Disclaimer. I do not own any part of the Labyrinth or the characters. The only thing that belongs to me is the characters I make up and the plotline. This magical realm belongs to none other than Jim Henson, may he rest in peace.

A young woman sat at her desk, moving her hands quickly across rows of keys. She knew she had to get her thoughts out before she would forget them. Her memories of the Labyrinth had begun to fade, but she knew for a fact that they were not just dreams. The Goblin King Jareth was real. Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus and his noble steed Ambrosias were also real. Since the day she had left the Labyrinth, she found it to be an inspiration and started on her journey as a young novelist.

Although, there was one thing that she did regret, sort of. As time flew by, she found herself asking why she hadn't accepted Jareth's offer to stay with him in the Underground, in the castle—his castle—with him. Of course, she then erased the idea because Toby was involved in this situation. She was glad to have been able to rescue Toby from the Goblin King, but in the novel she wrote about her adventure, in the end, Toby was able to go back to the Aboveground while the heroine stayed in the Underground.

She had somehow given the appearance that the Goblin King was in fact in love with this heroine, but that was just a simple thread of hope she gave herself. It was as thin as a strand of her hair, yet it glimmered when light touched it. She looked on the far right corner of her desk to see that small thread. She had bought it a few years ago to attempt to remember her childhood escapade.

Unfortunately, as she grew up, she did wonder from time to time if they truly were there or if they were a figment of her imagination. She did have vivid dreams when she was a teenager. She shook her head. She was going at it again, thinking there was no such thing as a Goblin King. He was real. He is real.

By now, she had stopped typing. She had been running her fingers across her black ball point pen. She's had a habit of doing that while she was trying to concentrate. She took the pen and clamped it down between her lips, the tip and end of the pen stuck out from the corners of her mouth. She looked at the time and realized she had only thirty minutes to get ready before she left for dinner at Sam's house, her boyfriend of four years.

She quickly typed in the last few sentences of the paragraph she had been writing and typed in side notes to guide her in the direction she wanted to go. She did this a lot so that she wouldn't stray from her path. She looked around the room for a small, compact notebook, the pen still in her mouth. She needed something to bring with her in case she caught a sudden jolt of inspiration, which occurred a lot these past few months.

She spotted one on the top of her drawer and grabbed it, taking the pen from her mouth and inserting it into the spiral that held the notebook together. She found a small bag to hold the notebook in and quickly dumped it into that. She tossed her bag on her bed, which needed to be made since she neglected it this morning. She didn't complain, she was bound to sleep in it later on today, anyway. She swung open the two doors of her closet and quickly chose a white blouse and dark blue jeans. She ran into the bathroom, plugged a curling iron in, and hurried to take a quick shower. After her shower, she dried her hair as best as she could and clipped it into sections. She didn't have time to have her hair all fancy like she had wanted, so she decided to style her hair in loose curls.

She stared at herself as she waited for the last strand of her hair to curl. She hadn't changed much, really. Her face had only become longer and leaner. Her emerald eyes were still bristled by the charcoal brown of her lashes. Her lips were still pouty, a nuisance really, in her view. Whenever she had an argument with Sam, he would always change it around and admire her pouty lips and how he could never take her seriously as long as she made that face.

She huffed out a breath and grabbed onto the tip of the curling iron to remove it from her hair. Her movement was too quick and, unfortunately, she ended up burning the tips of her fingers in doing so.

Always impatient, she chided herself mentally.

She slowly, and carefully, detached the curling iron from her hair and set it down on the side of her sink on the marble countertop. She pulled the plug out carefully and allowed the curling iron to cool off. She inspected her fingers and even though it would have a few minor scars, she figured it would be best if she ran it under cold water. She looked down at her sink and twisted the knob with her right hand for the cold water. She allowed the cold sensation to dissipate the sharp, heated pain radiating from her fingers. She looked back up and did a once over on how she appeared. She considered herself…decent.

She shook the thought and walked out of her bathroom. She opened the closet door once again and grabbed a pair of shoes. She walked over to her bed and sat on the end of it, slipping her shoes on. She was really going to miss this place—her home. Of course, she was only here for the winter holiday. Even though she had moved to her dorm in college, her things were still here. Her shelves were still in the same place, along with her stuffed animals. She smirked at the missing spot in between two of her other stuffed animals. Sir Lancelot. Toby had taken a liking to him, so she decided to let him have it.

Her vanity table was still there. Everything was still on it, ranging from photographs, to her makeup, and small trinkets. After getting her other shoe on, she stumbled over to the chair and looked at the lipstick capsule. She figured it wouldn't hurt to do this one last time. She picked up the tube and opened it. There was still a large amount of the lipstick left in the container, since she hadn't used it much when she returned from the labyrinth. She patted the matte material across her bottom lip and rolled her lips together to spread it evenly. She looked in the mirror and as she was about to utter the words she had memorized, her phone buzzed.

She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath she had been holding. She opened her phone after the third buzz and looked at it. Her eyes widened as she realized she only had five minutes to get to Sam's house for the dinner.

Quickly, she turned the alarm off and grabbed the bag which contained her notebook and pen. She closed her laptop in a hurry and looked around the crystal necklace she had found. She saw it on the top of her shelf and she picked it up, fastening it around her neck. There wasn't much of a history to how she found the necklace, but now wasn't the time to ponder on it. She opened the door to her bedroom and stormed down the stairs. She grabbed the keys to her car and bolted for the door, opening and closing it behind her. She unlocked the car and in five long strides, she was in the driver's seat. She put the key into the keyhole and pressed down and turned it clockwise to hear the roar of the engine come to life.

She smiled in satisfaction and buckled herself up. She pressed on the brakes, put the car in drive, and made her way to Sam's house.

"Sarah," he began. "You're ten minutes late. I was beginning to think you bailed on me or something." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I had to get a few pages done for—,"

"Your novel," he interrupted, "yes, yes, I know." Sarah couldn't help but notice the slight edge in his voice when he interrupted her. "Well, come in, its cold outside. You'll catch a cold, seeing how you forgot your jacket."

Sarah gave him a small smile and walked in, silently kicking herself inside for forgetting that darn piece of clothing. It was warm in Sam's house, a little too warm for her liking. Sam closed the door behind her and she looked back, suddenly wanted to be outside. It felt better out there. In his house, it felt cramped and honestly, the heat was turned up to the point where it was suffocating. She felt as if she was in the middle of a large crowd that was huddled together in a subway, the passengers constantly squeezing together to make more room for the other people.

"Come," he beckoned her.

She followed after him into the dining room, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. When she arrived in the dining room, there was no one in there besides Sam and herself.

She frowned and averted her gaze to Sam, away from the lit fireplace. As if it just couldn't get any hotter. "I thought you said your parents were going to be here as well."

Sam shrugged. "They went out to go dancing for a while. They wanted to give us some privacy." He winked at her.

Sarah merely shrugged it off as she sat down in a chair across from him. There was no doubt in her mind that he could tell she felt awkward—unless he was completely oblivious. He played with his fork for a bit before looking at her.

"I'll go check if the roast has finished cooking," he said, excusing himself from the table.

Apparently, he felt the atmosphere in the room turn stiff. Sarah shrugged it off and retrieved her notebook from her bag. She had to write. Today must have been one of those days—the days that she'd done doing nothing but write, taking only moments to grab a bits of morsels or to go to the bathroom. Today altogether was nothing but bad timing. She couldn't control it when she wrote, it just happened. It was an itch that needed to be scratched constantly and if she left it there for too long, she would most probably drive herself mad.

Of course, she didn't know. Every time she itched to write, she satisfied it by allowing the pen to move freely across the blank canvas of the page. And that's what she did. She wrote. She knew that she was supposed to be spending time with Sam, but writing came first to everything. The Underground came first to everything. She had gotten so caught up that she hadn't noticed Sam's return, of course until he cleared his throat.

Sarah raised her eyebrows and attempted to pull her head up from the words on the page, but her hand kept moving, persistent in designing the page with her cursive handwriting.

"Sarah," he said, trying to get her attention.

Again, Sarah raised her eyebrows. Her hand was still glued to the page.

Sam had gotten impatient at this point. He reached over and put his hand over hers, the one she was writing with. Sarah looked up and blinked, zoning back into the real world.

"Sarah, can this wait? I want to have dinner with you." He pleaded. "I'll let you finish after dinner, I promise."

Sarah nodded. "After this last line."

She was about to continue writing, but Sam continued to hold on to her hand. "Sarah, you know as well as I do that one line will turn into two and two will turn into a paragraph and that paragraph will magically transform into ten pages."

Sarah frowned, but reluctantly closed her notebook. She slid her pen back into the spiral and placed it into her bag.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Sarah nodded her head. Just because he didn't allow her to write didn't mean she couldn't delve on her ideas for when she would continue. She sat in the dining chair, her hands in her lap, smiling at the plotline that seemed to twist out before her. Sam gave an exasperated sigh and left once again to check on the roast, or so that's what Sarah believed she heard.

She honestly wasn't in the mood for food or any sort of action that didn't allow her to write. So when Sam placed a large portion of roast on her plate, she only picked at it with her fork, taking a bite or two every now and then. Sam across from her was on his second piece and was about to take another until he looked at Sarah. He was getting fed up with her, acting moody whenever she didn't get what she wanted.

He took hours to make the roast, he practically begged his parents to allow him a night of privacy with Sarah. She couldn't even appreciate being with him. She wanted to write about the Underworld—ground—whatever!

Sam slammed his fork and knife down on his plate.

"Are you going to eat at all?" He asked her. His voice was tense and even she could tell he was getting angry.

Sarah smiled, involuntarily, of course. "I am," she pointed at the small uneven edges of the roast. "I'm just thinking."

"Of course," he said, "always thinking. Constantly daydreaming about that damned world of yours."

He huffed out an angry breath and grabbed another piece of roast. He was cutting through the roast so hard that it scratched the glass plate beneath. Sarah decided it would be best if she just ate the rest of the morsel, and so she did, slowly, of course. They both sat there, Sam in anger, and Sarah in a silent state, not wanting to say a word. She wasn't scared, just a bit hurt that he said such things about the Underground.

He didn't understand, though. Sarah doubted he would ever understand. He wasn't there to see the Underground for what it is. He may have read her stories, yes, but he wasn't there to capture the pure beauty of it—the essence of what continues to draw her to this place. She looked down at her empty plate, but it was filled once again with another piece from Sam.

She continued eating, but this would have to be the last piece. She decided to decline the next if he offered another. The piece that Sam had given her was a lot thicker than the last, so she had to take small pieces in order to be able to chew it. Just as she was halfway done with her roast, Sam threw down his knife and fork and let out a horrendously loud belch.

Sarah winced at that and placed her own utensils down, neatly, on the sides of her plate on the napkin. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but closed it. She looked up at him, timid. He held a smug grin on his face.

"Did you enjoy the roast?" He asked, propping his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together.

Sarah nodded. "It was good," but her voice only came out to be a murmur.

For some reason, her reply agitated Sam. He stood up abruptly, kicking the chair from underneath him. He went around the dining table and grabbed Sarah's wrists, dragging her out of the chair. She stood before him, cowering underneath him. His hands squeezed both of her wrists and she gave a yelp in response. He smirked, seeing that he was still able to hurt her.

"I see you have your attention on me now, don't you?" He asked, through clenched teeth. "Do I always have to inflict pain in order for you to pay attention? Hm? This should be your punishment for whenever you think of that—that King of the Goblins folly."

"He's not a folly," Sarah murmured.

"What's that?" Sam queried.

"He's not a folly," she repeated again, this time finding her voice.

Sam gave her a smug smile. "Really." He said, unable to believe her defiance.

He snatched her notebook from her and flipped to the last page. "Ah, here it is, that little famous line of yours. The wish."

"Sam," Sarah warned him.

Sam smirked at Sarah. "I'd like to watch you crumble to the floor while I read this aloud for you to find that faerytales aren't real."

"Sam, it's not a faerytale." She tried to snatch the notebook back from him.

His eyebrows rose in astonishment and he raised the notebook higher. "So you really want this notebook that bad? I want to ask you something, would you rather chose the," he sneered at upon saying this, "Goblin King or would you rather chose me?"

Sarah didn't answer him; she just wanted her notebook back. She continued to jump for the notebook that was out of reach.

"Of course you would choose him." His sneer deepened. "I'd bet the Goblin King isn't as perfect as you describe him in this novel of yours—such trivial and childish nonsense." He looked down at the crystal necklace around her neck. "And there you go wearing that cheap crystal necklace. Did you not like the diamond necklace I gave you? No, of course you wouldn't. You're too stubborn to even realize the things I go through to give you everything. I'm assuming that necklace is there because it reminds you of those—those balls he twirls around in his hands, doesn't it?" When he didn't get a response from Sarah, he pushed Sarah away from him and looked at the last page. "Very well," he began, "since you want to be with him forever let me just say the magic words." His eyes flickered in excitement to be able to crush her dreams of this Goblin King. "I wish the Goblin King would take you, Sarah Williams, away, right now."

Hello everyone :)
I hope you enjoyed it. I've been a HUGE fan for a while and it took me quite a bit of courage to post this up. I wanted it to be...different. I'm not sure as of yet to whom the point of view will be in, but it most probably will be between Jareth and Sarah. I'm writing the second chapter right now as I type this and I can't wait! :D

Well, I'm not sure what you can leave a review about, but I would love some! :) They encourage me and, well, I might need a bit of confidence to be able to write the rest of it. The more you enjoy it, the more I will write! :) Thanks for reading, again! :D

12.28.2010 Edit: I've added a bit to the end and somewhere in the beginning to flesh it out a bit more. :)

~EmEv