Labyrinth 1. Confusion in her eyes

_**Author's note: **__Thank you so all much for your patience as I attempt what will be my final rewrite of this story. I am so honored that there are so many who have read this story. I have been asked many times to write a sequel, but what I feel that this story needs instead is something else to make it feel complete. This is my attempt to give it that something. Keep your fingers crossed for me. And please feel free to leave your thoughts in a review- those are always appreciated :-)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ The Labyrinth belongs to its various copyright holders and dreamers, but this little twist is brought to you by Mairzy - the only thing I claim to own is the original story elements and characters._

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**.: :CHAPTER ONE: The Confusion in Her Eyes: :.**

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It was a small and simple room.

The walls were white and neatly organized with frames, posters, and a modest-sized mirror. In the corner, the comforter on the small bed was stretched smooth; tightly tucked in around the edges. A wooden shelf heavy with lines of books sat next to the unremarkably ordinary dresser and desk.

Small and simple.

But the window – the window was not small or simple. It was large and the view it offered a complex balance of details currently cast in the shadow of night. No curtains obstructed the scene beyond – the window's untouched frame stretched wide, almost straining at its own corners for want of open space.

Here, an indistinct world was offered for consideration. An overwhelming question beyond with no obvious answer – but she had found her own answers here, inside this room. The many books on the shelf allowed her to sharpen that landscape beyond into some kind of focus. It was as her curiosity was lost in the pages of fiction that she found her own view to cast back out over the mysterious vastness beyond her four walls. Not a small and simple view, no, but a view the width and breadth of her unique and limitless imagination.

She was sitting on the floor next to her bed, her back to the window and the barely contained world outside. Her thoughts scattered across the floor with her photographs. About an hour ago she had pulled them out of a little green box, sorting and spreading the mixed collection indiscriminately across the carpet. These were all photos taken at the state fair – a family tradition captured in a chaotic collage of images. The faces beaming out from the images were bright and happy. Here she was 16 years old with braces, in this one her sister was 7. Ferris wheels and roller coasters, animals and face painting, popcorn and caramel apples –warm memories thick with atmosphere and emotion.

She gently touched the photos with one hand, reliving the fuzzy collection of sensations associated with each captured memory. Her other hand was at her neck, fingers absently stroking an oblong black crystal hanging from a silver chain. The crystal was solid and opaque; a black thicker than the night's darkness.

Like the photographs, this crystal was a part of her memories at the fair – a new memory now only a week old.

It had been that time again, when the air becomes ripe with the promise of autumn and the leaves started to turn. But this year the change was deeper. She knew that although no one said it, everyone in the family felt it. Life was becoming complicated and busy – on the brink of throwing everything that had been into everything that it would soon become. The simple phase of family that allowed for traditions like yearly visits to the state fair was fading.

While there was sadness in the tense oncoming presence of change, the taste it left that year was sweet. Somehow every moment at the fair was fuller, everyone kinder and more anxious to savor their time together. This year was to be the bright candied cherry on the mound of ice cream and sprinkles that was the rich experience of this family tradition.

The day had gone by too quickly, but their visits to the fair always did. It was late and petty bickering had started breaking out - everyone was tired and ready to go home. In the night she moved towards the fair gates, but a voice called her back.

"Amry … come take a look at this."

She turned at the sound of her name and smiled at what she saw. Her mother was a few steps behind, bent over a small black object lying on the ground. Sometimes her mother reminded her so much of her grandfather – whether it was scooping up pennies in parking lots or finding shapes in the clouds, both seemed to notice the value in things others too easily overlooked.

Amry walked back, watching her mother reach down and pick up the object on the ground. Now in motion as it was lifted away from the earth, the unknown thing caught some reflection of light and flashed in the darkness.

"It's a crystal necklace."

She was close enough to see it now - the crystal on her mother's palm was solid black and faceted with many smooth sides. It came to a beveled point and hung from a twisted wire setting on a silver chain. There was something quietly intriguing about the simple crystal, something that drew Amry to it.

"Do you want it?"

Looking only at the crystal, Amry had nodded and accepted. Cradling the small necklace in her hands, she turned back to the gates. Together her family left the fair.

And now she was here, sitting among the sea of photographs. Somehow, even sitting in this mass of familiar faces, she felt very alone. These photos were like empty echoes; a part of herself effortless on display that, as hard as she tried, she couldn't reach anymore.

Things had somehow changed -changed in the week following that trip to the fair. A dark change, like a shadow on her heart. She remembered when she first fastened that silver chain around her neck and looked in her mirror, her dark eyes settling on themselves and then moving down to the even darker crystal hanging around her neck. It was heavier hanging there than she had expected.

That day had been the beginning. Most change is so subtle, it slips into our lives and slowly works and warps until one day we wake up on the other side of its effect and wonder when it happened. But not this change. It was as though that day she had woken up to a different world than ever she had been a part of before.

Amry had always had her head in the clouds, had always been different – but the space between her world and everyone else's had become greater. The world around her was somehow almost out of focus, dimmer, as if reality had become the dream lost before it can be fully remembered. She even noticed a gap growing between her and her family, one she was becoming ever more aware of. She was isolated - not just a dreamer, but a dreamer who no longer belonged in the waking world.

And then the blurring began. _Blurring_ - that was the word Amry had chosen for it. It was a strange sensation she felt at the moments of her most intense loneliness. It was like being smeared. It was a phenomenon, an experience that she found hard to explain, even to herself after feeling it. There were moments that a weight seemed to settle upon Amry, and her whole being felt as though it shifted until she was out of focus.

_That had been _when the dream started. The dream that now played itself over and over again for her night after night. The dream that never finished, the girl and the baby and the maze. . . and the King whose face was lost in shadow . . .

. . . and the words.

"_Through dangers untold_

_And hardships unnumbered,_

_I have fought my way here to the castle_

_Beyond the Goblin City_

_For my will is as strong as yours_

_And my kingdom as great . . ._"

Amry knew those words by memory now, had heard them repeated in her head so many times they were instinct. She didn't know what they meant, but she knew there was more. Something else. Something she always woke up before she could hear.

_What is wrong with me? What has changed since these pictures?_ A silent tear slipped down her cheek as she reached for a photo-this one of her entire family huddled together. That year it had rained.

It was raining now, raining upon Amry's cheeks as she rose from the floor. A seemingly small and simple girl standing in her small and simple room.

Amry turned away from the photos to her window. The world outside glittered its vague greeting in return. She stepped forward, and felt the cool glass of the window pane against her palms. She stretched her hands out on the glass, fingers splayed, eyes distant. Realizing yet another insistent barrier – another degree of separation between her and the rest of the world.

Curling her fingers into fists, she fell back away from the window and stood silently for a moment . Then, deliberately Amry stepped towards the neat book shelf next to the wall. She selected a particularly thick volume - a collection of fairy tales. She considered the book in her hands a moment, feeling its binding and edges, thinking about the love she poured into fiction…then turned and hurled the book across the room. In the passion of anger she threw yet another book and another. They sailed through the air, some smashing loudly against a wall, one catching a frame in its flight and another her jewelry box before thudding to the floor. In an instant, this simple room transformed into one of disarray. In a moment, this easy definition was lost.

And the girl stood, holding a book against her chest, clutching it and convulsing with sobs. Her body shook and her strength left her. She fell to her knees; her precious books lying violated around her . . .

...

"She is the one."

Many beady eyes glittered strangely red in the darkness of the great room.

"She must be. Her soul is like his." This voice was thicker, slower but sure.

The goblins were stirring with excitement and fear.

"Has she said the words?" came a small voice.

"The rules aren't the same," said another.

"Shh. . .listen."

There was silence.

"Can you hear?"

"Feathers," came the answer. _He is already there_. . .

...

Outside the great dark window a white owl was watching. A barn owl filled with a soul of magic.

He had been called here . . .and he was waiting. With unflinching patience he waited. One would think forever was not long to this creature.

_Not long at all._


	2. Chapter 2

**.: :CHAPTER TWO: :.**

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Magic is not restrained by shape or form, but magic is, and always has been. The owl with the soul of magic had business at this window tonight. Business Aboveground with this girl.

For a long time he had been left in silence -too long he was left to wallow in his previous defeat.

This time, things would be different. He would not make the same mistakes again.

Something strange and unexpected suddenly happened inside the room. The owl blinked hard in surprise and leaned closer to peer in disbelief through the glass.

The girl in the room had been kneeling on the floor since her tantrum, quite still among the strewn books as she stared at a blank section of wall. But now, just now, she had closed her eyes and…and…_blurred_.

Her figure had flickered out of focus. She had blurred.

_What kind of magic was this?_

And that was when the owl first saw it – the black crystal hanging around her neck. As the girl blurred, it had started to glow with a soft dim light.

_The crystal._

_The Thirteenth Object...the Fifth Parallel..._

_This girl…_

...and a memory, uninvited, rose up in the mind of the owl. A memory filled with pain and beauty, dominated by the determined face of a young girl and cut by a broken dream…

The owl shook itself free of these thoughts and stiffened its resolve.

The crystal was unexpected, but it had served its purpose. It had prepared her.

There was movement from inside the room.

It was the girl – her outline has come back into clear perception now. She was slowly lifting herself back onto her feet, leaning on the nearby bed for support. She stood still a moment, unsteady on her feet, and then sighed in defeat before setting about righting the mess she had made. A small stack of books began forming on the floor next to her.

...

_Pointless_. As if it did any good to have a fit like a child. Amry sighed again to herself as she attempted to smooth and flatten the pages of the book in her hand. After trying to work out the fresh creases, she carefully closed the book and set it on top of her small growing stack.. She bent over and reached for the book next nearest her. This one had fallen print-side up, and as her fingers stretched to retrieve the book, her eyes focused on the words on the page it had fallen open to:

_She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies. _

_Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees. _

_"Do you believe?" he cried. _

_Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate. _

_She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure. _

_"What do you think?" she asked Peter. _

_"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink die." _

_Many clapped. _

_Some didn't. _

She stopped, hand still hovering over the book – and she wondered. _Maybe that's what I need, too, _Amry thought_, to get well again myself. _

She stood up, still looking down at the book.

_I need to know if I still believe. . . _

_..._

Something had made the girl stand erect again, looking intensely thoughtful. The owl leaned closer to the glass, listening carefully.

"I . . ."

The owl didn't dare even blink it's great eyes.

"..I…do believe…"

The crystal around the girl's neck was humming now, just barely loud enough to be audible. But the girl didn't seem to notice the noise…her eyes were distant.

Then she slowly closed her eyes as if a great weight had set upon her. Her expression tightened and she blurred again. A heavy thought was settling upon her mind...

Suddenly the girl's eyes jerked open, widening in terror. She had never felt this way before...like the weight of the thought was dragging her under. She was slipping...

Her fingers were clutching desperately to the loudly humming crystal, whose light was now vividly bright – like a small sun had suddenly come blindingly to life within.

Amry's figure was blurring entirely. The image of her seemed to thin, then in a bright flash of the glowing crystal and a rush of noise, she dissipated completely.

She was gone. An empty silence hung thick in the air.

The owl was still sitting at the window, staring in and not really accepting what he had seen. He felt her presence now within his own realm; she was in the Labyrinth. She had transported herself there.

With all the others, he had needed to make an entrance in one way or another. Fulfill the role that was prepared for him. _That was the way it was supposed to be. _

Anger coursed through him; anger that she had done something he had not anticipated. He cursed her for not being predictable.

Then the owl spread his wings and disappeared off into the night.

She may have gained the upper hand for a moment, but his game had only just begun...


	3. Chapter 3

**.: :CHAPTER THREE: :.**

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Amry held her eyes tightly shut. She didn't want to see.

She didn't want to know.

She just wanted to block out everything around her.

_**No, no, no**__._

This was just too much. She didn't know what had just happened- it was beyond her dealing with.

She didn't _want_ to deal with it.

_I'm in my room, at home, lying on my bed and I must have fallen asleep._

But then, why didn't this feel like a dream? It had to be a dream!

_What if it's not?_

Reluctantly, she eased the tension that held her eyelids closed. Slowly, she let her eyes open.

Yet, she still could not accept what she saw.

Amry stood at the top of a high hill, the wind violently whipping through her hair. Spread out below her, filling her whole field of vision was . . . was a _maze_. A giant labyrinth bathed in hues of dusty orange and red, winding up a hill crowned by a castle in the far, far distance.

A giant maze, a castle..._why was this all so familiar_?

Amry blinked hard, still feebly hoping to wake up.

She didn't.

This had to be a dream, it_ had _to be. . .but, when she thought about it, the only dream she'd been having lately was of a girl and goblins and a maze. . .

"Oh . . . no ."

...

The owl quietly settled on a spindly branch of a dead tree. This was his game, his territory, and yet there was no thrill of anticipation at the impending challenge of conquest. Not this time – he did like that he was not in control, did not understand this girl or how she had become his uninvited guest. Unnoticed, he studied the strange intruder as she looked out over his Labyrinth. He watched her tensed body, her hair caught in the wind – and wondered.

Then the girl was leaving. She was walking away from his tree and down the hill, towards the waiting Labyrinth below.

He waited until she was no longer in sight, then lifted his great wings. As he did his form changed, stretching with a burst of glittering light into that of a man.

The man with the soul of magic walked briskly to the edge of the hill and with mismatched eyes peered toward the bottom. He watched the girl as she stumbled and slid down the slope of loosely packed dirt. Calculating.

Then silently he, producing a crystal, vanished.

...

Amry took a wrong step, and felt her balance give way. Uttering a small cry of surprise, she slipped and completely lost her footing. Her body collided with dirt and gravity pulled her downward – she was rolling.

Limbs flailing helplessly, she spun out of control until the ground leveled again. For a moment she just laid at the foot of the hill, coughing in the cloud of dust her tumble had raised. Trying to recover herself, she rose unsteadily back to her feet and pointlessly brushed at her clothing. Dirt was stubbornly coating every inch of her body.

The nearby walls caught Amry's eye – a new distraction. They were taller than they had seemed from the top of the hill and surprisingly intricate. Each section was set with shaped stones and decorative pointed pillars, cradling a small shaped opening in the bottom middle just deep enough that Amry could crouch inside. A scraggly wild rose vine wound itself along the cracks in the stone, occasionally budding or blooming pale pink.

This outer wall of the maze looked as though it stretched out indefinitely in either direction. Still dryly coughing dust she turned left, and saw no end. She turned right – and it was the same.

"This must be hell," Amry found herself grumbling. "I've arrived at the outer wall of some massive problem I don't want to deal with, and then find out not only is it more massive than I thought, but there's no apparent way to even approach the inner workings of the issue."

Still grumbling to herself, Amry began doing the only thing she could think to do – walking slowly along the endless length of stone bricks, studying the strange intricacies of sculpture and architecture. Hoping it would reveal some secret as to her purpose here.

Suddenly she heard a voice.

"Sixty-seven!"

Amry froze.

"Sixt...y-eight! _Ha!_"

Cautiously, she moved closer to the nearest expanse of wall. After pausing a moment to calm her pounding heart, she took a few quiet steps in the direction of the voice. There was a sharp turn in the architecture of the wall ahead, and it seemed to her that voice had been coming from there. The voice itself was strange, both deep and high pitched at times - and the unnerving tone it had just now taken could only be described as sinister childish delight.

Finally she reached the corner hiding the source from view. Trembling, she leaned herself carefully around so she could see what lay beyond.

She saw a small pool of water made dull by a film of dust and filth. Among the roses on a near section of wall, a little knobby creature was bent over - it was him Amry supposed the voice had come from. He had wispy white hair that refused to be tamed by the tight leather skull cap atop his lumpy head. He wore a leather vest and filthy white shirt (_I suppose nothing white would stay clean in all this dust_) and little pants on his small, squat legs. His face was lined, brown, wrinkled and worn, with a large bulbous nose, huge brown bushy eyebrows that didn't match his hair, and small squinted eyes. He reminded Amry of a potato that had been left out in the sun, it's rough skin rippling as it's innards turned soft and rotted.

And _rotten_ seemed an appropriate adjective as Amry watched the strange imp. His mean little mouth was curled in an evil grin, obviously darkly enjoying whatever task he was about. A huge lump of what looked to be knick knacks was latched firmly to his trousers, glittering and bouncing on his hip as he moved. In his gnarled fingers he held a rusty old pump bug sprayer. He held the sprayer pointed at the vines, and he was watching, waiting...

There was a small fluttering movement and the dwarf responded. He instantly pumped the sprayer and a stream of liquid shot onto the vine. Then Amry heard a very small noise of coughing, and something that looked very much like a dragon fly fell from behind a leaf and onto the ground. The dwarf then promptly stepped on it, grinding it under his heel.

"Sixty nine!"

His wrinkles deepened as he "_ho-ha_"ed in triumph, his round eyes almost shining- he seemed very pleased with himself. Scooting closer to the roses, he was almost twitching with excitement as his pupils anxiously darted back and forth, seeking his next victim.

Amry wasn't sure what she should do . . . was it safe to approach this creature? Would he try to spray her too?

If this was hell, then the artists hadn't drawn demons nearly ugly enough. . .

Making her decision, Amry stepped boldly out from the wall and stood next to the small pool. She opened her mouth, then closed it again – not sure what to say. Not really sure she wanted to draw attention to herself, seeing she was as yet unnoticed.

The dwarf made a sudden movement, and Amry jumped.

"Seventy!"

Amry sighed. As had become unnoticed habit when she was nervous, her fingers went to the crystal she wore around her neck. Twirling and playing with the dark stone.

Beneath her fingers, the crystal began to hum again.

The dwarf abruptly spun on his heel. He looked startled, and for a moment Amry saw fear in his round, blue eyes.

"Jare..." He stopped. He looked at Amry strangely, looked her up and down.

"Who're you?"

His voice was husky, and he looked uncertain.

"Am..." her throat suddenly felt clogged, and she cleared it nervously.  
"Amry."

Again, the dwarf looked her up and down with an expression of mistrust. He raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
"_You're_ Amry?"

This was a rather strange question. Amry peered at the short creature.

"Who . . . who else _would_ I be?"

The dwarf looked beyond Amry, running his eyes over the space behind her.  
"But I thought for a second, I felt Jareth's magic . . . "

Then he spotted the crystal hanging around Amry's neck. He saw her fingers around it, touching it. Then he looked into Amry's eyes.

"Amry..."

He looked back at the bushes and muttered, almost to himself:  
"Wasn't 'pectin you. Usually we're let know. If nothin' else, Jareth would tell us..."

"Excuse me, but who's Jareth? And why would you be expecting me?"

_FINALLY, SOME ANSWERS! _Amry tried to keep calm, patient.

"Huh?" he said distractedly, looking back at her. "Don' ya know who Jareth is?"

"No."

He raised an eyebrow again.

"Jareth? You know...the Goblin King? You've met him already. . ."

Goblin…_King_ – now _that_ seemed somehow familiar. But,

"You're the first per. . .uh. . . first creature I've met here. I mean, just a moment ago I was sitting in my room at home and now suddenly, I'm here. Wherever_ here_ is . . ."

The dwarf looked completely at a loss. "No one gave ya a challenge, or even brought ya here?"

She shook her head to indicate it was so.

He reached a large clumsy hand up to his head and scratched it in a puzzled sort of way. "Well . . . _ah_ . . ."

A small movement caught her eye, and she turned to see the little flittering bugs the dwarf had been spraying before. The whole section of rose vines seemed alive – but only the wings of the creatures were that of a dragonfly...

. . . the tiny bodies were like that of a child. A child propelled by wings from leaf to leaf.

She shook her head, deciding this whole conversation was only confusing her more. Taking in a steadying breath, Amry decided to get straight to the point.

"Hey, do you know where I can enter the maze? I mean, I think I need to get inside it."

He didn't look up at her. He still seemed to be thinking.  
"Yeah."

He carelessly flicked his wrist and a pair of doors Amry hadn't noticed before swung open.

"Oh . . . well, thank you."

He didn't seem to be listening. Shrugging, Amry turned from him and proceeded toward the doors.

A moment later, the dwarf snapped out of his thoughts and noticed Amry was missing.

"Wait!"

Not sure what else to do, he scrambled through the doors after her.


	4. Chapter 4

**.: :CHAPTER FOUR: :.**

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Standing on the threshold, Amry could feel the difference.

While the air outside the labyrinth was warm and dry, the air inside was thick and cool. The walls were dark and glistened with the heavy humidity. A feeling of foreboding rushed over Amry and a chill ran down her spine.

A wall bluntly blocked the way forward, stretching out ominously both to her left and her right with no apparent end in either direction_. Great, _she thought,_ we're back to this problem again. _

The passage itself seemed narrow, the walls strangely angled wider as they extended upward. The ground was covered with dried leaves and bits of branches as though a cruel wind had torn them from living boughs – yet there was no tree around to credit as the source. The only life here was lichen clinging in clumps on the moist walls.

She was struck with the finality of entering the maze, of choosing to challenge it. Entering was making a commitment.

Yes, but if it was a dream she could always just wake up . . .

Somehow, no matter how hard she tried she couldn't convince herself would really be that easy.

Amry paused a moment on the threshold, hesitating between the warm dry dirt of the outside and the cold wet stone of inside. Drawing in a deep breath, she stepped forward and accepted the challenge of the labyrinth

She was inside.

Suddenly there was the sound of hurried footsteps behind her. Amry turned to see the little wrinkled potato man from before. He was running towards her, his awkwardly short legs somehow moving more quickly than she expected. The next moment he was next to her inside the maze, doubled over while gasping in exhaustion.

"What's the hurry?"

"Damn. . .your long legs. . ." he gasped.

_An offensive little creature, isn't he?_ Amry found herself chuckling, despite the absurdity of the whole situation. Or perhaps it was because of the absurdity of it all. . .

Seeing it was going to take him a moment to regain his composure, she slid down the nearest stretch of wall to sit while she waited. The stone floor was uncomfortably cool, but she ignored the discomfort to further take in her new surroundings.

Finally, when his breath had slowed, she spoke without looking at him.

"So, do you REALLY know the way inside the maze? Because this is obviously _not_ a maze. . ."

"You . . .you can't take anything for granted here."

Now she looked at him.

"Take for granted? What does that mean?"

"I guess you'll figure that out."

Amry just started at the strange little man for a moment. "What is your name?"

He looked startled. "I'm Hoggle. Why?"

Heaving mightily, she raised herself back off of the stone floor. "So when I complain to management about the poor service, I can say who gave it. . ."

". . .You're completely loony." He sounded a little worried.

"Well_ Hoggle_," she turned to yell at him,"YOU end up in a random maze. . . a maze you've been dreaming about for months. . ."

she started walking towards him in anger, cornering him against a wall,

". . . talking to a potato-man and see how sane YOU fe-"

She felt it happen before she could react – her foot caught against something unexpected and she was falling forward. The little man's eyes widened as she started to fall towards him. He quickly stepped to the side, out of the way – and she reached towards the wall to catch herself.

Or, at least tried.

But as soon as she would have made contact with the wall, she found herself falling through it and landing hard on her side.

"Oof!...hey, wait a minute..."

Amry pulled herself up and onto her feet. What had just happened? She wasn't standing by Hoggle any longer; instead she was in a short passage that turned up ahead. She took a step back in surprise and found herself standing halfway through a wall – the wall she had fallen through. A wall that didn't really exist. A secret passage?

She turned to look at the dwarf. He looked as surprised as she felt.

"Well, _Hoggle_, it seems I've found my own way in."

And Amry walked back through the wall, disappearing from Hoggle's view.

...

This time, Hoggle made no effort to follow her. Instead, he backed up a few steps and began looking around expectantly. There was fear in his eyes.

"Hello Hoghead."

The accented voice was smooth but deadly, its suddenness startling Hoggle. He turned around to face the towering figure of Jareth. He had appeared between Hoggle and the gates of the Labyrinth, blocking even any thoughts of escape. Hoggle saw something flicker deep with the strange eyes - he knew this was no time to worry that the King had once again mistaken his name.

"Your Highness..." Hoggle bowed himself low before the impressive man, although his act did not bring approval to Jareth's gaze. The Goblin King bent down as Hoggle raised himself and looked the dwarf in the eye. Jareth's eyes were cold and distant – _worried? _Hoggle wondered.

Hoggle's thoughts turned from curiousity to horror as he noticed Jareth's face - it was twisted in one of his cruelest simpering expressions. When he spoke, the Goblin King's voice absolutely dripped with sarcasm.

"Poor little Higgle – I've come to help you. I know your last _friend_ ended up leaving you and breaking your poor little warty heart – we wouldn't want that to happen again, now would we?...

The sarcasm left Jareth's voice, and his expression hardened with his next words.

…in fact, I'm going to make sure it does not."

...

Amry found herself alone in this new section of Labyrinth. The walls were not moist or cold as they had been at the entrance - here they were warm and dry. Occasionally as she walked she came across strange stone monuments, a small stairway, a nonsensical signpost. But she was alone now, running across no other creatures that knew her name or offered advice. Now it was simply her and the Labyrinth.

_Just beyond each turn and bend, _

_A destination, but not an end,_

_Seek and discover what they mean,_

_When they speak of the Unseen._

She paused...for a moment she had been certain she could hear something in the wind. Faint and distant, but...she shook her head and moved on.

_Lost now in the wake of years_

_The dream that age turned to tears,_

_These hearts worn sharp with edges broken,_

_Around her neck she wears their token._

Lost, lost...in more than the Labyrinth - in the moment, in her quiet concentration. The tears still damp on her cheeks have grown cold. Now they're forgotten, evidence of a deeper puzzle she is yet to confront.

_Balanced on a glimpse of light,_

_She has the thread, she's holding tight,_

_Power knows no wielder's hand,_

_Only hearts that understand._

Amry walks on. But progress is more than a motion, a flow. Progress lies in understanding...

_She seeks to know what they mean -_

_Those things felt, but unseen._


	5. Chapter 5

**.: :CHAPTER FIVE: :.**

* * *

Sarah's shoes ground against the rough texture of the paved driveway as she stepped out of her car. She stood, long dark hair falling behind her, eyes fixed on the old house she knew so well. The sun was bathing the sides and railings in warm yellows, the surrounding trees casting strange winding shadows that occasionally flashed gold.

She smiled. Every time she came back to visit, the same realization startled her –the house had seemed _so_ much bigger when she was younger.

"Sarah!"

Her father was, of course, first out the door, running to greet her with dark eyes shining and that familiar silly grin stretched wide across his face. His arms were open as her ran towards her, and as he embraced her he laughed, almost knocking her over with the energy of his momentum. In her father's arms and surrounding by the dancing sound of his joy, Sarah felt an overwhelming feeling of safety, of being complete. She held him close to her and cherished the warm, full feeling of being _loved_.

"Sarah, I swear, you'll be late to your own funeral!"

That was definitely Karen.

Sarah leaned out of her father's hug and smiled at the blond woman who was now approaching. Karen's arms were folded sternly across her chest, a posture Sarah had seen a thousand times when she had been in trouble as a child, but Karen's blue eyes were sparkling and she was returning Sarah's happy smile.

"Sorry – the traffic on the way up was horrible!" Sarah scrunched up her face as she spoke, as if even the memory was unpleasant to experience. Karen laughed at her step-daughter's expression, then stepped forward and pulled her into her arms.

"Dinner might have gone cold, but it's good to see you," she whispered in her ear, and over her shoulder Sarah smiled.

"It's good to see you too, Mom."

. . . . . .

It was always strange for her to come back to the house she had spent the better part of growing up in. While the memory Sarah had of it stayed unchanged, the reality of the house was floors aged and newly creaking, walls re-painted, furniture moved and updated. Being here was like being two places at the same time – one dim, half formed but familiar while the other shining in sharp, vulnerable detail. How could a place feel so different, yet be the same?

It was then she remembered one room in the house that had completely changed, the room before which she hesitated now. Sarah reached out her hand, feeling the familiar sensation of the worn doorknob sliding into her palm. The sense memory it stirred was somehow a comfort, a whisper of the past not lost in time or change. She twisted the knob, pulling the door open.

The difference in what had been her bedroom still shocked Sarah, still took her a moment to adjust to. Everything that had been hers was gone, all traces of her years spent in this room wallpapered over and re-carpeted into the unrecognizable. The flowery bedspread, the square gilded mirror on the wall, the window seat garnished with bright pillows, the nightstand and vase with the tasteful fabric bouquet –carefully selected and arranged decor. Friendly, but impersonal, polite but distant.

Just like a guest room was supposed to be.

"Here you are Sarah!"

Sarah jumped, turning in the doorway to see her father approaching from the hall. He had her many bags tucked creatively in his arms, balancing himself carefully as he walked past Sarah and started lowering her luggage next to the bed.

"Karen and I were wondering where you wandered off to after dinner."

Sarah moved forward. "Here Dad, let me help you. . ."

He laughed, waving her away with his now free hand – "No, no, I'm not so old yet that I can't handle a few suitcases. Although, the way you pack. . .you'd think you were coming back to move in again."

He turned to look at her, that same silly smile on in face again – but in light of the room his face looked suddenly different, unfamiliar. The lines around his mouth and eyes were deeper in shadow, emphasized and stark, the white of his hair shining brighter, and for a moment Sarah saw her father as more fragile and mortal then she had ever allowed herself. It was unsettling – like being back in this room again. Like being back in this house again.

Different, yet the same.

". . .Sarah? Are you okay?"

Sarah started. Her father had set her bags down and stepped close, looking at her with worry written in his eyes.

"Sorry Dad. It's just. . .it's always weird to come back home. You know?" She folded her arms and stepped away from him.

"I'm sure honey. I'm sure it feels especially strange . . . especially since, well . . ." But Sarah didn't need him to finish his sentence.

"Since this may be the last time I get to be back here?" She met his eyes.

"Sarah," his tone had stiffened, "this house is too big for us three. Things change. We want to simplify. I've told you that."

Sarah looked away from him, feeling irritated. She knew that wasn't the reason they were moving, and she wanted to fight about it. Wanted to argue, to yell, to throw a fit. _You're being stupid_, a part of her said, _really very childish_. _Changing your old room, moving out of this house – what, did you expect things to stay the same forever?_

_Yes._

"Sarah?"

She found that her father had stepped closer to her, a hand on her arm. His eyes and tone were softer now. "I'm sorry, Sarah. You know that in a lot of ways, this is hard for us too. This is where Karen and I started our family, this is where you and Toby grew up."

"How is Toby?" Sarah found her anger quietly ebbing away, despite herself.

Her father smiled – "Toby's doing great. Still as devious a child as ever. I swear he's almost as bad as you were. . ."

"Hey! I wasn't that bad!" Sarah shoved him playfully, smiling. "Is he enjoying drama camp?"

He laughed. "Oh yes – but trust me, the last thing that boy needs is more drama! Or, should I say, that's the last thing Karen and I need _from_ him. . ." then his expression suddenly changed. "Oh! By the way, did you notice?"

"Notice what?"

He stepped back, and pointed. "Karen moved this back into the room – I think she missed having something of you here. Although of course if you want to take it with you. . ."

Sarah stood, staring, words failing her. How could she have not noticed before? There WAS something familiar in this room, a physical presence from her memories and childhood . . .the vanity. HER old vanity!

Her father smiled again. "I knew you'd like having it back in here," he said quietly. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Somehow, this room has never felt right without _you_ in it."

She looked back at him, smiling too.

"Well, you've had a long drive – I'll let you unpack and relax. If you want to go to bed, Karen and I definitely understand. We love you – and we're both glad to see you." He took her hand, squeezed it, and left the room, closing the door with a solid _click_ behind him.

Sarah turned back to the familiar vanity. Her old vanity – she hadn't seen it in years! In all the changed room, this one piece of furniture was unchanged – the white paint left peeling, the wood dented in places, the round mirror shining and clean but still chipped along the bottom left curve. She found herself moving toward it, grinning like a child – but the face caught in the mirror was not a child grinning back at her.

Sarah wasn't a child anymore, after all.

She sat slowly onto the stiff little chair.

For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to look again in the mirror of the vanity. She ran her fingers along the knobs of the drawers, her eyes downcast. Searching, thinking.

Finally, the hazel eyes raised and turned on themselves – no child this Sarah. No child at all.

"Mirror? Do you recognize me?"

Somehow now, she wished there wasn't anything familiar in this room – her memories felt further away than ever. _She_ was not familiar anymore; she was a stranger just as changed from her own past as this room. Something wet dripped onto her wrist – she was crying. _Why was she crying?_

Then Sarah remembered something, remembered it so abruptly she forgot to cry anymore. Would it still be here? She stiffened. Don't look. _Don't look_. Don't. . .

She was opening the drawer, slowly, hesitantly. The warped wood squeaked low and long as she pulled. Karen had surely moved it . . .

There it was. Sitting on top of old photographs and newspaper clippings, the scarlet cover blazing undeniably, the flaking gold-leafed letters sparkling in the fading daylight.

_The Labyrinth._

She reached a hand out for the book . . .but stopped. _This book_. This book was the catalyst for so many memories . . . so many dreams and fantasies. Would she find it unfamiliar now as well? Could she bear that?

_She had to know_.

She felt the weathered texture of its leather cover in her hand. Bringing it up right in front of her face, she examined every detail of the cover. Then, she opened the book, opened it to a random page and found herself reading aloud the first line to catch her eye –

"Give me the child."


	6. Chapter 6

**.: :CHAPTER SIX: :.**

* * *

The castle in the center of the maze seemed to hover just in sight over the walls as Amry walked, and she imagined it danced and moved with her steps, much the same as she used to imagine the moon did as a child. Somehow the longer she spent in the maze the more the view of the castle became comfortable and familiar - a distant object whose silent vigil seemed to encourage her onward.

She wondered what lay in wait for her inside at the end of this journey.

Many hours must have passed, she was sure, but there was no true reality of time. The sun seemed stuck defectively in its position high in the sky, unrelentingly casting red shadows at the same sharp angles on the dusty stone floor of the maze. Her feet were starting to really ache and her thoughts to turn sour. Why had she walked inside this stupid maze? At least outside of the maze, she knew where she was!

But that wasn't true, was it? In or out, she had no idea how she'd gotten here or what _here_ was. Maze or not, she was lost and alone. She hadn't encountered another living thing for hours. She found herself half-hoping to come across the unhelpful potato man from earlier. . .

. . ._what had his name been again? Boggle?_

Amry had tested several different approaches to navigating her way through the maze, but logic and reason had not served as a reliable guide.

Her first attempt was to mark her route with tiny stones and debris. However, when her first dead end was encountered and she turned back in search of her carefully-arranged markers, she found they had simply vanished.

A few hours later, a second brilliant idea occurred to her – why not simply climb the walls of the labyrinth? They weren't that tall, and climbing would allow her to simply walk along the tops with a clear view of where she was headed and how to get there – it'd be easy!

Surveying several stretches of wall, she finally selected one that seemed to have more defined texture – texture that would serve as foot and hand holds for her climb over. She approached the wall, carefully planning where her hands and feet could find purchase. The walls weren't that high – she'd be up in no time.

It seemed like this plan was going to work – she mounted the wall and started to make progress in her altitude. But then, as she was searching for a handhold a foot from the top, a tiny wild-looking green man scuttled out of one of the cracks in the stone. He wore a helmet far too large for his miniscule head and seemed upset that Amry was on his wall. At first she hadn't noticed the little figure, but then the thing began to shriek in a high-pitched, unintelligible language. She turned her head and spotted him then, standing next to her hand. And for the next few moments she simply hung there on the wall, staring at the miniscule man with wide eyes – he was positively hopping in anger, shaking his tiny fists and, although Amry couldn't understand him, she would guess he was cursing at her.

A smile had crept across her face. This only seemed to anger the wild man further, which was so funny that Amry couldn't help but laugh.

Soon other little people were crawling out from tiny cracks in the stone wall, probably stirred by the combination of the little man's shouting and her laughter. They were all wild looking, helmet wearing, and different colored; natural greens and bright purples, shades of scarlet and orange. When they saw the giant girl, they too began hopping and shouting. Amry craned her neck, trying to see all of the little people around her on the wall.

Then she had felt a sharp pinch on her hand.

"Ouch!"

Her head swung instinctively towards the source of pain - the original little green man was biting her hand! She drew her hand away and he released his teeth. As soon as she placed her hand back on the wall, the little man bit it again. Then she felt little pinches and pushes everywhere.

The whole army of tiny wild people were biting, kicking, and prying this intruder off their wall. Amry, utterly terrified, had felt herself begin to slip. Then, she lost her hold completely, and with one last desperate look at the green man (he was smiling and waving nastily), she fell off the wall and landed heavily onto the worn stone floor of the maze. She could hear tiny victorious cheers above her. Rising, she rubbed her sore bottom and glared hatefully at the colorful specks on the wall – barely resisting the urge to attempt squishing them.

Her latest technique was simple - she was wandering aimlessly whichever way struck her fancy. _After all_, she figured, _if using reason got me nowhere, then not using reason should get me _somewhere.

Then again, wasn't that _reasoning_ to not using _reason_?

As Amry worked her way deeper into the maze, she discovered little variations in her surroundings: steps in places and smooth archways occasionally stretching overhead, here and there branched growths extended from places in the wall and dead moss protruded from cracks along the stone. At one point Amry came to a great intersection of paths with strictly pruned bushes (_odd)_which centered around a single stone post with hands that pointed encouragingly in every feasible direction. She had tried for the longest time to make sense of this monument, but to no avail, and she simply again surrendered her reason to randomness.

For all the progress it felt like she was making, the walls might as well be moving. And as her anxiety slowly began to build, she started to feel convinced they were. . .

Amry's thoughts returned to why she'd come in the maze, to wondering what would happen if she never got out again. . .she raised her eyes to the castle again, her constant companion. It seemed now to glare at her from above, following her to mock her. Gloating. Teasing. Was it _laughing_ at her? She took a deep breath – in and out. _Just. . .keep. . .going. . _

She turned a corner, and there in front of her was the strangest thing yet she had seen in the labyrinth. Abruptly she stopped and stared.

She had come to a T in the maze, and where forward stopped and only left and right became options stood this strange...abnormality. It reminded Amry of a tree, slightly taller than her with a winding trunk that must have burst up from beneath the floor of maze itself (pieces of broken stone lay about its rooted base). The flesh of it was dull green and veined, tight and ugly in texture. Here and there, leaves curled out. But as soon as Amry was sure it must be a stumpy plant, she noticed there were two faces –one directed to the left, and the other to the right. They were too clearly faces for the shape to have been imagined. Each was exactly identical to the other, with long, extending noses and eyes wrinkled shut. The more Amry looked, the more she saw a human-like shape – the faces seemed to share a head atop a thick neck, which wound down into a body with four sets of (what were definitely) arms between two chests. It was as though, back-to-back, two creatures had molded together into one.

Amry continued to stare, marveling at the texture of the flesh and the greenness of its leaves.

Something in the plant/creature flinched.

"It's rude to stare, you know."

The voice was old and moth-eaten but pleasantly male. Amry started violently, taking a few steps back. She watched carefully (despite the reprimand) but the plant/creature did not stir. The eyes stayed peacefully shut, and after a moment, Amry convinced herself she only imagined the voice.

"Would you like it if we gawked at you like that?"

This voice was fresh and young, distinctly different from the first yet still male. Amry actually saw the greenish flesh stretch and the jaw work on the right face of this creature, although nothing else on the faces or body of this figure moved.

"Ah…" Amry had no idea what to say.

"Staring isn't going to help you figure out which way to go."

The deeper voice.

Amry dumbly nodded, then remembered the eyes were still closed.

The younger side spoke again:

"Maybe you should try asking us for directions?"

Amry found herself nodding again – then stopped. Clearing her throat, she proceeded as advised:

"Okay. . .ca. . .can you tell me if I should go left or right?"

"Sadly," the older voice said gravely, "we don't know."

Amry found herself raising an eyebrow. "Then why. . ."

"Oh, we don't know what_ left_ or _right_ is," broke in the younger, "but we do know the rising and setting of the sun. One of us watches the sun rise, and the other watches it set. That's how we mark all things – we are the DayHailers."

Well that answered her question about the strangely frozen sun – it must move. Her gaze flickered briefly to its seeming permanent position overhead, then back to the DayHailers.

It occurred to Amry then that she never seemed to be able to get a straight answer out of anyone she spoke to. Maybe if she was careful about the phrasing of the next question. . .

"So which of you watches the sun move in the direction I want to take?"

"Well, I watch the sun rise," said the younger side, "and my brother watches it set."

"A riddle." Said the older side, "as to which of us faces your desired path. Where you should follow the sun."

"Yes, a riddle" agreed the younger.

"Great," said Amry. _So much for careful phrasing. . ._

There was a slight stirring and deep groaning – like a tree caught in the wind. The riddle than began - both sides switching off between lines, reciting it together:

_"The last to end is my first,_

_And the first in this line is second._

_The third is always worst-_

_But lacks when sort is reckoned._

_And now, the last we have to give_

_Is the middle of the end._

_If our riddle has not held you captive,_

_Follow the sun, my friend."_

Amry was familiar with these types of riddles – she had often enjoyed the process of solving them from her books. After requesting they repeat the riddle once more (and taking mental note of which voice came from which side), Amry felt confident she knew the answer.

"Okay. . .thank you."

The Day Hailers did not acknowledge her - they were silent again. Amry took one last look at the peculiar creature/plant, then turned and proceeded down the passage she figured as the correct one. A strange thought occurred to her – _I wonder what would happen if I went the wrong wa. . ._

Suddenly, there was nothing solid beneath Amry's feet. In mad terror, she had only an instant to look down and see that, in her distracted state of mind, she had stepped right into a pit.

She fell.

Down, down, down. . .

_(author's note - can you solve the riddle?)_


	7. Chapter 7

**.: :CHAPTER SEVEN: :.**

* * *

The air whistled across her chest, ripped through her hair. Her stinging eyes watered and her body spun in the darkness.

Inside, she was screaming. Outside, she was too terrified to make a sound.

She was falling – she knew she was. She had seen the hole, felt gravity's heavy hold pull her through it. Yet what a strange feeling it was to always be falling – almost as though you can't actually be falling at all. As if this was always how life has felt, a confused spinning chaos without order or perceived direction. . .

There seemed to be a sudden bright flash – although in fact, Amry had simply reached the end of the long corridor she'd been falling down and through a hole into a lit room - and Amry felt her feet contact solid ground. Gratitude blinked across her brain briefly as her knees buckled and her palms slammed onto the wet stones.

She landed hard – but somehow, she wasn't dead. And she knew she should be.

For a moment, she let herself lay in a heap on the stone floor. She felt her body trembling from the fear, the cold, the exhaustion of playing this ridiculous game.

_What is wrong with me? Why did I enter this stupid maze? And I KNOW I answered that riddle right. . ._

Amry groaned aloud and wrapped her fingers around her forehead. She rocked a moment, despairing over what an idiot she now perceived herself to be. She certainly hadn't thought this labyrinth thing through enough, hadn't considered the risks she'd willingly taken. And for what? For what?!

After a moment, she sighed and summoned up her strength. It was pointless, after all, to keep lying there on the cold stone floor. Her limbs ached, and she felt suddenly exhausted. But, exhausted or not, afraid or not, she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. She couldn't surrender. What was done had been done, what was said had been said. And now, she had to get up.

As Amry stood, she raised her sore eyes slowly up to the high stone ceiling above. She saw the hole through which she had fallen. In the distance there was no pinprick of light to indicate the sky existed above - the hole was a flat circle of black nothing. Lowering her eyes, she turned her mind from where she'd been to where she was presently.

Amry was in what appeared to be an underground cavern. It was much like a cave, but the grey stone floor was worn smooth and only the occasional stalactite hung overhead. Somewhere water was dripping. She could not determine the room's true size - she was standing at one end of it with two torches casting a weak light that soon gradated back into darkness again.

Between the two torches, there was what appeared to be an inscription etched into the stone of the wall.

Amry squinted and drew closer. The odd curly script read:

"Ce qui est souhaité d'être oublié"

Amry attempted to speak the words aloud. "Sounds French," she noted to herself.

French. Amry hadn't ever taken French. Of course, on the other hand it just as easily could be some strange language she had never heard of. Or perhaps it was another riddle . . .?

Her fingers went instinctively to the black pointed crystal she wore. Between her anxious fingers it was twirled and massaged.

Suddenly, light flooded the darkness behind her. Amry gasped loudly in surprise and spun on her heel. Blinking in disbelief, she gaped at what she saw. The other half of the room was now lit, with no apparent source of light.

The cave-like room narrowed into a long twisting passage. On a section of the passage wall, there appeared to be...a framed picture hanging?

Amry walked curiously across the stone floor to the beginnings of the passage, where the large cavernous room seemed to gather itself together into a rounded hole. The passage itself had a rounded shape, and curved up ahead out of sight. The picture hanging on the wall before her was large and square shaped. It was set off by an elegant gold frame ornately carved into skillful delicate designs - it seemed tragic that this beautiful frame was buried deep in the earth in an uninhabited hall. At first Amry thought the image within in the frame was a photograph, but upon closer inspection determined it a painting. A remarkable painting, so exquisite in its detail and capture of life that the very portrait seemed to breathe.

It was a depiction of a man, his face filling the canvas. The features were so expressive of personal sorrow, so plainly depictive it was almost as though his very troubles were written upon them. In his obvious worry. In the lines of his face, the turn of his lip, the muscle clenched in his jaw. His seemed a face of centuries past. Amry shivered in the encompassing misery she felt in this picture's presence. She looked into those hollow painted eyes and saw dreams of a better place...

Amry hesitated. She wasn't sure she wanted to go this way, that she wanted to follow this new path into the twisting passageway - but it seemed she had no other choice. Taking one last look at the torches, inscription, and hole in the ceiling, (as though looking for a hidden alternate route, but finding none) she finally turned and walked onward down the rounded hall.

The tunnel was long and comfortably wide. Paintings, an uncountable number of them, dotted the walls. Each was a portrait of an expressively tormented person, a soul that haunted the canvas and burned into the onlooker the impressions of empty existence. Each face seemed to echo from different eras, different times in history.

There were so many faces.

On and on Amry walked, down the line of portraits. Farther and farther down the long stretch of the passage. For some reason she felt compelled to examine each portrait individually and learn the sad story framing each pair of eyes before moving on. This made her progress down the passage slow, but she could not just pass those hungry expressions.

The air was thick with heartaches, loneliness, a suffocating despair.

As she moved along, she noticed that the looks of different eras were thinning, becoming less and less in number for each period.

She walked on and on, turning to look at this painting, glancing at that one, until...

Amry came upon a face that struck her in a different way. She paused as she had done at all the paintings to look into this face. It was a pale face still rounded in youth, framed by dark brown hair. Two sad hazel eyes filled with question. Staring right at Amry. Eyes filled with the desperation of a child who fears an adult world she perceives to be cruel...

Somehow, a name found Amry's tongue...

"Sarah."

She did not know where the name had come from, but somehow knew with all her being it was this girl's name. Amry moved closer to the huge rectangular portrait, looking deeper into the girl's painted eyes.

Despite the brushstrokes that composed them, they seemed to shimmer, to glisten, to live, to gaze right back.

Finally she pulled herself away and pressed onward. After a few steps, she spotted another picture up ahead.

She moved toward it but soon froze in surprise.

Even from this little distance, it was obvious who it was.

She found herself walking slowly towards it, numbed by a quiet sort of amazement. A painting, the subject mastered beautifully in haunting detail. As were all the other portraits…except…

"It's...me."

It was. Her own face, with her own eyes gazing out from a terrible inner emptiness. A portrait of her framed and displayed in this forgotten place. Amry's emotions were beyond words.

"But...how...why...?"

It was so completely her...not just in the identical features, but the look in the eyes, the story in the face, the expression, the very reflection of light upon it. A part of her was overwhelmingly awed. A part of her wanted to stay and stand here and examine every detail of her portrait...

…while another part – a deeper, more instinctual part – was completely terrified at its existence. She turned and found herself running away from it, refusing to linger and learn the story in her own face. Refusing the mirror the painting offered to her suffering.

As soon as Amry felt she'd put enough distance between her and the portrait, she again slowed her pace. She walked on a little further before she realized there was yet another portrait hanging ahead.

The man in it was absolutely nothing like any of the other pictures she had seen down here. His sadness was somehow different, and in the dim light it seemed to beckon her towards him. He had silver blond hair, a long face with thin lips and nose, and a pair of piercing eyes that seemed to both plead with and mock her.

As Amry stepped closer, she noticed the subject's eyes were two different colors and the pupils opposite sizes. She stepped closer again – she couldn't help herself. She was strangely frightened, yet enticed by this face. By this man.

She raised a hand and reached towards the canvas...somehow, she wanted to touch it, feel the texture of it beneath her fingers…

As her hand neared the painting, the brushstrokes began to quiver and vibrate. A sound started to echo from them, winding around Amry and pulling her in...

"It's a crystal, nothing more...but if you turn it this way, it will show you your dreams..."

Voices, voices cried and enveloped Amry, spoke and whispered and screamed and shook...

Sounds of glass breaking, of music playing, of singing...

"As the world falls down..."

The volume was growing and Amry's fingers were so close... reaching, stretching out to touch...just an inch away...

The painting was shimmering, moving, living...

Her fingertips made contact.

The surface of the painting rippled like water. Then the frame stretched itself wide, like a horrible mouth, and the whole wall rushed at Amry. She fell back and screamed.

The warped painting was coming at her – and then, suddenly she was outside. Sunlight was warmly streaming all around and a fresh breeze was blowing – what had happened?

. . .

Jareth was impassive at the sudden appearance of this girl next to him. He rolled his wrist and the round crystal he had been gazing into a moment before vanished.

He turned his mismatched eyes now to Amry.

He was expecting her.


	8. Chapter 8

**.: :CHAPTER EIGHT: :.**

* * *

Amry blinked hard in the bright sunlight of her new surroundings, completely confused. She was presently encircled by a wall of green hedges in a stone-paved sort of open piazza, blue sky stretching overhead. Where exactly was she?

It was several moments before she was able to gather her thoughts enough to stand. She stretched her sore body and set her mind again to figuring out where she was – inside the painting perhaps? Transported to a different part of the maze? On another planet? Really, the possibilities were as endless as her confusion. She vaguely wondered if the incongruity of her journey would eventually numb her brain beyond the point of attempting to make sense of it all.

In silence Jareth stood behind her, watching and waiting. He had quietly stepped away from the girl as she stood, allowing himself to go unnoticed.

At least, until he decided he wanted to be.

He was casually leaning against a decorative stone planter (a handful spotted the piazza) with his arms folded in front of his chest. He looked as if he had all the patience in the world, all the time in the world by the way he stood and stared.

However, it had been his vast impatience that compelled him to manipulate the girl into touching his painting. Even now, well hidden, impatience was eating at his core. But Jareth could be very good at controlling his emotions. Most of them, anyway.

Not this one – this emotion that subtlety unnerved him. A quiet emotion which disturbed his concentration, which interrupted his focus as he watched this girl.

Abruptly Amry stiffened, as though some extra sense had tingled. Slowly she turned, meeting Jareth's eyes with her fearful, questioning gaze.

He made no attempt to move or hide his blatant stare. She blinked at him, the recognition shifting her features into an expression of awe.

The man before her was the man from the painting. But the incredible skill of the hand that created that painting had only touched on doing justice to the actual person standing before her.

His hair was silken silver gold, layered unevenly with odd long strands lying against his long pale face. Two eyes of opposite hues and pupil sizes steadily observed her, oddly full of emotion in contrast to the set thin lips, controlled breathing, and set jaw. There was strange coloring around his eyes, blending so naturally with the owl-like features it took Amry a moment to notice it as unusual. He was tall and lanky, slight of build. His knee-high black boots, soft grey leggings, and loose open chest white ruffled shirt seemed…fitting. His overall appearance was relaxed and subtly seductive, echoing with an aura of unspoken magic.

She didn't notice the heavy silence until he blinked - the action breaking the spell of her enchantment. Then the awkwardness of the silence, of his stare (and her obvious gawking) pressed in on her with their full weight. A flush rose in her cheeks. She needed to find something to say. . .

It had always been Jareth's rule to let the opponent make the first move in this introductory encounter. Then he could observe actions, attitudes, and thoughts and could respond accordingly, in complete control of the situation. And the girl before him made no attempt to hide her emotions – with a word, she should become an open book to him.

_This_ was the proper way of the game. He felt the corner of his lip twitch up in a barely perceivable self-satisfied smirk.

Amry's mouth was dry. She felt the man's gaze like a heavy weight, his passive silence making her extremely uncomfortable.

Finally, she managed to force her tongue to work:  
"Umm...could you help me, maybe? I'm trying to get through this Labyrinth, and if you could point me in the right direction..."

She trailed off. The man did not acknowledging her question or even the fact she had spoken in the merest flinch or blink. He simply stood staring back at her with that set jaw and those strange eyes. She sank back into her silence, taking him in all over again. He was beautiful, in the way Amry had imagined creatures such as unicorns would be. Beautiful with deadly eyes that ensnared your very soul.

One of his arms moved, startling Amry. His wrist twisted gracefully upward and, from nowhere, a round transparent sphere rolled snugly into his palm. The man lowered his eyes, considered the crystal, and looked back at Amry.

"Tell me...

His voice was quiet and full, softly accented.

…what do you dream of?"

"What…what do I _dream_ of? Well, at the moment, it seems I am dreaming about being in a maze -"

He interrupted: "Surely you must have secret wishes?"

Those eyes were burning into her. They were set, emotionless except for the firmness of their gaze. Amry was caught within them, and found herself nodding her head slowly.

"Well then..."

As he said this, he glided into motion, shifting his weight back to his legs. Maneuvering the transparent sphere to a rather precarious-looking position on the ends of his fingertips, he moved toward her a few paces. His elbow was bent and the clear ball rested upright on level with his jaw. He tilted his head, his hair shifting with the movement.

He patiently asked her again:  
"What do you dream of?"

Amry stood feeling at a loss. Several emotions had involuntarily risen up inside of her as he spoke of dreams. Emotions she always had kept quietly to herself - they were deeply her own and were not something she wanted to admit, sometimes not even to herself.

"Amry...I know what you dream of."

She didn't have time to question how he knew her name before he continued.

"Yours are dreams of a different world. A world filled with something yours cannot give you...understanding. Your world is unseeing, cannot understand who you are inside. All you want is for a place where they can."

Her eyes had widened in shock. The accuracy, even the wording...Amry felt vulnerable, naked with the most secret part of her exposed. Her mind went back to the evening in her room, sitting on her bed with her photos -had that truly been as long ago as it felt as she recalled it now? -and the sense of alone that was crushing her. The things she'd felt, the things she'd said. She started backing away, all at once filled with an unexplainable terror. For a moment the man's beauty seemed to twist into something cruel and sharp.

She didn't want to be anywhere near this man. She wanted to get away.

Jareth took in the expression on the girl's face and marveled in curious wonderment. For an individual who was supposed to be as different as the Fifth Parallel, how could her wants be so similar to all the others who had passed through the Underground? This familiar scenario made him feel stronger, more confident. He would seduce her with promises of dreams and crush her with their fulfillment.

Terror pulsed through her body, but the cruelty she'd seen in the man had come and gone in the blink of an eye. Had she only imagined it?

"What if I could give that to you, Amry? What if I could give you your dreams?"

His voice was almost teasing. Her expression shifted from stunned to cautious curiosity.

"Do you see this, Amry?" He gestured the clear sphere perched on his fingertips.  
"A crystal, nothing more. But if you turn it this way, and look into it, it will show you your dreams."

As he spoke, the crystal leapt free of his fingertips and sank airily down into the man's arms. He moved his hands in rhythm with the crystal, catching and twirling, rolling and swaying - the whole time Amry's eyes followed the dance of balance and motion.

The crystal then hopped lightly back to his fingertips. He raised the crystal to his chest, his expression serious. "And I can give it to you. Do you want it?"

He extended the crystal out toward her, taking a step closer. She found herself leaning toward it, peering to see what exactly she could see inside. There was a curiosity and hungry longing obvious in Amry's expression that made Jareth openly smile.

Yet, her hesitation unnerved him.

"Why do you think you were brought to the Labyrinth, Amry? You are special. You have earned this gift..."

A conflict was going on inside Amry's head. Could this be real? Was she actually being offered the realization of all of her dreams? Yet, something was telling her that this was wrong . . she rubbed her smooth black crystal pendant between her fingers in thoughtful concentration. A voice in her head, strangely not her own, was crying out to her and growing louder and louder as she leaned in closer and closer to the offered crystal:

_No...no...don't...no..._

She stopped. Something was _literally_ telling her this was wrong. Or someone. . .

"I-I can't."

She didn't understand why. She didn't understand how. She only understood she should not accept.

A wave of fury broke over Jareth. So close...he had hoped to get her now and save time. How could she refuse him?!

"Then I would recommend you try this path."

The tone was emotionless, deliberately empty. The hand holding the crystal was withdrawn, the crystal itself disappearing. He pointed to a path to Amry's right with a sweeping gesture and turned to walk away.

Amry paused, looking hard at him. Then, her thoughts still reeling from the encounter, she shook her head and started down the indicated path.

Jareth paused before reaching the opposite side of the clearing. He glanced over his shoulder.

"And best of luck to you."

A different crystal, although it looked the same to the human eye, formed in his palm. He swung it up and over his shoulder. Dreamily it soared over the hedge maze portion of the Labyrinth before finally sinking into a distant section that connected with the path Amry was now walking.

Then Jareth stepped forward and vanished into the maze.

**-MEANWHILE - **

Sarah sat bolt upright in the bed. Her breath was ragged, words caught between each gasp...  
"No...no...don't take it...no..."

Heavily she swallowed, and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. She put a hand to her head.

_The Labyrinth…_


End file.

Labyrinth, Drama, Fantasy