So I decided to do both things I was thinking about last chapter. Here we have Sarah remember her first murder, we learn a bit more about her power, and Jareth shows up and gets handsy - because let's be honest, Jareth was bound to get handsy.

Posting this chapter is kind of tying me to this path for the story, which sucks a little bit. I kind of wanted to hold off on putting Jareth in until some big moment... but that would have involved waiting.

...

Sarah Williams saw people's dreams, fantasies, and their daydreams. She saw these as shadows across their faces or dancing lights in their eyes. And it was surprising what dreams would reveal about a person.

For example, she knew that the girl at the grocery store who checked her out wanted to be a hero. She wanted to save people and make up for the brother she'd lost.

She knew that one of her male work associates wanted nothing more than to seduce Sarah, to make her his own. She knew in his idle time he entertained, in equal measure, vile fantasies of domination and a dream of getting a house somewhere with her.

And Sarah Williams knew that Hannibal Lecter dreamed of death. And not only death; he dreamed of killing. In fact, she recognized some of the murders in his dreams as ones she'd seen on the news.

And she knew what she'd eaten the night before last. She'd recognized the taste of human meat on her tongue. It had reminded her, briefly, of blood running down her throat – of moonlight and magic – of power. Of biting into the heart of a man, drawing his life essence out –

Sarah shook herself, staring down at the tablet in her hand. A French lesson looked back up at her, reminding her of the normal things she was meant to be doing. Reminding her of this careful mask of normalcy she kept.

The memory of that night slipped over her, though. It seemed like she could smell the summer air; feel the heavy heat on her skin. Like she was right back there.

It had been her first kill, when she was only eighteen. She had been drunk off of fairy wine and had gone for a walk in the dark with goblins gathered around her heels. They'd wandered into a large park, and in the dark there a man had tried to grab her – unable to see the creatures who clustered all around her.

It must have been the goblins who slipped the knife into her hand, with its wicked sharp edge and curved tip. She had reacted without thinking, had laughed even – she'd had so much of the wine, it made everything feel like a dream.

She had stabbed the knife into his throat, and had looked down at him afterwards, and down at her clothes, her jeans and baggy shirt, stained with blood that shone black in the moonlight, and smiled.

It was then that she'd started to feel the magic creep across her skin like crackling energy. The goblins were joined by people who reminded her of Jareth, tall and powerful – human in appearance but not. Fae.

They had laughed, too. Everything had smelled of magic and spice and honeysuckle, and blood.

"Eat his heart, Sarah." They had said, and she had wondered later if it was some strange initiation rite.

She didn't see who helped her cut the heart out, had only felt strong arms guiding her when she'd slipped to her knees beside the body, the grass soft and sticky with blood.

Now, she supposed it was probably Jareth who had helped her. And certainly it seemed like his voice had murmured something in her ear, some sweet nothing, or some encouragement, but she didn't properly remember.

She did remember, in startling clarity despite the dreamlike quality of the rest of that night, the weight of the heart in her hand, and the way it had given out under her teeth, and how the taste of blood had blended with the residual flavor of wine on her tongue, sweet and powerful and intoxicating.

The body was found later the next day. Sarah was never suspected for the crime, or even questioned. But she had expected as much – she didn't think her friends would let such a thing happen. Two of the people had seen her home with her little following of goblins. They had washed her clean of blood in a bath she only remembered as being milky in color and tucked her safe in bed, leaving something like glitter in their wake. She remembered, faintly, them singing to her – a lullaby as she slipped away into dreams of hearts and blood. The goblins had slept on the bed, and Merlin had lain at the foot, all of them like strange guards.

The tablet was dark, and so was the world beyond the window of her library. The low-lighting glinted off a glass case in the back corner, where rested the very knife from her memory.

Quietly, Sarah got up and went to look at it. She'd used it a handful of times since, for the same purpose it originally came to her. Though it had been some years since she'd done anything, and the last time was before she moved here.

She trailed the tips of her fingers over the glass, thinking. She knew the main drive behind her current actions was boredom, she knew she was growing restless. The itch for adventure, or action, or something, anything really, had settled deep into her bones.

She hadn't originally gone to Hannibal with the intention of this game she was starting, but when she realized what he was, the temptation had gotten hold of her, and grown to be too much.

Something in the room changed then, she felt it. With quick fingers she opened the case and grabbed the knife, turning to look behind her at the library. Outside, a roll of thunder sounded.

A sarcastic thought slipped through her mind, 'typical', it said. 'So dramatic.' She shushed it.

She hadn't properly seen Jareth since she left the Labyrinth. She hadn't strictly ever called for him, but part of her had expected him to show up, when she'd grown enough to desire such a thing.

Adjusting her grip on the knife handle, Sarah took a step forward. It was possible it wasn't Jareth, she supposed. If someone else had invaded her home she would slit their throat and feed them their own fingers, in whatever order seemed best.

"Be careful, precious." He said, right into her ear, lightly wrapping his gloved hand around her wrist so that she couldn't move the knife. As if she would have.

Well, she might've; to see him jump away.

He pressed against her with such familiarity, as if they had done this a thousand other times. It was clichéd, she thought, but also true. He knew how to fit against her, and his other hand, which had slid across her stomach at the same time he'd taken hold of her wrist, seemed entirely comfortable there.

"You might poke someone's eye out. Isn't that what you mortals say?" His breath, which blew cold against her cheek, smelled like honey and summer. He sounded teasing, and his voice hadn't changed at all.

She decided not to mention that she didn't think she was quite mortal anymore. Instead, she pressed back against him, thinking that two can play his game.

"Yes, it is. But I'd do rather more than poke your eye out, darling." Though Sarah didn't notice, her voice got that same exotic note to it that Dr. Lecter had noticed in his office. It slipped easily off her tongue, like it belonged there.

Jareth chuckled, and she felt the vibrations of it along her back as he slid his hand up around hers and pulled the knife from her grasp. She didn't fight him, if for some reason something went wrong she had more ways to dispose of him than a knife she suspected he had originally given to her.

"I have missed you, Sarah-mine." He said, setting the knife back in its case before pulling her closer against him.

She still couldn't see him, given their position. She decided to remedy this, and twisted around in his grasp. She felt his amusement as he let her, and his excitement, low and controlled.

He hadn't changed at all, still wild-haired and handsome. Still regal, still magical. Still very much a King, though he wore no crown. He was wearing his feathered cloak though, and she thought idly that it quite suited him.

To Jareth, Sarah had changed quite a lot. She had lost the baby-ish look of youth, had matured into a beautiful woman, and in her green eyes something new sparked – something dark and intoxicatingly interesting.

"You've certainly taken your time coming to me." Sarah said, frowning at the height difference between them. She was barefoot, and Jareth, as was his habit, wore heeled boots.

"You certainly took your time starting the next chapter of our story." Jareth replied, pressing his hands to her back, exploring.

Sarah tilted her head, "What do you mean?" She asked, putting her hands on his arms. He smirked with amusement.

"How important do you think stories are to me, precious?" He leaned forward, closing what little distance had existed between them. Subtly, Sarah narrowed her eyes and pressed the lower-half of her body to him.

If he thought she was still that innocent 16-year-old who didn't know what to do with a handsome man, he was wrong, and she would very much enjoy correcting him.

"I'd dare say they're very important. What does that have to do with chapters?"

She didn't feel them move, but the next instant they were sprawled across the couch, and Jareth was grinning up at her. She noted, when she glanced back to where they had been, a faint glint on the floor like glitter.

"This is both a chapter and an individual story, Sarah. A story between yourself and the mortals, and the next chapter for you and I, the chapter were I finally get to steal you away." He grinned at her, a wicked grin full of teeth and magic, and lust.

Leaning down so her lips were nearly on his skin, Sarah murmured, in a voice she'd used before to make men crumble, "Is that why you're being so handsy?"

Jareth laughed.

...

I'm sorry if that seemed like an abrupt ending. I was pretty much done with the scene. I hope it doesn't seem like Sarah was too passive about Jareth being all handsy, too. I figured she got some amusement out of and it was also, you know, Jareth, someone she's certainly desired for a long time.