A/N: This is set in October of 1985, fyi; so Sarah is what we would call underage. This has been your warning.
Something was wrong.
Sarah eyed the last line on the page with no small amount of apprehension. She had read and re-read The Princess Bride a thousand times over. She knew it like the back of her hand in the same way she was aware of the feelings each scene was supposed to elicit. They hadn't changed, after all. Which was why her peculiar predicament caught her off-guard; she was supposed to be warmed over by Westley's leave-taking of Buttercup. She was further supposed to have a smile upon her face while contemplating the woman's luck, a thinly disguised desire for a Westley of her own. So why then had her heart not skipped its usual beat? Why had her lips remained relaxed in neutrality?
That couldn't be right. Sarah passed a hand over her forehead, wondering whether she'd caught some sort of cold. Colds had been known to make her altogether crankier than necessary; which in turn would explain her inability to enjoy one of her favourite tales. But there were no tell-tale signs of fever, not even as much as a prickle of heat. In the end even the persistent Sarah had to give up on the explanation, a few whole minutes later, and throw it away as a reason for her queer affliction. She was very clearly not sick.
But she could not read any further from those pages. The whole point of reading was to achieve the emotional peak intended by the author. Yet if something as fundamental was missing from her own exercise, there was no point in completing the story. Then it occurred to her, as possible solution to her troubles, that she was merely tired and her inability to engage with the material must surely be owing to running around and playing with Toby all day. They had been sitting in the tall grass as well, allowing the bright embrace of the sun. Too much sun and heat and not enough rest. That made sense. Buoyed by the thought, Sarah closed the book and set it carefully on her nightstand; she would sleep early that night and wake up refreshed. And tomorrow, she would be thoroughly absorbed in the dashing Westley, as she always was.
Enormously pleased with herself, Sarah turns off the lamp and pulled the covers up to her chin, burrowing her head into the slightly cool pillow with a sigh. Falling asleep should prove no hardship whatsoever. She was, after all, dog tired, came the helpful reminder. Sarah lay there a few minutes, wondering when exactly she might feel the onslaught of slumber, a spark of impatience bursting to life just as two small series of knocks broke the silence. She could have screamed her frustration, but hearing Irene call her name, she chose instead to feign sleep. It was the surest way to get her stepmother off her back.
A low creak signalled the door's opening. "Sarah-oh." Between the two words the woman's voice dropped drastically. "Looks like there's no need; she's fast asleep."
A chuckle answered. Sarah recognised her father's voice. "Guess it will be just the two of us then. There's always next time for our little reward."
A twinge of regret surged as the door closed in their wake and muffled footsteps announced their departure. They'd wanted, she realised with the anguish of any person forced to sacrifice one goal for another, to praise her efforts with Toby. She could not guess what they had thought up between them, but the notion itself that she had missed the chance, whatever her father said, could not help but sadden her. Sarah opened her eyes at long last, taking in the details of her room, still observable even in the low light coming from outside. "This is no unfair," she muttered, twisted into the covers until she'd come to lie on her other side. But she couldn't up and walk down the stairs. She needed sleep.
One stubborn press of her lips together later, Sarah was sitting up in bed, thinking of the peach she had bitten into but recently and how that had put her right to sleep. It wasn't exactly a clear memory; exhibiting a dream-like quality, even the peach's taste held something of the bitter to it. The fae realm remained a remote little island surrounded by the waters of forgetfulness. Sarah could only ever catch the briefest glimpse of it when she tried to concentrate upon such a task. It was as though it wished to remain a mystery and taunted her with those furtive glances. She had no peaches to send her to sleep though anymore than she had a good notion of what the matter with her was. Perhaps when Hoggle returned for a visit she ought to ask him for some peaches.
Until then, only one possible option occurred to her. A story; there was little better than stories to encourage slumber. A fairy tale she could tell to herself. There were plenty to choose from; Hansel and Gretel, the Little Red Riding Hood or even Sleeping Beauty. What she wouldn't give for a sleeping spell all of her own. But considering the princess had ended up sleeping for years unnumbered, perhaps it was better that she didn't gain one after all. No Sleeping Beauty then.
"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away," she whispered, feeling some sort of stirring in her chest, almost as though her words had called for something beyond the realm of the natural. Those thoughts gave rise to a chuckle. "There lived a king who was master over a golden realm." Sarah paused; that wasn't what she'd meant to say. Her intention had been to retell the tale of two children lost in the haunted woods. "This king held unimaginable power and wealth, but remained nevertheless dissatisfied whatever his subjects did to please him." The hooting of an owl interrupted her. Sarah looked out to the window, trying to make out any shapes in the darkened foliage. "One thing alone he lacked; a queen." Her eyelids were suddenly too heavy to remain open a moment longer. Sarah muttered in dismay. She'd just had a wonderful idea for a story.
The exile hidden amid leaves took flight, disappearing into the night, leaving Sarah sinking into a far more potent darkness.
Like Alice through the mirror, she fell into something that was not quite her. The world around Sarah held no proportions; it seemed more a void than anything else. But warmth burned in her chest, seeping into the pit of her stomach. It was so strong that she couldn't help a small little sound of surprise. It was almost as though the feeling had been growing and growing, undisturbed in its hidden lair, and had become too great to contain. What an odd thing it was. Touching a hand to her chest, she willed her heart to slow down its wild gallop. There was surely no danger in the nothingness surrounding her.
I would not be so certain, in your stead. The silky whisper slithered through her mind and down her spine in a very nearly concrete caress.
Sarah fair jumped out of her skin. "What? Who's there?!" Peace shattered, she stared around her with caution. There was nowhere to hide, but equally nowhere to run to. It was all empty space. All undefined, waiting for some clever craftsman to fill it with forms and meanings; her heart pained her. "Please; show yourself."
No answer came. No matter how many times she called out, nothing strode forth from the darkness, nothing came into her line of sight. Sarah frowned. She almost wished her old nemesis, the Goblin King, were there. He, at least, had the decency to oblige her requests. "Fine! Be like that!" With a huff, she turned on her heel and marched into whatever direction it was she faced. For a dream, she was awfully conscious of what went on. It was equally strange for it to be so very lifeless.
At lengths she came upon an object, the sole inhabitant of that strange world beside herself. It was a great mirror. Its polished surface reflected her image; its heavily ornate frame embraced her. Sarah stared mesmerised at her double; for though it wore her face, her reflection did not entirely obey her. It touched the other side of the glass, wonder on its face even as Sarah drew back. Palms against the barrier, her doppelganger stared at her as a child might at the display in a toy shop's window.
All of a sudden, her reflection vanished.
In its place she saw the scene of a ball, glittering lights and polished floors. Her attention was upon a somewhat mismatched couple. The man wore a mask; demon-like, the grotesque face leaned slightly in towards his partner. The woman wore no mask; not unless Sarah's own face was her disguise. She stared up at the man, her whole being concentrated upon him to the exclusion of all around them. Unlike the other couples one could make out bits and pieces of as they moved in and out of sight, the other Sarah and her partner were simply standing there in a world of their own. Her heart thumped all the harder in her chest. She knew what visage lay behind that demonic disguise. The sudden clarity flooded her with bone-melting relief.
She woke with a start, bathed in cold sweat and the pallid glow of the moon. It took a moment to register her surroundings. No doubt about it, she had returned to her room. Sarah eyed the digital display of her clock. Ten to four; some bit of obscure knowledge danced teasingly at the edge of her awareness. Sarah wiped her brow; a faint noise of disgust on her lips. She couldn't possible go back to sleep like that. Covers thrown aside, she climbed out of bed, shivering as cool air brushed against her. Her feet sank into the carpet, toes curling ever so slightly. Her eyes searched the outside world, looking for the trembling shadows. But there was nothing to be seen, only the wind in the leaves. Her chest felt as though someone had taken a hammer to it. The warmth had vanished.
Breath lodged in her throat, Sarah brought both hands to her bosom and pressed down as if to relieve the ache. That niggling sense of wrongness ate at her. It must have been a nightmare. There truly was no explanation for it. She would not be so shaken otherwise. Combing her fingers through her hair, Sarah abandoned the window with its night-time view.
She rummaged around one of the drawers pulling out a fresh set of pyjamas which she laid out on her bed before leaving the room for the small bathroom at the end of the corridor as quietly as she could, towel in tow. One hot shower later, Sarah found herself much refreshed and just about ready to jump into bed and sleep the remainder of the available hours away before she had to endure another day of high school. That particular thought brought up the usual bitterness linked with her extant experience thus far. In the main, Sarah preferred not to linger over such notions overmuch. In response to the worry, she shut her eyes and forced herself to relax, managing to fall asleep a second time.
Blessedly dreamless, sleep lasted until her alarm blared to life. The second time around, she woke with only a slight murmur of dissatisfaction and dragged herself out of bed in record time. It was a preventive measure, lest Irene clamber up the stairs and invade her private space yet again. Sarah was in no frame of mind to deal with the woman at such an early stage and getting into a shouting match did not quite make her list of invigorating morning activities over breakfast. Shrugging into her outfit for the day, she hurriedly brushed her hair and picked up her backpack, in which she put her book, on the way out.
Breakfast waited in the kitchen, as usual. Irene had made father's favourite, English muffins, complete with sausage and orange juice. Sarah swallowed her disappointment at such a lacklustre choice, even knowing her father would be very pleased. She thought longingly about the Belgian waffles she had last eaten at her mother's. Why did Irene have to be so plebeian?
"Good morning, Sarah. You're up bright and early," her step-mother said by way of greeting, offering the vaguest of smiles as she turned to look at the entrance, relief written all across her face at her husband's arrival. She called out to him without waiting for as much as a word from Sarah. "Robert, I was just about to come and get you."
Sarah rolled her eyes as the two smiled at one another. She was tempted to demand they cease with such displays, but father turned to her with a pat to Irene's shoulder. "Morning, sweetheart." He placed a kiss on Sarah's forehead and then took his customary seat, waiting for Irene to fill his coffee cup. The woman finished up and said something about feeding Toby before leaving just the two of them.
It took a moment, but Sarah realised her father would not drop his stare and dig in. "Something the matter?" she asked between bites, downing the dry English muffins with a bit of orange juice. If Irene wanted to make father's favourite breakfast she could at least put in an effort and do it right.
"Your mother called the other night." Sarah immediately perked up hearing that. She put down her cutlery and met her father's gaze with undisguised interest, urging him to continue. "She was wondering if I'd agree to let you spend the weekend over at her place this week as well as the next two. I hope I wasn't wrong in telling her you'd be happy to."
"No, of course you weren't!" She jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around him. "Thank you, dad! You're the best."
In a far happier mood, Sarah finished her breakfast once forced to release her father from the hug and took off to school, not even minding that she was forced to the back of the bus once more, not one of her classmates having saved her a seat. It wasn't exactly that they shunned her, but she was very much a lone wolf, with nary a bird of a feather in sight. Mother had told her it was envy on their part, but even then Sarah would have liked someone to talk to. In lieu of that, she pulled out her trusty copy of The Princess Bride, figuring it would keep her well entertained for the time it took to reach school.
She reread last night's final paragraph, waited with bated breath for the familiar reaction to take over. Only it never did. Incredulous, she passed her gaze over the lines once more, willing her heart to beat faster and her chest to grow warm. Nothing of the sort happened. She slammed the book shut with a nervous shift in her seat. Was she perhaps too excited about visiting with her mother for the words to have their usual effect?
Her day passed in something of a blur, between her own anxieties and the general isolation imposed upon her. But she managed nevertheless to take note of her assignment for Columbus Day and through the grapevine she became aware that school's Halloween party to take place later that month would be followed by a private affair to which only a select few had been invited. She hadn't even the slightest illusion she'd be called to attend which was just as well considering her mother would be picking her up after school that day.
She didn't care about a stupid Halloween party anyway. It would just remind her that all these people pretending to be goblins and witches and fairies didn't have the first idea about the beings they portrayed. But she had seen them; all of those wonderful creatures veiled in mystery and magic. They were as real as her fingers, even if at the moment she couldn't exactly recall the Goblin King's face or Hoggle's expression, the shade of Didymus' fur or Ludo's gentle eyes. Sarah endured the unmitigated torture that was the rode back home with a stiff upper lip, a plan forming in her mind.
Predictably, once home, she was ushered upstairs after a light snack and encouraged to apply herself to her studies. Not that Sarah took issue with it. If Irene thought she was working, she wouldn't interrupt her at least until dinnertime. That left her with a good few hours during which to wait out her friends in the hopes that they might come visit, even if only as long as one needed to drop a greeting.
However, despite her tremendous display of patience while perusing the available books on Columbus already on hand neither hide nor hair of her otherworldly companions manifested. In the end, as Irene's irritating voice disrupted the silence, Sarah had to concede they were unlikely to show up. Disappointed, she crossed yet another day off her calendar. The first of October was nearly at an end and she had not seen them for as long as a couple of weeks.
That Goblin King was likely keeping them busy round the clock for his own amusement. She trusted they would have otherwise shown up. Perhaps the next day, she mused, making her way downstairs where Irene was setting the table. Toby sat in his high chair, a model of decorum beside the shiny line of drool running down his chin. Sarah made a beeline to him, gently poking his cheek as she used his bib to mop up the unsightly spittle. "There now, you look as dignified as a prince." She kissed the top of his head and sat down in her usual spot. Glaring sullenly at Irene when she noticed the woman watching her, Sarah barely held back a full-blown scowl. "What?"
"Nothing. I'm just happy the two of you are getting along." Irene cleared her throat after one long uncomfortable moment. "Your father is running a bit late. He said we should eat without him."
Of course he would try to spoil Sarah's appetite by forcing her to dine with her stepmother. But then Toby was present and she could ignore the woman as she split her attention between her own food and her brother's, doing her best to ignore Irene's steady stream of chatter. She was forced to then and again make some sound of acknowledgement, but to her satisfaction she noted that before long the woman gave up and let her eat in peace.
She didn't even follow when Sarah carried Toby off to his room so they could play together just the two of them. Lancelot had become a great favourite and his adventures entertained her little brother until it came the time for sleep. Looking down upon that slumbering little face, she couldn't help but smile. It was hard to believe he was Irene's son. Such a sweet and loving child surely could not have been birthed by that duplicitous woman.
Leaving Toby to his rest, Sarah departed for her own room. She stopped partway down the hall, the sound of voices carrying from the lower floor holding her attestation. Usually she would not bother listening in on the conversations of her father and stepmother, as they spoke of nauseatingly mundane things such as grocery shopping, their respective day and plans for the weekend. However, she heard her name just then and instinctively waited to catch more of the exchange.
"I am glad that she's getting along with Toby; it's about time. But I tell you her attitude towards me leaves much to be desired." Irene wasn't exactly yelling. Her voice was, however, ever so firm. One couldn't mistake the steel beneath it. "We can't go on like this forever."
Sarah would have laughed. How exactly was she supposed to treat the woman who had waltzed into her life as though she had any right and dared act the mother towards herself. She already had a mother and didn't need a second one.
"I know. I'm sorry, Irene. I'll have a word with her." He could have as many words as he wished. Sarah huffed and glared down the remaining length of the hallway. She leaned nevertheless against the wall, hearing movement below. "This has been very hard on her. Linda was, and still is, her world."
"All I'm asking is that she stop treating me as a villain." A world of resolve lived in those words. "It's me who's been cooking her meals and me who's been taking care of her when she's sick, running a fever. I have been washing her clothes and driving her places. I'm not even asking for gratitude. All I want is some civility. After all, what crime have I committed to be treated like this?" Sarah bristled. The woman truly didn't understand that she wasn't wanted.
"Irene; I will talk to her. But not right now. She's looking forward to her stay with Linda and I won't ruin it for her. When she gets back, I'll sit her down for a chat. And I'll tell her everything. Perhaps then, in possession of the full facts, she'll change her attitude." What was that supposed to mean? Sarah glared even harder.
He couldn't simply say things like that and expect to keep her in darkness. Only, of course, he did not know she was a witness to the conversation exactly. And if she did not mean to give herself away, she had best scamper off to her room before she got caught. With a somewhat guilty step she covered the distance between herself and the dimly lit bedroom. Fortunately, by the time she heard footsteps in the hallway she was safely ensconced in the privacy of her own chamber, thumbing through her precious book, determined to have a proper read.
She forced her way through several chapters, refusing to entertain even the slightest acknowledgement of the fact her hear was nowhere in it. Nonetheless, her eyes scanned page after page, assuring herself that the hero was as dashing as ever and the other characters provided all manner of entertainment. Sarah persisted until she had quite exhausted herself and the sweet lure of sleep tugged on her. The Princess Bride found its way upon the nightstand and she changed for bed in due course, skipping out to brush her teeth and give her hair one last combing before she tied it up.
Upon returning to her room, she noted the cracked window and approached. The first night of October was proving to be particularly mild. But then September had been uncommonly balmy as well. One shouldn't expect much of a change in the span of two days. She opened the window wider and stuck her head out. Despite the dark, she could make out a fair amount of the street. The light of the streetlamps reigned supreme. Sarah looked up and down the alley from her vantage point. Theirs was a quiet neighbourhood and not too many people would be out at that hour. There were still one or two individuals about, but that was not unusual. Sarah looked up at the tree rising proudly past her window.
There was an owl there, its large eyes blinking at her. She blinked back, aware that the creature had hopped closer, though nowhere near close enough to reach before hooting as though in greeting. Suspiciously, the bird did a little dance on its branch before taking off to one of the higher limbs, hooting all the while. For one moment she had thought it to be a special owl. Resigned, Sarah drew away from the window and shut it altogether. No sense in letting the cold air in.
And really, what had she been hoping for? That the Goblin King would show on her doorstep, or rather her windowsill, and oblige her by providing a nefarious scoundrel for her to take her ire out on? She swallowed past the tight knot in her throat and threw herself upon the bed, turning so that her back faced the window. He had no power over her and she knew enough to guess he could not come to her without a formal invitation; one which she did not mean to provide in any event. Why was she even thinking about him? She ought to be making her way into the world of dreams, not contemplating unhelpful nonsense.
Sarah closed her eyes. She thought of the king without a queen in a land far, far away and the adventures awaiting therein. But if she thought her subconscious might cooperate with her and allow a somewhat cohesive story to unfold, Sarah was much mistaken. For before she knew what she was about, she found herself in that quintessential nothingness which had so frightened her before. She recalled an enchanted mirror with a startling sort of clarity. The ball, the beating heart, the demon; she could see them all coming together.
Her chest laboured under the unbearable sting of heat and she did her best to draw in steady breaths. If only she figure out what these dreams meant. Perhaps if she were to search the darkness she might come upon the mirror once more. She struggled to move, but somehow the blackness seemed to have gained hitherto absent firmness. It twisted about her, grazing against her limbs. "Stop it!" Her attempts at escape were fruitless. No matter how hard she pushed and pulled, no matter how she loud she cried out, the darkness would not relinquish her. It pressed her from all sides and boxed her in tightly. Sarah imagined that was what being lost in the middle of the sea must feel like. No escape, no quarter given, just the merciless expanse of water taking its due.
But why? The pressure increased. Her head felt close to bursting. In desperation, Sarah let go. She relaxed her body completely and allowed its captor to do what it would. Perhaps then the torture would be over. It felt like endless falling. She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer. Her body bloomed with heat and apprehension, but she did not dare move. Not until she felt something solid beneath her feet. Not until she opened her eyes to a large chamber, empty of all life. It was dominated by one single table in its middle. Upon it lay one peach out of which someone had taken a hearty bite.
Bitterness sparked upon Sarah's tongue. She tentatively approached the table, reaching out for the fruit. Only she found it would not allow her touch. Her hand would simply not complete the motion, stopping midway to the object. The peach, she noted with a start, was thrumming, trembling gently, growing even. What else could it be called when it lengthened and widened, reaching in five directions with all its might.
The fleshy star gained unimaginable proportions, spinning and twisting until what stood before Sarah was another Sarah. There was no glass between them to favour the illusion of normality. The peach Sarah stared at her, apparently unabashed at her nakedness even as Sarah herself gasped and looked around for something to cover her with. But the being, whatever it was, moved not even an inch. Only her eyes, expressionless dark pools, followed the original's movements.
In the end, Sarah found a dusty sheet which she wrapped around the other's shoulders, taking no time to be surprised at the fact that she could touch her double. "What in God's name is going on here?" she asked out loud. None of it made any sense to her. Holding onto the peach's hand she frowned at the coolness of her skin. It was almost as though it wasn't alive and yet it breathed before her very eyes. Some way or another she would find some answers and that thing behind her using a drape for its dress was coming with her. She didn't have the heart to leave it behind.
The room stretched out before and behind them. Sarah could not find a single door and outside a few pieces of furniture easily uncovered, there was very little of interest to see. Twisting this way and that, she brought herself and the peach before what looked to be another mirror. However, in it was reflected only one entity. It was only she herself that moved beyond the glass. Ordinary glass this time around, judging by the fact that her third copy dared not defy her. Sarah looked back towards the peach, half-expecting it to have vanished. But the peach stood mutely by her, quiet as a church mouse and still as stone. She wanted to wake up from the insane dream and leave behind every little memory of it.
Careful now; you might lose a lot more than you bargained for. That voice again. Utterly alien to her ears, it teased her mercilessly. She had heard it before; she could not guess its source. But it set her teeth on edge. It made her blood boil. It brought out her belligerent side.
"You better tell me what you're on about!" she yelled out, uncaring who heard her. She was no one's puppet. She had power. She had defeated the fearsome Goblin King, for crying out loud!
Only a sliver of power, really. Only as much as I give you. The blood froze in her veins. Was that a threat? The Goblin King has been on obliging soul, but somehow she felt this other thing would not quite follow suit. Not at that moment, at least. Smartgirl. Sarah hated it when her worst fears were confirmed.
That settled it; she had to find out just what this thing was.
A/N: Sarah - people often skip a lot of time when writing the coming together of the heroine and the Goblin King, however, I eschew that for one simple reason - I don't think it's needed if we set the story in the magic realm that neither adheres to our understanding of time, nor follows our own morality. All the same, I have appropriately tagged the story.
Irene - will be something of a stepping stone towards realising some hard truths for Sarah and her journey. I feel oftentimes the chance is missed to say anything substantial when she interacts with Sarah. I'm not claiming I'll do much, but I hope to provide some nuance.
Peaches and sexuality - there really is no use beating around the bush. What Sarah leaves behind in the Labyrinth is her romantic awareness. The peach!Sarah is the antidote to that empty feeling described in the chapter. There isn't reallu much to say, save that this is not a mystery and I would not have it treated as such.
Linda and Jeremy - will feature in the story in the same capacity as Irene, serving as lessons to Sarah.