Jareth opened his eyes and squinted in the dim light of the room to which he had just been transported. The small fire in the fireplace and the smattering of dripping candles did little to light the cavernous room. Rather, they cast creeping shadows upon the walls and ceiling of the dark chamber, making the gloom even more ominous.

"You'll have to excuse the darkness," Sarah purred as she watched the human she'd captured stumbling and blinking in her shadowy boudoir. "My imps prefer the dark."

Jareth's ears pricked at the sound of scratching and scuffling in an unlit corner. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought of dark-dwelling imps turned loose upon his pale flesh.

"Don't worry, little pet," Sarah chuckled, sensing his anxiety. "They won't harm you. Unless I tell them to." She chuckled again as Jareth gasped and tensed in his bonds. An unseen imp crept closer to examine the new thing its Mistress had brought home. The imp sniffed and pawed at Jareth's body, its fingers raking down his legs and sending chills to his core. He cried out and attempted to wrench away, but his bonds held fast.

"Bjad, leave my pet alone," Sarah told the curious imp. As Jareth's eyes adjusted to the dim light he could see the creature more clearly. It was a hideous thing with long pointed ears, sunken gold eyes and skin like tanned leather. It had long, willowy arms and legs that tapered into clawed hands and taloned feet. At its Mistress's command, it unfurled two large bat-like wings from its back and flapped upward toward the vaulted ceiling. Jareth looked up and was horrified to see hundreds of pairs of gold eyes peering down at him from the arches and alcoves. He staggered backward, his ankles still tightly bound, and lost his balance. He tumbled to the ground, upsetting a small table on his way down and sending platters, books and a brass candelabra crashing to the floor. Above him, the imps shrieked at the cacophony. Their high-pitched cries echoed from the ceiling and off the stone walls. Jareth moaned in pain as their screeches pierced his skull like icy daggers.

Sarah regarded him coldly. "What kind of pathetic creature have I taken for myself?" she hissed. "Stop whimpering and get up, you miserable mortal." With only a word, she loosened the bindings around his ankles so that he could move more freely, but could not escape.

Jareth bit his lip and stood on shaky legs before the beautiful sorceress. She looked him over from head to toe. "Your form is pleasing enough," she told him. Sarah glanced at his ill-fitting shirt, his threadbare pants and his worn shoes. "Your attire needs work. Azlar! Wend!" she called to the formless eyes above their heads. "Come and tend to my pet." She turned her gaze back to Jareth. "Azlar and Wend are my gentlest imps. Don't attempt to fight them and they won't hurt you."

The two monstrous creatures flew down from their hidden alcove and stood before their Mistress. She spoke to them in a broken, croaking language that Jareth was unable to understand, but from the nodding of the imp's heads, he surmised that she was giving them serious instructions. The sorceress stepped aside and the imps moved toward Jareth with their scythe-like claws extended out to him.

"What are they going to do to me?" he asked, recoiling in panic. The sorceress rolled her eyes.

"They are going to remove those filthy, disgusting clothes you are wearing. However, as I've told you, if you fight them, they're quite liable to remove more than your clothing. Your skin, perhaps."

Jareth stood as still as he possibly could as the imps approached and laid their leathery hands on him. Their sharp claws sliced through his clothing like a sword through flesh, ripping and shredding them until his shirt and pants hung in tatters from his body. He quailed and shivered in the cold room as the creatures yanked at the strips of ruined cloth and he was left completely naked. The sorceress dismissed the imps with a wave of her hand and studied the shivering man before her.

His skin was pale in the places that had been covered by clothing, but his face, forearms, neck and part of his chest glowed bronze in the firelight. He was thin, but not scrawny. His arms and legs were lean and toned, his chest lightly muscled and laid over with a fine covering of gold hair. Jareth squirmed uncomfortably as Sarah's gaze shifted downward. She smiled slightly to herself. He had nothing to be ashamed of. For a human, he was more than adequately endowed.

Jareth shuddered in the cold air and Sarah waved her hand. The small fire roared to life, billowing outward into the room and filling it with heat and light. The imps above shrieked shrilly in protest, but Sarah silenced them with a look.

"There," she said, striding gracefully toward Jareth. "Is that better?" Her pale face seemed to reflect the light of the fire. She smiled at him, her deep green eyes glimmering with magic and waited for him to answer.

"Please," Jareth spoke in almost a whisper. "Please allow me to cover myself." He lowered his head and looked at the stone floor.

Sarah grunted and began to slowly circle him. His body tensed as he felt her eyes raking over his naked body and boring into him.

"No," Sarah said, narrowing her eyes at him. "I will not. You will remain as you are and you will do as I say if you wish to be released." She yanked on the invisible cords holding him and he stumbled over to her. "Would you like to know what you must do to free yourself?" she asked.

Jareth nodded dumbly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He could only imagine what the sorceress would ask of him.

Sarah seated herself in an enormous chair of carved oak and gazed pitilessly at Jareth. "You are a musician, are you not?" she asked him. Jareth nodded again and Sarah leaned forward. "You will compose for me seven songs of my choosing," she told him. "You will have one day to compose each song. If you fail to do so, or if your offering does not fulfill my request, your freedom is forfeit and you belong to me. Seven songs in seven days. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jareth answered quietly.

"Very well then," said Sarah. "Rest tonight, my pet. Your task will begin tomorrow."

She waved her hand and Jareth found himself transported to a dank room in the bowels of the sorceress's castle. A heavy wooden door with iron locks kept him shut tightly inside the small chamber. He looked around in the gloom where a thin shaft of moonlight beamed through the tiny window on the outer wall. There were no furnishings of any kind in the room: no chair, bed, or even a straw mat to lie upon. Jareth sighed sadly and lay down on the cold stone floor, bringing his arms and legs in tightly to his chest. His body ached from the chilled air and the stone floor and his mind whirled with anxiety over what the next day would bring, but at last he fell into a fitful sleep.

Far above him, in a high tower of her castle, the sorceress watched the sleeping mortal though a crystal sphere. She noted the rise and fall of his smooth chest, the twitch of his mouth as he dreamt, the long tapered lines of his arms and legs hugged tightly to his naked body. She allowed herself to imagine her hands on his chest, her lips on his mouth, her arms and legs carelessly entwined with his. It had been a very long time since she had taken a mortal to her bed.

"No," she told herself. "I mustn't get distracted from the task at hand." She looked at the thick black book on the table before her and ran her fingers over the dark leather cover. "This Jareth is the key to my freedom," she whispered to the gloom. The book trembled under her touch and she smiled. "Soon," she sighed. "Very soon."

Next: The Greatest Magic

If you are not reading Ellen Weaver's "Seven:Descant" you should check it out. It's her take on this prompt, and as always, it is excellent.

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Fanny