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Only Illusions

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My ire only partially abated; I storm my way from the dungeons to the throne room. The rapid staccato of my boot heels strikes upon the flagstones, reverberating through the passageways of my castle. And it is my castle now; its former identity as the Castle beyond the Goblin City as insubstantial as the mists which surround it continuously. It requires a lot of energy to keep illusions consistent and physical. I spare myself the effort when I stay indoors.

I could have easily teleported the distance in the immense fortress, but the physical exertion allows me to displace some of my eternal frustration simmering and prickling below the surface of my skin. Unlike my predecessor, I did not fill my castle with goblins to kick; however, I better understand why he did. To be confined without hope of parole while possessing the power of creating realistic, physical illusions. It does things to one's sense of right and wrong after a time, the need for release, for meaningful interaction. Eventually you crack and conjure your first companion. Mine was Hoggle.

"Sarah," his raspy voice calls to me from the end of the hall. Never able to get Hoggle's voice correct, I endlessly re-conjure his simulacrum. "You weren't down with that rat again, were you?" He asks as he hustles closer in that peculiar, waddling gait.

"Don't question my activities!" I snap at my only version of a true friend in this hell.

"You know he ain't good for ya." The dwarf admonishes as he falls into step next to me, taking two or three hopping strides to my graceful, long legged bearing.

"Since when did you become my parent, Higgle?" I say glancing down at him with a frown. His eyes were downcast. Deliberately ridiculing him, even the part of me that used to cringe when Jareth butchered his name him hardly flinched. Afterall, this wasn't really my friend. This was only an illusion I created, therefore, my abuses and insults didn't matter. This thing, this artifice, didn't possess real feelings or emotions; it only felt what I crafted it to feel, endued it to be. Why then did it look so sad?

"I'm just worried about you, Sarah," he tells me as his ridiculously large lower lip quivers. "You've been spending more time with...him...and I don't think that's good for ya." Stopping mid-step, I spin on Hoggle with my hands on my hips and scowl. Fear plain in his eyes, he jumps back and wrings his hands.

"Oh you don't, do you?"

My swagger stick reappears in my hand without my conscious calling, and I began slapping it against my leather clad thigh hard enough to sting. Having noticed this new habit of mine some time ago, I felt no pressing reason for modification as it gifted me some physical release. And something in the way Hoggle's eyes follow the brisk, sweeping motion of the stick... back and forth, back and forth...lulls part of my aggravation. As if he fears I might use it on him any moment, and what if I did?

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he says quickly, "I should've said anything," he adds in a hurried mumble.

"That's right, you shouldn't have." I lean down at the waist to his eye level, and say in a threatening tone, "My business is my own. I don't care to have your opinion on the matter."

"Yes, Mistress." He nods frantically, keeping his eyes downcast like a good little dwarf.

"You forget yourself, Hogbrain. Shall I have to remake you again?"

"No, Mistress!" He cries out. I heard the abject terror in his voice, as if illusions felt fear or pain...absurd! This was becoming a serious problem with Hoggle. Every time I conjured him anew his personality struggled for more independence. I wanted a supportive best friend, not a nag! If this persisted I might consider discontinuing Hoggle altogether. Facing an eternity with his interfering would finish driving me around the bend.

"Then keep this," I poke his obvious facial protrusion with my stick, "out of my business."

"Yes, Mistress," he bows and scrapes, backing away down the hall, "anything you say, Mistress." Standing upright, I watch him worm his way from my sight. How did I ever consider him my best friend? Now the thought of anyone as a best friend sickens me, talking about our feelings and our mutual experiences. I have none of those things.

I am a seriously damaged individual, but at least I'm not blind to my disability. Nosce te ipsum and all that rot. I just don't care anymore. Why should I? There's no one here to impress; no one here to offend or worry except me. Not like I'll hurt anyone here with my fucked up psyche; and besides, I really only want to hurt a particular someone, and he's not here, so who cares if a little bit spills over. We'll call it practice for my special day.

Good mood solidly evaporated, I heave a disgruntled sigh, spin on my heel, and continue my walk to the throne room. I planned on scrying the Above today, as I do when the mood strikes me, but it will likely take more effort now that Hoggle's little speech disturbed my concentration. Perhaps, for later, I'll devise a suitable surprise punishment. I smirk. Yes...I'm feeling better already.

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I stare into the swirling depths of my over-sized scrying crystal supported by a tripod in the style of cast iron. The irony amuses me as I once believed Jareth to be Fae, thus vulnerable to iron. After reading the abandoned tomes, I believe him to be human; or at least previously human. For reasons unknown, by persons unknown, he was banished to this place of in between. Little else is written about him or by him in the castle's vast library, but this I have surmised from random nuggets of information.

Within the crystal a puncture finally forms in the veil separating the worlds, clarity is granted to my eager eyes, and I sigh. The Above is vibrant and alive and real. Everything this place is not. I bask in the random glimpse granted to me as my control often falters with my rising emotions. Directing the beam of magic to see what I desire is difficult, and the world is so different that I wonder if it has truly changed or have I?

Strange cars with only three wheels zip along highways. Bluish-black reflective panels line entire roof-lines, or I see the scalps of skyscrapers which look to have fields of grass. Focusing the beam shows me people scurrying about wearing odd clothing: colors and designs more extreme than a Pollock abstract, shinier than aluminum, and more revealing than the skankiest, airport strip bar dancer.

What happened to my world? How long has it been since my last scrying? After my brother, Toby, died, I ceased tracking my family, and in my grief I lost the desire to scry for a long time. Eventually, however, the need for revenge drew me and I started again, but not as often.

I aim the magic at this now foreign place, searching for Jareth. Look-a-likes I follow until they prove me wrong. Occasionally I peek into lives from sheer voyeurism, yet after so many years not one inkling of the Goblin King. Imagine my mounting frustration, until today.

"Who is that? Go back!" I instruct the crystal; it pans obediently to a blond headed man walking away.

"Do you see him?" Using my stick to point at the familiar figure, I ask Sir Didymus at my left.

"Verily, my lady," he replies, nodding; the feather in his cap fluttering at his vigorous motion.

Sitting forward on my cushioned throne, I peer keenly into the sphere; the magic trails behind the lithe, well-dressed man better than any professionally trained blood hound. Unlike his bystanders, he is not dressed garishly. How unusual, rather anachronistic even.

"It's him!" I shift closer, my gloved hand flattened to the crystal's surface, "Jareth, I'd know you anywhere." My stomach clenches, along with other lower portions of my anatomy. Such a dichotomy of sentiment he inspires within me as I watch him carelessly stroll down the sidewalk of some major city.

"Verily, my lady," Sir Didymus repeats, nodding. That's all he ever says. More cautious by the time I created him, I made sure his courtly ethics were eliminated with much of his potentially disapproving personality.

Ignoring the puppet fox, I quickly scan the view for clues to Jareth's location. He approaches the main entrance of a large building and the marquee comes into focus. I read the name aloud, hearing the excitement in my voice.

"Museum of Fine Art, Houston." At last! I smack my hand against the crystal, the leather sounds dull upon the glass. "I've got you, Goblin King!" I practically growl as he mounts the building's steps, one hand reaching for the door before he stops and looks over his shoulder to stare directly at me through my scrying crystal. Chills chase each other from the base of my neck, down my back, and I hold my breath. Can he see me?

He mouths something indecipherable, his ruthless eyes glittering visibly, then grins wide enough to show his canines; my crystal instantly shrouds in blackness, hundreds of fracture lines form, and expand. Immediately conjuring a barrier, it shields me from the blackened shards exploding outward with an ear-splitting crash.

"NO!" I shout in useless denial, staring at the huge debris field of destroyed crystal. Sir Didymus...I glanced to my left. He did not survive the onslaught, shouldn't there be blood? I toss a vanishing crystal at his shredded body. I will have to conjure another agreeable knight, later, when I've dealt with the rage and lust boiling upwards with my gut. It burns my veins, as if I drank a caustic fluid which merges with my blood rather than killing me, searing from the inside out.

Oh, how I wish it would kill me.

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DISCLAIMER: AS ALWAYS - I DON'T OWN THE RIGHTS TO ANY CHARACTERS OR STORIES OF FAN FICTION. THEY ARE WRITTEN FOR FREE AND I MAKE NO MONEY FROM ANY OF THEM.

spartichic: Thanks! I know, right? I love Dark Sarah as much as I love Dark Jareth fics. Their characters have the capacity for such complexity, especially when paired or pitted together. LOL, I guess it probably says something about me as well. As for her revenge...things aren't always what they seem. Awesome that you don't want them together in this. Yet Sarah is very conflicted about her lust, rightfully so.

Anne Oying: I know, Jareth someone's bitch? Right...I knew when my muse told me to start it this way that this first chap was perfect! A twist right at the beginning. I love it! As far as Sarah's evilness...it just shows that in the right conditions we all have the capacity for great evil or great good.

Bowie's Mistress: You're welcome! Thanks for reading them! I wouldn't be half as inspired if no one cared to read my work. Sure...writers write for themselves first, but we all know that's only half of the truth. We crave feedback. And once our skills begin to reach a certain level and our story ideas are non-stop, we really crave feedback. Please feel free to indulge your addiction as often as you like as they have no calories and are legal.

HachimansKitsune: LOL, *blushes* Thanks! I don't know that I would crown myself that as their are many other writers with awesome dark fics. (Sublitor for one! although not Dark Sarah) Glad your muse is getting a good meal! I know some cruel women too. Seems a shame to waste a nice package over just revenge.

Victoria Pendragon:Thanks! I'm hoping it turns out they way I envision it. As for Sarah's plan...we'll have to see how it goes. Jareth is quite powerful.

scifigeek10: Thanks! I've had the basic premise in my head for awhile now, but the start was all wrong until now. This start also helps other story arcs fall perfectly into place. :o)

Shenlong Girl: Yes...pleasantly twisted is a good phrase. I hope this will be as fun a journey as the first. Thanks for the warning. I updated the summary to include that.

tu: LOL, yes exactly! I do believe that fanfic and fiction in general is an excellent way to exorcise our personal darkness.

ForestLadyKatherine: Thanks! I loved writing a twist in the first chapter. Interesting that you should ponder Sarah's ability to complete her quest for vengeance.

futrCSI1490: She is very damaged but her imprisonment and isolation. Glad you like, hope I can keep this as interesting as the first (and as smutty)

rahnaesmomma: Thanks! Hope you keep enjoying it.

L.G. Lena: Thank you so much! *blushes* That's quite a compliment! Hope I can continue to deliver the goods! :o)

Norehnka: She is very damaged, yes. I wanted the first chapter to be shocking and surprising to illustrate her mindset. To give her a starting point in which to develop her character further as she searches for Jareth. And she will develop. Thank you so much! Another wonderful compliment! *blushes more*

Lady Augustin: Sarah isn't so much evil as very, very damaged. Makes one wonder how Jareth started out, doesn't it? As for when they meet? Muhahahahaha...I have that all in my head.

A/N: It's ironic that this sequel has received not only so many reviews right off, but so many "yeah you're writing a sequel" type reviews considering that "Queen" only has 69 (lol!) reviews. However, until recently it was one of my top hit fics. So I'm figuring that lots of lurkers are shy about leaving a review to such an intense and somewhat 'disappointing' fic. That and they're shocked speechless which I suspect happens sometimes. That's okay! In fact, with so many hits I think it says something about such visceral writing. Like the car wreck or the dead body on the side of the road. People have to look, they want to look but they don't want to admit they want to look.

I have a feeling these chapters will tend to be shorter as they were in 'Queen' but there'll likely be more than 'Queen'. Writing 1st person is very claustrophobic for a writer and makes expansion of scenes/chapters more difficult. But it can be very intense and challenging for both reader and writer. I feel this series is well suited to 1st. Initially I agonized over whether or not to write this sequel in 1st person as well, but I feel now that it was the correct decision. Short chap notwithstanding. This one is mainly present tense (with a few past tense musings woven in it) while 'Queen' was past tense.

This is, afterall, Sarah's story and is best told by her.

Jinx

:o)