Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth or the characters, though I do own the plot of this particular story and interpretation of a certain Goblin King.

It became a game almost. A wonderful game of cat and mouse. His little Sarah would always peer warily into the shadows and into the woods before scurrying to wherever she was meant to be. But, of course, in the daylight, his little Sarah had nothing to fear, for goblin kings did not use the day. At least not very often.

Yet how frightened she would become even as the sunlight caressed her skin. However, this was not unexpected. She did not know the rules of their game, as was fair. For he was the Goblin King and above her in every way.

Though still his most favorite entertainment, his Sarah was a mere mortal, and as was right, she saw him in everything, in every creak of the trees, in every darkness, in every phantom sensation against her cheeks. Every moment of her life, she quivered in fear.

Her heart would beat deliciously fast.

That was perhaps the most intriguing part about his Sarah, her decadent surplus of reaction, of emotion. She would tense at the sight of his precious owls or would freeze at the sound of his whispers.

The Goblin King did relish in whispering things to her.

Sarah mine, imagine how well little Toby would have worn Goblin-skin.

Don't get to close to that young man, pet. We wouldn't want him to vanish in the dead of night.

Now, now, Sarah dear, do you wish for me to punish foolish mortals for your transgression against the Goblin King.

His Sarah would jolt at the booming of his voice inside her mind. She would stiffen. She would concede. It was a simple but effective method of control, and the Goblin King relished in it dearly.

How satisfying it was to make his little mortal eat back her arrogant words.

You have no power over me.

But with every day, his power over her grew stronger yet. His power grew and multiplied and became infinite, growing in tandem with her fear of him.

For fear is power.

Until one day, his little Sarah grew convinced of mortal lies.

Her step-mother had insisted that she grow up. Something of becoming a young, proper lady. As though, his Sarah could be a proper lady. Yet, the idea enticed the Goblin King. To let his little mortal child become more than a mere, simple child.

Who would his little Sarah be then? What an intriguing possibility.

Even as he had peered into his glass ball, the idea danced in his head and lured him with siren song.

How much greater would his victory be if she believed herself to be invincible once again. How much more sweet would it be to break his little Sarah of those illusions. How much greater…

It would be no problem to allow his Sarah some time to believe once again in her invincibility, of her pretty illusions of independence and sovereignty apart from her Goblin King. He did, after all, have all the time in the world. To wait a few years would be a mere blink in time. And time was a luxury of which the Goblin King had an eternity.

It was a worthy investment.

Accordingly, he had allowed himself to recede in her memory and became nothing more than a childhood nightmare. And however worthy it was to leave his Sarah alone to come into herself, the Goblin King could not resist the aching to exert his power over her once again.

So he would, on occasion, haunt her dreams as he had done that first night.

Her lovely dreams, a gently movement of his talons, and they fell into desperate chaos. They morphed into shadows and blood and the delicious scent of fear. And how gracious his little Sarah was, for all her dreams were always so very different, changing from starlight and applause to a sniveling boy whom she had infatuated herself.

As though a mere mortal were deserving of any attention from the Goblin King's pet.

Nevertheless, the variety of her dreams was conducive to the Goblin King's own creativity. There were so many ways to wake his Sarah, so many ways to reduce her body to feverish writhing, so many ways to make his Sarah scream and clutch her precious throat.

Of all the moments that the Goblin King shared with his Sarah, he savored these the most. How close he would feel to her when she woke gasping from one of his nightmares. How close they were then, even separated by glass and the infinity between their realms. It made the weight of the time vanish, and patiently, the Goblin King would bide his time until he once again conquered his supposed "Champion of the Labyrinth".

One day, his Sarah did finally become the proper, young lady her stepmother had wished her to be. No, the Goblin King had not realized this on his own. He had not realized this when his Sarah had finally graduated from the university, or when his Sarah first had gainful employment. The realization of his wait's end did not come at any of these moments in time. It came when the Goblin king saw his Sarah's final dream.

At last came the dastardliest of all her dreams, so vivid in detail, so lovely in all its softness. What a sweetling his Sarah was.

The dream began in the bright of morning. There was the soft twittering of women and men amongst a crowd, and suddenly, from between the oak doors, came a man. He walked towards his Sarah, and like everyone else inside the dream, his face was blurred. But he was tall and almost-fortunate-looking.

Soft vows were spoken. Words of commitment and love and loyalty, and on his pet's face there was the most radiant smile. Her hair was done-up wonderfully, and she had never looked so beautiful than standing there amidst pools of white fabric.

Then the dream morphed all on its own, and the Goblin King understood that time had passed.

He came to see a yellow room, and there was a wooden rocking chair. But his Sarah was not there, instead she stood there, stomach swollen with child as she gently cradled another infant, cooing whispers of love and bits of rhyme.

And once again, the Goblin King felt the dream begin to morph, but he froze time. Slowly, he approached the statue-like Sarah. Was this her dream? Her wish? A family? Children?

Children did not dream for children.

Then the realization came: His Sarah was no longer a child.

As has become custom, the Goblin King flicked his fingers, and the dream was slowly ripped from its very foundations.

But the Goblin King does not savor the destruction of this dream. Instead, he pondered.

Blinking awake from his Sarah's dream, the Goblin King once again observed his Sarah as she writhed in the fever of fear, and peering closely, the Goblin King felt a new fascination being born unto him. Yes, undoubtedly, he would yet have his Sarah fear him, play with her as he had always planned, but perhaps, they were more uses to his Sarah than the Goblin King had envisioned.

Talons scratching lightly against the glass of his crystal, the Goblin King called forth the wind and the rain and the shadows. He called forth the sun and the snow and the fog. As she woke in her typical gasping way, his Sarah was encapsulated in chaos. Her room was loud with the thunderous screeching of the wind and the rain pelted against everything like knives, cutting through her wooden dresser and shattering the mirror on her vanity. The shadows danced merrily through the room, singing with the voices of all the children that the Goblin king had once stolen.

"Sleep now," they said in tandem, and they babies' voices rung softly in the sweeping chaos, "Sleep now, little Sarah. Shall we sing for you?" Their laughter rang, and they began.

"THERE was a lady all skin and bone,

Sure such a lady was never known :

It happen'd upon a certain day,

This lady went to church to pray."

All the while, the chaos of the room, his Sarah's budding horror continued wonderfully. Small patches of glaring sunlight burn bright in the room. Snow swirls over Sarah's bed. It covered her in a beautiful blanket of sparkling white, and at its touch, his Sarah's skin turned a becoming shade of blue, like Forget-Me-Nots.

"When she came to the church stile,

There she did rest a little while;

When she came to the churchyard,

There the bells so loud she heard."

Thick fog crawled into the room. And its kiss upon his pet's skin Sarah shivered. The fog was so very cold, and yet, the children still sung brightly.

"When she came to the church door,

She stopt to rest a little more ;

When she came the church within,

The parson pray'd 'gainst pride and sin.

On looking up, on looking down,

She saw a dead man on the ground ;

And from his nose unto his chin,

The worms crawl'd out, the worms crawl'd in."

The Goblin king walked through the chaos and after years of separation stood at a foot away from his little mortal. She froze, and Sarah's fear became more. It became sheer terror.

"No," she whispered under the cacophony of rain and wind and lost children. "No," she shook her head in denial. "You were just a dream."

"A dream?" The Goblin King smiled, and his teeth sparkled with all the fearsome danger of a predator. "I never knew you thought so highly of me, Sarah mine." A talon traced the soft curve of her cheek, and he leaned closer until his breathe warmed the nape of her neck. "I would have thought that you thought I was a nightmare."

Her skin erupted into pinpricks of skin, tiny goosebumps that his sharp eyes trace in languid swirls.

"Then she unto the parson said,

Shall I be so when I am dead :

O yes ! O yes, the parson said,

You will be so when you are dead."

And this was the crescendo of the cacophony. It scratches painfully together, and here, the Goblin King holds his Sarah's face at the chin. "Sarah mine, you are mine."

"Here the lady screams."

How well his Sarah screamed. So loudly. So afraid. It is the music to the Goblin King's ears. It is all that he hears, but in the dark emptiness of her bedroom, all that his Sarah hears is the booming of his voice, "I will come for you, Sarah mine. Soon, very soon, Pet."

Original Posting Date: July 7, 2016

Prompt: N/A

Word Count: 1778

Note: I got a bit stuck with a few other endeavors of mine, and I got an idea for this. Just something small. Yay! More Dark Jareth! This was fun. I'd love to hear what you all think about anything in this story/chapter. Comments are the food of the writer, you know. Oh, this is dedicated to that one reviewer from FFN. Your comment was encouraging, and I'm curious to know what you think of this as an ending. Anyways, the rhyme that the shadows sing is from Gammer Gurton's Garland, 1784.