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"WOOSH!"
Sarah shrieked as the torches around the room burst into flame.
"Good morning, Lady Sarah. We hope you've enjoyed sleeping late." Pyotr's condescending tone was exaggerated by the shallow, half-hearted bow he gave.
Pyotr, Natalia, and Sephira all stood next to her bed while Dabella and Kinsleigh hung back with heads lowered.
"We've come to prepare you for the ball!" giggled Natalia, her blonde hair quivering as she shook with excitement. "We just can't wait to dress you up—the king is bringing something special!" Both Natalia and Sephira looked at her hungrily, as if she were prey to be devoured rather than a doll to dress up.
"Isn't it too early to prepare for a ball? Won't the ball be at night?" Sarah asked with trepidation. She didn't want a repeat of the day before—or the day before that. If it were up to her, she would sit quietly alone in her room, unbothered and untouched. She fingered her manacles gingerly, itching at the edges.
"This isn't your first, so I would've supposed you knew the ways of a Goblin Ball," remarked Pyotr with his nose turned up.
"When it is too late to be afternoon and too early to be evening, that is when the Goblin Ball begins," said Sephira, her hazel eyes keenly narrowed. Sarah didn't think that was a very specific time.
"And, when does it end…?" Sarah asked. That was more important to her than anything. She did not wish to endure more ridicule and more of Jareth's advances longer than she needed to.
"A Goblin Ball ends at sunrise," said Natalia. Sarah sighed in both annoyance and relief; a whole night was a long time, but at least there was an end.
"So it's a good thing we live Underground and sunrise is whenever we want it to be!" cackled Natalia. Sarah winced. The Fae's laugh could've been beautiful, if it weren't for the maniacal, ear-piercing edge.
"They can go on for days if the king keeps the sun from rising. I heard legend that our ancestors once danced at a ball for three weeks," Sephira chimed in, voice low. Sarah gulped; three weeks of a ball and three weeks of night both sounded awful.
"Dabella. Kinsleigh." Pyotr clapped twice. "Draw her a ceremonial bath. And don't forget the ceremonial sponges."
The handmaidens both bowed and approached Sarah, each gently taking her by an arm. Sarah slipped out of bed, her mouth dry as cotton, and walked wordlessly to the bathroom.
Dabella gently helped Sarah undress from the silk pajamas that had been left on the bed the night before. Jade green, like her eyes. Sarah crossed her arms in front of her breasts, still shy in front of these new women.
Kinsleigh kneeled down next to the tub and held her hands out in front of her. A little breeze surrounded the Fae, and Sarah took a step back. A crystal chest of royal proportions appeared with a light thud. Kinsleigh opened the heavy lid, its gold detail glinting in the low light, to reveal an array of vials and other strange shapes Sarah couldn't make out.
"What's that?" she asked.
"The nobility have a traditional ritual how to prepare for events like balls, weddings, funerals and such. First, a bath of milk and honey," said Kinsleigh. The bath began to fill with water. Dabella pinned up Sarah's hair while Kinsleigh poured a large jar of white liquid into the tub. She soon added a viscous, yellow substance that Sarah could only assume was honey. Sarah stepped into the bath.
"What is your favorite flower, Lady Sarah?" asked Dabella.
"Lily," Sarah replied. That wasn't her favorite flower, but it was the first one that came to mind. Dabella closed her eyes and touched the chest. Sarah couldn't see what was happening, but Dabella soon drew out two white bars of soap. They smelled strongly of lily. She handed one to Kinsleigh, who began to sing. They ran the bars of soap over Sarah's skin slowly and methodically. Kinsleigh's song didn't have words, or if it did, the weren't any words Sarah could understand. Next came two white washcloths; Kinsleigh sung on. Sarah would've swore the whole ordeal took an hour at least. When the song had ended, Sarah tried to rise.
"Ah ah ah," Dabella stopped her. "Now it's time for the crystal bath."
"Crystal? How can—" Her question was answered as Kinsleigh brought out vials of shimmery sand. Dabella drained the tub and refilled it, gently rinsing off any visible remnant of the milk bath. Sarah ran a hand over her arm, noticing how much smoother her skin felt. When the bath was full again, Dabella unpinned Sarah's hair, coaxing her down into the water until she was mostly submerged. Kinsleigh dumped the dust. Sarah gulped; crystals were just minerals. She hoped this wasn't sulfur or some other foul-smelling mineral. Whatever it was, the water began to glitter as the powdered crystals swirled through. Sarah remembered they were in a world governed by magic not science, and certainly not geology. Dabella gently submerged Sarah's head and swiftly brought her out again. When Sarah squinted her eyes open, she saw Kinsleigh approaching her with another vial.
"Lily again, my lady?" Sarah nodded. They washed her hair with expert fingers. Not once did they tug or pull. Sarah closed her eyes as they shampooed and conditioned her long black hair. This was better than any spa she had been to.
Next, two white sponges were procured. "Only royalty may use these," said Dabella. They sponged her down as carefully as they had done with the soap and cloths. Sarah skin shimmered from the crystal.
"Your song was beautiful, Kinsleigh," said Sarah.
"Thank you my lady. It is an ancient one, only known within the houses of the nobility. It's meant to invite luck."
"We sing before any ceremony. Although this is just a ball, the king has told us to think of it as your engagement party," said Dabella, sadness twinging the edges of her voice. Sarah gulped.
When they rinsed her and helped her out of the tub, Sarah reached for a towel hanging on the wall. Dabella grabbed her by the wrist.
"Those are not tradition." She reached her hand out in front of her, and a towel materialized out of thin air. By now Sarah had her arms wrapped around herself, the chill starting to set in. Dabella wrapped her in an enormous, silver towel. It felt soft as silk, yet heavy and warm. The chill left immediately.
"Unicorn hair," said Kinsleigh. "The queen's wedding dress and many other things are made of unicorn hair. But this—" Kinsleigh reached down into the crystal chest. Secured to the underside of the lid with golden bands was a single vial, separate from the rest of the chest's contents. In it was a silvery white powder. "Powdered unicorn horn. Only used the day of the royal wedding on the soon-to-be Queen."
"Pure magic," said Dabella.
Sarah couldn't help but stare. Her eyes sparkled at the thought of pure magic being dusted onto her; perhaps it was something she could use to her advantage. Kinsleigh returned the vial and pulled out a large jar.
"We're to lotion and oil you," she said plainly. Sarah sighed and shrugged off the towel before handing it to Dabella who bowed; this was a lot. Again Fae hands passed over her slowly and methodically. Kinsleigh sang the ancient song again, with Dabella humming along intently. They lotioned her limbs and feet—and Sarah was glad those were all they touched. It smelled of roses and jasmine, and was so strong that Sarah's eyes watered.
Dabella reached out to grab Sarah's breast.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoooooa!" cried Sarah, jumping backwards and swatting her arms wildly. "What are you doing?!" She crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively.
Kinsleigh stopped singing and bowed her head. Dabella did the same.
"A thousand pardons, my lady, but next comes the oil."
"That's fine, but you can't just grab me. And I don't need oil there." Sarah whisper-screamed, hoping her Fae-in-waiting didn't hear the outburst. Kinsleigh and Dabella shared the smallest look before dropping their chins down to their chest, but Sarah noticed. "What?" she demanded.
"My lady," said Kinsleigh. "It's tradition. I understand that you will not be taking part in any…merriment, what with your betrothal to the king and The Wait that comes with that. But this is the way, and these oils are ancient, usually only meant for female direct-descendants of the kings and queens."
"Balls are usually times when the gentry mingle with each other," said Dabella. Sarah didn't like the way she said "mingle." "Married or not, everyone—aside from married ruling monarchs—mingles together."
"How perverse," said Sarah, crinkling up her nose.
"That's nobility," said Kinsleigh.
"That's Fae," concurred Dabella.
Sarah gulped. "Do what you must—but warn me this time!"
A crystal beaker of honey-colored oil was taken from the chest. Gem encrusted paintbrushes were procured, and the two singing Fae proceeded to paint sweet-smelling oil across Sarah's most intimate regions. Sarah squinted her eyes shut and tried not to focus on the false-gentle brush strokes they painted beneath her breasts, between and under her buttocks, in bands around her thighs, and into the creases of her groin. The final touches were painted on as Dabella traced tiny circles of oil around her ankles, for some strange reason. Sarah released a breath she didn't known she'd been holding.
Dabella took her hands abruptly. "No one will even come close enough to smell or see. It's just a formality." She didn't say it out loud, but the Fae's eyes said "be strong."
Kinsleigh resumed her singing, but the tune changed.
"This song calls the night," said Dabella as she retrieved a piece of cloth Sarah hadn't noticed before. "It prays that the night finds you, and that the harsh light of the day does not keep you revealed. That the darkness comes like a blanket and encases you kindly." Sarah gulped again; she would much rather the daylight. Dabella slipped the tiny piece of material, which turned out to be a slip, over Sarah's head. "Spider silk," she added.
Sarah shuddered at the thought of spiders, but the silk was the softest material she'd ever touched. She looked down at herself. The thin material was completely see-through, and Sarah wondered why she was wearing it in the first place. Sarah blushed; she didn't want to go out in front of Pyotr bearing it all. The dark hair between her legs was a dark cloud behind the silk, even the pink of her nipples looked dark behind the delicate slip. Sarah's blush spread down her neck as her nipples hardened and puckered in the chill of the air. She wished she were invisible, she wished she could sink through the floor and into the earth.
"Rather, I don't wish I were different at all; I wish this place were different and I were in an entirely different situation all together. My body's reactions are normal. It's this place, these people, that are humiliating," Sarah thought as they lightly oiled her hair. Before Sarah knew what was happening, they ushered her back into the room. Sarah took once last glance back at the bathroom, noticing the chest had already disappeared.
To her dismay, Pyotr was still out in the bedroom, sipping wine along with Sephira, Natalie, and…
Jareth.
Sarah crossed her arms in front of her chest and tried to make herself small.
"Precious," said Jareth, stepping towards her, "I have a gift." The king stood there like a storm cloud. The entire room seemed darker in his presence, as if he were not only blocking out the light, but sucking it from the very atmosphere. He held a voluminous dress bag of black silk, adding to his dark presence. Sarah swallowed dryly. "This dress, was made specially for you. I hope you'll like it. It reminds me of the girl inside you, and the woman who now stands before me." He walked towards her, slowly, and as he reached her, he stroked her arm with the back of his knuckles. Sarah thought the room grew colder. The king turned to leave, tweaking a strand of her hair as he did. He handed the dress bag to Pyotr.
"I'll pick you up later. Be ready. I'm sure they will have you dressed and adorned to my liking." And with a flash of his cape, he went up in a whirl of sandy white feathers. He flew through the doorway and let out an ear-piercing screech as he disappeared over the balcony.
"Well, that certainly set the scene," said Pyotr, his eternally disinterested voice breaking the silence.
The three Fae tossed their wine glasses into the air; Sarah winced, expecting them to shatter everywhere, but they simply disappeared in twinkles of light. Kinsleigh and Dabella hung back by the bathroom door while Natalia began to giggle as ripples of red flowed from the dress bag. The movements of the three Fae grew rapid, eager, as they crowded Sarah's vision.
"My, this is a wonder to behold," said Pyotr. As he turned around, dress held high, Sarah's mouth ran dry. It was the dress. The dress. Only now it was different—but it was also the same. No longer the stuff of childhood dreams, but still an homage that made Sarah's stomach turn. Instead of a glittering ivory, ruby red material flowed from Pyotr s hands like blood. The gold detail and amber gems were now both black, black thread and onyx gems. Instead of voluminous, poofy sleeves, arm-length fingerless gloves of black silky material hung at the dress's side. The bustles to the sides were a darker wine red and overlaid with black lace.
"You are very lucky to have earned the king's favor, lady Sarah," said Sephira. How did her voice always sound seductive? Everything she said sounded like a sultry beckoning to…to what, Sarah didn't know. But she swallowed a dry gulp in response.
"Yes yes, very beautiful, but come now, we haven't got all day." The hairs on the back of Sarah's neck prickled at the familiar phrase. Like the helping hands, Fae hands began to grab and pull at her. Her vision went dark as the dress slipped over her head, and five pairs of hands poked and prodded, seemingly unnecessary actions, Sarah felt. When the corset was cinched and the dress enveloped her body like her own shadow, Pyotr's iron grip closed around her arm. He drug her before the mirror.
"You look so beautiful, for a human." Sarah did look beautiful. The dress was beautiful. But the overwhelming sea of red made her heart beat faster. She held up her hands to look at where the fingerless gloves closed around her third fingers and made two fists.
"That doesn't feel like a compliment," said Sarah, seeing red—and not from the dress. Pyotr ignored her and placed his hand on her stomach. He stroked it gently.
"Oh well; humans still make strong Fae babies.
Sarah ripped herself from his grip and backed up slowly, terror replacing anger. "Start styling her hair and pinning into place. We have to get to her face as soon as possible." Pyotr stepped after her retreat while Sarah felt four hands take her and turn her back towards her handmaidens. Sarah didn't know how many hours the look had taken, but eventually her hair was piled high and magicked into place. Sarah supposed hairspray or any kind of aerosol spray didn't exist in the Underground. The swirling silver hairpins were the same as in that peach-induced dream ball, only now rubies took the place of crystals and diamonds. Sarah's eyes watered as Sephira and Natalia stabbed at her face with pencils and brushes; she missed the gentle hands of Kinsleigh and Dabella, who had been kind when they'd coiffed her hair. In the end, Sarah hardly recognized herself; her scarlet lips and heavily lined eyelids didn't seem to belong to her face. They'd double-lined her upper lids, the black eyeliner flowing out towards her temples in inky swirls; Sarah thought it was too couture for her predicament. Kidnapped women didn't partake in high-fashion, though those who did freely seemed to anyway have a hard time escaping the cutthroat world of haute-couture. But everything must come to an end at some point, Sarah thought, though before now she'd never thought these words with feelings of relief. Her already alabaster skin was powdered to an even paler complexion, and they'd added a black beauty mark above her lip.
"Marvelous," said a voice from behind her. She turned to find Jareth standing there, dressed to the nines—to the tens, if that were possible. He strode towards her, twirling a short, black walking stick with a white tip straight out of a Bob Fosse show. His hair looked as wild as ever, the tip of each wispy lock dyed red. His black overcoat was a cross between a coat-tailed tuxedo and a European frock you'd see in a nineteenth century painting. Edwardian ruffles spilled out of the ends of his tuxedo sleeves and over the neckline of a red vest, which was tightened around his waist with a black cummerbund. For the first time, Sarah was looking upon an un-legginged Goblin King; his black tuxedo pants had red tuxedo stripes, and while they were certainly tight as far as tuxedo pants go, his codpiece was the least conspicuous she'd ever seen. Sarah averted her gaze. His lips were nearly as red as Sarah's, and a shimmering, ruby eyeshadow hooded his eyes and made them look all the more striking. He tossed his cane back and forth between white-gloved hands as he skulked towards Sarah. "You make a ravishing companion tonight."
Sarah took an involuntary step backwards. He closed the distance between them and grabbed her by the arm. "Pyotr," he said, not breaking eye contact with Sarah, "Please tell those concerned that the king is on his way." Pyotr bowed and blinked out of the room as if he'd never been there. "Sarah, we don't normally propose to our catches after a Faery Hunt, though my hunt was far from traditional. Still, I wanted to do you the honor of asking..." Jareth sunk slowly to one knee. "Will you be my bride?" He pulled a ring box from his pocket and opened it before her, revealing a massive jewel set into an engagement ring. Sarah had never seen a ring so fine nor a gem so large. It looked like a diamond, but perhaps it was crystal; Sarah couldn't believe she found herself thinking about the ring's composition. She grit her teeth in simmering anger.
"No."
She heard her ladies-in-waiting make disapproving mewls, but Jareth held up a hand to silence them. "Luckily you saying 'yes' is not a part of this tradition. I merely thought I'd be generous enough to ask." He rose to his feet. "Your consent was not needed, it's merely the ceremony of it all. I though it would be a nice touch for you..." he rose and drew closer. His free hand struck out and grabbed her left wrist. Sarah tried to fight, but he jerked her close to him and spun her around until her back was flush against his front. He struggled against her flailing arms but eventually got ahold of her left hand, which he jammed the ring onto without gentleness. Sarah cried out as the ring painfully bore down on her finger at a strange angle; she wore his engagement ring. They stood there, pressed together and panting. A purple bruise was quickly forming on two of Sarah's fingers. "I'd say sorry about that, but I think it was you who caused it," he said, lifting her hand towards his face. Sarah winced as the throbbing pain turned to stabbing as he bent her hand; she whimpered. He brought her hand to his face and kissed her fingers, and Sarah gasped as the pain disappeared and her skin turned to it's natural color. "All better," he purred in her ear. Sarah shivered.
Like a hurricane without warning, suddenly he was dragging her towards the door and the room seemed to tear away from its foundation. Everything was changing around her slowly, as if they were passing through a domain of chaos. Somehow Sarah's feet always touched solid ground though there only seemed to be nothingness under and around her. There was darkness and pieces of stone, and then all at once the walls seemed to reform around them. The sky grew light once more, and Sarah shielded her eyes with her free hand as a blinding, glittering light surrounded them. Her eyes adjusted, but she immediately regretted her ability to see; they stood in the ballroom. The ballroom. Instead of standing in the middle of the debauchery and dancing that unfolded below them, the hovered above it all, looking down on it like some nightmare where you observe horrors but you can't do anything to change them, including scream. Sarah would've loved to scream, but all sound caught in her throat and her breath seemed to stop in her lungs. Her feet felt as if they stood on solid ground, but she didn't see any kind of platform.
"Citizens of the Underground!" Jareth's voice boomed over the ballroom like thunder, and the music and laughter disappeared as quickly as an extinguished candle.
"Welcome one and welcome all," continued Jareth, as if he were some announcer in an arena of gladiators. "I present to you...my bride...and...YOUR QUEEN!" The ballroom below erupted in cheers and whistles. Sarah felt her knees grow week. As if to feed the crowd's frenzy, Jareth looped his arm around her waist and squeezed her to him. Sarah wanted to push him away, but she also didn't want to fall off the invisible platform. Suddenly, they began sinking towards the ground. Sarah wobbled and threw her arms around Jareth, causing a sickening grin crawled across his face; she held on tight. Once their feet hit the floor, a deafening silence spread through the crowd. All at once, sound exploded as music began, and everyone swooped into a dance as if it had been choreographed and counted off.
Jareth spun her around the room; Sarah's feet somehow moved along with his dance. Masked faces and gaping maws leered at her and passed by in blurs of technicolor. The dance was wild, then it was slow, then it was waltzing and lilting along. Sarah didn't know how long they'd been dancing, but Jareth abruptly drug her off to the side of the room. A gold-skinned attendant waited with a tray of food; Sarah was famished. She didn't wait for the king to offer, and grabbed a sandwich hastily from the tray.
"You majesty!" said a stout man in a bulbous-nosed mask. "So glad you could present us with your beautiful bride. What a marvelous party!" he said, waving an empty champagne flute around like a conductor's baton. A sprightly man hung off one of his shoulders while a voluptuous woman hung off the other.
"Future Queen Sarah, glad to see you keeping up an appetite; you'll need all the stamina you can get to survive an evening with our king!" giggled the woman.
"Indeed, he's a stallion when it comes to dancing," chortled the sprightly man. Sarah swallowed thickly and grabbed another sandwich. Jareth laughed at the denizens' half-drunken commentary and stole Sarah away for another dance. Her final, uneaten bite of sandwich toppled from her hand and was quickly smooshed under the foot of a dancer. Jareth spun her in unison with the dancers around the ballroom. Sarah succumbed to the dance, and prayed the dance would go on; this was better than being at the mercy of the Fae and their cruel words. Let them dance, and let her be safe from their gossiping mouths and groping hands.
Jareth pushed her away.
Sarah cried out as she spun into the arms of another man. He wore a contorted, long-nozed mask with gold edges. Sarah tried to pull away, but he cackled and held her captive in the frenzy. Sarah jerked her head to keep her face away from him, but with the next turn he pushed her into the arms of another man. This one had a silver gargoyle mask. "No, let me go!" cried Sarah. The room spun around her, and suddenly she was flanked by two women, spinning her around.
Mismatched eyes flashed before her.
"What...?" whispered Sarah, inaudible in the cacophony around her. She craned her neck to find those eyes. Another man spun her to the beat of the music. This one reeked of wine and growled with pleasure. He brought his face close to Sarah's neck and inhaled her scent hungrily.
They spun around, and Sarah found herself once more in the arms of the goblin king.
"Enjoying yourself?" Jareth asked. The music slowed, and they swayed gently. Sarah refused to answer. "You look fantastic. You put the rest of these women to shame." Sarah thought it was just like Jareth to shallowly compare her appearance to other women.
"I won't marry you," Sarah said plainly. She didn't want to draw attention; there could be a friend, or at least an ally, among this crowd.
"Can't we postpone this argument and just enjoy the dance?" said Jareth.
"You can go right ahead. Don't let me stop you," Sarah snapped.
Jareth leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. "You couldn't possibly," he whispered. He nipped at her earlobe.
They danced on.
"You know," he continued, "I would try to stay in everyone's good graces. Especially mine. A human in our world; you're their newest plaything." Push. He shoved her into the crowd, and she was spun around and around. She twirled the perimeter of the dancefloor, passing between the arms of men and women who shone like stars and laughed like demons.
Mismatched eyes flashed before her.
Sarah gasped and spun around, only to be grabbed again by a woman with a unicorn-horned mask. By the time she looked back, the eyes were gone.
Why should she be so urgent to see Jareth again? One eye green, one eye ice blue. She'd looked into them time and time again. But, he'd never looked at her this way. Why did they draw her in? Why did they intrigue her so?
Then, she was without a partner, she was standing in the center of the room as dancers whirled around her like a tornado, and she stood in the eye of the storm. Then he was there, before her. Jareth stood in front of her, masked, like he had been all those years ago. His red vest shone like rubies, and his mask was bejeweled with actual rubies. Sarah took a step towards him, as if led by a spell. She needed to get to him. In a flash, he was gone.
Sarah spun around, the dancers were closing in. Their dresses and bodies brushed against her. Where was he?
"Sarah!" Sarah spun to find the goblin king standing directly behind her. "Don't get too caught up in the festivities now."
And just like that, the spell broke, and Sarah couldn't wait to get away from the man who held her. His arms encircled and entrapped, and once more, they danced.
"Look at me," Sarah demanded. His mismatched eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed in pleasure at the demanding tone of his beloved's voice. Sarah looked at him. One green, one ice blue; Sarah dove into those eyes, but found only pools of malice. She tried to pull away, again, tried to fight him. But he laughed. The music was coming to a climax, and his laugh was drowned out. The music finished in a torrential crescendo, and all the Fae stopped to clap and cheer, many of them turning to look at their king and his companion.
"Don't worry;" said Jareth, placing a kiss upon her hand, "the night is still young."
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