Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth or its characters. Life can be so cruel.

It's Only Forever

Prologue

The woman trailed a finger along the wooden banister as she ventured upstairs, sounds of sorrow falling further and further away. The funeral was still going on. It had been hours. Three, in fact. Never had she seen so many shallow tears on shallow people.

The turnout had been massive; with mourners filing in from God only knew to come feign respect. TV news reporters and podcasters were televising the event as if it were a parade instead of the grim occasion it actually was. Paparazzi took at least a hundred photos of her during the service. Channel Five wanted to know how she reacted to her aunt's death. The Hollywood Reporter was desperate to learn if she would contribute to the E! True Hollywood Story already in production. The Inquirer asked if she worried about developing Alzheimer's, too. Or if her aunt had contacted her yet beyond the grave.

Fake condolences had been given in rapid succession for the first hour and a half until she'd busied herself in the kitchen. And then, when that safe haven was overrun, the woman slipped away unnoticed in the crowd, taking leave to the second floor.

Evelyn didn't know how to handle that media circus. The only other funeral she'd been to was that of her own parents years ago, witness only to a handful of mourners at most. Real tears and real pain, without the mass frenzy of would-be stars wanting attention. No one took selfies near the coffin. No one sought the limelight or said "Hello!" to mum; people just came to say goodbye.

The woman reached the top and looked around, not sure what it was she was even looking for. For all it was worth she was a stranger in this house, the lavish estate of her late aunt. An aunt she never quite knew. Never quite loved. Bitter sentiments and neglect echoed after the sharp click of heels.

Despite her being her late aunt's only living relative, Evelyn hadn't had much reception. It wasn't as if she expected much, but still. The woman assumed she'd at least be welcomed. Her aunt's solicitor had drilled it home when he came to her, adamant that the girl wasn't in the will; so happy to announce that fact, the man practically had grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, but you didn't need to come all this way. How's the weather across the pond? Snowing? You don't say! What was your name again?"

She'd been something of an actress back in the day, her aunt. A sought-after model before her looks quit her. Although the way Evelyn understood, the woman's reputation had been of far more consequence than any sort of career she'd boasted. She'd married rich, and married well, and after putting in a few years of marriage her husband had left her his fortune. And this mansion.

This place had once been grand, with high vaulted ceilings and stately moldings upon the wine coloured walls. In the last months of her life her aunt had been moved to a private infirmary for care, this place left to ruin. Even the servants had abandoned it to dust. Someone had the good sense to cover the furniture before leaving at least, ghosts of chairs and chaises haunting rooms beyond each arched doorway she passed. But there was something to be said for a house left vacant. Without people to make them a home, they took on all the charm of a lifeless corpse.

She meandered aimlessly for a bit, just happy to be alone, until she felt the oddest sensation stop her near a door. She didn't know what to make of it. It was like all the little hairs on her arms stood on end as one.

Curiosity pushed the door ajar, the sturdy oak creaking loudly to reveal a bedroom.

The woman paused near an Edwardian table, taking in the vast array of grandeur within this large suite. The room was quite impressive. Unlike the vibrant gallery she'd come out of, this was a world of muted cream and silk, with refined pinstripes upon the walls and touches of gold upon the fixtures. Every piece must have been carefully selected by hand during its creation in order to match the light gentility of its root décor.

A fantastic oil painting above the bed depicted a lady in a simple blue dress reading a letter, one arm resting on a chair. Evelyn gazed at its realism in wonder. It was quite masterly done and most likely an original from the time period. It was obvious this had been her aunt's suite. What could it have been like to sleep in this whale of a bed, amongst the sea of silky pillows? For a few minutes she simply marvelled at all the luxury. The girl moved around the suite, enchanted. Most of the furniture had been covered but she could see the makings of a chaise and two chairs situated around an ornate table.

The rich tapestries draped on the windows were some of the finest she'd ever touched. They were a rather disappointing shade of ivory though.

A bird outside suddenly hit the window, causing the woman to startle. She watched the little owl fly off and perch on a nearby tree. Evelyn took a step back, eying this odd creature as it watched her. So transfixed in this task, the edge of a bedside table caught her by surprise.

Pain flared for a brief moment in the spot the sturdy wood had connected with, the woman giving a not-so-elegant display of rubbing her bum with a grimace.

"Damn," she ground out. She'd bruise no doubt. With a silent prayer she thanked whatever God was watching that the ornamental lamp hadn't toppled over. "Hmm?"

Something almost out of place in this fairytale of a bedroom took her attention. Amongst the ornate, a flash of faded red and tattered binding caught her eye. Sitting askew on a bookshelf as if put there by mistake and then forgotten, was a small book. The oddity of such a wretched creature existing in this world of prim and proper struck her.

She wasn't sure what had possessed her to take the book. She wasn't sure why without a thought she snuck it into her bag and quit the room, as if her goal for being on the second floor was complete. Nor was she sure why the owl outside gave an amused hoot and sailed off shortly after.

Her aunt's solicitor didn't say anything on her way out, only pausing his conversation with a reporter long enough to manage a brief nod in her direction. No one questioned her departure. No one remembered her, anyway.

But as soon as she boarded the aeroplane whatever spell she'd been under faded, and all through her flight the girl sat troubled.

Deep in the recesses of her luggage was a one-way ticket to Hell. She'd nicked it off a dead woman for God's sake! What was she thinking? She'd surely send it back with a proper note. An accident, she'd claim. Very sorry, didn't mean it. Must have fallen in…Blast that bloody owl!

Somewhere just on the edge of reality, in a place made of fairytales and mischief, a group of Goblins woke abruptly from their sleep.