Sarah had been snooping in the Goblin King's absence. Having harnessed enough of her own newfound powers of enchantment, she'd taken the precaution of shielding herself from his crystal surveillance. This journey was personal. And she needed to experience it alone.
She'd gone through most of the castle rooms, merely glancing at some, perusing carefully through others. When at last she came upon a room that took her breath away.
The doorway was simple unassuming, wood with chipped and faded paint. It stood in a forgotten hallway that led out to an abandoned garden. At first she thought it was just a broom closet or something akin to a tool shed. But when she lifted the tarnished silver latch, she gasped with the site that greeted her unsuspecting vision.
A room of dusty memories. But not human memories. Fae memories. Artifacts enchanted, dusty, telling stories before she even asked. Here was the hidden room silently paying tribute to the echoes of Jareth's past.
Books, pictures, artifacts. Her fingers passed over each new object nearly shaking with awe and something very near reverence. Not for the magic in these objects, but that each was somehow a part of the man who now vied to hold her in his arms forever. Most of it made only partial sense. She could only speculate what any of it meant. Still, the wonder of the place consumed her. Like a mausoleum for one still living.
Pausing from her mental inventory, she walked over to a dust laden curtain and found the heavy silk cord, giving it a hardy tug. The velvety stuff subsided with a muffled commotion and sunlight poured into the chamber. She saw the window had a perfect view unto the forgotten garden.
Sighing, she sat down on a chair with faded upholstery, dust clouds rising as she settled into the cushion. Coughing initially, she turned her attention to the little table beside her. There lay a book—a lovely leather bound thing, leaves and flowers pressed into the reddish softness of the cover. Unconsciously holding her breath, pulse quickening without her notice, she carefully undid the cord keeping its pages closed to her. As she did so, the book opened voluntarily in her cradling palm.
Eyes wide, chest stuffed with cotton, she read. And read. And read still more. Sometimes her eyes glistened from mute emotion. Sometimes she brought the book to her mouth to press her lips against the words written meticulously over its pages.
Finally, exhaustion setting in, she lay the book back down where she found it, cupping her aching forehead in her hands.
A part of her wanted to say, "why do you never say anything?" or "how was I supposed to know?" but another part knew that finding the words written where she did, when she did, how she did had been the only way. Clutching herself round, she rocked a minute from the strange rumblings and jolts fulminating in her middle.
A few minutes later, Jareth finally saw Sarah walking with somber serenity out into the forgotten garden he once knew all too well. His throat and heart tightened in unison until he saw the light in his beloved's eyes. Something about her expression told him all was well. He sighed and began recounting the minutes until he would be able to hold her in his arms again.