A snub-nosed face buried in the crook of an elbow behind a waterfall of long, dark hair. Arrogant, tempestuous eyes stared over thin arms wrapped around knees, glowering at the sunset lighting the sky.

A selfish, petty thought darkened those eyes; how disgusting it was that the world couldn't align itself with her emotional turmoil.

She hated things not being fair.

Hated it.

And things were deeply—painfully—unfair.

Gods, it rankled. It stung. Like touching nettles without gloves on.

The stolen feather she'd had tucked in a drawer she now twirled between her fingers. Under and over her middle finger and under and over again as she stared out of the window, glaring at the scenery below. The marshlands that amassed a large portion of the estate were lit in earthy greens and lilacs as the light dwindled, imbuing the landscape with a hauntingly romantic air. Strange and dark like a fairytale before the 'happily ever after'.

Really, it was too much.

So cruel. So unkind.

A tear slipped out of her eye and she batted it away with more force than necessary.

Fuck—

Moth flinched at herself. Even within the confines of her inner thoughts, she hated using coarse language. It was… inelegant.

But then so had her abandonment been. Cast aside in a ballroom she'd been dragged to.

Summoned to.

Positioned in.

Naively, she'd thought it had been an extravagance all for her, regardless of Jareth's all too flighty attentions. His half-hearted, and now that she considered it, somewhat melancholic pursuit would fracture suddenly as though something else (someone else) kept catching his focus, but still she'd had high hopes.

Until the brat had entered. A glittering snowball of white silk and tulle, her hair interwoven with delicate silver adornments. She'd sparkled. Breathtaking and bridal. Had become the focus of the whole room in a heartbeat. Had obviously been the black hole of his affection for longer than Moth cared to dwell on.

And in her beauty Moth had seen every feature of her own face echoed back and improved upon. Her limp dark hair mirrored in a brilliant mane flowing over Sarah's shoulders. Her pouty, childish mouth became soft and sensuous on Sarah's face. Her swampish green eyes became so brilliant and beckoning under Sarah's long downy lashes.

Words came to her then—unbidden as the worst ones often are. The way Jareth had turned to her once, appraising her in a way that made her shudder with want as he leaned in close and whispered, "You almost remind me of someone…"

Standing there in a masquerade mask that only just covered the paleness in her face—shock and hurt draining her cheeks—Moth's enormous tricorn hat suddenly weighed her down with its ridiculousness as Sarah floated into the room like an angel, her face bare of a mask because who would want to hide a face like that?...

The memory continued to bite at her and Moth gripped the feather tighter into a fist as she winced at the memory of the night before. As her fingernails made their presence known against her palm. She glanced at her hand, not realizing how hard her fingers had intended to curl.

And yet when she unfurled them so did the feather, still perfect. Still intact. Still beautifully unscathed.

Gods, that was typical! That was just so… so…

Symbolic!

She pinched her lips, sour with jealousy, and curled tighter into the window seat as the sun at last began its descent beneath the horizon.

She'd been hauled into a dream of an adolescent little girl all so he could shove the finality between them in her face. Had made her to be the background, as though to cement his dismissal further. Forced her to be just another body to crowd out the audience for a fantasy.

The cheat.

The uncaring, lecherous cheat.

She'd lost her composure at that. Had screamed that word in his ear as he passed by, and his dream-sick eyes had briefly swung her way as though he'd all but forgotten she was there (she being so inconsequential after all). As though she was nothing more than a… a…

—Her eyes scrunched as she tried not to think of that cruel term her brother had used when she'd returned home tearful and furious—

…A moth batting at the glass of his attention…

And then he'd turned away, a careless smirk playing across his lips.

She'd drifted through the ballroom alone, on the fringes and out of sight, through the laughing guests that had likewise been wished in as she had, all of them merry and joyous and more than somewhat drunk on the peach wine flowing freely into their cups. Intoxicated by the atmosphere as they crowded in to watch Jareth and his 'Sarah'. A ludicrous name. Applauding and bellowing as they twirled together in poetic harmony. A match set.

From behind the multitude of masqueraded heads and ostentatious hats she'd caught glimpses of them. Couldn't look away even as tears started to prickle and burn from being so unceremoniously scorned.

It made her heart sink to see how Sarah stared up at him with such wonder. A glimmer of a more adult feeling caused a delicate rose blush across those perfect cheeks. And he returned it tenfold—that look of awe. Held her in a chaste waltz with plenty of space between the two of them, but the devotion in his eyes closed the distance as an enraptured smile overtook his razor-sharp features.

A smile that hardly seemed his. One that seemed… seemed sort of possessed…

Moth lifted her head from her arms at that thought.

Possessed. As though trapped.

Ah. Now that was an interesting idea. The feather resumed its somersaults over her fingers. Up and under and up and under, downy soft between ring and middle finger, fluttering over her knuckles while she puzzled out that look.

Had…Had the brat…

Had she bewitched him somehow? Said some words and set the whole thing in motion?

Well, now I wonder…

A leftover tear attempted to drip down to her chin and Moth wiped it away delicately, resolve hardening.

Sarah had a power of her own, that much was obvious. A strength of will that wouldn't bend if rumors were anything to go by.

She'd witnessed how hard Jareth had gone after her. How much he'd attempted to charm the girl and seduce her into staying, but it hadn't worked. Rumor had it, she'd thrown it all in his face and returned to her realm.

Strange…

Most mortal minds would be helpless against such temptation… Fae ones, too.

By all accounts that angry little thing should be a pet curled up around his boots by now…

And yet the bewitched look on Jareth's face proclaimed that he was mentally already assigning himself the role of lapdog if only Sarah would give in…

Moth huffed, pulled herself away from that train of thought. It was pointless. What was said was said—if anything had been—and couldn't be taken back now. Besides the infamous Sarah had destroyed Jareth's ballroom (an impressively disrespectful action Moth had witnessed first hand, and still had glass shards stuck to the felt of her hat as evidence) and his goblin city—or so she'd heard—and half his castle too. Off and out again, leaving a trail of destruction in her path. Had even won some allies according to court gossip.

Who cares!

It would mean nothing. Mortal lives were fleeting things. A brief intermission between herself and Jareth was all this was, albeit a scorchingly rude one.

She could be patient as he nursed a wounded pride and a broken city. Eventually, he'd find his way back into her company, she had faith in that. He liked her, she was positive.

She held the feather's fronds between her index and middle finger, delicate long digits stroking the fibers as she pulled it through in a caress.

Regardless of how carelessly she'd been cast aside, she was eager to reignite the amity that had begun to flower between them. Not passion— yet—but a coy friendship that had caught her attention with such a fierce grip that her other trysts paled in comparison.

There was something about him that was truly addictive. The harsh lines of his face she so longed to score her nails down. The fierce fire of his eyes that could consume and charm and pull you apart all at once.

He was powerful. And dynamic. And she wanted that for herself. Wanted to count him amongst her admirers, and be worshiped by him. Adored by him. Have those drastic eyes settle on her for more than a couple of heartbeats for a change. Have him speak to her with more than just politeness.

Moth swallowed to release her throat from the strangling misery. No more moping, it was beneath her. Sarah was gone. The end.

A sympathetic ear at the right time and his dreamchild would tumble from his thoughts like broken glass from a smashed window pane.

And until then Moth could wait. It stung now but she could be patient.

Author note: Welcome back one and all! As promised; a sequel to The Power You Have Over Me! (If you're new here, reading that first will make a lot more sense, but I'm not gonna tell ya what to do!)

This fic is based on exactly 2 seconds of ballroom scene. I'll leave you to hunt those 2 seconds down but I personally have overplayed it and now I need to purge.

From the get go; Moth has gatecrashed from William Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' and I fully expect other characters to join her, though this is not a crossover fic.

Grüempy, Aêlst and Røem will return and are previously credited from Brian Froud's he Goblins of the Labyrinth. I missed them so much!

Beta'd by my ever generous RavenLove12!

Please leave a comment in the little box! Gracias,

Geliot99