She was on the floor, she thought drowsily. It was still dark outside.
Wait. What the hell was she doing on the floor?
She opened her eyes wide and stared at the ceiling.
Why the hell was she on the floor?
She had been in her bed last she checked. She hadn't fallen off because, well, she would have noticed it if she suddenly thumped to the ground. And she didn't make it a habit to sleep on the floor. Gave her a terrible crick in the neck, ususally. Speaking of which, she had one. Damn.
Well, best to get back into bed.
She sat up.
Pain pain pain pain.....
Hmmm. Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea after all.
Tylenol, anyone?
No, drat, she hadn't had time to go to the store yet. And such a headache, too.
Life could be so cruel.
*Just as I can be so cruel*
Stupid mind. What a time to be quoting Jareth. Of course, it wasn't always such a hot idea to be quoting him anyway. People gave her funny looks when she did. Not the she cared all that much about them. They were boring, mostly. What she needed to find were some people who liked Labyrinth.
Right, there were just dozens of them floating around...
God, she felt so alone. Why did Jareth mean so much to her? Really, what was it that he represented for her? Power? Beauty? Self-confidence? Magic? Seduction?
All of the above. Duh...
And, of course, the fact that he was prone to teenage brunette girls who liked magic and fantasy and make-believe. Which was sort of odd in itself. Why would someone like that want a teenage girl, hmmm? What on earth could he possibly need her for? Well, besides the occasional amusement. After all, had to get pretty boring to have all these powers and nothing to do with them.
Could it be he needed her dreams, her wishes? A psychic vampire of sorts. Well, the vampire bit would explain his general appearance. Especially that scene where he gave Hoggle the peach. Talk about vampiric effects. Hmmm, a psychic vampire that fed off dreams and wishes. Perfectly possible. Would explain why he needed Sarah. But the longing in his voice hadn't just been for her dreams...they were for her, as well. He had wanted her. He had been most attracted to her when she had been strong and mentally powerful - like him. He needed someone like himself...
Or, actually, he wanted someone like himself. And Sarah hadn't been that at all in the beginning. Or perhaps she had and she had just needed the Labyrinth to allow that personality to surface.
The Labyrinth had made Sarah the dominating force which attracted Jareth.
If he had created it for her, or at least based on her subconscious, he had inadvertently caused her to be that powerful individual. He had made Sarah into what he desired.
So he did do it all for her...at least, ostensibly. He did it for himself, too, on another level.
But he had made her into what he needed. Which was why he was so disappointed when she refused him at the end. His creation had deserted him.
He had made Sarah what she was. What he wanted.
Those two thoughts refused to leave her mind.
She shivered.
But now was not the time for these thoughts. She needed to sleep. Now was the time for sleep to hopefully allow her release from the agony in her head. It was time for sleep to come and take her away.
*Right now*
She laughed to herself. Stupid Jareth-obsessed subconscious.
Climbing into her bed, she closed her burning eyes and, attempting to ignore the pain, told herself to go to sleep. Obeying as it always did, her mind allowed her to sleep.
*************************
What an odd defense mechanism the girl's mind had. Rather than crack under the strain of such power, it had simply buried the memories of his visitation deep. It allowed the power to run loose, though. The connections were still there, the doorways to her mind still open. All that unbridled power was probably giving her a headache, actually. Which was better than a hemorrhage. Her mind was not so fragile as he had supposed.
It had absolutely rejected the thought of his visitation, for one. Most odd.
But her mind was making more thought connections on its own without his prodding. She was beginning to realize the deeper motives of his creation of the Labyrinth for Sarah. Which might signal her that he was manipulating her to suit his needs as well. Of course, the change was improvement but some individuals reacted violently to the fact that someone was attempting to alter them.
Of course, her mind was ignoring him completely at this point so it didn't much matter.
He didn't particularly care for being ignored.
Rationality perhaps. It could explain things away to a certain extent and then it simply ignored them. So her rationality was a more integral part of her character, was it? So it refused to acknowledge his presence, did it?
It could only ignore him to a certain extent. Only until absolute evidence proved otherwise. That was the way rationality worked. Logic had its limits.
It was time to provide something of a more concrete nature.
In the waking world.
*************************
The sunlight shone into her eyes. Ah, the joys of having your bed facing the window. Hell, at least she wasn't on the floor this time. The fact that she had been on the floor was a wee bit disturbing but, well, as there wasn't anything in particular she could do about it, she might as well ignore it.
Flash of recogition at the "ignoring" part of that thought. Interesting. Why would ignoring seem familiar...
Ah well.
Time to get up.
She lifted herself from the pleasant warmth of the covers and stepped onto that lovely blue fuzzy rug of hers. And stole a quick glance in the mirror.
And stared for a minute.
What the...
That reflection, that person - that wasn't her. She felt completely removed from it...it was a picture of someone else. She was staring at someone else. She studied the slanting inset eyes of the mirror girl. Brown, seemingly cold. Menacing. Strong, forceful bridge of the nose. Rosebud of a mouth. Added a flush of color to the pale skin tone, but not enough to take away the ethereal appearance of the face. Not enough to take away the cruelty of the face. The underlying power was beginning to shine through. Especially in the eyes. A glimpse into a soul as complex as her own.
Snap back.
She was she again.
She was she again? What? What kind of thoughts were these? She was she again?! Where had that come from anyway? And, moreover, if she hadn't been she a few seconds ago, who the hell had she been?
Er...okay. Weird thoughts for the morning. Check that off on the list of things to do.
The gongs of the clock sounded. Bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ng.
She yawned.
Bo-o-o-o-o-ng.
Smiling sleepily, she realized how like the clock in the Labyrinth it sounded.
Bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ng.
The chimes faded away.
Must be three. Three? That couldn't be right. It was way too bright outside to be 3am.
A new thought smashed into her.
She didn't have a clock that chimed.
The only clocks in the house were digital and alarm.
Ooooookay.....
And then she looked at the window.
And looked.
There was a feather there.
White, lustrous, long. Long enough to be an owl's feather.
Involuntary shiver. Like the shiver that warned she was not alone.
Deep breath.
Who was playing with her like this? Who could possibly know enough to play with her mind, pressing just the right buttons, causing these things to happen just so except-
Except him, of course.
She needed to get out of here. Needed to leave, just go, just be somewhere else, just go-
* And, uh, Where are You Going?*
That did it.
Physical manifestation, mental invasion of will. Pretty convincing stuff.
She threw on a pair of jeans, a shirt and ran down the stairs. Almost forgot her glasses. Didn't need to be any blinder than she already was. Raced back to her room, grabbed them, and was gone.
She stopped at the edge of her yard. Okay, pause. What exactly was it that she was running from? There was a) her own slipping grip on reality or b) Jareth. Barring a), which probably wasn't all that accurate anyway, she was running away from Jareth. Jareth! The man she had wished for, the man she was obsessed with, The Goblin King.
Hmmmm....running just did not seem the thing to be doing here.
Reacting, however, that was an entirely different matter.
So he wanted to play with her mind. Granted, it was probably damn amusing.
She hated being some amusing little figure that others laughed at. And that went double for being an object of fun for him. It was demeaning, in a way, to know that the only thought someone had about you was a general amusment. A sort of scorn.
But then, if he was manipulating her as he had "created" Sarah, then it wasn't just for amusement.
She paced back to the house and went in aside. In a dark mood. Not a wholly unpleasant mood, however. She was more than herself. More than a girl. Letting the presence rise to the outskirts of her consciousness. Letting the power which rose with it course through her mind. Heightened awareness, trusting her feelings. Waiting.
It thundered outside.
It was just streaming sunshine left and right a few seconds ago. How could it possibly be thundering?
Made a perfect setting for a confrontation, though. How Labyrinth-like.
Really, he had such impeccable timing.
*Nice atmosphere* she mused. She couldn't bring herself to actually think his name at him, though. It seemed rather disrespectful.
*So what happens now?*
Rationality checking in. She was crazy, talking to herself, expecting to talk to him, thinking she influenced these things, thinking he was there, imagining, hallucinating-
Whatever.
She felt faint suddenly. What a time to have her body betray her. Dizziness threatened again. She saw the world turning dark, fading away...
With a mental force of will, she remained standing.
*I will not yield this time*
This time?
Intense withering outrage as the memory surfaced.
Then- pain in her skull, sizzling through, white fire of some unlimited force, exploding-
*Damn it, why are you doing this to me!*
And with that wonderfully respectful thought, she blacked out.
***********************
Lovely child. Insightful. Strong.
That had been a rather nice touch, that overcoming of the fear bit.
Very logical, too.
She knew what he was doing.
She hated it on one level, was reveling in it on another.
Contradictory emotions galore.
Her mind was gradually getting itself under control. Less fainting, less memory lapses as it adjusted to its newfound wealth of power. Although, that last loss of consciousness had been rather virulent and she was blaming him for it. It would be the last one before the permanent change began.
He wouldn't present himself yet, though.
Too soon.
But some "real" world play was called for.
Very soon.
Chapter 6 - Do You Know What I Know?
She was on the floor. Seemed rather familiar. Odd, that.
Thunder.
She stood and groggily made her way to the couch in the den.
She would lay down for just a moment.
Liar.
Fine, more like a bit of a nap.
Thunder.
Tired. Oh God, she was so tired.
Closed her eyes.
All this mental upheaval was very tiresome.
She let that thought roll through her consciousness for awhile before the actual meaning started to bleed through.
Mental upheaval?
Didn't recall any of that. Alarming thought.
Or actually, would have been alarming if she had been awake enough to care.
She was on the surface of her consciousness, tip-toeing around the edges.
Then, all of the sudden, she fell through.
And down.
Like Alice down the rabbit hole. Down, down, down...
******************
It had begun.
He stared at her as she slept, memorizing her image. Looking so innocent, so pure. So utterly sweet and guileless. Curls dark brown now, with the absence of the sun. Skin a pale shade of gold. Eyes hidden in slumber. Hands positioned underneath the face as a cushion. So thoroughly innocent-looking.
So completely unlike what lay below the surface.
That would be the perfection of the transformation - angel on the outside, devil underneath. That is, after all, what made the paradox so mesmerizing. That beauty and innocence could cloak such darkness.
The only thing which marred the picture of innocence now was the dark nail polish. It was like a hint of what was beneath - innocence tempered by the darkness. A subtle reminder that all was not goodness and light. Mischief could still rein.
Her lips curled into a smile, as if hearing his thoughts.
Now there was a study in contrasts. The form and color suggesting purity, the smile and nails suggesting malevolence.
Light and darkness.
Enough of the light.
It was time for the darkness.
He touched the miasma of her thoughts. Twisted it, nudged it, molded it with the skill and reverence of an artist. Long, ungloved fingers shaping what they encountered into a suitable from. Pushes of power straining against his strength. Pulsing between his hands. Rushes of electricity streaming through his fingers. Growing hotter all the while.
He was at the wall which separated her from him. Just a little application of force at the correct places and...
A burning sensation fled across his hands. Stinging. A warning.
That was enough for now.
He stared at her sleeping form. Pale innocence. And yet not.
She would be his. Immortalized.
The trick was exactly how he would do it. That required a bit of thought. It had to be something she was already familiar with - something that her own power could identify with and channel through.
He considered.
She was partial to a certain storyteller's depiction of vampires. He could model the transformation on that. Imitation was his speciality, after all.
With a twist, of course.
A tendril of his own power rested in her now, intermingling with hers, creating complex patterns of interaction physically and psychologically.
And when she awoke, the first "real" world play would be in effect.
******************
She was walking across a field. Brown and green intermingled. Fresh, springy, alive sort of place. Abysmally sunny place. Wind swishing through the field, playing with the grass. Seeming to sing all around. Singing a warning. A prophesy of storm.
The wind playing with her hair. Twisting and blowing and breathing through her hair. Tossing the coppery mass at its whim. The wind at play.
Children at play. Happy little children. Such cute little children.
Such annoyingly cute little children.
Glanced mournfully at her once or twice as if to say goodbye and then went back to their play.
Stupid children.
Needed to get out of this stinking sunlight. Needed some place dark.
She was approaching a doorway lowered part way into the ground. It was black, made of some sort of stone. Obsidian. Dark granite. Didn't matter, it was dark. There was an opening about the size of a window which was above the ground. She would have to climb down to get through.
Lowered herself through the opening into the blackness. Black as night. No stars, no moon. Dark.
She peered deeper into the darkness and saw a man standing there. All alone in the darkness. Looking at her with ravenous eyes. Sense of power, of control. It didn't occur to her to wonder how she could see him in the dark. Such is the way of dreams.
He was tall, with blonde hair and light eyes. Beautiful. Dressed all in dark colors. She had the absurd thought he was an artist of some kind. Not a human artist, though. Beauty was too ethereal for that. He could have been an angel - except angels didn't have those sorts of expressions. They had the longing but not the desire. Wasn't physical desire either. Something else. Something not so simple as physical desire. It was stained with something else. Craving, satisfaction, wonder, something else, something...
She moved in for a closer look. His eyes watched her. Blue jewels moving in his face. The only things which evinced some semblance of humanity. He looked human then. Vulnerable. Watching her walk. Staring at her with a guarded look. Absolute silence from him. From his mind. Veiled thoughts hidden behind a cloak of nothingness.
He snapped his gaze onto her. Full intensity of the thoughts. He wanted her.
This should have been an alarming realization.
He held out his hand, reaching for her. Trying to induce her closer, closer, close enough. Close enough. He would make her what he was. Ah, but he was so beautiful. Such a savage, dark beauty. Always entranced by beauty, she was. And she wanted to be like him....what he was. Whatever he was. With that brooding, malevolent sensuality. Wielding some kind of shadowy power. And so she walked towards him... closer .... closer ... nearly touching his hand...touching....closer... closer...looking into his eyes...his bright flashing eyes...his bare hands on the back of her head. Fingers entwined with her curls...moving her face closer...she could see into his eyes. Beyond his eyes. Into him.
Saw his turmoil, saw his years of aching boredom. Reticence to try again overshadowed by his absolute desire of what she would be.
This, again, should have been a mildly alarming thought.
But he was so close, God, so close. Caught his scent.
She breathed it in.
Lifting her head, eyes closed. Lingering in the heavy scent that was him.
Hands drawing her closer.
Her face resting on his chest. Skin moving across the soft velvety material of his shirt. Her head cradled under his. His hands touching her curls, massaging her mind. Pulling and twisting and shaping. Her arms crushed underneath her, pressed against him. She was crying. Heavy, warm tears at the corners of her eyes for what she was losing. A quiet, shuddering breath for the part of her what was slipping away.
Stop.
A burning sensation fled across her eyes. Stinging. A warning.
She opened her eyes and looked up into his ivory face.
A flash of concern crossed his features. Concern for his work. A curious detached interest.
She drew back. And back. Until she was at the doorway again.
Two blue jewels followed her retreat.
And then she turned and left.
Leaving him within.
Awake.
She felt strange.
To put it mildly.
So goddamned thirsty.
Wetness on her hands. Warm. She must have been crying in her sleep. Funny smell to it, though. A tint of iron in it...
She opened her eyes.
And beheld blood-stained hands.
Small trickles of the stuff in the crevasses marking out a spider web path across her fingers. Little blossoms of ruby liquid.
Odd. Nosebleeds usually had more blood than that.
Must have a cut on her face somewhere.
She ran to the mirror in the bathroom and looked.
Her eyes widened as she saw where the origin of the blood trickle was.
It was from her tears. She was crying blood tears.
She lifted a finger to one trickle and gently wiped the blood tear away. She found herself staring at the red liquid on her finger. A glittering pool of deep red.
The smell was driving her mad.
She moved it to her lips, sucking the blood off. Letting it run over her tongue, down her throat. Washing over the inside of her.
Quenching her thirst.
It was then that her sense of reality started to kick in.
What the hell!? What the hell was she doing! She was drinking her own blood and - Good God - enjoying it. Like some kind of god forsaken vampire. That was sick, severely twisted, or - at the very least - something people ended up in long term therapy for.
But then, she had cried blood tears. That wasn't exactly the everyday run-of-the-mill occurrence. Of course, if she had still been in her Anne Rice vampire mode, she might have found it quite amusing. That was something vampires were supposed to do. And, God knows, that had been something she had wanted when she had been into that whole vampire thing. Anything vampirish had appealed to her then. It was that whole immortality bit that interested her.
Of course, immortality still interested her. So then, by definition, did the idea of vampires.
Well, she had cried blood tears. How about checking out those canines...
Hmmmm....a little longer, maybe. But that could be attributed to imagination.
Skin was pale. But that's what happened when her tan faded.
Eyes looked their usual brown selves. Auburn curls had taken on a life of their own...but that always happened after she slept.
Just the blood tears.
And the curious warmth the taste of blood had provided her with.
Very odd.
A bit frightening, as well.
Rather good thing she wasn't in the mood to be frightened.
And why exactly was that?
This really did seem the time to completely lose it if ever there was a time to do so.
But her mind was not completely hers to control at the moment. Someone else was in there. Pushing her. Changing her.
Manipulating her.
Jareth.
Epilogue - Just a Trick of the Mind
My God, what a strange dream. I swear it spanned such a long time. My fevered brain had a field day with that one, that's for sure. Jareth and manipulation and blood tears. Some seriously strange stuff.
Had a whole third-person omniscient narrator type thing going on the entire time, too. I could sense Jareth's thoughts....it was like I was playing his part, speaking and thinking for him. And, let me tell you, the whole plot of this dream went off the proverbial deep end. All about him wanting me for my power.....oooh, now's there's something that would happen. But, when you're in a dream, you never question it. I think that's why they entrance me so much. Suspension of reality, realization of secret wishes. All is possible in the reality that belongs only to dreams.
Take the whole vampire metamorphosis bit. He was going to make me into a vampire (God knows why that made any sense at all) so that I could be immortal with him. The whole innocent - but - evil thing. That's something that's always captivated me. I suppose that's why it came out in my dreams. The subconscious strikes back.
Ah well. I'll write this one up in my journal and put it away in the back of my mind. It'll probably make a good fanfiction at some point.
***************************
That little dream venture had worked out to his liking. Ah, it was such fun to play in mortal minds. This girl's mind was worth coming back to. He could play the role of that Goblin King of hers quite well.
*Until the next time, my exquisite dreamer*