Disclaimer: If my lack of ownership should offend…tough.
Author's Note: Well, we seem to be at a little bit of an impasse here. You guys want me to hang around in the Labyrinth fandom a bit, if not a lot, longer, shameless begging has already ensued (honest, though, it was even labelled 'shameless begging'), and muse appears not entirely unwilling to oblige. Slightly large problem here: Quality Control is threatening to quit if she has to read any more Labyrinth stories – she doesn't like Bowie and I can't get her to dissociate him from Jareth for nothing. And. I. Can't. Lose. Quality. Control. I'm pretty sure I can get her to quality check the rest of this story for me, but after that things might get interesting. Maybe she wouldn't mind that amusing thought…
...
She's never late anymore, everyone knows that Sarah Williams appears exactly when she means to arrive, not a second before or after. No schedule is too hectic, no deadline too soon, no day is too short, time is ever at her fingertips, the clock at her command, slave to her need or wish or whim. It's as if every instant is an infinity to be explored, every eternity but a blink of an eye. She's lived in perfect moments until she's learned to savour their passing, found inspiration in boredom, and learned that sometimes it's best just to let the minutes pass.
Her life is a garden of roses – literally. The blooms that spring up in her wake are as impossible to explain as they are to stop; the weather is irrevocably entwined with her emotions, sunlight for smile, raindrop for tear; and there seems to be an army of fluffy puppies just waiting to cheer her up. Everything is as she wants, nothing can be other than she wills, she is being killed with kindness yet nothing is allowed to harm her.
And through it all dances the Goblin King. Appearing at a stray thought, vanishing with a moment's unease, summoned by a breath of fear, banished in a flash of rage, he is ever there so long as she wishes, gone only so long as she does not.
A terrible thing, she now understands, every thought brought to life, every whim answered, every flight of fancy granted whether she wishes it or not. She cannot guard against her mind, has not the power to make it any less human, any less contradictory in its desires, or from having desires. Nor can she keep him from standing there without a hint of fatigue, because she does not want him to be tired. But she knows; it only took her a moment to understand…
…because if her expectations exhausted him before…
…she must be killing him now.