Author Note:
Hey guys.
So, there's a lot going on in the world in response to this pandemic. This story is not, in any way, meant to make light of what's happening. Someone suggested it on a group I'm part of, and this story just kind of—popped up. Fully formed and ready to go.
A few notes about the timeline: obviously Labyrinth came out in 1986. This story starts in 2002. I was in my early teens during that time, so my knowledge of the era may be a little fuzzy. Please forgive any glaring mistakes.
I also wanted to make an older, more mature Sarah. We see an awful lot of her in her twenties. At first I legit thought about basing this story in 2020 and have her be 50, but the more this story flowered in my mind, the more I wanted to take away her access to our current technology level.
I'm also not a doctor, or a nurse, or any kind of medical health professional. I'm trying to stick to the facts of a virus like COVID-19, but I may make some errors that I hope you will forgive.
But, enough about all of that. Here's the first chapter of our Sarah/Jareth quarantine saga. Enjoy.
-CrimsonSympathy
Chapter One
Sarah
September 17th, 2002. Day 0 of the quarantine.
Sarah watched the news with a mounting sense of horror.
"Tonight at 12:01 a.m., curfew will befall every citizen in these United States of America. This is breaking news coming to you live from Washington D.C., where moments ago President George W. Bush took to the podium to bring us this news which is sure to devastate the world—"
Her phone rang, and she jumped at the sound. Rounding the coffee, she lifted the cordless from its cradle. "Hey Rhonda, did you see the news?"
"There's something they're not telling us," she started, her voice raised and her cadence faster than normal. "First there's 9/11, and now there's a virus? This is warfare. Someone is trying to get us."
"It's affecting the whole world, Rhonda," Sarah said, biting her tongue against what she wanted to say. You idiot." No one is safe from this. Borders don't matter to a virus."
"It can't be a coincidence."
"It is," she insisted. "Have you seen the footage from Afghanistan? They're getting hit hard by this."
Rhonda let out a sniff of derision and Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I need to keep this line clear," she said. "My boss is going to call in a panic any minute."
As soon as the words left Sarah's lips, the call waiting tone buzzed in her ear.
"Shit, I got to go. Rhonda, I'll call you—"
"Yeah, go!"
She hung up and the phone started ringing again. "Williams here," she said without glancing at the caller ID. It was like the phone itself rang louder when he was calling.
"Sarah," Hendricks gasped. "Our clients, our work—it's getting frozen! I heard from the CEO. We're ceasing all operations for the duration of the quarantine. Sarah," he moaned. "What are we going to do?"
Sarah ran a hand over her face. "It'll be okay, Brock. You have something set aside, right? You can get through this?"
"You know this is going to be the end of us, Sarah, oh my god," he let out a keening sound like a dying animal. "I just started seeing him, too."
Her boss as well friend, Brock was prone to hysterics, and this pandemic did nothing to soothe his nerves. Add to it his recent courtship with an attractive nurse who treated him during one of his moments of hypochondria, and Brock was spiraling down a dark hole she wasn't sure she could keep him out of. "Listen to me, hon, you're going to be okay. We'll get through this. You may live in Queens, and we won't see each other for a month, but I'll always be a phone call away, okay?"
Hendricks sniffed loudly, then let out a long breath. "Okay," he said, his voice weak. Small.
Sarah spoke with him for another fifteen minutes while pacing the living room, glancing at the clock on the wall all the while. It was after ten at night. Most of the stores would be closed. Was there anything she needed? She cast an eye over the open metal shelves that served as her cupboard. Plenty of pasta and rice. More than enough condiments. Cereal, baking supplies, canned food, nuts, and more were plentiful. She had stocked up early in the week, borrowing Brock's car to buy in bulk out in Queens where the prices were better. Her fridge was a little lean on fresh produce, but there were plenty of frozen meats and vegetables.
Sarah refocused on the phone call with Brock, offering gentle assurances that she would be there whenever he needed something.
She hung up and stood in the silent living room. As her ears adjusted to not having a sobbing person on the other end of the line, she could hear more from her neighbors and the still-running television. Sinking down on the couch, she stared at the thirty-inch screen. A siren split the night, and someone shouted across the street through the cracked window.
Sarah's apartment was up on the fifth story, well above most but not all her neighbors. Smack between Hudson Yards and Hell's Kitchen, most of the surrounding buildings were still relatively short by New York standards. This one was six stories, and one of the nicer apartment buildings around, with all the modern amenities.
Thinking of that reminded her of her father, and the fit he'd thrown when she'd decided to major in graphic arts at New York University. "What are you going to do with a degree like that?" He'd demanded, red-faced and sputtering. "Work in coffee shops for the rest of your life, that's what!"
But there was a need for people like her. Sarah did less on the creative side and more on the directive side these days, but her dad came around to the idea.
Sarah glanced at the clock again. Nearing eleven. Only a little over an hour to go until the quarantine was to take effect. People caught outside of curfew were to be fined no less than five hundred dollars according to the newscaster now speaking. Repeated offenses and you'd be jailed.
It was too late to call dad and Karen. Too early to call Toby, who was stuck out in Russia as a Senior exchange student. Saint Petersburg had been hard hit by the virus, and been one of the first areas to close its borders to all international flights. It had been too little, too late, but Toby had still been stuck. It would be several more days before their scheduled phone call.
The Russian Virus some people were calling it. Some idiots. Scientists and most sensible people knew the virus could have originated anywhere, at any time. It wasn't Russia's fault.
Her phone rang again, and she glanced down, the device still cradled in her left hand. It was Karen. Not too late after all.
"Hi, Karen," she answered.
"How do you always know it's me? I'm calling from the house phone."
"Dad's in bed by ten on the dot these days, no exceptions even for the end of the world," Sarah tried to sound glib, but indicated from Karen's sigh she hadn't quite managed it. "I don't suppose you'll have much trouble keeping him inside. All he cares about in his retirement is his garden and his golf games."
"Oh, your father is livid they canceled the season. But don't you worry, we've got tapes of some old ones. How are you doing? Taking the news well? Wish you hadn't ended it with Patrick?"
"I know I'm glad I ended it with Patrick," Sarah said. "The last thing I would want for quarantine is to be locked up with someone I hate. Especially someone who cheated on me, Karen, come on I have some level of self-respect." She fiddled with a loose thread on the couch. Not for the first time, she wished she owned a pet. Something to keep her company during long stretches such as these. The newscaster even said walking your dog was an exemption for curfew, so long as you wore a mask.
Karen tsked in her ear. "You're not getting any younger, Sarah. Thirty-two with no marriage prospects, no dates, no nothing? I thought you would grow out of this phase by now. Don't tell me you're—" she lowered her voice. "Are you a lesbian?"
Sarah's face heated. "No, Karen, I'm not a lesbian." It would have been easier if I had been. Then a certain somebody wouldn't creep into her thoughts at inopportune times. Like when she was kissing her boyfriends, or being caressed by them, and then she was imagining a whole other set of hands.
Patrick had been Patrick's fault. He had a wandering dick and Sarah was more than happy to let him go sow his wild oats. Without her. But, like all the others, she never connected with him. Not in the way that people sang about in songs or wrote about in books or talked about in movies. No. There had always been something else. A shape about five foot ten with wild hair that made him seem all the taller.
She bit her bottom lip as Karen went on about biological clocks and how it doesn't do to be too picky in these changing times. She made some little mumbles of affirmation and yawned, glancing at the clock again. Then the calendar on the wall. Then froze.
Oh.
Shit.
She sat bolt upright, clutching the phone to her ear. "Karen? Can I call you back tomorrow?"
"Oh, did I upset you dear, I'm so sorry, it's just that—"
"No, you didn't upset me it's only I realized I still need to get something before all the shops close. Let me call you back tomorrow."
She barely heard her hasty, "Okay dear, but—" before she hung up the phone, heart thundering.
The calendar on the wall had several red circles around today's—tomorrow's—date. A date that was fast approaching, with less than five minutes to go. It was an anniversary of sorts. Late summer bleeding into early fall, it had taken her by surprise the first time, but never again. Not once.
Not until a global pandemic distracted me.
Sarah took a deep, shaking breath and glanced at the window. She crossed the room and closed it, then threw the latch for additional comfort. She checked the other locks as well, making a quick circuit of the small six hundred square foot apartment.
She turned off the TV. As long as he didn't see the news, I should be okay.
A look at the clock again. Two more minutes.
Sarah swore and did a quick check. She was wearing yoga pants and a tank top with no bra. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked around, finding a flannel among her discarded clothes and throwing it on over the tank, buttoning the first couple of buttons.
Thirty seconds.
Sarah ran a hand through her long black hair and checked her appearance in the mirror near the front door before she froze, realizing what she was doing and who she was doing it for. Sarah quickly mussed her hair even more and gave her reflection dual finger guns before padding back into the living room.
Five seconds.
Four.
Two.
She closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
There was a crash of thunder out of previously clear skies, and when she opened her eyes he was there, lounging on the wingback chair that appeared to be his favorite, paging through a copy of Elle magazine and looking all the world like he had been in the midst of a conversation with her when he said, "Well? Have you thought about what I asked?"
It always started like that. Ever since the first visit. Sarah ground her teeth and looked at the clock. Fifty seconds to get him out of here. I can do this. "I have. I would graciously decline, Goblin King."
"Jareth," he corrected, his mismatched eyes lifting to hers over the magazine opened to the Is he good in bed, or do you only think he is? Quiz. "I know I've told you to call me Jareth."
He rose, and not for the first time she noted the feline, predatory grace he possessed. He did not walk, he prowled. Toward her. Sarah sucked in a breath, which was a mistake. Earth and the ozone smell she always associated with magic and him infused the air, making her chest tight.
It's not fair that he can do this to me.
He stopped two feet from her, head canted to the side. "You're getting old, Sarah."
Sarah's jaw dropped open and as she sputtered, his mouth split into a broad grin. "You!"
He laughed. "It's true. You're not the fresh-faced girl who ate the peach anymore, are you? The one on the cusp of womanhood. No," his gaze trailed down, and then down some more, tracing her athletic figure. "Despite your attempt to hide it behind that hideous shirt, you've become a delightful specimen."
She clenched her hands into fists. "It's time for you to leave. I gave you my answer. Same as last time." Twenty seconds.
"You did, didn't you?" He ran a gloved finger over his bottom lip, and her eye caught the movement. His smile widened. "So, Sarah, I will ask you again as I've asked you before: will you return with me to the goblin kingdom? Would you join as my ally and equal? My queen?"
Five seconds. He had to go. "Fine, I'll think about it. You said your piece. Now, leave."
"Why, Sarah..." he paused, his head tilting further, and he half-turned toward the window. "What was that?"
Sarah heard it a moment later. A siren, first one and then more of them, until there was a rising crescendo all around them that could be felt through the floorboards. "It's nothing," She said over the din, frantic now. It was passed 12:01. Curfew was now in effect. "Go on. Get out of here."
A puzzled expression on his face, Jareth turned back to her. The furrow between his brow smoothed and the smile was back, mischievous and cunning both. His eyes flicked over to the television, which came on with a pop and a hiss which made Sarah jump.
The volume was up far louder than what it had been when she had it on last. The news woman's announcement blared through the silent apartment. "That's right, ladies and gentleman, we are now under a national lockdown. According to the President of the United States himself, all citizens are to shelter in place for the next thirty days. I repeat, for the next thirty days we are ordered to shelter in place to prevent the spread of the coronavirus—"
"Why, Sarah," Jareth purred. "Were you trying to prevent me from knowing about this? You should know," he flicked his wrist, and a perfectly spherical crystal appeared on the back of his palm. "I wouldn't have been able to leave anyway, once the curfew came into place."
She felt her face heating. "That's superstition. You're lying." She did her research on the fae, during her college years. There were many conflicting reports on what they were and were not allowed to do once they stepped foot in the human world. One of the more obscure rules she had come across were the rules of hospitality, dictating the fae follow the laws of whatever land they happened to stand on. Apparently, fae were sticklers for the rules.
Jareth wove the crystal between his hands before saying, "This will take you to the Labyrinth. Catch."
He tossed the crystal at her.
She caught it on reflex, flinching as she did, expecting the dry winds of the outer level of the Labyrinth to meet her cheeks. Instead, the crystal sat cold and inert in her hands. "But—"
"It should have worked," he said, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "Oh, well. That would have been a fun mistake to sort out, wouldn't it have been? Now," he sank back into the wingback chair and crossed his legs at the knee. "Whatever shall we do for the next thirty days?"
"Oh, no," Sarah chucked the crystal back at him, and he caught it, letting it dance across his fingers before it disappeared. "You are not staying here for thirty days. I don't care about some dumb fae law. You can find a hotel room."
"Oh, but I can't, sweet Sarah. If I were to attempt to cross your threshold, I would find my way barred. Fae must obey the laws of hospitality. I am in your world, and in your world, I must follow its rules and laws. That is the way of things." He rested his chin in his hand. "Perhaps we can take this time to discuss your wardrobe. This year has taken a decided turn for the worst, I'm afraid, and I thought that power suit with the shoulder pads was bad." He shuddered. "I'm glad Karen stopped forcing you into those ghastly pastel monstrosities."
Sarah crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned against the pillar that separated the kitchen from the living room. "That was once, I was nineteen, and I had a job interview that day."
"And you were still dressed in the horrible outfit hours later, when you knew you would be getting a visit from your dear Goblin King? Please tell me you have more fashion-forward sense than that."
"You're awfully invested in clothing."
"Of course I am, you see how I dress."
She laughed, but then caught herself. When her fingers curled into fists she heard the faint creak of plastic under duress and looked down to find the phone still clutched in her left hand. Inspired, she dialed the few numbers she needed and lifted the phone to her ear.
"Sarah, what are you doing?"
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
"My name is Sarah Williams. I'm at 500 West 43rd St, apartment 4-E as in elephant, and there's a stranger in my domicile refusing to leave. Please send help, I think he may be dangerous."
"Ma'am, are you in a safe—"
She hung up. It will get them here faster.
Jareth stood and was all of a sudden closer and closing in fast. Sarah took a few hasty steps backward, smacking her tailbone into the handle of the oven. "Sarah," he murmured, invading her personal space, bringing with him that roiling smell of fresh lightning. "Did you call the authorities on me?"
She swallowed hard, leaning away from him. His position was precariously close. If she breathed too hard she would press her chest against his. Her nipples tightened a little at the image of that, and she tried to shake herself. Snap out of it.
His breath fanned her face as he leaned forward a touch more, his vest falling forward to touch the flannel she wore. She could feel the heat of him, and her hands hung limp at her side, phone now abandoned on the kitchen counter, fingers twitching with the need to push him away. Or pull him closer.
No.
She couldn't think like that. Not with what was about to happen.
"Sarah," he breathed, the word a whisper of moth wings against her lips. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"
She tried to swallow again but her throat was too dry. "You have to obey the laws of the land," she croaked. "The police enforce those laws."
"Do they?" He chuckled, and one gloved hand raised to trace the air over her cheek. He pulled away a beat later, eyes lingering on her lips. Aside from one time, when she was in her mid-twenties, he had never been so close to her. Not like when they danced in that room—or had it been a dream? "We'll see about that."
While she watched, paralyzed against the oven, Jareth's clothes and hair shifted. The rust-colored leather vest was replaced with one of silk, underneath a fine cut suit jacket to replace the billowy shirt. His hair went from the silver-gold flyaway with streaks to a smooth top bun. His amulet still rested on his chest, this time as a sort of tie pin. He reached up with hands gloved in a pale grey linen to match his suit and adjusted the symbol of his power.
Sarah's mind flashed on a moment of weakness, some years ago, when she felt the heat of that metal device against her skin, beneath her fingertips. The one other time, save tonight, she had been in the Goblin King's presence for more than a minute or two. Not since she conquered the Labyrinth, and apparently earned the right to be its protector in more than name. He had told her, over the years: you are meant to rule by my side.
She shivered now as the memory teased too-sensitive skin. His hand cupping her face, the warmth of him searing through the leather of his gloves. Yet no matter how long she stayed pressed against him, he never burned her. Instead, her body drank up that heat, tightened muscles loosening and breath leaving her in a sigh.
Sarah shook herself and refocused on Jareth, who was now adjusting his suit jacket, golden cufflinks sparking in the low light of her few lamps. It always seemed bright enough to her, but now that he was here, she realized it looked like mood lighting. She flipped the switch on the kitchen overhead, bathing herself in fluorescent glory. Jareth's nose wrinkled, and he took a step out of the circle of light, glancing up at the offending fixture.
There was a pop and Sarah shrieked, covering her head. "Are you serious?"
"Whatever do you mean?" He smirked, head tilted to the side as he once against adjusted his gloves.
He's fiddling, she realized with some degree of fascination. He's nervous. "What are you worried about?"
The abrupt change in her tone and line of questioning startled the Goblin King, who frowned at her and put his hands to his side, curling them into fists. "Nothing to concern you, precious."
She scowled. "I hate that nickname."
His eyes lit up. "Do you?"
Fuck. She did not respond, inching further into the kitchen, though it was a dead end. Anything to get further away from him. But Jareth made no further move toward her, instead examining all the things she had stuck to her refrigerator over the last two years she'd lived here. Birthday cards. A polaroid of Toby with his new friend Alexei in Saint Petersburg, the two boys pink-cheeked and hugging each other around the neck, grinning. It was her favorite picture of him, and she saw it every day.
There was a little dry erase calendar long fallen to disuse as a to-do list. Laundry, it said in her looping cursive hand, clean bathroom, clean bedroom, clean apartment. His smirk was back, and she crossed her arms harder across her stomach, leaning into the corner cabinets nearest the dishwasher. Her heart was picking up a rhythm like a jackhammer, and she kept trying to look at something, anything, other than him.
Running the tip of his index finger over her clipped coupon for Pop Secret, Jareth said, "You're staring."
There was a knock on the door, keeping Sarah from letting loose a biting comment. He was baiting her. She knew he was baiting her, but she could not help but want to respond. And if she pushed him too far, well—a part of her thrilled at what he might do if she pushed him too far.
Jareth moved to the front door while she still stood there, mouth agape and fury rising like a tide of wildfire. She followed him, steps deliberate, and rounded the corner to the front hall as he pulled open the door, stepping aside with a grand sweep of his arm. "Officers, do come in."
The two men at the door hesitated, assessing Sarah and Jareth both before they stepped into the hallway and Sarah backed up, allowing them to pass into the living room. One of them stopped near the entry to the living room and bedroom, letting his partner do a quick assessment of the room while he turned back to them. "So, Miss Williams, you made the call?"
"Yes, I—"
Jareth gave a small laugh, soft enough to cause the hair on the back of Sarah's neck rise.
"I, um," she cleared her throat. "Yes."
"Ma'am, do you need to speak to me privately?"
"What? No! No. It's fine. He's fine." She waved a hand at Jareth dismissively, as though to demonstrate how little it meant that he was there. Jareth snorted. "Really. Yes, I made the call. My friend here is a little…enthusiastic. Could you please tell him it's okay if he leaves this apartment to find his own accommodations during the quarantine? He thinks he'll get in trouble if he leaves." She cast him a look. Got you now.
The cop sighed as his partner from the other room let out a whistle and said, "Oh, boy."
"Ma'am," the first officer said, his tone suggesting that any amusement, had there ever been any, was now gone. "Has this man behaved in a threatening manner? Do you know him? Has he been following you?"
Sarah squared her shoulders. "No, he hasn't. I do know him." She didn't answer his last question because it would have been a resounding yes, and she wasn't sure she wanted to throw Jareth to the wolves. He deserved it, but something in her hesitated. "I want him to go. I can't be stuck here with him for the next thirty days. Help, please."
"Listen." The cop ran a hand over his bald head. "Come here." He motioned toward the bedroom and Sarah followed him in. She didn't bother to shut the door behind her, pretty sure Jareth could hear through the wood. "Okay, listen lady—"
"Sarah," she said. "Please."
"Sarah, you got two choices here. One, I book this guy on trespassing charges, and he spends the next thirty days in an overcrowded county lockup where he's assured to get this disease we're supposed to be avoiding. We have a freeze on all but the most important judicial cases. Most of the court and the DA are gone, you understand? He'd be way, way at the bottom of the list to get to. He would be released after the thirty days, so he was no longer our responsibility under quarantine law, but he'd spend those thirty days miserable. So, your second choice is to wait him out. Keep making him unwanted, and he'll leave on his own. Won't you, buddy?" The last was spoken with a raised voice, directed at the Goblin King who now leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Jareth flashed a smile. "Assuredly not. I'll make myself useful during the stay, Sarah, you'll see."
The cop sighed and reached into his breast pocket, extracting a white business card with the city police department logo on one side and his personal contact information on the other. "I'm Rico Salamanca. Call me if he gives you any kind of trouble." He looked to Jareth again. "You could go get a hotel room or something, mister, we're not going to stop you."
"Would it be against the law?"
"Technically? Yes."
"Then, no. I won't be doing that."
"Come on, man," Rico sighed. "The girl isn't interested. Don't be a dick. Go somewhere else."
"Is it my understanding that the police force is requiring me to break this law to seek alternative accommodations?"
The cop went still and stared Jareth down. "You want to watch it, buddy?" He asked, his voice soft but brittle as glass. "I could still book you on trespassing. Don't push it."
Sarah slipped the card into the front pocket of her flannel, glancing at Jareth as she did so. "Thank you, Officer Salamanca, for your counsel. I guess I'll keep him around for now. I don't want him in jail."
"They'd eat him alive," Rico muttered, sending her a wink.
She smiled, but inside she was thinking, no, he'd have the entire building doing his biding in a matter of hours. Jareth was her problem. She didn't want to unleash him on the populace.
Should have thought about before I called the cops. It seemed simple at the time. He was trespassing. He was breaking one of the laws. That might be enough to poof him back to his own world. But now, when faced with the reality of it? Jareth wouldn't take kindly to confinement, though she had the feeling he wouldn't resist arrest.
The thought of handcuffs tightening over his wrists made something low in her belly clench. What would it be like, to have the Goblin King so totally at her power? She never thought like this about anyone else, ever, but the image warmed her in more ways than one.
The cop, Rico, moved out of the bedroom, which Sarah realized with a despairing look was in an utter state of chaos. As was the living room, if she were honest. And the kitchen. Now that she had not one but three men in the house with her, she realized how ridiculous this must look. A man, very rich and likely very powerful, in the semi-squalid one-bedroom apartment of a mid-level manager at a marketing firm. Trying to woo the reticent woman.
She wondered if they could sense the undercurrent of a heavy past between her and Jareth. If they knew that there was something more there to uncover.
The cops said their good-byes as their radios crackled with another call. Officer Salamanca gave her another long look at the front door. "If he does anything, call me. I may come check on you, anyway. Hear that, bud?"
"Loud and clear," Jareth said from behind her, startling her enough to make her jump. "Thank you for your visit, gentleman. It was a pleasure."
Sarah shut the door and leaned her forehead against it. Standing in the narrow hall with him so close was—bad. She could hear his breathing, could feel the heat of him, he stood so near.
"Sarah," he said, his voice whisper-soft. "You didn't let them arrest me."
"No," she said, forehead still pressed to the door, her voice sounding flat to her own ears. "Don't make me regret it." She pushed off and past him, shoulder brushing his as she skirted around. She could hear his footfalls as he followed her, and she stopped in the living room, looking with fresh eyes at everything that surrounded her. "Tomorrow I'm cleaning. Tonight, I'm—" she glanced at him. "I'm going to bed. Do whatever you like, I guess. I'm barricading my door."
"Do you think that will stop me?" His tone was teasing, though there was a darker undercurrent to it. Something sinister.
Sarah scoffed and folded her arms. "Look, whatever you think is going to happen in the next thirty days, it's not happening, okay? Get that through your head."
He said nothing.
After staring at him for a little longer, Sarah dropped her arms and moved around him to her bedroom, closing and locking the door before casting her gaze about the room and pushing her dresser against it. It wasn't perfect, but hopefully if he tried to get in she could go down the fire escape. She wasn't held here by any fae laws. She might be shirking the quarantine, but she would rather that than be at his mercy.
She shivered, glancing at the door again.
Seven years ago, when she was twenty-five, she had come close to saying yes. He had caught her at a moment of weakness, and she almost succumbed. Sarah touched her cheek, under her left eye. His lips had pressed there, drinking up her tears as he held her in an embrace so warm and so safe. She had never known the like of it again.
"Stop it," she whispered aloud to herself. "It's not going to happen again."
She cut her hands through her hair in frustration.
Thirty days.
It might pass in a flash, she thought. She sank down heavy on her bed, pulling off her socks in preparation for sleep. She tossed them on the vague pile in one corner of her room where a laundry hamper had once been. Then again, this might be the longest thirty days in the history of humanity.
She had the feeling the Goblin King, and whatever he planned, would put her through her paces.