Sarah knelt on a linoleum floor, her face streaked with sweat and tears, strands of hair plastered to her face. Her head was lowered, but her eyes stared upward, fiery and alive.

She stayed in that position for quite a while, letting her quick breathing come down to a more normal pace. She'd been shouting before, but now when she spoke her voice was deadly calm.

"Leave, then." She gave a pained smile. "It's what you're best at."

She stared straight ahead for several more beats before she broke character and wiped her hair out of her face. Someone handed her a tissue.

The room was silent, the four people sitting at the table in front of her watching her every movement. The man on the far right—Sarah remembered that he was the AD—was hurriedly taking notes.

She felt like she was coming out of a trance when Lori Meeker finally spoke. "Do you need a minute, Sarah?"

Sarah shook her head, trying to make herself presentable as quickly as possible. "No, I'm fine. Just an intense scene, you know."

"Yes." Lori was smiling. "That was…quite something."

Sarah smiled back. Lori looked just like she did in the photos that accompanied write-ups about her in different magazines and newspapers: dark skin, dreadlocks all the way down her back, faded leather jacket, ripped jeans. The photos had always made Sarah think of a badass action hero, someone you definitely didn't want to mess with, but to her relief, Lori had been a lot gentler and more motherly than the photos would suggest.

"I wonder," Lori said now, glancing at the woman on her left, who Sarah remembered was the casting director, "and don't answer this if you don't know yet, but…why do you think she's so determined to stay in the church? Why wouldn't she even consider following her husband, when she seems so devoted to him?"

Sarah thought for a moment. "I suppose it's the devil you know," she said. "It's brought her a lot of pain, but also a lot of joy. He may be a powerful force in her life, but he's nothing compared to the church. He's mortal, the church is eternal."

Lori nodded. "Do you think there's anything that could make her leave?"

"Maybe…" Sarah laughed. "Maybe if her husband became a god. Which is a weird thing to say, because he kind of was a god to her, within the world of that church. But when he decides to leave it sort of gives him clay feet in her eyes."

Lori nodded, considering Sarah's words. After a moment she stood up and leaned forward to shake Sarah's hand. "We'll be in touch very soon."

"Thank you." The adrenaline rush of doing the scene was wearing off a bit, and Sarah felt a little shaky on her feet. "It was an honor."

Lori laughed. "I can't say I enjoyed your play, but I'm certainly glad that I went to see it. Then again, pretty much every success I've ever had started with an idea that everyone else thought was crazy."

"I'll remember that."

Lori and the rest of the crew started to gather their things. "Do you write, Sarah?"

She blushed slightly. "Other than the occasional journal? Not really."

"You should. You see interesting things."

Sarah mumbled some mix of thanks and self-deprecation and showed herself out the door, trying to imagine how she would describe this day to Miguel without squealing gleefully the whole time.

"It's good to see you again, Sarah."

"Yeah, it's, uh, good to be back."

Rebecca sat back in her chair, her expression neutral. She was wearing a silk shirt with a Mandarin collar and jeans, plus brown leather boots with low heels. Sarah looked at her own clothes—another old t-shirt, loose-fitting jeans, and sandals—and as usual found them wanting.

Since when do you care about clothes?

Maybe since I've been spending time with someone who cares a little too much about how he looks.

Rebecca smiled at her. "Sarah, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry—"

"No, really, I'm the one who should apologize—"

"I shouldn't have brought up something so sensitive so soon—"

"No…" Sarah took a deep breath. "It was good, actually, because—well, I need to tell you something."

Rebecca nodded. "Please."

"So…my mother." She put her hands in her pockets and took them out again. "There's a lot there. And I can talk about it. But…I haven't seen her in person in ten years, and for now I'd like to keep it that way. She's not good for me. Maybe it's not all her fault, but she just…she brings bad things in. And a lot of people keep telling me that I should try to have a relationship with her, and I don't want to, so please don't make me."

She realized that she had started speaking very fast and breathed in deeply when she finished talking. Rebecca waited a moment before speaking.

"All right."

Sarah blinked. "All right? Really?"

"Yes." Rebecca picked up the small notebook that she occasionally wrote in during their sessions. "You might be surprised to know that when people have unpleasant relationships with family members, I don't always recommend that they reconcile. Sometimes it's better just to walk away."

Sarah felt a weight lift at the sound of Rebecca's words. "I don't know if I want to walk away, I just don't think I want to walk toward. Not now, at least."

"And that's fine. Maybe someday that will change, maybe it won't. But for now, walk in whichever direction you like."

Sarah nodded. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."

Rebecca made a brief note in her notebook and smiled. "Why don't you tell me something good that's happened to you recently?"

"Huh." Sarah was surprised to discover that this question didn't trigger an eye-roll. Thinking happy thoughts, talking about good things happening to you, next you'll be wearing pink and whistling while you do housework. "Well, I had a good audition, my roommate hasn't kicked me out yet, I'm able to pay my rent, and…I've been spending some time with an old friend."

Rebecca's eyes lit up. Sarah realized that Miguel was the only friend she'd ever mentioned in their sessions. Rebecca probably thought she was a recluse. Which was kind of true. "An old friend? That's lovely."

"Yeah. Well, not a friend, exactly."

"Oh really?" Rebecca smiled. "More than a friend?"

"No. Well, not really, but…" She sighed. "It's really, really, really complicated."

Rebecca nodded, still smiling. "Isn't it always."

"Hello?"

The lower half of Karen's face was out of the screen, like always—her stepmother had never really gotten the hang of computer-based communication, and Sarah had long since given up trying to teach her. Karen's voice sounded anxious.

"Sarah? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She tried to make her expression nonchalant. "Hi."

Karen's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Well, hello. It's…it's good to hear from you."

She sounded like she really meant it. It was true that Sarah rarely called her father and stepmother these days—they were usually the ones calling her. She made a point of keeping in touch with Toby, but since conversations with her parents had started to involve shouting or sniping she'd just started avoiding them altogether. It made sense that Karen would think she was calling because something was wrong, or because she needed money.

Sarah cleared her throat. "So…" What was normal conversation with your family like, again? "How are you and Dad doing?"

Karen seemed as surprised by the question as Sarah had been to hear herself asking it. "How are we doing? Well…we're well, I suppose. Toby's out of school for the summer, you know, and your father's been teaching him how to play chess, but Toby'd rather be outside, which seems perfectly normal to me, not everyone has to be a homebody—" Her brow furrowed again. "Nothing against it, of course, you and your father both love your books and that's fine—"

"No, no, it's okay. I'm glad Toby likes to be outdoors." She laughed. "Two pale bookworms who suck at sports are probably enough for any family."

Karen's eyes smiled. "Well, I've managed to get your father out for a hike twice this year, and he actually admitted that he enjoyed it after the fact." Karen ran a hand through her neatly coiffed hair. "How was your play?"

Sarah grimaced. "It was terrible."

"We really would have been happy to come."

"I know. I just—I didn't want you to come just to be nice and then have to suffer through a really bad play."

Karen laughed. "It can't have been that bad, Sarah."

She recalled Jareth's words about firey theater and goblin poetry. "Yeah, it was that bad. But something good came out of it, at least."

"Oh really?" Karen's eyes seemed to smile. "Do tell."

Sarah told her about Lori Meeker and the audition. "And I literally just got off the phone with my agent, like, ten minutes ago, and I got the part."

"Sarah, that's wonderful!" Karen was actually clapping her hands. Sarah felt her face grow hot. "You…you deserve it. You really do. Wow…am I the first person you called?"

"Well, I texted Miguel first, but yes, you were the first person I called."

Karen sat back slightly. "Thank you, Sarah. We can't wait to see it."

"Yeah." Sarah glanced at her watch, amazed to discover how long their conversation had continued without any arguing. She took a deep breath and spoke quickly, before she could stop herself. "Karen, I'm sorry."

Karen leaned forward. "Sorry? About what?"

"About…a lot of things." She stared at her hands while she spoke. "I was a teenager, and I was mad because you weren't the perfect version of things that I wanted and I was selfish and stupid and I'm really, really sorry."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch out forever. Karen's eyes had slipped out of the screen, and when they reappeared Sarah was shocked to see that her stepmother was crying.

"Oh, Karen, I'm sorry—"

"No, no, it's all right." Karen wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry we couldn't protect you, Sarah."

"Protect me?"

"From…everything that happened with your mother."

Sarah felt herself starting to cry and bit her lip. "No, no, that's the thing, you DID, and I was just too stubborn to see it for what it was. You both did what she didn't or couldn't, and I just got mad at you for it."

"You were a teenager. You were confused."

"Yeah, well, I'm grown up now, sort of. And I should have apologized a lot sooner. I'm, you know, trying to be better."

Karen wiped her eyes again. There was another silence, broken only by the sound of Karen blowing her nose.

"Thank you for being so good to Toby, Sarah," she finally said. "I don't know what changed when you were fifteen, but…he was lucky to have you. He still is."

Sarah laughed. Maybe someday I'll tell you how I was responsible for a bunch of goblins tossing him around like a beach ball, but not today. I'm enjoying your good will. "Well, remind him that he's a little monster next time you talk to him."

Karen laughed. "He was asking about you just this morning, actually."

"He was?"

"Yes, he wants to know when you're coming home."

"How about next weekend?"

Karen looked surprised. "Really? What about work, or rehearsals?"

"Rehearsals won't start till next week, and I can switch shifts pretty easily."

Karen smiled, her whole face momentarily visible in the computer screen. "That would be wonderful, Sarah. We'd all love to see you."

"Yeah." And for the first time in a long while the next words that came out of her mouth were completely true. "I'd love to see you too. All of you."

Miguel's kitchen smelled faintly of spices and garlic, the latter of which Sarah was awkwardly chopping on one of several beautiful dark wood cutting boards that Miguel had laid out on the counter top. She had, as usual, insisted that she was terrible at chopping things, and he had, as usual, insisted that anyone could learn.

"You're going to slice your fingers off," he said with a sigh.

"I told you I'm not good at this."

"Little Miss Lori Meeker Loves Me, you are never, ever allowed to use that excuse again." He gently curled the tips of her fingers under her left hand and helped her reposition the knife in her right hand. "Try again, and use the part of the blade that's closest to your hand, not the tip."

She did as instructed and managed to chop the garlic without cutting herself. "All right. But I still can't cook."

"If you can chop garlic and boil water you can cook. You should do it a little more often, it'd help you save money and then you wouldn't have to go to that therapist to get extra from your father and Karen."

"I get discounted food at the cafe, probably cheaper than the mess I'd make in the kitchen." Sarah poured the garlic into a bowl of chicken and lemon slices. "Besides, the therapy's been good. It's led me to some interesting places."

Miguel smiled. "Just as long as you don't get too happy. Who's going to go to afternoon off-off previews with me and rip them apart afterward?"

"Don't worry." She took the basil leaves that Miguel handed her and began tearing leaves off of stems. "I think I can keep one foot in the cynical world."

They heard the apartment door open and soon after the sound of Nick's voice from the living room. "Am I too late?"

"Nope, we're just prepping. Come in here and tell Sarah how pretty she looks."

Sarah punched Miguel's shoulder as Nick came into the kitchen, loosening his tie with one hand as he used a handkerchief to wipe his forehead with the other. They'd always been cordial, but she couldn't help feeling like Nick was of a different world, wearing a suit every day and making more money than she knew she ever would. He was reserved where Miguel was loud, more of a homebody where Miguel loved to be surrounded by people, but somehow they worked wonderfully, which just further drove home to Sarah that long-term relationships were a mystery she hadn't unraveled yet.

Nick kissed Miguel and was about to say something that Sarah was sure would sound careful and polite, but his face betrayed genuine surprise when he saw her.

"Wow."

She blushed slightly. "Evening, Nick. That different, huh?"

"No, no, you're not, it's just—you do look really lovely, Sarah."

She smiled. "Thanks."

Privately, she knew she looked different. After ending her call with Karen she'd looked at herself in the mirror for quite a while, recalling Rebecca's sharp taste in clothing, her roommate Julia's constant put-together-ness, even Jareth's (curse him) tendency to always look like he'd stepped off of a stage. And then she realized that it had been ages since she'd put on a trace of make-up, done anything to her hair besides shove it aside, or wear anything carefully chosen.

She'd put on some music and torn through her tiny closet, pulling out long-unworn tops, trousers, dresses, and skirts in bright colors. Then she'd gone into the bathroom and pulled out make-up that had gathered dust, and the plastic bag of jewelry and hair accessories stuffed in her bathroom drawer.

In the end, she told herself she hadn't done anything too dramatic, but the change was…noticeable. Her hair was combed and shiny, pulled back with a couple of simple clips. There was a hint of pinkness in her cheeks and a trace of black around her eyes. She wore a black top with embroidered red roses that hung a bit low and was gathered at the sides, spilling in a light cascade of folds over a black A-line skirt. Her shoes were heels with black rhinestones that killed her feet, but that she had to admit looked very, very good.

Miguel was boiling pasta and tossing chicken and seasonings into a skillet. "She cleans up nicely, doesn't she? I'm convinced she's got a hot date tonight."

Sarah laughed as Nick retreated into the bedroom, saying something about wanting to change clothes. "I wish."

"Or at least another meetup with the dream man. Does he have a name, by the way?"

Sarah blushed, and Miguel noticed immediately. "My my, Sarah! Did you finally do more than kiss?"

She took a larger-than-usual sip of the red wine she'd poured herself earlier. "No. But I sort of…hinted that I'd like to."

"Progress! You know you're on the road to good mental health again when your randy side emerges." Miguel squeezed her shoulder. "Seriously, though, you should have some fun. Play a bit. Enjoy how pretty you look and let someone make you feel good, even if it's just a fling. You deserve it."

He has a very, very good point.

Sarah forced herself not to give the metaphorical devil on her shoulder a very literal smack.

Really, though, this is a win-win, you get to feel good, there are no real consequences given that he's not of this world, and most likely his need-bank would be full to the brim for quite some time, given how vividly you've been daydreaming about—

"I'll consider it," she said, her voice just a little more high-pitched than normal.

He handed her a stack of plates to take to the table. "Please do. Long-term stuff can wait—sometimes what you need is a palate cleanser."

"Palate cleanser?"

"Yes. You know, the fling that you have after a lot of mediocre or bad relationships but before the really good one. Just to sort of remind yourself that all the parts still work."

She followed him into the living room and helped set the table. "I'm pretty sure the parts still work—I just haven't had much interest in using them for a while."

"Well then, what better time to dust off—you know, I think I'm going to stop this extended machine metaphor right here because I'll embarrass Nick. But you know my thoughts—have fun. Feel good. Treat yourself."

She suddenly reached out and hugged Miguel tightly, and he jumped in surprise. "Uh…are we practicing already?"

She laughed against his chest. "No. Just…thank you. For everything. I know I've been a mess a lot of the time."

He patted her head. "Not a lot of the time."

"Yeah, a lot." She pulled away and ran a hand through her slightly-mussed hair. "And some things I don't say enough, and people need to hear them."

He smiled. "Well, thank you, you nutcase. And I'm overdue for a quarter-life crisis, so we can take turns being a mess, deal?"

She smiled back. "Deal."

Dinner was delicious. Between mouthfuls of lemony pasta and perfectly roasted asparagus they talked about bad plays and good plays and Lori Meeker's amazing sense of style, a conversation that Nick couldn't always follow but somehow managed to contribute to, making Miguel laugh and tease him in a way that he seemed to love, and Sarah was only occasionally distracted by the voice of the devil on her shoulder, a voice that got steadily more insistent as the night wore on and made a more and more convincing case for why she should get herself home, hop through a mirror, and find out exactly what sort of tingly secrets were hiding under Jareth's gloves.

"This is a terrible idea."

This is the greatest idea you've had in years.

"No, it isn't."

Please. It's just like Miguel said, no consequences, no sheets to wash…

"Every time I pass through that mirror I am essentially gambling with my life. How do I know he won't just decide to keep me there? Or lock me up in a dungeon somewhere?"

A sex dungeon? Why is this a problem?

"No, a dungeon dungeon. Or an oubliette."

Nothing in his behavior over the past few weeks has indicated that he wants to lock you up.

"All right, what if I get so delirious from all the sex that I can't think straight and by the time I come back through the mirror a hundred years have passed and I'm like a female Rip van Winkle?"

Damn. Your neuroses are really, really creative.

"And he's not even human. How do I know sex with him won't kill me?"

All right, you've moved beyond creative to batshit insane.

"It's not insane. I've never slept with a…whatever he is. Anything could happen."

All right. Death by sex, it's possible. Still, what a way to go, right?

"That's not funny. Even if I don't die, I could…get pregnant with triplets."

You've been on the pill since you were twenty, and it seems to work.

Sarah groaned. "I don't trust him, and there's no reason I should trust him. He's dangerous."

He only seems dangerous. Which is hot.

"Jesus, that is NOT a good reason to sleep with someone."

It's a perfectly good reason to sleep with someone. Not a good reason to marry them, sure, or introduce them to the parents and share an apartment, but that's never going to happen with him.

"Why not?"

She actually heard her inner voice laugh. Do you seriously need an answer to that question?

Sarah rolled her eyes. "No. But what if he's just doing it for a need-fix? I don't feel like being used."

You absolutely, positively feel like being used. Multiple times, in creative positions.

"Shut up."

The voice in her head sighed. He's right, you know. You really do overthink everything.

"Well, I'm glad one of us does, because otherwise we'd probably be dead by now."

You're not going to die. You're going to get something that you want—need—very badly, and if you don't go after it you're going to regret it for the rest of your life.

Sarah ran a hand through her hair. "There are other ways I can fulfill that particular need."

Like what?

"Like…going to a bar and hooking up. Or making use of something in my bedside table drawer that needs new batteries but should still work."

Pitiful substitutes, and you know it.

Sarah groaned again and stared at her (much more alluring than usual) reflection in the mirror. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

No. Because I've got our best interests at heart.

"And you're horny."

That too.

Sarah stood up and started to pace the room. "How do I even…what do I even say?"

How about "Evening, Jareth, I need something from you and you know exactly what it is"?

She sighed. "That's not very suave."

He's the suave one. Not much point in trying to beat him at that game.

She opened her closet door. "All right, I won't bother. More importantly, what do I wear?"

Very back, still in the plastic bag. You'll both thank me.

Sarah reached into the back of her closet to find an ankle-length nightgown that she'd bought on a whim back in college, planning to wear it for her then-boyfriend…who'd dumped her before she'd had the chance to show it off.

She held the gown up in front of her in the mirror. "Are you sure this isn't…too much?"

Too much? Have you seen what Jareth wears on a regular non-sex day?

She snorted. "True."

She pulled the plastic bag off of the hanger. The nightgown was beautiful, with a low neckline and a slit up the side, colored with a pattern of curlicues and leafy vines in silver and black. It felt deliciously smooth under her fingers.

Before she could go back into over-thinking mode she quickly took off her top, skirt, and underclothes, digging in the back of her bureau drawer for the one pair of slightly lacy, less substantial underwear that she owned. She slipped the nightgown over her head and almost didn't recognize herself when she looked in the mirror.

"This is…wow. This is different."

That's one way of putting it.

She took out her hair clips, letting her hair fall in a shiny cascade around her face. She reached into the small handbag on her desk and pulled out a tube of lipstick in a deep burgundy shade, applying just enough to be noticeable.

She looked at her smiling, slightly flushed reflection, the black and silver fabric that shimmered slightly and hugged her curves, and she felt her whole body tingle with anticipation.

"Right." Her heart started to pound in her chest. "I'm really doing this."

The voice in her head had gone momentarily quiet. She glanced at the book on her desk, picked it up, and turned to the middle.

"I really hope there's something vaguely sensual in here, because self-help affirmations are not my idea of verbal foreplay." She paused on a chapter near the end of the book. "All right, here we go."

Her hands and voice shook as she read. "I am open and receptive to all good."

The mirror reflected only her own face. She took a deep breath. "I am open and receptive to all good."

No response. Sarah felt panic rising through her chest. "Shit, have I lost my mind? Was any of this real? Why the hell am I talking to my mirror expecting anything to happen?"

Calm down. Try it one more time.

Sarah breathed in and out slowly and repeated the words one more time. "I am open and receptive to all good."

The mirror shimmered, and she felt a mixture of both relief and abject terror. And a bit of annoyance. The bastard probably wanted to play with my head.

The mirror blurred and then slowly cleared to reveal a room that wouldn't have looked out of place in a castle. The ceiling was low, and there were were thick wooden beams embedded in it, and stone walls with a large window that looked out onto stars and a crescent moon. There were candles in sconces on the walls and on various surfaces, including a small table with wine and glasses and what looked like cheese, and there was a large four-poster bed with thick-looking blankets and pillows, which Jareth was comfortably lounging on, his eyes closed.

She was relieved to see that he didn't look particularly gaunt. His clothing was slightly less extravagant than usual—a loose, cream-colored shirt, slightly open in front, the ever-present gloves, and dark-colored trousers that for once didn't seem to be clinging too tightly. She noticed that he wasn't wearing shoes and idly wondered if this was what he slept in. If he slept.

He let out a long, slow breath and glanced toward the window. "I must confess, I'd wondered what this room would look like. I'd thought it might be a little more extravagant—velvet curtains, a fountain, chandeliers. This is…cozy."

Sarah couldn't tell if that was meant to be an insult. Still, she instinctively opened her mouth to snap something back but couldn't think of anything to say. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she felt sure he could hear it.

He rose slowly from the bed. "The wine and cheese is a nice touch. You've—"

He finally turned to look at her, and whatever quip he'd been planning died on his lips. She would come back to that moment again and again, because even with everything that came after, seeing the Goblin King caught so completely off guard was truly magical.

The carefully set lines of his face that seemed to be in a permanent state of self-assured smirking slowly melted, leaving him looking strangely lost. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and then whispered something in a language she didn't understand. His eyes never left her.

Her heart continued to pound. She forced herself to smile and tried to think of something clever or seductive to say, but all she could manage was "Hi."

He nodded. "Hello."

His voice sounded hoarse, which made her relax slightly. She cleared her throat. "I, uh…" She pushed her shoulders back and tried to sound more confident than she felt. "I need something from you. And I think you know what it is."

He was striding across the room and pushing his hand through the mirror before she'd finished the second part. "May I—"

"Yes."

Author's note: Aaaand we're finally there! As silly as it may sound, I've been writing the last chapters of this story a bit feverishly because a) I live comparatively close to North Korea, and things are a little freaky with NK-world relations at the moment, and b) one random thought I had in the midst of all of it was how sad I would be if the world ended and this story remained unfinished and unsexified. (Hoping I don't live to regret those words. If they're some of the last that I ever type, remember me as a girl who loved glitter, mismatched eyes, and angsty romance.) Anyway, chapter 9 coming soon, barring nuclear catastrophes, heat exhaustion, or typhoons-the latter two of which are probably a lot more likely at this point. I hope.