Timeless
One learns very early on not to inquire the time from Sarah Williams, since she cannot tell you.
It isn't a lack of ability that impedes her, nor a lack of tools. The problem is the tool itself, you see, for Sarah Williams has a lovely silver watch. It can be removed from its band and made into a pocket watch, kept on a chain with little crystal bubbles intermingling with delicate metal links. She wears it everywhere, sometimes as a wristwatch and sometimes as a necklace (this when she ties the pocket watch chain around her neck); regardless, she is never without it and refuses to use any other timekeeper.
In and of itself, the watch is beautiful. And, of course, entirely useless. The intricate Celtic knot-work along the sides of the watch and the fascinatingly fantastic creatures etched into the face distract most people from realizing the fundamental flaw in the watch until they ask Sarah Williams for the time.
"Well, it may be noon. I think… no, actually, from the look of the sun, it's closer to eleven. Bugger all, I do wish I could tell you," she'll say, crestfallen at her unhelpfulness, for she would tell you if she knew.
The most important aspects of Sarah Williams' watch, after all, lies in the thirteen number scattered about its face like freckles, the four hands pointing in nine different dimensions (switching planes of existence at a schedule that made sense only if you were a hand or made the watch yourself), the deficiency of any way to wind or set the watch, and meant to keep amazingly accurate time Under (where it can even barter for a few more minutes, if it likes you, and it most certainly likes Sarah Williams) but gets confused by the straight-forward nature of Above time.
She loves her watch, anyway, and won't hear a word about needing a new one. When she starts getting frustrated by the impracticality of her adored time piece, she strokes the inscription on the back (Forever needs no measurement, but until then… Jareth) and reminds herself that time is relevant only when one chooses it to be so.
Oro: Wouldn't you know it, I'm not dead after all. Fancy that.
Quill: I told you to get writing, but do you listen to me?
Oro: If I did, you'd die of shock. Yeah, so, I've been reading... what, eighteenth century literature? Close to that, if I'm not on the mark. It influences my writing. You should see me after a dose of Shakespeare...
I own what I own. I wish I owned Labyrinth. As it is, I'd settle for Sarah's watch.