***This is my little tribute to the memory of David Bowie who will always be the Goblin King. May he reign forever.***

Take note that I've fudged the timeline on when Sarah's original journey occurred for various stylistic reasons. In this story, Sarah's original trip to the Labyrinth occurred at the beginning of summer in 1996, NOT 1986.

I own my original characters and the precise order I put my words down in. The world and characters of the Labyrinth film will sadly never belong to me. I just like to play in their sandbox. I make no money off of this. Seriously. As I'm self-employed and a bit obsessive, I think I might actually be losing money because of it. That said, if anyone owns a spare Jareth, I'm happy to give him a good home. I have references.

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If I could take your hand/
If you could understand/
That I can barely breathe, the air is thin/
I fear the fall and where we'll land.

~ from Beautiful Crime by Tamer

Sarah stood on a blasted, windswept plain of dark ashes and black rock. The smoky air smelled of ozone, sulfur, and hot stone. Burning wind whipped ash into her hair and pulled on her clothes. It sang of loss and despair. Give up, the wind whispered. All is lost. Hope is fallen. She looked up at the roiling gray sky. Bolts of crimson lightning arched across it. "So," she said, "this is the Nightmare Realm."

Marvok chuckled. "This is only a small portion of the border between Dream and Nightmare. Most of my homeland is less…friendly. My people have used the Ashen Plains as a training ground for our cubs for a very long time. It is well-suited for our purpose here."

Sarah nodded, grateful that he didn't feel the need to take her somewhere worse. As it was, she was happy that she wasn't here in the flesh. She didn't want to know what kind of scars burning ash would leave. Regardless, compared to Marvok's fear aura, this place wasn't as bad as she'd expected. She was in high school, for God's sake. Despair was not a new emotion for her. "What now?" she asked.

"Now, you close your eyes. Ignore the wind and focus on yourself. Remember what I taught you."

Sarah closed her eyes and entered the trance state she'd spent many dreams mastering. She defined the borders of her dream form, then waited, trusting that Marvok would guide her. His voice was far more compelling than that of the wind. "Feel the blood that flows through your veins. Feel the life flowing to every part of you."

She felt it and focused on nothing else, focused only on the blood moving to the rhythm of her heartbeat. "Good," Marvok whispered. "Your blood is life, but there are shadows of death within it, tendrils of black in a river of red. Do you See them, Champion?"

Sarah looked, but they were flickers, there and then gone. She tried to catch them as they slipped past. She couldn't hold them. Sarah grit her teeth. They are MINE, damn it! she raged silently. I have right to them! Marvok said nothing. She was clearly supposed to figure this part out on her own. She paced along the bank, trying to determine a way to catch those black currents.

Wait…she thought. That's it. I can't catch them. It's not possible. I can't catch a river in a net, but I can become the river. Sarah focused, pushing her consciousness to merge with it. Her mind fought with the currents; neither was willing to yield. Sarah stopped and stared into the torrent. Time for a leap of faith,she decided. She dove in and allowed herself to be swept along by it, allowed herself to flow with it, allowed herself to become fluid and shifting. The river that was Sarah found the darkness within itself.

A deep voice resonated from everywhere and nowhere. "Call the shadows to a single point. Call them and they will come." The river felt familiar energy tremble through one portion of itself. There it is, it thought, the place where the shadows should gather. It focused its consciousness on that place and called to the black currents. It called to the shadows and felt them answer.

The shadows clustered together and whispered, "Now you know where the darkness lies. Come back, Sarah. Come back to yourself."

Slowly, Sarah pulled free, remembering how it felt to not be a river, remembering how to be herself. She kept her mental fingertips on the shadows as she settled back into her dream form. She could feel them pulsing in the palm of her left hand.

"Very good," Marvok said. "In your hand, you hold the blood of nightmares, the essence of an ancient fear. You know its shape and nature. It is part of you, a piece of what you are. It longs for form. Already, it knows what it is meant to be. Call it to its purpose."

Oh, yes. Sarah knew what a Darkblade was meant to be. She knew its hunger, its relentless nature, and its mockery. She knew its wicked curve and the shadows that wavered like flames around its dark heart. Sarah gathered everything she knew and everything she felt and sent that knowledge to the shadows in her palm. "This is what you are meant to be," she told them. "This is what you are." She felt the shadows twist and writhe. They poured up from her fingertips. She gripped the hilt in her hand and opened her eyes. She held a Darkblade nearly identical to the one she'd been given, but she knew the difference. It was the first blade's twin perhaps, but not its clone. It was alive and like all living things, it could only be itself.

Sarah looked at her right hand and called her first blade forth. It came willingly, eager to join its sibling. She stood with the two blades crossed before her chest. The wind whispered despair to her, but she defied it. The nightmares she held close were older and darker. Despair could never defeat them. Pain owned this place, but her eyes shone with fierce joy. She turned towards Marvok. "I did it," she told him.

"Indeed," he said with a smile. "I knew you would."

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Anxiety hung in the air like smoke as the Goblin King strode into his formal throne room. The massive crystalline throne shimmered under flickering blue-white torchlight. Distorted black and white lines writhed along the floor. The movement of the two-toned marble was designed to confuse the minds of his more weak-willed petitioners and leave them disoriented, unsettled, and disadvantaged in negotiations. It was a delightful bit of enchantment.

The vast chamber's walls receded into darkness behind the pillars that lined each side of the hall. Jareth saw that a number of his less social subjects had gathered along the walls in addition to his normal courtiers. They were no doubt curious about the timid visitors who bowed low before the throne. Regardless, none of them crept past the pillars to enter the light. That was probably for the best. He wanted these dignitaries uneasy, not gibbering in terror. That would hardly be productive. The excited chittering of his subjects fell to silence upon his entrance, but he was certain the sounds echoing from the darkness had done little to comfort his guests during their wait. He smiled down at those same guests unkindly. Visitors were always such a bother and he currently had other matters to concern himself with. He didn't know how the more popular courts could bear having outsiders present as a matter of course.

Jareth rarely entered this hall, preferring the simplicity of the audience chamber for regular use. It had a throne and that was good enough for his Kingdom's subjects. They were a practical lot and didn't give a damn where he held Court. He could hold it on the battlements and they would be content. Those who lived in the Labyrinth learned to value actions over appearances quickly or they lived no longer. He was their King. They knew their places. They never needed reminding. Unfortunately, the other Fae courts valued such trifles, so here he stood, dripping in pointless finery, catering to expectations.

His herald's voice cut through the silence, "All hail His Royal Majesty, King Jareth, King of the Goblins, and Lord of the Labyrinth!" Before he could continue, Jareth cut off the herald's voice with a wave. The Goblin King was not a patient man when it came to ceremony and was unwilling to sit through a lengthy recitation of his numerous titles. Everyone bloody well knew who he was.

He draped himself across his throne and turned his unnerving, mismatched gaze upon the bowing delegates. For some moments, he just stared at them. It was uncomfortable to hold a formal court bow for more than a few seconds. That was, of course, by design. Sidhe royalty did so love to remind others of their proper places. He was no exception to that. Finally, he waved lazily at the delegates. "Yes. Yes. You may rise."

The Emissary of the Singing Forests stepped forward. His eyes flicked nervously from Jareth to the Royal Seneschal who stood slightly behind and to the right of the throne. Jareth smiled. Seneschal Bree'Onne always made visitors nervous. It was one of his more endearing traits. Before the delegate could speak, Jareth decided introductions were in order. "It's been some time since you were last before my court, Lord Medrin. I don't believe you've ever had the opportunity to meet my Royal Seneschal."

Medrin's eyes went to Bree'Onne and back. "Um…No. I don't believe I've yet had the pleasure, Your Majesty." Jareth noticed Andris wince at the other delegate's fumbled words.

Jareth's smile was like light glinting off a knife edge. "Well then. I would be a poor host indeed if I didn't make proper introductions. We can't have that." He motioned to the delegates with one gloved hand. "Lord Medrin of the Singing Forests and Lord Andris of the Whispering Mountains, may I present Prince Bree'Onne."

Medrin paled as he turned to look at the Seneschal. His voice was little more than a whisper. "Prince?"

They never expect that. You would think word would get out eventually. Jareth smirked at Medrin. "Indeed. Prince Bree'Onne is the eldest grandchild of King Nee'Daan of the Serpentine and the son of the High Princess Maav'Ra. Her Highness was kind enough to lend his talents to my…humble court. The Serpentine have always been such a gracious people. So very loyal."

Bree'Onne slipped forward and inclined his head gracefully to the delegates. "A pleasssure to meet you both. I look forward to working with you. Closssely." Every word dripped with menace.

Medrin looked so ready to flee by that point that Jareth had to bite back a laugh. Bree'Onne was more than capable of speaking without hissing, but it was so much fun when he didn't. Most of the High Fae were unreasonably terrified of the Serpentine. Admittedly, the snake goblins were deadly, but so were plenty of his other subjects. Wonderfully enough, Bree'Onne was even more disturbing than most of his kind because he was half-Sidhe. The familiar features made his Serpentine qualities stand out all the more unnervingly by contrast.

Bree'Onne inclined his head politely, awaiting a response. Medrin stood in frozen silence. Before the old delegate could make a greater mess of the situation, Lord Andris stepped forward with a bow. The young lord was dressed simply. He wore the charcoal colors of his kingdom from head to toe, accented with only a touch of silver at the cuffs and collar of his tunic. His dark hair was pulled back neatly from his face. Though the fabrics he wore were rich and the craftsmanship exquisite, he wore no jewelry save for his ring of office. The entire outfit spoke of humility, restraint, and quiet power. It was most well-chosen for a delegate seeking aid from a neighboring nation. The contrast between his understated grace and Medrin's ostentatious gold and green ensemble was striking.

Andris spoke in a clear, resonant voice. "It is wonderful to make your acquaintance, Your Highness. I have had few opportunities to work with the Serpentine and look forward to the experience. We appreciate that we were granted an audience on such short notice." Jareth could taste his fear, but there wasn't a trace of it in his stance or on his face. The Goblin King examined the young Sidhe. He'd never met the boy personally before, but he'd heard of the outrage expressed by some of the higher nobles of the Whispering Mountains when Andris was elevated to the position of Royal Emissary above those who'd been waiting centuries for a chance at the title. King Callin chose the one best suited for the position, not the one with the oldest title or bluest blood. A ruler after my own heart, Jareth thought.

Jareth caught the boy's eyes and gave a slight nod. "You are…most welcome. Now, what trouble brings you here to my little court?"

Andris's discomfort was palatable. Delegates never knew how to respond to Jareth's insistence on downplaying the importance of his vast kingdom. One couldn't correct a king, but the idea of calling the ancient and powerful realm by humble terms unsettled them. As though they fear the Labyrinth itself will take offense, he mused. They really shouldn't be so…skittish. After all, the Labyrinth hadn't devoured a visiting noble in centuries. Besides, the last one had certainly deserved it.

Despite his unease, Andris spoke calmly. "A great beast has come forth from the mist, dragon-like, but made of living darkness. It attacks villages, slaughters citizens, and destroys fields before retreating. Despite the combined efforts of both of our realms, we have been unable to bring it down before it vanishes back from whence it came. With each attack, the mist advances. Our commoners are losing land that they need to survive. Under the Treaty of the Broken Year, we are forbidden to track it back to its lair to dispatch it. High King Oberon has been notified and is seeking intervention from the Darkling Courts, but diplomacy with the Unseelie proceeds…slowly. We fear that there will be little left to preserve of the borderlands by the time a resolution is reached. We seek Your Majesty's aid in resolving this matter and halting the onslaught."

Jareth nodded. It was clearly a ploy by the Unseelie to twist the Seelie's own portion of the Treaty against them. He already knew of the situation. However, Jareth was pleasantly surprised at the young lord's simple honesty. The boy did not attempt to hide the nature of the threat or his own realm's helplessness to defend against it. How refreshing.

Jareth brought one gloved hand up to hold his chin, his index finger tapping above his lips as though considering the situation. Finally he spoke, "As I am not bound by the Treaty and serve neither the Seelie nor the Unseelie, I am the only one capable of acting on your behalf. Such a pity." Despite his training, Andris flinched at the Goblin King's words. Jareth flashed a smile and swung around to face the delegate directly. He summoned a crystal to his fingertips and watched it dance along the back of his hands as he spoke. "Before I agree to lend my assistance, I must ask what your realms offer in return for such a valuable favor."

Before Andris could speak, Lord Medrin answered. "Their Royal Majesties, the King and Queen of the Singing Forests, are prepared to offer you the hand of their youngest daughter in exchange. The Princess Ellana is of noted beauty and grace. Already, she has shown vast magical potential which will surely pass to any children she bears. She has only recently come of age to wed and, as of yet, remains untouched."

Offended rage flashed through Jareth's eyes like lightning. The crystal vanished from his fingers as he leveled his blistering gaze on the unfortunate lord. The princess was only old enough to marry under the most ancient of Seelie laws. Few Sidhe would consider her to be of adequate age for marriage for at least a century, himself included. Certainly, the princess's hand in marriage would be of high value to most courts. The royal line of the Singing Forests was noted for unusual fertility among the Sidhe. Her two older sisters had bought their homeland valuable trade alliances with their wedding vows. However, they'd been far older than her when they married. The mere thought of taking some weeping child-bride revolted him.

Jareth's voice was cold, "I think not, Lord Medrin. While your monarchs make a most generous offer, I have no intention of forcing a terrified girl to be a prisoner in my Labyrinth, let alone to unwillingly bear my offspring for the good of her land. I am a cruel man, but I do not brutalize children. I will grant each of you the use of a communication crystal so that you might consult with your homelands and make another offer. Do not attempt to offer me living people as payment again."

Jareth motioned to a servant and commanded him to show the shocked delegates to their quarters. Before they could react, Jareth vanished from the throne room. His voice echoed though the chamber though he, himself, was absent. "You have until morning. Choose wisely."

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A brief time later, Bree'Onne made his way to the King's office. He had dismissed the servant, and then seen the delegates to their quarters personally. The King hadn't been quite himself since that mortal became Champion of the Labyrinth. Bree'Onne didn't want these fools causing His Majesty more upset than they already had.

They were terrified of him, which was only to be expected. Admittedly, the young one hid it rather well. As Seneschal, he had offered them a bit of advice. He knew that His Majesty wanted to offer assistance in the matter in order to preserve the balance between the Seelie and Unseelie. Another war would profit no one. However, the Goblin King's aid could never come without a proper price. Such were the rules that defined their realm's neutrality. They were no one's enemy and no one's ally.

Medrin had been visibly suspicious of Bree'Onne, while Andris had been appreciative of the insight. Bree'Onne had done what he could; the rest was up to them. Now, let's hope that they're clever enough not to damn themselves.

He glided with liquid grace down the mirror-covered hallway leading towards the royal wing. Servants bowed low as he passed by, and then sighed their relief when he ignored them. Bree'Onne caught sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors and smiled, fangs flashing. His appearance was deeply upsetting to most Sidhe and it delighted both his King and himself. Those who think themselves above all others still fear what slithers in the dark, he thought. Well…except for His Majesty.

If the King feared anything, Bree'Onne was unaware of it. He would rather not know of the existence of a thing that could frighten the Lord of the Labyrinth. He suspected that the horror of such a thing would kill him outright. Bree'Onne, like all of his kind, was a trained assassin and had little fear of death, but he would never allow himself to disappoint his King or disgrace his family.

Before he could raise his hand to knock upon the door, the King bid him, "Enter." Bree'Onne slipped in and sealed the door behind him. Jareth's voice was mocking. "I take it that you felt the delegates required guidance, then? Didn't believe they could make an offer without giving further offense?"

Bree'Onne simply nodded, refusing to be baited by his temperamental monarch. "Just so, Your Majesty. Lord Andris is clever, but lacks experience in such matters, and Lord Medrin is a pompous fool who should never have been given his position at all. Being the younger brother of his queen hardly qualifies him as an emissary."

Jareth stared at him coldly. A crystal orb glided along his fingertips as he pretended to contemplate his Seneschal's actions. Finally, he sighed. "I can't claim to fault your logic, though I don't recall granting you a position as a diplomat."

Bree'Onne smiled without showing his teeth. He bowed his head to his King. "I am, as always, whatever Your Majesty requires me to be."

The Goblin King chuckled and turned his attention to the governance of his kingdom. There was always more to be done.

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Many hours after meeting with his unfortunate visitors, Jareth entered his private chambers. The delegates and their request still weighed on his mind. It would be so much simpler if he could just name an appropriate price and be done with it. It would prevent the fools from bringing him offenses as though they were gifts. To offer him, the protector of unwanted mortal children, a child as payment… What could they possibly be thinking? he wondered. Or was this affront just arrogance on their part? All amongst the nobility knew that Jareth had received countless marriage offers over the ages and that he had considered none of them. Did they simply believe that their princess was so very special that he would turn his world to have her? Only one female had ever inspired that sort of emotion from him and she was lost to the mortal realm.

Against Jareth's will, he pictured her face, green eyes flashing defiance. Sarah. Her accursed words had destroyed his ability to touch her with his power. He could no longer see her in his crystals or magically transport himself to her location. He couldn't even enter her dreams. To gaze upon her now, he had to travel the long way to the mortal realm and locate her in the flesh. He hadn't allowed himself that luxury since the night of her departure from his Labyrinth. On that night, he had taken his owl form and watched her victory celebration from outside of her window. It would be too easy to fall into the habit of following her. He couldn't permit himself such a distraction. There was too much to be done, too many questions to be answered.

If only those damned words had severed Jareth's connection to her entirely, he would be able to mourn the loss and move on. Such a thing was not to be. Even now, if he focused on her, he could feel her emotions through their bond. It was worse than having nothing. Far worse. The feelings had no context. Fear. Was she in danger? Did she require his aid? Desire. What man inspired her longing? Who had dared to succeed where he had failed? Joy. Had she forgotten his realm entirely? Had she truly felt nothing for his Labyrinth? Whatever her emotions, he never knew their cause and it was maddening. All he knew for certain was that she yet lived. Alive, he mused, but still haunting me.

Jareth paced the room. He knew that he shouldn't have pressed for her affections when he did, but he hadn't been able to resist. He wouldn't have touched her then, she was still a child, but he would have gladly played her chaste love for however long was needful if she would only have given him the chance. What was time to him? He would have won her love and trust eventually. But in his desperation, he pushed too hard, and now she was lost to him.

The Goblin King crossed to the balcony and stared out at his Labyrinth, trying to find some measure of comfort in his beloved land. He had been shocked to find the twin to his soul in a human girl and was terrified at how vulnerable she was, how fragile. Losing her was the only thing he'd ever feared in all of his long existence. He was tormented by the thought of watching her flame snuffed out because of the weakness of her mortality. He'd been frantic for her to stay with him so that he could protect her. He would have given her immortality, power, whatever she wanted. His gloved hands clinched on the balcony's railing. If only she had stayed.

With a growl, he returned to his pacing. Even amongst the Fae, finding one's other-self was rare. It was a sacred event, the will of Danu, so allowances were always made when it happened. Depending on the exact nature of the bond, marriages could be dissolved, oaths could be severed. The most ancient laws of the Fae forbade keeping bondmates apart. Who could have ever imagined that one half of a bond would reject and abandon the other? Of course, no one would ever have imagined that a Sidhe king could be bound to a delicate mortal girl either.

Jareth had spent every free moment since she left searching for answers. He needed to find a way around her spell so that he could reach out to her. She had to return. He was certain that he could earn her favor if given the chance. Besides, even if she wanted nothing to do with him personally, he had to keep her safe. Surely, he thought, she'd listen to reason if she knew what was at stake.

If he couldn't find a way to convince her to return, he knew that he had to find a way to sever the bond. The thought repulsed him, it was heresy, but there was no choice. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her forever, but he was a king and duty came first. A bonded soul very rarely survived the death of their other-self. Jareth had no heir. He couldn't abandon his people because he was tied to a mortal lifespan. Even so, he hadn't actually looked for a method to sever the bond. Not yet. He still hoped to find another way.

Jareth's library was vast, and through the Labyrinth, he had access to even greater reservoirs of knowledge. Despite this, he had found nothing to help him. The geas Sarah cast wasn't normal magic. Of course, if it had been a normal geas, Jareth wouldn't need to research how to break it. No other living Sidhe could match him for magical power. It was strangely potent, fueled by her victory over the Labyrinth's Challenge.

Jareth was growing more desperate by the day. His own research was going nowhere and the Labyrinth refused to speak of Sarah or the binding she had left on him. He hadn't dared to let anyone know about the bond, lest Sarah become a target for his enemies. He'd known for weeks that if he didn't find some answers soon, he would have no choice but to seek outside aid.

He stared at the ancient tomes covering his desk and sighed. It's time, he decided. All of my research and I have found nothing. I'll have to ask Titania for her guidance. The High Queen of the Seelie knew more about the soul bond than anyone else alive. More importantly, he could trust her. While he was only her stepson by birth, she'd had half of his raising and loved him as dearly as her own blood.

Decision made, Jareth stopped pacing. If nothing else, he was certain that Titania could offer him some insight on where to look for the knowledge he sought. He would visit her as soon as he finished dealing with his current guests.

Jareth draped himself across a padded leather chair and idly summoned a crystal. The familiar movements were always soothing. He was done thinking about the delegates. Part of him wanted to leave their kingdoms to rot for the insult they'd offered him. He frowned. Isuppose that I shouldn't let a war break out over my ego. Jareth sighed and settled deeper into the chair. Against his better judgment, he pictured Sarah's face in his mind and reached out to feel her emotions. He got back only the peaceful lull of dreamless sleep. Blessedly safe, for the moment at least, he thought.

Before Jareth could close the connection, Sarah's consciousness was ripped from her body. His couldn't draw breath to scream. He tried to understand what was happening. While her body was still in the mortal realm, he knew that her soul was not. He caught flashes of her vision, images of a dark, blasted landscape and a gray sky filled with crimson lightning. He didn't recognize the place, but he knew it wasn't the Underground. Where are you, Sarah? he wondered. Who has done this to you? Jareth had never been more afraid.

He reached for his connection to the Labyrinth. "Please," he begged Her. "You have to save Sarah. Even if you tell me nothing, even if you won't break her spell, she's still your Champion! She's just a mortal girl and no mortal could have done this to her."

Jareth felt a pulse of regret from the Labyrinth. "I'm sorry, my King. I know how this separation pains you, but my Champion is in no danger. She doesn't require my aid."

Jareth was dumbfounded. "Her soul has been pulled from the mortal realm! What is that, if not an attack?"

"And what does she feel, my King? Is she afraid?" The Labyrinth's tone was gentle.

Jareth blinked. He turned his attention to Sarah's emotions. He sensed grim determination and intense focus. Whatever Sarah was doing, she was thinking of nothing but the task at hand. After a time, he felt a surge of triumph, pride, and fierce joy. Then, her emotions returned to a lull as her soul settled back into her physical form.

Jareth shook his head. None of this made any sense. He asked the Labyrinth, "What, exactly, just occurred?" There was no response.

Jareth hurled the crystal at his wall with a snarl. It shattered into a rain of glittering shards before vanishing. Enough was enough. If the Labyrinth would give him no answers, he'd damn well get them for himself. He might not be able to interact with Sarah directly, but others had no such limitation. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned another crystal. As soon as his Seneschal's face appeared within the orb, Jareth sent his voice through it. "Bree'Onne, report to my quarters at once. I have a task for you."

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Lylabeth 1: Thank you for the references. I will no doubt look into them as I'm always interested in learning more. That said, I know that the references made in this work to various bits of folklore and legend have been warped (sometimes past all recognition) for the purpose of the story and the cosmology I created to go with it. While I respect the original myths greatly, I wanted to go a specific direction in this and everything is geared towards that goal.

Bloodmoon Goddess: Thank you so much! Nikki can be a bit hard for Sarah to handle at times. Sarah isn't great at setting boundaries with people she cares about and is letting herself get pushed around. It's one of those lessons she still has to learn. ;)

SarahlouiseDodge: Thank you for your kind words. I hope that our first look at Jareth's perspective here helped.

foolanex: Marvok never generalizes and always speaks in specifics, so that can make some of his explanations challenging to follow. In light of this, I went back and took a second look at his description and decided to rewrite that section of Chapter 7. I really hope that it is less bewildering now. Let me know. It was definitely not my intention to be confusing.

You are dead on about Marvok not fucking around. He's serious about Sarah surviving whatever is thrown at her and will do whatever it takes to get her stronger.

While I actually considered having her manifest the second Darkblade in a dramatic way like that, I'm determined to stick to the magical rules I created. Calling an existing Darkblade can be done in an instant, but creating one takes substantial effort and energy. It's not easy. Shadow goblins actually use it as a rite of passage to determine when a cub is ready to learn to hunt.

cchimp123: I am so with you. As a person dealing with chronic illness, that's my favorite dream. Thanks for commenting!

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Thanks so much to everyone who has favorited or followed this work and to all of my lovely reviewers. It makes my day to receive this feedback. I wish you all dreams of the Goblin King.

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