A/N: I've decided to split the last part since it is currently running about twice as long as the previous chapters. So here's the penultimate. :)

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. :(

Chapter 3

"Wooah, all the flowers are gone!" Toby exclaimed, turning around and around in the newly wallpapered foyer. The floral beige print had been replaced by abstract shapes in whites and light grays, and the carpets were several shades darker than the walls. Sarah personally found the monochrome theme bland and uninspiring, but she supposed that in a way it matched her father and step-mother's personalities. They were very sensible people.

After the initial flurry of "welcome homes" and hugs and "how have you beens", Toby rushed into the kitchen where his mother was preparing the dinner salad, and Robert left on an errand. This left Sarah standing at the foot of the staircase, gazing up at the entryway to the hall that would lead to her old room. They told her that aside from the occasional vacuuming and sheet-washing, it had remained untouched since she had moved out. She gripped the strap of her overnight shoulder pack and tried to ignore the anxiety that suddenly shot through her veins.

I can do this, she thought, taking a step with each word. I. Step. Am. Step. Completely. Step. Sane. She felt her confidence increase with each determined footfall, until she was standing in front of her door. It was slightly ajar. Sarah inhaled and pushed it all the way open.

"Normal," she whispered, breathing out ever so slowly. She flipped on the lights and deposited her pack on the bed, scanning the walls, the shelves, the vanity. Her post-Labyrinth experience saw the taking down of most of her wall decorations and the organization of her terrible clutter. The room was fairly spartan save for a few children's books intermingled with the novels she'd read in high school. A scattering of trinkets still decorated the top of her vanity, covered with a layer of dust. The wall unit that had housed her stuffed toys appeared forlorn in its emptiness. Sarah gave a little laugh. What had she been so afraid of? It was a child's room that had accommodated an adult for a short period of time. Soon it would return to being a child's haven, albeit one that would probably be less bizarre than it had been for its previous occupant.

Sarah reluctantly sat down at her vanity. Her reflection stared warily back at her, but that was all—no giant, red-furred beast, no fox-like creature, no melancholy dwarf magically appeared on her bed. That's because you haven't said your right words. She froze as the thought popped unbidden into her head. No, she was not going to "say her right words". It would only serve to put a crack in the prison to that part of herself she had tried so hard to lock away. But isn't this what you came here for? To prove that it was all a bunch of nonsense?

Her hand hovered over the knob of the vanity's right-hand drawer. Then she glanced at her open door and decided to shut it before someone came and witnessed her descent into madness. When she returned to the vanity, she realized her hands were shaking.

"This is stupid!" she hissed at herself. "How old are you, anyway?" She steeled herself for the sight that would greet her—it wasn't as if she could deny remembering every little detail—and jerked open the drawer.

All the breath went out of her. This isn't happening. The little musical gazebo with the doll inside was not there. The photos of her mother, scraps of notepaper, and even the thin red volume with the title "The Labyrinth" were there, just as she'd left them. But the musical figurine was gone.

"There's a reasonable explanation for this," she whispered, as a wave of feverish heat swept through her. But that locked-away part of her knew there wasn't. She had never been able to find the miniature Goblin King statue that had disappeared a decade ago.

Say your right words.

"This isn't happening." Sarah clutched the sides of her head in frustration.

Say your right words.

She stared at the red book lying oh so innocently at the bottom of the drawer. Suddenly she snatched it up angrily and snarled, "So what? So what if it was real? It doesn't change anything!" …But the King of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl…

Sarah closed her eyes and dropped the book back into the drawer. And so what if he had? Even if she were to do it all over again, she would still reject him for Toby. No matter what she might have felt for the Goblin King…

"I am not," she bit out harshly, "in love with a figment of my imagination!" She curled her hands into fists as she stared at herself trembling in the mirror. Two items that were very dear to her childhood had vanished without explanation, and Toby! When and where the hell had he developed a love of labyrinths with a center, with deceitful creatures roaming its walls? And let's not forget about the dreams, Sarah thought bitterly. Was all of this real, or was she still stuck in a fantasy of her own making? Maybe there really was a reasonable explanation for everything but—heaven help her—the part of her that wanted, still believed in the reality of the Labyrinth and its inhabitants was blinding her to it.

"Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be," she said in a soft, singsong manner, "I know you don't exist in reality." Even without seeing her reflection, she knew she looked utterly insane.

Say your right words.

"I wish…" Her breath caught. It had been such a long time since she had spoken that phrase. "I wish the Goblin King…" she faltered. I wish the Goblin King, what? Supposing he really did exist, what could she possibly expect from him now? "…would show me the truth. I wish the Goblin King would show me the truth. Right now."

Sarah waited in tense silence for one beat, then two. Then a string of beats passed. But nothing happened.

"So it was just a dream," she laughed finally, tiredly. "God, I am such an idiot." And just like that, the locked-away part of herself curled in on itself and evaporated into nothing. Once practicality set in, she was able to regard her recent lapse in sanity through an adult's jaded eyes. She was forced to admit that some dark, secret part of her had been in love, no, infatuated with a construct of her 15-year old mind, and that was the reason she had never "said her right words" until now, or called upon her "friends" after that fateful night. For nearly ten years the part of her that held on to the fantasy had been too afraid that the world of Labyrinth was only a dream after all. And it was.

"At least you can move on with your life," she sighed, regretfully recalling her past few, but unsuccessful relationships. All because of your ridiculous imagination.

Sarah ran a hand through her hair and decided to head downstairs. Dinner would be ready soon, and she craved the sense of normalcy that her family's company would bring. As she reached for the door, however, she experienced a disturbing flash of déjà vu. Almost in a detached manner she turned the knob, heard the click of the latch, and then—

"Better to stay in here, dear," a voice drawled. But this time it didn't belong to a collector of junk.

Sarah's jaw dropped in speechless dismay as her eyes travelled first from the boots, to the breeches, to the armor, to the high collar of the sweeping black cloak—and finally, to the unchanged, mocking face of the Goblin King.