AN: Just as some background detail, this story is a bit AU in the sense that there is no previous history between Sarah and the Goblin King.

Many thanks to all the lovely fangirls (and some boys) on the JDB Harem (link is in my profile, please come along and join in the fun!) with special mention for Spring McManus, Magical Mischief, and Undergrounddaydreams who each recently gave me the nudge I needed to finally post some of my work. Thanks to all of you for the continuing inspiration and encouragement.

Disclaimer: Labyrinth doesn't belong to me. If I were the proud owner of Labyrinth, I would send Jareth round to everyone's house to perform "Magic Dance" for each of you. He may even take requests…. if he's feeling generous.

Chapter One

The road outside his house was quiet and illuminated only by the muted glow of the front porch light. Sarah switched off the rattling engine of her beat-up Volvo and took a steadying breath. One of these days her car was going to conk out on her; probably while navigating the crazy traffic on the freeway. Just showing up every day at that crummy cashier job could potentially result in death by mangled car collision, as well as already being slow spiritual death by mind-numbing tedium. At one time, she would have shrugged off this sort of thought in the spirit of optimism. Lately, however, the mere idea of simply keeping her chin up just made Sarah feel queasy in her stomach. She was only twenty-eight years old, yet prospects increasingly looked glum.

Amazing how a wave of panic over the seemingly useless purpose of your life can make you accept dinner dates with fifty year old men. Well, nearly fifty. Tomorrow was Dr Michael MacCormack's birthday, so tonight he was apparently choosing to celebrate the last gasp of his youth, as he put it, in the company of a lovely young woman. Sarah had known Dr MacCormack for a few years now. She always made pleasant small-talk with him at the checkout every week while he purchased his groceries. Their relationship grew friendlier when he discovered her ambitions to be a writer. He eagerly helped her get a collection of short stories printed at his friend's publishing house, even going as far as assisting her with the mountain of paperwork when she signed the publishing rights. Unfortunately, only a small number of copies were printed and the book itself received virtually no PR. Thus it had failed at a commercial level; although one lone review in the Fantasy Monthly magazine had applauded the author's bold and imaginative style. Sarah framed the clipping and hung it proudly above her desk, encouraging herself daily not to give up.

This small success would not have been possible without Dr MacCormack; or Michael now, as he insisted she call him. Therefore one dinner date at his house to celebrate his birthday was hardly asking a lot. Moreover, he was a highly successful surgeon. She knew her parents would have been delighted at the prospect, if she actually kept in regular contact with her parents…

With a smile and a quick touch up of her lipstick, Sarah finally stepped out of the car, adjusted her simple black dress for the millionth time, and made her way up the winding marble front path. In an instant Michael was at the door greeting her with a large smile, ushering her into the front room. He was not a tall man but somehow his status as a renowned surgeon added a few inches to his height. The dark, sensibly trimmed, hair appeared rather dashing with the tints of grey – why was it that things like that could actually improve a man's looks? As he slid the dark raincoat off her shoulders in a gentlemanly fashion, he enquired if she preferred red or white wine. Sarah found it difficult to stomach white wine after one particularly boisterous night in college but felt that red wine was perhaps too intimate for a first date, so she decided to forbear with white. Was this a date? If it was, she couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not. Surely that was a bad sign in and of itself.

"Here we are," Michael proclaimed upon returning with two generous glasses of white wine. Sarah took the glass from his outstretched hand and enjoyed the feel of the cool crystal cupped in her palm.

"So what shall we drink to Mr Almost-old-fuddy-duddy?" She teased.

"Excuse me, but I do believe that's actually 'Dr Almost-old-fuddy-duddy' to you." He said flashing a dashing smirk at her, "Why don't we drink to… the future?"

"Yes, to another fifty years! And a happy geriatric ending, complete with comfy sofas and excellent dentures." She grinned, hoping to keep the mood light.

They clinked their glasses and Sarah was once again struck by the latent awkwardness that seemed to permeate the evening. Shaking it off, she allowed herself to be led into the luxurious dinning area for what promised to be a sumptuous meal.

Scooping the last of her linguini onto her fork, Sarah pushed her now empty plate away with a sigh of contentment. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so well fed, it made her feel much more relaxed. The awkwardness from earlier seemed almost forgotten now as Sarah had spent much of the dinner being thoroughly entertained by Michael's stories from the hospital.

"I mean obviously as a professional, I shouldn't be laughing at my patients' misfortunes. But when you come into hospital because you've managed to get a pogo stick jammed in a… uh, uncomfortable place, then you really have nobody to blame but yourself."

"Well, I can't blame you for finding it funny but I can blame you for choosing to tell me this story while I was eating." Sarah returned with a good-humoured grimace.

"My table talk is perhaps a bit graphic for dinner parties but it's difficult when so much of your life is taken up with the work you do. I still have such a passion for it, though. Knowing that you alone can be the difference between life and death… touching so many lives in such a profound way. It's incredible. I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't have been a doctor…" Michael said, suddenly becoming wistful. He smiled and took another sip of wine.

Sarah tried to imagine a life in which she could be so consumed by her work. Writing was not an easy profession, by any means. It had the potential to pervade every facet of one's life; and when inspiration strikes, it can clench the writer's mind in a steely grip that cancels all other day-to-day concerns. Sarah had experienced this before. However, her increasing pessimism about her chosen career had rather dampened the inspiration life had to offer these days. Determined not to allow her train of thought to drift too far into self-pity Sarah decided to keep the conversation in more light-hearted terrain.

"Actually I think it would be difficult for one graphic story to spoil such a lovely meal, anyway. It really is the most delicious linguini I've ever tasted. Dare I push my luck and ask whether there is an equally tasty desert on its way…?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

"Don't worry Sarah; I am fully prepared to deal with your legendary sweet-tooth." Michael stood up from the dinning table and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned some moments later with two plates, each with a slice of thick dark chocolate cake. And not just any ordinary slice of chocolate cake, either; this was the moist, spongy, dripping with warm chocolate sauce, positively mouth-watering variety of chocolate cake. Sarah actually felt her taste-buds dance and sing around her mouth with glee.

"Voila Madame, I've even cut you a slightly bigger slice."

"Oh wait, shouldn't we have put candles in the cake and sing a song first? You don't want to be cheated out of the chance of making a birthday wish."

Michael paused at that but shook his head placing the cake in front of Sarah, "I think I'm probably past that sort of thinking." He said with a slight frown.

"Aw you're never too old for a little bit of magic, is what I say." Sarah smiled, eagerly taking up her spoon to dig into the delicious treat. She didn't notice the look of unease that flashed over Michael's face.

The chocolate cake tasted even better than it looked. That first bite was pure heaven, as it practically melted on Sarah's tongue. She released a sigh of pleasure and beamed happily at Michael, knowing full well that her apparent excitement over a chocolate cake was probably not that of a sensible and mature woman. Then again, Sarah was tired of being a grown-up. Perhaps the age difference between her and Michael was in fact the very thing that allowed her for once to just act like a big kid, instead of worrying about where her life was going.

In a matter of minutes, Sarah had demolished her slice and was greedily scooping up the remnants of the thick chocolate sauce. So preoccupied with her treat and so engrossed in her own thoughts, Sarah hadn't realised that Michael had barely touched his own cake. He was watching her attentively with a steady gaze that could only be described as clinical. Sarah was about to ask him if there was something wrong but curiously couldn't get her mouth to quite form the words. Clearing her throat, she tried once again only to hear her words come out in a series of gurgles and indistinguishable sounds.

I must have had more wine than I thought… I should probably sit down before I fall over – was what she wanted to say. She stood up from the table and realised that she couldn't feel her legs, which caused her to stumble as she tried to take a few steps. Michael was by her side instantly and carefully eased her to the floor. It was at this moment that Sarah ought to have panicked. But strangely, she simply felt listless.

Michael gently angled her head so he could look into her eyes, which she was now struggling to keep open. It seemed odd to her that he didn't say anything or look alarmed in any way by her sudden collapse. The last image Sarah remembered seeing before the darkness consumed her was the glinting rainbow colours of the glass chandelier, hovering behind the darkening outline of Michael's head…

When had it started raining outside…?

Sarah couldn't recall at what point she had opened her eyes. It felt as though all of her senses were gradually coming back into focus one by one, including her hearing since she was now registering the patter of rain against the windowpane. She blinked once, with great effort. And then blinked again. Something wasn't right.

In a flash, everything materialised in her mind's eye. The drive to Michael's house – it was his birthday. The anticipation. The awkwardness. Making jokes. Telling stories. A delicious meal, yes that's right, and then… desert.

Now she was apparently horizontal, since she had been staring at the shadows on the ceiling for an indeterminate length of time. Sarah attempted to move her right arm in the hopes that would give her a clue as to her present whereabouts. Unfortunately, her arm didn't seem to be working. Nor was her other arm. Or any part of her body; except for her neck. This at least allowed her to expand her periphery vision, as she shifted her head from left to right, taking in the details of the room around her.

It appeared she was in a dark bedroom, illuminated by only one lamp in the corner. This cast enough light onto the double bed Sarah was currently lying on but essentially left the rest of the large room shrouded in blackness.

"I was hoping you might wake up," came Michael's voice as he emerged from nowhere. "You probably won't have the use of your limbs back yet or your voice. This is a perfectly natural side-effect from the particular sedative I gave you. We use it all the time for localised operations."

He leaned over her as he said this, shinning a small torch in her eyes. "Pupils are dilating, that's good." Sarah was struck again with how calm and clinical Michael apparently was, given that his dinner guest had just had a bizarre fainting episode downstairs… And then slowly some of his words began to register in her mind: "sedative… I gave you."

Dear god, the man had drugged her.

Dozens of horrifying scenarios suddenly presented themselves. After all, she had moved to the city to get away from the claustrophobia of living at home, essentially cutting herself off from her parents, telling herself she would meet lots of people and have a whole new life. But in reality, it would probably take quite a long time before anyone actually noticed she was missing. Except for her boss at work, of course. The irony that her dead-end job may be her only hope of survival was not lost on her.

"There's no need to look so worried, Sarah. I'm not going to hurt you or anything messed up like that. This was simply the gentlest means of restraining you." Michael let out a breath he had apparently been holding in. "But I should probably explain."

He stood up from where he had perched himself over the bed and began to pace back and forth in slow measured steps. "I spent weeks studying for that entrance exam for medical college. While most other kids my age were out having a good time, getting drunk at the weekends or obsessing over their boyfriends or girlfriends, I was in my room spending hours reading every medical journal I could get my hands on. Now, I know you're probably thinking 'what a loser' but I kept telling myself that once I had become a success in my chosen career, I would be the one reaping all the benefits."

A wistful smile bloomed across his face. Evidently, it was still a source of pride for Michael that he had indeed achieved a high degree of success. This smile quickly faded, however. "In the end, I didn't pass the entrance exam. I missed it by two per cent – can you believe that? Two lousy per cent. After all that time and energy I had invested, to miss out by such a tiny fraction. It infuriated me. I mean, wouldn't anyone have felt the same?" He sighed and took a moment to collect himself.

Sarah didn't know what any of this had to do with her being drugged. She had never seen Michael so on edge; he was always charming, friendly, and supportive but never agitated or uncertain. Something had clearly roused this long buried bitterness. "I was desperate, you have to understand." He said, finally turning to her again. "And I genuinely believed that after all my hard work, I deserved to go to the best medical school in the country. It wasn't cheating really, when you think about it. I just needed a little help to set me on my way…"

It looked like Michael was deep in thought, searching for the right words. Eventually, he took a deep breath and levelled his gaze with the young woman still immobilised on his bed. "Do you believe in magic, Sarah?"

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. Magic was not a topic she expected an intelligent and respected surgeon to bring up in a conversation such as this. She could only convey her bewilderment by frowning at him in response – not that he was really expecting any response from her in her current state. "I can't even recall how it came about… or what it was I actually said that brought him forth… but I don't doubt his power. I still dream about him… if you can really call them dreams…"

Sarah's confusion had obviously registered with Michael now, as he seemed to come back to himself enough to explain what he meant. "I made a bargain that night, Sarah; the night I received my results. It was the day before my twentieth birthday. Exactly thirty years ago tonight. And now, it's time to pay up."

Suddenly, a rumble of thunder reverberated around the dark bedroom. As if this situation really needed anymore ominous spectacle, Sarah thought to herself wryly. However, her attempts at internal humour were merely a shield against the growing dread building in the pit of her stomach. Whatever this "payment" entailed, she was fairly sure it wasn't about money.

"What I need you to understand, Sarah, is that I am not the villain here. This whole situation was not of my making, not really. I was in a desperate state of affairs. I couldn't face the idea of being stuck in my home town working in a job I couldn't care less about, just to make enough money to pay my mortgage and car insurance, then eventually settle down, get married, have kids – and live every day of my life knowing I was meant for something better. Something special, something that actually matters… You understand, don't you? You know what it feels like to be trapped on a course in life you don't want to be on?"

Thinking clearly at all was a bit of a struggle for Sarah at the moment, but she thought she did understand. But why should that automatically entail her being drugged and manhandled against her will?

"I mean really, when you think about it, your sacrifice will probably save lives. I still have so much more to give. If I were to suddenly go missing tomorrow I would be letting down a lot of people who are counting on me. So you see, it's not just for my benefit." It seemed that Michael was not only trying to convince Sarah of whatever enterprise he was about to embark upon, he was also trying to convince himself that his actions weren't unscrupulous. However, Sarah couldn't register the nuances of his speech, since she was drifting between opposite states of panic and haziness, as the drug continued to affect her mind.

"I just wish…"

But Michael was never to complete this train of thought. The clock on his mantelpiece had begun to chime the hour. If Sarah thought Michael looked agitated before, he now all but leapt out of his skin, which swiftly turned a pallid grey colour. "It's midnight… oh god, oh god…"

They both listened to the chimes ring out in their steady and relentless rhythm, indifferent to the distress they were causing. Even Sarah, who still didn't really understand what was going on, knew that something important was about to transpire. And judging by the way Michael was currently frozen in place, holding his breath in his suddenly seized and tightened chest, it wasn't going to be anything good.

The last chime left a hushed silence in its wake.

Several moments passed…

And nothing happened.

Eventually, Michael allowed his eyes to close and let out his breath in a long whoosh. The tension was beginning to ease out of his body and a smile of relief almost made it onto his face when –

"Good evening, Michael." There in the blackest shadows a shape detached itself, as if it had always been there. It took a few steps forward and suddenly became a man. But it was only a "man" in the sense that it was the most approximate description one could make of it.

Sarah didn't have a very clear view of him but it was obvious that this was the man who was the source of Michael's anxiety. The figure was swathed in black with a high collar that framed a razor sharp face, brittle as ice in its complexion, and crowned with a mane of silver blonde hair. His regal posture commanded the space around him, bending the very air to his whim. The atmosphere had shifted as if to accommodate its new arrival and power seemed to ooze from him like a geyser.

No wonder Michael's mouth was currently flapping up and down like a flabbergasted fish.

"You're not too disappointed to see me again, are you my dear Michael? Or should I say Dr MacCormack?" Still no response was forthcoming from the man who had always appeared so impressive to Sarah in his stature as a celebrated surgeon. Now he was all but shrinking into himself as he tried to process the situation that was unfolding in front of his eyes and the impossibility of the being that stood only a few feet away from him.

"I've watched your career with interest," the rich and musical voice continued undeterred, "what a remarkable achievement, and such a transformation from the snivelling self-pity of a young boy who was denied a coveted toy." The smile that wasn't a smile glinted from the shadows.

This taunt apparently did the trick, as Michael's voice abruptly resurfaced. "Listen, I know why you're here but if you just wait a minute while I – "

"I've waited thirty years, mortal" the dark figure interrupted sharply, "I will not wait any longer. You've had plenty of time to tidy up the remnants of your dreary life. It's time we should be going." The indulgent patience of their new guest was evidently over, as he stretched out his hand towards Michael, who stepped forward seemingly against his will.

"No, you don't understand," Michael said, "I have something even better to trade with."

Laughter drifted over the tense silence but did not shatter the taut atmosphere. "Not even all the riches and sparkly pieces of rock you call jewels will save you now, my dear doctor. What I require are living mortal dreams. This necessitates your accompanying me underground to my kingdom, where you shall live out the rest of your days as one of my subjects. That was our agreement." The man-like apparition leaned forward, "You're not reneging on our contract… are you?"

"N-no, no, that's not what I meant – "

"Good. Then there's no point standing on ceremony, let us be going." Again he held out his hand.

However, Michael squared his shoulders, attempting to stand just a little taller, as he determinedly stared down the intimidating figure. "But is it really my mortal dreams you want, Goblin King?"

Whether it was the use of his formal title – what the hell is a Goblin King? – or the sudden question posed to him, the creature withdrew his hand and silently indicated that Michael should continue. "I mean, what good are the mortal dreams of a fifty year old surgeon? When you could have the dreams of a bright young woman instead…"

Michael pointedly turned towards the bed behind him and it was at that precise moment that the Goblin King first laid eyes on Sarah. That sharp pale face amidst the backdrop of black and shadow was now directed towards her, and she felt the impression of his gaze on her like a brand. Even in the hazy condition of her mind, Sarah could feel the air compressing between her prone body and his as it glided towards her like a dark spectre. He took her in from head to toe in one long sweep but returned his focus to her face, making her wonder what it was he found there that piqued his interest. For piqued his interest was.

"She's a writer, you know," came Michael's voice of encouragement from behind him, "she writes fantasy stories and has the most marvellous imagination. I remember when I first read some of her work; it was quite breath-taking, the stunning use of imagery." Echoed back to her now were almost the very words Sarah had heard Michael use to endorse her work to the publishing house all those months ago. The sting of betrayal was too blunt for her not to feel the bite, even whilst half-conscious with the drugs he had fed to her himself. It did not go unnoticed by the Goblin King.

"Her dreams are bound to be much more valuable to you than mine." Michael continued with confidence.

"Indeed," was the quiet reply, "let's see shall we."

A black leather hand descended towards her forehead and touched her so lightly between her brows that Sarah would have sworn no actual contact was made. But it was evident that the Goblin King felt the contact from the manner in which he let his eyes shutter closed and the way his breathing became more concentrated, as though he were inhaling the aroma of a fine wine. Abruptly he opened his eyes again and fixed her with a glittering gaze. "Yes… stunning," he husked softly.

The hand that had touched her on the forehead now slipped down to caress her cheek, as though it had given into a heady impulse on its own. Sarah was overwhelmed by the gentleness of his touch. This creature, the mere memory of which had literally haunted and terrified a grown man into offering up another human being like a sacrificial lamb, was regarding her now with the same awe and reverence as a delicate piece of exquisite art. His fingers brushed back and forth across her soft cheek and then slid down to lovingly trace the line of her jaw. As they curved around her chin, Sarah felt his finger faintly graze the underside of her lower lip, as though hesitant to touch it outright.

"How very cunning of you, Dr MacCormack, to dangle such a lovely thing in front of me; no doubt, in the hopes that I will give into temptation and simply allow you to walk free." The Goblin King turned to Michael then and must have seared the man with the coldest of stares, for the previously confident doctor visibly shuddered under its intensity. "But unfortunately for you, I cannot take this mortal with me in your place; even if I preferred it to be so."

"B-b-but – but you can!"

"Oh I do apologise," the Goblin King sneered, without the slightest tone of apology, "I didn't realise you were once the master of the Underground yourself and are therefore best placed to correct me on my sovereign duty."

"No, no! What I mean to say is – is consent! You're talking about consent, right?"

Sarah couldn't see the Goblin King's face, as his back was currently turned to her, but she could tell from the way he paused that he was carefully considering Michael's words. "Yes… a mortal's consent is required before I may take them underground…"

Michael suddenly moved towards his desk. He retrieved a thick document and began frantically flicking to a page in the middle as he brought it to the Goblin King's side. "This is the contract that was drawn up for the publishing rights to her collection of short stories. If you'll take a look here at, uh… where is it… yes – here at Section 68, subsection (e), subsection (4), you'll see that she's already given consent."

Sarah frowned as she groggily tried to process this new information. What on earth was he talking about? Nevertheless, the Goblin King began to read aloud the indicated section. "The licensee hereby gives leave and full consent that they, whether or not previously advised or forewarned, and without prejudice, notwithstanding any external and unforeseeable circumstances, will be offered as an alternative payment to the monarch of the underground kingdom."

The wheels in Sarah's head began slowly grinding into place. She recalled that weekend she spent with Michael, in this very house, surrounded by document after document that had to be read through and meticulously filled out. How helpful he had been, printing off copies of the contract as they were emailed back and forth between the parties. How he had reassured her that his friend, who was a well established lawyer, had read through the final contract to ensure everything was fine. She had read through the lengthy boring thing herself even. How could it be that such a thing would get missed?

And then she remembered – hadn't he printed out an extra copy of the contract for her to sign? "Just in case", he'd said. A perfect opportunity to quickly cut and paste in an extra clause buried within the volume of legal jargon. The feeling of betrayal washed over Sarah again and again like crashing waves hammering the shoreline.

"And this document has been willingly signed by her own hand?" The Goblin King questioned, upon which Michael flipped first to a page near the front and then a page at the back.

"Twice." He said with a smile of triumph. Sarah saw the Goblin King's head again level itself towards the other man, who's face promptly rearranged itself into a more sombre and diminutive expression, apparently sufficiently chastised.

"Hm, and with such miniscule writing as this, even an intelligent girl would likely overlook a detail so small." It sounded almost like reluctant praise for the man's skill of deception. Handing the bulky document back, the Goblin King then turned and paced a few slow steps, clearly considering something in his mind. Meanwhile, Michael stood as a man awaiting a life sentence to be passed upon him, which wasn't far from the truth.

"Traditionally," the dark king began in a conversational way, "consent from a mortal should be given directly to me… But there is nothing that prevents a mortal from, shall we say, sub-contracting another mortal into taking their place. There have been monarchs before my time who would accept the offer of another willing to go in the place of their loved one, and without anything so formal as a written contract… I myself have accepted such offers."

The Goblin King once again fixed his magnetic gaze upon Sarah. "And a good monarch must always do what is most beneficial for his kingdom…"

The silence lengthened to an unfathomable degree, though in reality only a few seconds had gone by. It was clear the king of the Underground had already made his decision. "Very well, Dr MacCormack, I shall accept your alternative payment in lieu of your own mortal dreams." Michael's entire frame visibly slumped in immense relief and he rubbed a hand over his face. He looked as though he had aged ten years in only the last twenty minutes.

"Our contract," the Goblin King continued, "is now complete."

"Yes, I understand." Michael said distractedly, breathing heavily as if he had just finished running marathon.

"Oh do you?" The smile glinted at him once again. "So you understand that from this moment onwards, you shall no longer enjoy the benefit of my influence in your career?"

This was met with a nervous pause; then Michael let out a gusty exhalation of air, which was probably meant to have been a laugh. "I know what you're trying to do, ok? Y-you just enjoy scaring me, I get it. But we both know that your only influence, as you call it, was to get me into the medical school I wanted so I could become a successful doctor. Just like I always dreamed of being."

The glinted smile became a glittering grin. "Your memory does you poor service, my dear Dr MacCormack. Our exact agreement was, in fact, that I help you become a success in your chosen profession. Now, if that assistance required your acceptance into that pompous medical institution, then that's what I contrived to happen." Michael's face was turning a greyish tint again as the pitilessly gleeful words were absorbed one by one. "Did you never wonder at the ease with which you were welcomed into important circles? Or how smoothly your hospital ward always operates? Or the good fortune of winning a place on the board of directors? Even when faced with such fierce competition?"

Michael looked for moment as though he wanted to object, to protest that surely all of that was down to his own hard work and dedication. But the Goblin King anticipated this response. "Cheating, you'll find, can be very easily accommodated with; if one is able to justify it for a noble cause."

And so it was that in that shadowy bedroom, caught under the brittle glare of a truly apathetic creature, a grown man saw his own life reflected back to him – and began to quietly cry.

"Happy birthday, Michael" the Goblin King said with sincerity.

Having concluded his business with the other man, the dark figure then turned to retrieve the young woman who lay before him like a ripe offering. All this time she had been in a trance-like state, only observing passively what was happening to her. Now that Sarah could feel warm arms slide carefully under her shoulders and behind her knees, reality suddenly set in and with it a rush of panic. Since she was unable to voice her distress, she began breathing forcefully and thrashing her body as much as she was able, even if it wasn't very much at all. However, the Goblin King sensed her latent terror and cradled her close to his chest. Once her head was tucked under his chin, he turned his face down to whisper softly to her, unconsciously brushing his lips against her forehead. "Shh… calm yourself, precious thing. I mean you no harm."

Held so intimately within his arms, Sarah could smell the magical spice of his scent. She felt saturated by it; like bathing in the hot fragrance of an incense burner. Once again the unexpected juxtaposition of a creature seemingly so cruel and unfeeling to have such an intoxicating embrace was overwhelming for Sarah. She tried to ignore the steady beat of his heart pressed close to her side but didn't seem to notice that she had long since ceased her struggles to escape.

His quarry safely secured, the Goblin King swept across the dimly lit bedroom towards the dark corner from which he had sprung forth only a short time ago. The air seemed to part like a veil before them and Sarah felt only the slightest brush against her skin as he strode into another world.