Sarah Williams. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Failure. She was sure that's what it would say on her gravestone.

She gazed at the pieces of paper scattered before her on the wooden floor of her home, the words and half scribbled sentences on the white pages blinding her. With a sigh she sat and crossed her legs, idly plucking one page from the ground.

The Labyrinth was vast and incomprehensible. All number of strange creatures lurked within its depths, waiting for a poor soul to cross them. If you dared utter the right words then they would steal away a child, turning him into a Goblin forever.

She read her own words back to her with a scowl and crumpled the paper into a small ball, almost wishing it to disappear. That wasn't right. It wasn't true.

She was 23 years old, and anxious that the dawn of her 24th birthday was approaching. Ever since her mother had died a year ago she had been all too aware of how fragile and short a life truly was. She glanced to a small silver photo frame hanging in the corner of the room. Linda Williams was it's only inhabitant, beaming that stunning smile of hers to anyone that glanced upon it. But Sarah supposed that was what she had always been good at. Her mother knew just the right way to flutter her eyelashes at the camera, just the right way to smile at a stranger from the stage and make them fall in love. And now even after her death, she was still making people fall in love through one simple photo. Sarah saw it in everyone that crossed the threshold of her home. The repairmen, the deliverymen, even a few of her friends' eyes had lingered for just a little too long. The thought made Sarah smile. Her mother truly was a star.

Linda never had the chance to grow old and watch her hair turn to grey or her eyes lose their light. She never saw the crow's feet and lines scorch her otherwise perfect face. In some twisted thought Sarah believed that was what her mother would have wanted. Eternal love and beauty. With a sigh Sarah looked away. At least she had the memories of their time together, however few and fleeting. At least the car crash couldn't take that away from her.

And now she had to forge her own path and her own life. In truth she had thought she would be further than she was now. She passed college with a degree in English Literature; her academic accomplishments were without a fault. But was that all there was? If you asked her father she was sure he would say yes. Sarah however, was less certain. She still lived in the same little town, albeit in a house she could call her own. She saw the same people, the same friends, the same everything everyday and she was sure that the monotony of it was killing her. She was a 23 year old virgin living the same small life. That was why she had started 'The Labyrinth'.

Once when she had visited Toby, Karen had pulled out a bedraggled black notebook asking if she could toss it in the trash. Sarah eyed the leather bound pages and realized with a start that it was her old journal. With a stutter she grabbed the book away from her stepmother, and with a shrug Karen went back to cleaning. Upon returning home Sarah thumbed through the pages, heart thudding dangerously at the old sketches and notes. The Labyrinth. Over the years her mind had glossed over the details of the memory. Something she once swore she would never let happen. A tear fell from her eye as her fingers traced the harsh outline of Hoggle. She thought in that moment that he was the only true friend she ever had.

One word on the final page startled her.

Jareth.

A wave of memories flooded back to her that she tried hard to push away. As she grew and time passed she had become unsure if her 'encounters' with him were real imagined. Hell, she was unsure if any of it had been real. But the chords that the sight of his name strummed against her heart had to be real. It had to be. That was the night that she decided she would never let the memories die again. She would write them down and share her stories with the world. If everyone knew her story and if it could be real to them, even only if only in their imagination, then maybe she wouldn't feel like she was crazy.

But after years of oppressing the memories the details had become hazy. She could barely decipher what her half scribbled notes her teenage self even meant anymore. So there she found herself, surrounded by her own words and unsure what the truth in any of it was.

But she remembered him.

She was almost ashamed that she could recall every minute detail, every word that rolled across his tongue more than the exact shade of blue in Hoggle's eyes. But then she supposed meeting someone like him would leave an imprint on anyone. With an unsure hand she picked up her pen, touching the nib gently to a fresh white page. She closed her eyes.

If you were to ever lay eyes on the ruler of the Labyrinth you would see for the first time in your life what true fear meant. For a man of such thin stature he exuded strength, power and every forgotten part of a dream and a nightmare that you wished to remember. From the way he stood to the drawl of his tongue, he could raise you up and cut you down with a simple curve of his lips. To parlay with such a man would be a dance with the devil, the temptation of his words would haunt you for the rest of your life. He could offer you your dreams. He could steal them away forever.

They called him the Goblin King.

Sarah let the dam inside her mind break that night, pouring out her secret thoughts and fears about the man she had spent much of her life thinking about be painted across the page. It was cathartic almost. Looking back at the words made it seem like someone else's story, the story of someone else's dreams dying. And it was good. Maybe she could do this, maybe she could publish it, and maybe if she shared the burden with the rest of the world she could sleep easy, just for one night.

For the first time in a long time, Sarah allowed herself a smile of triumph.

Jareth groaned. He could feel the air bristling with the beginnings of something that he had come to know very well. He was being summoned. The goblins in the room hooted with excitement, running to gather around their King as they listened for the words. As the small creatures hobbled and skipped towards him, sloshing copious amounts of ale on the floor, Jareth gave them a disdainful look. It wasn't their fault really; he supposed his goblins didn't truly understand what a summons meant. To them it was just a game, another child to play with and runner to taunt. To Jareth it was evidence of the selfishness of humans. He knew they were an unkind race, loud and crass and all too intent on self destruction. But the wishing away of their own children? It was unthinkable. To a race such as the Fae who struggled to bear any of their own at all, all Jareth saw was wasteful greed and selfishness. But nevertheless, he was the King. He was the Goblin King. And a duty was a duty.

He sat forwards in his throne, bringing a gloved finger to his lips. The goblins before him hushed, only a few giggles of excitement escaping them.

"Goblin King…" A small voice echoed around the room, and Jareth strained to hear it. It was a boy. A young boy. He withheld a sigh.

"Goblin King, wherever you may be. Take this child of mine far away from me!" The boy finished, a hopeful lilt tipping the end of his voice. Jareth frowned as his goblins groaned and started to slouch away.

"Why's no one getting it right anymore?" One goblin grumbled, throwing his empty goblet on the floor. They all began to chatter amongst themselves.

"They're not the right words!"

"That's the tenth time this month!"

"They won't say the right words."

"What are the right words again?"

"Quiet." Jareth said, his voice low and dangerous. All eyes turned to him, fearful of what the latest upset would do to their tempestuous ruler. He cast an eye over the crowd, fingers tightening on his riding crop. The goblins gasped as he pointed it swiftly at the smallest amongst them.

"You there." The little goblin swallowed hard, wiping his claws on the already filthy brown smock. He bowed low, a scruffy head of hair touching the floor, as he got ready to plead with the King to spare him from the bog. As he kept his eyes lowered he heard the sound of Jareth's boots coming closer, and uncontrollably started to shake. The riding crop found it's way under the goblin's chin, lifting his head up.

"What did you just say?" Jareth said, slowly and carefully, as if dreading the answer. The goblin swallowed loudly. With a sigh Jareth tapped the crop underneath the creatures chin again.

"If I have to ask you again I will send you headfirst into the bog."

"I said it's the tenth time this month, your majesty." The little voice squeaked and sighed as the stick was taken away.

"The tenth time." Jareth murmured to himself, pacing amongst the silent crowd. How could that even be? He barely got a handful of summons a year, let alone ten in one month. And none of them knew their right words. Not a single one. He turned back to the goblin who was dusting himself off.

"What is your name?" The goblin turned back with wide eyes.

"Scrabs, your Majesty." Jareth nodded, settling back in his throne.

"Scrabs, I have a very important job for you. I want you to go to the Above world and find out why so many people have been calling on us. And more importantly…I want you to find out why they aren't saying their right words."

With a wave of his hand he watched the goblin vanish from the throne room, and resisted the prickling urge in his fingertips to conjure another crystal. Ever since his meeting with Sarah in the graveyard he had tried to quell the obsessive habit. He knew that this vice of watching her had consumed his very being. So much so that he had neglected his own duties as a King. But in the end he thought it was for the best, he would let her have her mourning period for her mother without his involvement. Beyond that he had no plan. But he knew that the urge to see his little human girl was becoming all encompassing.

He let his head rest back against the uncomfortable throne, rubbing his eyes with one leather clad hand. If the Gods could see how pathetic he was now. It had been months, months since he had seen her. His body practically hummed with need.

A soft clatter of claws on the stone floor alerted his attention. Lifting his head he found himself gazing at Scrabs.

"I told you not to return until you found out what was happening in the Above world." His voice was cold, slicing through the now silent throne room.

"Majesty, Scrabs found something." The goblin said quietly, and Jareth sat forwards in his throne, expectant.

"I went to human boys house, the one who didn't know his right words. I found this." Jareth reached forwards to take the object from Scrabs, his hands curling around the unmistakable spine of a book. He turned it around, his eyes widening at the cover.

'The Labyrinth' by 'Sarah Williams'

Jareth stared at the name, fingertips tracing the gold gilded lettering. Sarah Williams. Sarah. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and to his goblins surprise waves of laughter poured from him, raucous and booming. Slowly, they all began to laugh. None of them quite knew what the joke was but they liked it when he laughed.

Casting a bemused eye over the goblins before him he held out a hand.

"You there! Bring me some of that god awful ale." A goblin complied with a smile. A drunk King was always better than an angry King. Unless said King was both angry and drunk. Then that was no good. He hurried over to the slouched figure, claws clutched around the large goblet.

"What's the occasion 'Majesty?" He squeaked, settling himself at his feet.

Jareth only smiled, bringing the cup to his lips. He savoured the warm liquid, wondering if it was the bittersweet alcohol or the taste of an impending victory that coated his tongue.