a 28 years old gifted author working in a publishing house. He always had a warm smile on his face. He promised her, a few months after she came to England, that one day he would help her publish her thesis, and who knows, maybe even a book. Not that she had too much hope about the latter. "You're leaving tomorrow for your vacation, is that right ? I'm not sure I remember where your parents live."
Niamh, a 24 years old Irish woman with big, tight red curls, who happened to be one of her colleagues at university and who also happened to conveniently be her best friend, suddenly raised her head with interest, looking slyly at her friend. Sarah always thought she looked like she could be one of Jareth's subjects - a mischievous fae who always had something on her mind.
"Or maybe a long-distance boyfriend that we didn't know of?" she purred, and Sarah laughed.
"No. I promise, I wouldn't hide something like that from you guys" she said, amused by her friend's antics. Niamh laughed, her eyes a bit glossy and cheeks red. Sarah knew she also had the same look on her face - they had drunk quite a lot tonight. Mark simply rolled his eyes, muttering something about "women", but Sarah was not fooled, he was smiling as much as them. She cleared her voice. "My parents used to live close to New York, but they moved a few years ago. They live in Oregon now - something about "rocks and mountains being nothing next to men". They laughed again in unison, though she could see her friends had no idea where Oregon was in the States. Not that she could blame them. She also had troubles placing all the states on a map, and she was American.
"And what about your superstar mother?" inquired Niamh, always the curious one.
Sarah winced. Linda had a complicated life, always on the move, never really settling. She tried her best to remember the last home she bought.
"I think she is living in France at the moment. But, you know," she added with a shrug, "she might decide in a few months that she doesn't actually like France, and move to Italy. At least Jeremy is always with her, and that's a relief", she said with genuine fondness. She loved her mother, and liked Jeremy. She might not have the steadiest life, but it was alright. She caressed the bracelet she sent her for her birthday. The note accompanying it was sweet - Linda promised her she was proud of her and would always love her. She gently smiled to herself.
Her friends smiled and soon, they were talking about something else. Mark's new book. Niamh's students. Sarah's thesis. The conversation flowed and so did the alcohol. After two hours, Sarah knew she was completely drunk. Her friends decided to call it a night, and they parted ways. Mark asked her if she needed a cab, but she didn't live too far. She could walk.
.
It was such a lovely night. The sky was not clouded, for once, and she could see the stars. The air was cool but she was not cold. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. She smiled to herself. She knew that tomorrow she would come to regret that extra pint, but for now, she was simply happy.
She suddenly heard a movement in the tree next to her, startling her. She relaxed a bit when she realized it was just an owl. A white owl.
Wait.
She eyed it suspiciously. "You're not trying to kidnap me, aren't you ?". The owl flew away, and Sarah quietly laughed. "Thought so", she muttered.
Her gaze still on the flying bird, she didn't see the telephone pole in front of her. She hit it head first, completely stunning her. She fell.
"Ouch.." she said while getting up. Her nose was bloody, and her head hurt. Feeling nauseated, she realized she might have a concussion tomorrow.
"Oh crap, no." The bracelet her mother had given her laid a few feet from her on the road, its pearls spilling on the ground. Making sure there was no car coming, she hurried on the road to pick up the pearls. "Crap, crap, crap." she muttered in her breath.
Too absorbed in her task, she didn't hear the sound of the car coming at high speed.
She didn't see the moment the driver realized he was too fast and couldn't avoid her. She didn't see the panic or the fear.
She didn't see her death coming.
.
Somewhere, in a strange land, the Goblin King felt a pang in his heart, as if a part of his soul left his body, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.