Jareth sits at his desk. The paperwork has been mounting up. Heaps upon heaps of sheafs of paper overflow, scrolls stacking and rolling over every surface. He rests his boots on a pile of books next to his desk, trying to make himself more comfortable in the ornately carved wooden chair that is the only surface not burdened down. He sharpens the end of one of his own quills with a knife, three neat cuts making a fresh nib. He reads and signs whatever Røem puts in front of him. It takes a few hours, yet it seems endless. He barely glances at some, is obliged to read others more intently, resting his head on a hand as form after form is handed across. Claims for damages of goblin property to be recorded and sent to the palace treasurer. Greetings from neighboring kingdoms to respond to, or pointedly ignore.
Boggings to sign off on.
It doesn't dampen his mood though. She's been thinking about him nearly continuously all week.
He's still keeping away, keeping busy, but being in the background of all her thoughts is such a soothing balm.
There's a slight tinge of anxiety to her thoughts however. He can't read them, or interpret them from her dreams as he's sticking to his word and staying clear. Nevertheless there's a slight sharpness underneath.
Cool and sharp.
He smirks. Just like peppermint. What he'd give to taste her again.
His face twitches in annoyance a second later however. There had been a little... shall we say, jolt too. A little spark. One kiss given.
Not passionate, he could tell. Merely polite. A little cold. Nothing to flutter the heartstrings. Nothing to match their fevered goodbye.
Still...
Whatever words had been spoken before, whatever words had trapped him, he was hers, curse or not. Even if she wasn't his yet, he wasn't about to share what was given. Certainly not with the likes of him. He hopes the warning will be enough, for now.
He'd hate to have to take a firmer hand. Just hate it.
The house feels still as Sarah slips in through the front door. A faint yellow glow is coming from the living room where her dad and Karen are curled up on the sofa watching TV and Sarah shuts the door loud enough to let them know she's home but without disturbing their evening.
She massages her neck, digging at a knot that's worked itself deep into her shoulder, whilst she mounts the stairs.
As she brings her hand down off her neck a thick rope of hair knots around the gem of her ring, tangling immediately.
"SHIT." She hisses furiously as it yanks out a clump, several strands of brown hair wrapped around the spiky silver setting. She unpicks it angrily, rubbing the base of her skull where the hair tore out.
Shouldn't magic rings be tangle resistant? She gripes internally, the little sting of fresh pain pushing her over the threshold of an already taxing evening. Are you doing this on purpose, Ja- She pulls herself up sharp before she can finish the thought.
Maybe that was it. He was pushing and pulling and goading her into saying his name. A sharp sting here, a hard yank there, until she was so exhausted from it all that she let her guard slip.
That's all it would take, right? Just the right words tripping over her tongue at the wrong time.
"Clever." She murmurs, shrugging out of her clothes into shorts and a baggy shirt, not bothering to prepare anymore for bed as she slips in between the sheets. Sleep hits her almost immediately, and she misses the shadow of three hunched figures flickering in her mirror.
It's not a nightmare. Not quite a dream. Not quite a reality either, at least not from the hazy shimmering airlessness of it.
Another ballroom. Empty and dark, littered with remnants of a party but not left in destruction like the last one. The furniture is little more than hard shadows against a black backdrop. She leans against the enormous window overlooking the castle. It's night outside, stars of an unnameable constellation twinkling over a silent wilderness. She turns away from it, and hears a loud shushing sigh. It's the skirts of her dress, glittering on their own, not reflecting any light but emitting erratic twinkles as if mimicking the stars in the sky.
No rips or tears, whole again and as stunning as it had always been. Nothing underneath either. Bare from the feet up.
She runs a loving hand over the bodice and sucks in a hard sharp breath. Her right hand contracts in agony, the ring finger burning like it's been scolded.
My ring.
It's cutting into her skin, leaving a fat welt in her flesh around the metal. She scrabbles at it but it doesn't come loose, biting harder into her finger. She pulls hard, feeling like she's ripping the skin underneath, tears streaming down her face.
You gave me this! You gave me this, why are you doing this?!
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" She screams at the castle, feeling its empty windows watching her like a bug in a glass. Even your gifts are curses.
One last hard desperate yank and the ring comes loose, slickened by her blood, falling from her finger and rolling as if with a mind of its own. The sparkling gem flashing out of sight. It disappears under the hem of a curtain.
Sarah's skin prickles. There's a memorable tink-tink-tinktinktink as it bounces down what sounds like a set of steps.
Blood is flowing freely from her finger now, seeping into the skirt of the dress. She wraps her hand up into a swath of gauze, holding it like a wadded tissue around her knuckle as she pushes the curtain back.
Endless stairs cascade down and around and above her. Eternal and oppressive. Dizzying.
The ring lies at the bottom the first flight down, catching the light from an alcove.
Sarah swallows, picking up the skirts of the dress as she descends. She expects the ring to skitter elsewhere. Or to suddenly be a mile beneath her on another step. Or a couple of feet above her, teasingly out of reach.
Instead it stays put. Like a dead thing, static and immovable. Somewhat... disgusting.
She reaches for it-
"Don't pick it up."
His voice echoes around the stairs, originating from the alcove to her right. His sudden presence makes her jump and she loses her footing over the edge of the stone staircase.
He catches her by the wrist of her left hand before she plummets into the maze below her.
Up or down...
He doesn't give her the option this time, pulling her up with a firm hand. As her feet find the ledge she takes in a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. The white and mottled brown of his silk shirt billows softly, fluttering like feathers on a restless bird. The leather of his brown trousers cinches tightly over narrow hips. All but his eyes are cast in shadow, backlit by the light from the alcove. His mismatched irises glow with a light blue intensity. She untangles her wrist carefully from his grip.
He smirks at her lack of gratitude for pulling her back from the edge. There's little warmth in it. He looks just as wary of her as she does of him.
"Didn't we agree to stop meeting like this, my love?" He doesn't move back, effectively trapping her against the ledge of the step, and Sarah steals herself from the prickling feeling of a void at her back.
"I didn't call you." She says, feeling at least a little proud of herself for managing not to sound breathless in that moment. He gives a short laugh and she reminds herself not to take a step back over a bottomless edge.
"No, indeed, but you do insist on walking in here like you own the place." His head cocks, sharp teeth flashing in a smile. "Though I guess you will eventually." He eyes the ring on the floor, and kicks it over the edge.
She ignores the presumption, watches as the ring falls twinkling below, somewhat relieved not to be wearing it in this moment. Why would she need a reminder of him if he's standing infront of her?
Her hand fists tighter in her skirts.
He didn't need to be so rough about it though.
He takes a step closer and Sarah bristles, cautioning herself not to let her temper overtake her with the limited space she has at her back.
"Show me the exit, then, and I'll get out of your hair." She tries to sound unconcerned but it doesn't land as his eyes pin her in place.
"Show me your hand first." He replies casually, glancing at the hand she still has wadded in her skirts, a red stain seeping out around the gauze.
Sarah swallows, keeping her gaze on his face and not looking behind her into the madness below. She can hear the call of it underneath her pulse, a summoning of the void.
What if I jumped?
Would he jump with me?
Not brave enough to find out the answer, she unclamps her hand from her skirts and lifts it. He studies it for a heartbeat. The haughty look on his face softens minutely. He pulls his glove free from his right hand and grasps hers lightly with naked fingers, his thumb in her palm tilting it up so he can see the bloody cut near her knuckle. The prickling touch of the magic from his fingertips is almost soporific. A heavy lull traveling up her arm, relieving the pain and making her muscles unwind.
Sarah hums involuntarily from the feeling, jolting out of the hypnosis as he slips her fourth and fifth finger into his mouth, enveloping the cut with his tongue. A hot thumping sensation sweeps over her skin, like a clock physically counting the seconds in her bloodstream. She can feel the cut clotting in his mouth, skin knitting together.
When he releases her fingers from his lips the cut is nothing but a pale pink line.
She flexes her hand, still in his grip, refusing to seem impressed. It's a dream. You can do anything in dreams.
"Vampire." She chides, trying to reign in the hammering in her chest.
He chuckles. "Nothing so benign."
She tucks her hand back into the folds of her skirts, feeling ashamed at the hot aching want that's building from below her stomach. Why does this keep happening? We said goodbye, that was supposed to be the end.
"I'm still angry." She mumbles, averting her gaze so she doesn't get caught up in his intense stare.
"As am I."
Her head whips up.
"What could you possibly have to be angry about?" She growls.
"Believe it or not this is not my idea of a perfect courtship either." He huffs, taking a slight step forward so they're both dancing on the edge. "I expected when I fell in love it wouldn't be so... difficult. I didn't think I'd have to fight so hard for it. I certainly didn't recon on bending to another's will whatsoever."
Sarah shakes her head, carefully, mindful of any little movement this close to a precipice.
"You only love me because you have to."
"You only hate me because you think you should."
His reply blindsides her, stealing her breath for a weightless moment with the unnerving truth of it.
"I release you, Jareth." He flinches slightly, blindsided himself, and her words rush to placate him. "This is hurting us both, isn't it? So… Ok? No more. Just..." No more temptation. No more heartache, and headaches, and confusion, and yearning, and burning, and aching, and wanting.
I should've done this before. I should've let him go when he said… but I wanted him to be trapped the way I am, didn't I? I didn't want to be the only one feeling incomplete.
Selfish.
"Just... no more."
He studies her for an age. Thoughts flitting over his face. She can tell he's probing the emotions underneath. Testing the ground for weaknesses. Testing his devotion for sudden cracks.
Eventually he shrugs, unconcerned. "It makes no difference. It changes nothing."
"Jareth-"
Unbeknownst to her his arm has circled her waist. She feels his warm hand at her side as he leans in. She arches her back obligingly, unthinkingly, a low dancing dip over the void.
"You could stay this time." He says softly, barely above a whisper as if calming a wild animal about to bolt. "We could see what comes naturally between us. It could be so easy."
His lips grace hers for a second and she jerks her head back as if stung, unwilling to give into it all over again. He just keeps pulling me in. It's not fair. How am I supposed to keep saying no to this?
"The exit." She insists, holding on to her resolve with breaking nails.
He smiles sadly, resting his forehead on hers.
"Up or down?"
She nods, understanding, allowing the memory the space it's craving. Since I'm pointed that way…
"Down."
He lets her fall.
She resurfaces from the dream in her bed with a hard lurch, her whole body shocked by the fall. Panting and shaky, she un-clenches her hand. The ring is back in place.
Her eyes slip to her wardrobe, the slatted doors visible in the half light. She won't open it. Won't dare to. But she knows she'll find the dress in one piece. With a blood stain on the skirt.
The second gift arrives just like the first the next morning. An unmarked package tied with a ribbon left on the porch steps.
Karen brings it in and leaves it outside Sarah's bedroom door, where she nearly trips over it on her way to the bathroom.
Sarah carries it onto her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with the heel of her hand.
She feels weary, sleep not having returned properly after her dream. Or not-a-dream.
The box is cold after having spent the night outside, and a little damp to the touch from the morning dew. She sits crossed legged on her bed, dragging a blanket over her shoulders. Handling the box has made her feel shivery, and she still feels a little headachy from the previous night.
Maybe I'm just getting a cold. Not everything has to be magical.
She unwraps it slowly, trying not to rush herself.
Another gift. Are these all coming at a price?
Do I care?
She knew Grüempy had been in the bushes, she just knew it.
Why didn't he just hand it to me, for God's sake? Since when is he shy?
Had it been there before the dream? Before she'd released him? She thinks it probably had, but surely if he had changed his mind afterwards he could've just magicked it away again.
We're still not giving up on each other, then?
Sarah swallows thickly, resisting the urge to fiddle with the ring on her finger. It's starting to turn the skin underneath raw from constant rotation.
The ribbon comes loose and the cardboard un-flaps. For a moment it looks like a crystal, and her heart stutters. The smooth slightly rainbow hued surface catches the light. It's tucked into a newspaper nest, and as she pulls it from the box the base slides out revealing a snow globe. A princess dressed in a flowing blue gown twirls in the center of a whirlwind of glitter.
It's childish, and a little tacky, but the dress could almost be her ballgown if she squinted. Before she shredded it to pieces. A slight bluish tinge, more like Cinderella. It's a strange gift for Jareth to choose, but his intention to jolt her memory is not lost on her.
It looks slightly scratched, like it's spent several months on a junk shop shelf. Strange he didn't just magic a new one from thin air, with a more realistic Sarah in the center. She's certain he could if he wanted to. Another message perhaps? He's willing to play the humdrum courter for her? Not a Prince Charming, just a casual lover?
Like you could be anything even remotely casual, Jareth.
After shaking it a few times she finds space for it on her windowsill, overlooking the tree she knows he watched her once in his owl form. The glitter settles in the globe, floating down around the princess figurine like sparkling shards of glass.