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She felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her lightly, but the words appeared blurred, the voices coming as though from deep underwater.

And with a soft sigh, she lost the battle, slipping under as the comforting darkness enveloped her.

The last thing she heard was a panicked voice calling her name, and a soft caress on her face.

Chapter 3

She was dreaming, that much she knew.

The colours in the world that surrounded her were far too rich, far too vivid to be real. And the people… The people who had died, were alive in this dream.

Sarah's eyes filled with tears, as she stood, frozen, the unnoticed spectator, the intruder in this happy household. Sarah clenched her hands into fists, biting her lip as tears pooled in her green eyes. She remembered this very scene.

It seemed like years ago, to her. A scene that seemed to belong to a happier time, when her only troubles were school, grades and friends.

"Sarah!"

Instinctively, she turned, her mouth opening wide, as she reached out a pleading, desperate hand to her father.

"Daddy!" she tried to call, waving her hand in front of his eyes, but to him, she was invisible. No matter how hard she tried, a sob ripped through her chest, as she gritted her teeth, eyes burning. Stepping away, she bowed her head.

It was just a dream. So why did it hurt so much that he had 'ignored' her?

"Daddy!" she finally cried out once more, desperation glaring in her eyes. "Daddy please. Please! I'm so sorry I didn't… I tried to… Daddy, please! No!" she shrieked, clawing at the air, as the scene before her faded. Kicking and screaming, she tried to lunge forward only to be thrown backward once more by an invisible wall.

"Daddy!" she screamed, giving up the fight, twin tear tracks trailing down her cheeks. "Daddy… I-I've got so much I still want to say," she whispered, sliding to her knees, a hand still reaching out in front of her, as though by force of will alone, she could somehow force him to acknowledge her.

oOo

"Sarah!"

She mumbled in protest, still caught in the throes of her dream, hand still reaching out before her, reaching… reaching…

Something was shaking her hard, and Sarah finally shook off the last clinging bits of her dream, opening her stinging, burning eyes. Sarah blinked, looking around blankly, at the opulent room she was in. She was back.

Relief and devastation hit her at once, and Sarah lowered her outstretched hand, realizing vaguely at it was still in the air, from the strain in her arm. Pulling her hand closer, she studied it, gripping it tightly with the other.

A poor substitute for a comforting hold.

Daddy. Karen.

Grief broke over her once more, like a sudden thunderstorm. Sarah clenched her eyes shut, screwing up her face and taking deep breaths, lifting her chin higher in a swift jerk.

She would not cry. Not now, not anymore. So what if she was alone? So what if her parents had just died? She'd tried, with everything she had. She'd done everything she could. She had done nothing wrong.

Then why, a soft voice in her head seemed to ask. Why do you feel so guilty?

"Stop it!" she whispered to herself, bringing her knees to her chest, hugging herself, suddenly feeling cold. She angrily shoved the burning memories away, locking them in a dark corner of her mind and throwing away the key.

"Sarah?" A gloved hand entered her field of vision, and she watched it disinterestedly, as it hovered, then rested lightly on her bare arm. It was smooth, warm, she noted, in the rational, functioning part of her mind. Warm like blood.

Kneeling beside her parents, desperate keening emitting permeating the surrounding air. Where was that sound coming from? It couldn't be her, could it? Dazed, she rested her hands on her parents' wounds, numbly watching as they drew away, covered in warm, sticky blood.

Blood was warm, she had noted then, as she distractedly noted the temperature of the Hand now. The Hand was warm. Like blood. Like her parents' blood.

"Sarah?" Irritation started to burn at the fringes of her mind, as she concentrated on the temperature of the Hand. A little warmer than her arm. Involuntarily, she leaned closer, curling herself round the hand. She was so cold. She felt so cold. Like something had sucked all the heat from her, and turned her into an ice cube.

She was shaking, she realized, as she put her other hand next to the one on her arm, comparing the two. And she felt cool wetness on her cheeks. Was she crying?

"Sarah." The Voice was smooth, but tense with concern, it seemed. She could almost feel the faceless person frowning beside her.

Suddenly, the bed dipped, and she was hoisted up and settled into the Person's lap, his arms forming a steel cage of protection around her, barring the outside world from harming her. Sarah looked up, and a pair of intensely worried mismatched eyes stared down at her.

Jareth.

She jolted a little in shock, blinking again, as she seemed to break out of her stupor. Twisting around, she placed a hand on his chest, staring determinedly round the room again, struggling to hold back her tears, looking anywhere but at him.

"It's all right, Precious. You and Toby are safe now. Nobody's going to harm you ever again," she heard him say, his voice so, so gentle, as though he were speaking to a fragile child.

A sudden, irrational surge of anger surprised even her. Clenching his linen shirt in her fists, Sarah gritted her teeth, turning away from him, even as a large part of her rebelled at the action. She wanted to be held by him, to feel the warmth of his body against the coldness of hers, to feel him whisper assurances to her.

But if she let him, it felt like weakness.

"I'm fine," she heard herself say tightly, forcing down the tears that wanted to escape, before presenting a carefully neutral face to the Goblin King. Then she remembered.

"My leg?" she abruptly asked, hiking up the nightgown she found herself in, sliding her hand along the smooth flesh, until she reached the bandages. Her trembling fingers caressed the rough surface of the bandages, pressing lightly, as she winced with the pain.

"The Healers have done everything possible," Jareth replied softly, his eyes warm and sympathetic. Sarah scowled darkly at him, slightly unnerved, truth be told, at this new behaviour of Jareth's. The last time they had met, his facial expressions had consisted mainly of sneers and mocking smiles. She didn't quite know what to make of this.

"Will it heal?" Sarah asked bluntly, staring at Jareth and fisting a bunch of the silken sheets as he hesitated. "Well?" she demanded, voice rising, as he did not answer, scrambling off his lap and onto the bed, body tense, like a wild cat preparing to fight or flee.

Choosing his words carefully, Jareth answered, looking at her in the eye, reaching out a hand to her. "Your leg… It will scar. But we have managed to save it – it does not need to be amputated. However –"

And there he paused. Sarah huddled on the bed, staring up at him, feeling as though she body were made of stone. The throbbing in her leg suddenly felt a thousand times more intense, and the young girl cradled it tenderly, holding her breath.

"Sarah," he breathed, finally claiming a hand grasping it tightly, as though to ground her, to prevent her from falling to pieces. "Your leg will never fully heal. The muscles could not heal together properly in time, and it was imperative that we stop the blood flow. It was this or losing your entire leg." A pause, and Sarah fancied that she could almost see the tension in the room mounting. She exhaled a breath she did not remember holding, and bit her lip hard, closing her eyes, preparing herself for the worst.

"You will always walk with a limp now," he finally said. "If you exercise it for too long, or keep it too still for long periods of time, the pain will return."

Sarah reeled backwards, almost as if she had been struck, her mind exploding outwards into a dizzying rush of emotions – horror and anguish predominantly showing.

"The Healers have said that you should not run – not yet, not until it is fully healed at least. And even then, not long distance running, or the pain will come back. For now, you are to stay off that leg for as long as possible, and to use crutches whenever you are walking. They have strongly advised bed rest, and I must say, I quite agree with them," Jareth finished, studying her critically, his voice becoming progressively more clipped and precise as he spoke.

"Limp… not… run?" Sarah forced out, shaking, as she held her injured leg tightly, ignoring the pain that lanced up the limb. "Why – how – no fair… my parents…"

As though that were some kind of trigger, the walls around her crashed down, leaving her entirely exposed. Waves of despair and agony hit her heart, and Sarah could do nothing but endure it. Like waves endlessly lapping at a rock, it would slowly but surely wear her down, till she was nothing but a shell of her former self. She could feel it, even now.

She was so tired. So desperately tired of everything. She didn't want to cope with it anymore. She didn't want to feel it anymore. Curling into a ball on the bed, Sarah, for the first time since waking up, buried her face in her hands and cried. Tears streamed down her face, her body shaking with the force of her sobs, as she moved her hands to clutch at her hair, crying hysterically.

It. Wasn't. Fair.

Life wasn't fucking fair.

She should know that by now, shouldn't she? Why did she continuously set herself up for disappointments? To have hope, then have it cruelly snatched away from her?

Sarah barely noticed strong arms wrapping around her, holding her shaking body to a warm, muscled chest, crooning words in her ear. All of a sudden, she found herself in Jareth's lap once more, her face buried in his shirt. Dimly, she felt his hand stroking down her back, following a path from the back of her head to her waist.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs like lead. Her sobbing had turned to soft hitching breaths, as she rested her head against his shoulder. Breathing in deeply, Sarah felt Jareth's unique scent calming her down, slowing her heartbeat, and sending her further towards sleep.

Gripping Jareth's shirt more tightly in her hands, she felt herself drifting off. The last thing she heard, before she went out fully, was Jareth humming a song that sounded strangely familiar, almost as though she had heard it in a dream. It reminded her of swirling dresses and haunted music, the quick step-step-step of ballroom dancing, and a handsome, masked stranger dancing, and warm arms holding her, keeping her safe.

And her last thought?

It was strange that she felt more comfortable and the safest in a stranger's arms, than those of her parents.

And then, she drifted off to blessed darkness.

A/N: Another chapter! Whoo! I'm sorry for the serious lack of action and the short chapter, but I think that this was needed. Sarah's still a little in shock, and she needs to come to terms with everything that's happened.

Do you guys think that the way I've written this is okay? Any comments on the plot/the pace/the characterizations/the writing style?

Also, do you guys want Jareth's take on this whole thing? Or should I only focus on Sarah's?

Sorry I've not updated for so long! My exams just finished last week, and I've needed time to regain my love for writing.

On the bright side, I've gotten my results back! I've scored better than I actually expected in almost all of my subjects :D

On another note, I need a Beta! Any kind souls who want to volunteer? :D

And thanks so much to all my reviewers! You've all put a gigantic smile onto my face! And I realize I've received many, many story alerts and favourites, but have very little reviews. If you read this and like it, please review!