Chapter 2:
Jareth sat draped on his throne haphazardly with his right leg over the arm as he observed his subjects who were scurrying about excitedly. There had to be at least twenty or so of them. A group of them were riding their chickens whooping and hollering as they attempted a "chicken-fight", albeit poorly with the chickens refusing to cooperate. Chicken feathers flew everywhere.
But it wasn't his goblins he focused on. No. It was focused on a certain girl with blonde hair and blue eyes tucked away in the highest tower. She refused him…again. He was quickly losing his patience along with his power as the labyrinth slowly crumbled away. However, he refuses to show his weakness lest he'd have a coup d'état on his hands. Though, he was mildly surprised he didn't have one already with his failure to secure his victory. He almost hit her with her refusal. He gave a slight grunt of disgust as he reflected on the incident. He tried everything and it still wasn't enough. Time is running short, he thought sardonically.
"Yee-Ow!" screeched a goblin breaking his reverie.
Three goblins had started a brawl. Sighing, he called his goblins to attention. All movement ceased; some in mid-action. Eerily, all heads swiveled collectively to look at their king.
"Will someone explain what the devil is going on?"
Quietly and cautiously, three tiny goblins made their way to the throne and peered up at him.
"Well?" he prompted.
"It was his fault," said one.
"Not mine. Hers," argued another.
"Not mine. Yours," countered the female goblin.
All three began to squabble.
"Enough!" he bellowed. "I don't care whose fault it is. If you don't settle this without causing a ruckus, all three of you will be thrown into the Bog. Everyone get out!"
Everyone scrambled to collect their chickens and book it out of there before they, themselves, get thrown into the Bog.
"You three…" he paused, waiting for their names.
"Lock," said one.
"Shock," said the female.
"Barrel," said the other.
"…clean up this mess."
"Yes your majesty," they said in unison, bowing low then scurried off to do their king's bidding.
Once alone, he plopped back down on his throne. He placed his chin in his palm with a sigh and returned to plotting.
"Fanfiction is like clay. One molds it into a bowl and you, in turn, transform it into a vase."
Moraine was beautiful with its snowy land and icy waters. Very few people venture to the Land of Moraine. Even fewer make the trip at all.
Mizume, Queen of Cups, sat in her bedroom admiring herself. Long dark blue hair and light blue skin; a personification of the land. She was tall and thin with the air of elegance. She was dressed in an elaborate blue gown with silver embroidery giving it the look of wearing water completed with a high collar. One might accuse her of being vain. One would be right.
Flanking her was her two daughters; Moulin at her left and Drumlin at her right. Each was painting her nails a celeste of their respective hands.
"Hurry up my dears. We don't want to keep them waiting."
"Yes, Mother," they replied in unison.
Once done, she left her rooms and navigated the halls before descending down a set of spiraling staircases; making her way down to the dungeons. It was dark and dank and it positively reeked with death and pain. The dungeons seemed to be like a maze and one could get lost for years if one didn't know which way to go. There were a total of one hundred rooms; twenty-five dead ends, twenty-five false rooms which often lead one to their deaths, twenty-five torture chambers, and twenty-five rooms that led to the cells; all of which was spread out the entire land. The halls, themselves, often lead one back to the beginning. It is an illusion to prevent intruders from releasing the prisoners. It looked like a stereotypical dungeon; stone walls, stone ceiling, and grey flagstone stone. Torches lined the walls every twenty meters. It was a magical flame designed to never extinguish; the cool blue hue giving the dungeon the desired eerie feel. Screams of pain echoed the halls.
A chill ran through the dungeon. Mizume and her entourage navigated the halls with ease; the sound of their feet hitting the flagstone was hollow to their ears. Then they came to a halt.
Peering into a small cell, she greeted with a wicked grin, "Hello my dears."
Author's Note: Ok. I absolutely HATE this chapter. It was almost painful to write. And yes, I took that from "The Nightmare Before Christmas" which I don't own obviously. It seemed to fit and it was what I was immediately reminded of when coming up with names. Also note that the first two chapters are for introductory purposes almost like a prologue. Now the real fun—hopefully—begins.