A/N: This is a repost of an old fic.

WHERE THE BROKEN ROAD LEADS

I sat in the park today, as I often did, under an elm tree, my back against the trunk as I balanced my oversized sketchpad on my knees. A warm breeze carried giggles and squeals from the playground ahead, and I smiled, recalling summers spent chasing Toby through jungle gyms and over slides. I remembered competing to see who could swing the highest, and as he grew more daring, who could jump the farthest. He bore his bloodied knees like a badge of honor, and I endured Karen's disparaging looks for his sake.

At thirteen, he was too old for playgrounds. We spent Saturdays instead at the movie theater, indulging in the latest action flick with an ungodly amount of popcorn, soda, and candy. Then it was off to the video arcade where I was under strict instructions to make myself scarce if a cute girl should wander by. I didn't mind. He still told me everything, even if he was rehearsing his upcoming role as brooding teenager for our parents. I cherished every moment, knowing too soon friends and girlfriends would become the center of his life, and he'd have no time for his oddball big sister.

Laughter wafted from the playground again, and I glanced up from the blank page of my sketchbook. A little girl with strawberry blond curls and a freckled nose, maybe four or five, weaved in and out of the play structure as her mother roared like a monster, running after her. The girl screamed when her mother seized her, giggled when she was tickled mercilessly. Released again, she ran off, glancing over her shoulder with a cheek-splitting grin when her mother growled, arms raised, fingers crooked. The game repeated several times until her mother collapsed out of breath, proclaiming her defeat.

I sketched the scene, capturing the little girl's delight as her mother advanced, unable to hide her own smile beneath the guise of the tickle monster. Only when I was adding highlights with a white Conté crayon did I notice the girl in my piece had dark, straight locks instead of pale ringlets. The mother didn't have the heart-shaped face as the woman on the playground but the familiar delicate features of Linda Williams, Broadway Star.

My chest constricted as the air grew suddenly thin. I stared at the image, not born from memory but from the dreams of a little girl—dreams never realized. Of all the wishes the Goblin King could have granted, he chose not to grant that one. Before tears pricked my eyes, I flipped the book closed and tucked it away in my satchel like I tucked away my hurt at my mother's betrayal. Brooding over the unrealized hopes of my childhood wasn't going to change the past.

I stood, dusted the leaves and grass from my pants, and headed home on foot. I lived a couple of blocks away in a small vintage cottage. Karen never understood why I bought the fixer-upper, but I saw something redeemable in its bones, in the peeling filigree on the shutters. It reminded me of a fairy tale lodge nestled among maple trees, and restoring it to its former picturesque glory was cathartic—as if I too could put my broken pieces back together and somehow become a whole person.

"Hey there, Miss Williams!" Tony, the short, stalky mail carrier for my neighborhood waved at me when I rounded onto my street. "Got some mail for you, if you want to take it off my hands."

"Sure." I smiled as I crossed the road to join him.

He pulled a bundle of envelopes from the cart he wheeled when the weather was nice. "Maybe there's something good in there," he said, handing it to me.

I nodded. "I hope so, especially since my bills keep multiplying like rabbits."

Tony laughed. It was deep and robust, as if I'd said the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He was always this way: long on smiles and chuckles, short on frowns. If I had to illustrate an image to represent laid-back happiness, I'd paint Tony walking through the rain wearing his postman's slicker, a wide grin spidering the corners of his eyes.

"Oh," he said, "Lacey wanted me to tell you we picked up your latest at the bookstore yesterday. Labyrinthine Dreams, was it?" At my nod, he continued, "There's some breathtaking work in there. Lacey loves the fairies, of course, but the goblins are my favorite."

"Thank you." I blushed at his compliment. Though Labyrinthine Dreams wasn't the first published compilation of my art, I was still uncomfortable when my work was praised. I had trouble ignoring the flaws I saw in each piece.

"Would you sign it if I bring it by tomorrow?" Tony asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're actually giving it to Sammy for his birthday. He's been taking art this year over at the middle school, and his teacher thinks he might have a knack for it. Of course, that's no surprise to his folks who already knew he was talented." Tony winked.

"I'd be happy to sign the book," I said. "And I'd love to see his work sometime."

"It's mostly comic book heroes or blood and guts." Tony shrugged, chuckling. "You know how boys are at that age."

I laughed, thinking of my brother. I certainly did know all about pubescent boys—sometimes more than I wanted to. "Even so, bring him over sometime."

"Will do." Tony gave me a jaunty salute. "Have a nice day, now." He walked on, the cart wheels squeaking as he pushed it.

The breeze picked up again, much cooler than before, and I unconsciously hugged my arms to my chest, a chill prickling at the nape of my neck. I glanced up at the trees, expecting to see the flutter of white wings, but there was only budding leaves flickering in the waning afternoon light. I shook my head, chuckling to myself as I jogged the last few yards to my front door.

I dropped my satchel in the entryway and made a beeline for the kitchen. After that unsettling moment in the park, some chamomile tea was in order. The mail was discarded on the counter as I filled the pot with water. I hovered over the stove, willing the water to heat faster, until the blinking light of my answering machine caught my eye.

Beep.

"Okay, so Godzilla on Saturday, right?" I smiled at Toby's voice. It was changing, losing that high tenor of childhood. "Jake went to the sneak preview and said it was, like, way cool. You have to take me. Please, please, please! I'll mow your lawn for a month!"

Beep.

"Hello, Sarah," Karen said. There was always something tentative in her tone, as if she couldn't quite trust that I wasn't going to turn back into that whiny teenager who hated her—despite the years we'd spent building a relationship. "A few of the gals at the garden club got a hold of your new book, and some are interested in learning to paint. Would you consider spending an afternoon giving us a few pointers? It doesn't have to be anything grandiose. Let me know.

"Oh, and I hope you're not taking Toby to see that scary movie with the big lizard this weekend. Honestly, he'll have nightmares for a week!"

I laughed.

Beep.

"Sarah, darling, I hope you're not screening your calls." My throat tightened at the sound of my mother's voice, all good-natured feelings seeping away. "You never answer when I phone you. I mean, really, don't you work in your home? Anyway, I sent you something in the mail, but I'm too impatient to wait. I have the most wonderful news about—"

I slammed the "erase" button before she could finish her sentence. The teakettle let out the scream I wanted to make. The more I pushed Linda out of my thoughts, my life, the more she seemed to swoop in to ruin all happiness like some doomsday omen.

I didn't look at the pile of envelopes on the counter as I steeped my tea. I didn't look at them when I left the kitchen. I tried not to think about them as I settled in my hand-me-down loveseat and flipped through the channels, hoping for something interesting to watch. Anything to take my mind off "the most wonderful news" that awaited me in the mail. There was nothing on, though.

By the time I wandered back into the kitchen, I'd decided that either whatever Linda had sent me hadn't arrived yet, or if it was mixed in with my water bill and bank statement, I'd burn it over the sink without taking a peek. Whatever she was excited about had nothing to do with me; it never did. I pulled a lighter from the junk drawer before I sorted through the mail.

The envelope was thick, my name and address written in Linda's flamboyant scrawl. My heart pounded aching beats against my ribcage as I traced the gold ink with quaking fingers. I should have burned it then, before the contents could slice anew old wounds, but the little girl in me dared to hope she had finally recognized my recent accomplishments—that I was finally enough for her. It couldn't hurt to look, could it?

I stared at it for several breaths, arguing with myself, before ripping the envelope open. Inside were a pair of tickets and a playbill for the latest Broadway production of "Annie." There was a note from Linda as well.

Morgan landed her first leading role! It would mean so much to us if you'd come out and support her.

Kisses,

Mom

My stomach dropped. Sure enough, on the cover of the playbill was a photo of my ten-year-old sister wearing a red wig, freckles painted across her nose. When she wasn't in costume, she was a spitting image of me—except for the arch of her brows. Those she got from Jeremy.

She was the daughter Linda had always wanted. The daughter I could never be.

Morgan had everything I wanted as a little girl: to be the center of her mother's universe. Linda gave up her own career for my sister. She would do anything and everything for Morgan. But not me. Never me.

The playbill crumpled in my hands. I couldn't breathe, smothered by my fragile hope crashing down around me. Why had I expected her to care about me? The notion was ludicrous in the face of so many years of cavalier neglect. I wanted to laugh, but a choked sob came out instead.

I sunk to the floor, crying so hard I thought my ribs would crack and my throat would go raw from my keening wails. I hated her for so easily crushing my heart. I hated myself for secretly dreaming of her approval. No matter how I tried to squelch that desire, it lingered beneath the surface with wide, trusting eyes, searching for that moment when my mother would finally say, "You are the best thing that ever happened to me." What a fool I was. What a stupid, childish fool.

"It's not fair," I stuttered through my tears. But that's the way it is.

"It never is."

I sucked in a sharp breath, a hand flying to my mouth. That voice. That familiar, deep voice had to have been in my head.

"I rather expected you might have learned that little lesson by now."

My heart clenched in my chest as I looked up, still not believing that he could be here. Uninvited.

He was.

The king of the goblins, fickle granter of wishes, was sprawled on my breakfast counter, leaning on an elbow with one booted leg propped up. He wasn't as tall as I remembered, but I supposed the four inches I'd grown since our last encounter made a difference. He was, however, more beautiful, more dangerous. He wore all black, but not his ragged armor and cloak. His fair complexion seemed to glow in contrast to his dark attire. He stared down at me with a tilted head and an arched brow, the corner of his mouth curved in a half-smirk.

"Oh, God." I scooted back against the cabinets, wary of what his presence meant and embarrassed he had witnessed me feeling sorry for myself. I hastily wiped away my tears.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Very nearly, but I prefer 'Jareth.'"

I hugged my knees to my chest. He didn't seem particularly malicious, but I hadn't forgotten that looks could be deceiving when it came to the denizens of the Underground. "What are you doing here?" I asked. Of all the days he could have chosen for a random visit, this was the worst one.

He lifted his hand, and with a fluid motion, rolled a crystal over the back to his fingertips. "I've brought you a present, Sarah." He drew out the syllables of my name as if tasting each letter.

My skin prickled with gooseflesh. "Your gifts always come with a price. I think I'll pass."

"Do they? I don't recall you accepting anything I've offered." He danced the orb over his hand, back and forth like an upside-down pendulum. "You've no basis for comparison."

I gave him a sardonic look. "I'm pretty sure your definition of generosity isn't the same as mine."

He smiled. "Well met." He brought the crystal to rest on his fingers again, studied it. "It's still a 'no,' is it?" He glanced at me, and at my shaking head, added, "Pity."

I was curious, of course, but whatever he thought was a present would surely be something I'd regret accepting.

"What if," he said, leaning toward me, "I gave you a preview—free of any obligation?"

His single-mindedness gave me pause. "Why?" I asked with narrowed eyes. "What's in it for you?"

"I don't suppose you'll believe I care only for your happiness." When I gave him a flat expression, he sighed. "No, of course not. What sort of villain would I be if I had no ulterior motive?" He dropped from the counter in a crouch, the crystal never leaving his fingertips. "Does it matter, Sarah? I give my word a glimpse will cost you nothing, and I am bound by words—as you well know."

My eyes went to the crystal in his hand. I knew what he said was true, that words had power over him, but I was leery. "What is it?"

"What you've always wanted," he said, his expression unreadable. "Aren't you curious?"

I was. I searched his face, looking for some hint of duplicity, for a smirk hiding in his eyes. I found nothing. Was he being sincere? Or was this another game I'd be stepping into unknowingly? I should have refused. Then again, I'd always been a little reckless—not even my run through the Labyrinth had cured me of that. "Just a preview?"

"Just a preview," he agreed, a hint of a grin playing on his lips.

I drew in a deep breath, blew it out. "Okay."

He took my hand and pulled me up with a strength that belied his lithe form. I stumbled into him from the sudden momentum, and before I could back away, he wrapped an arm around me, holding me against him. He gazed down at me, daring me to defy him. I didn't, despite every instinct screaming for me to put some distance between us before I succumbed to…what?

My concern must have registered on my face. His expression sobered. "You've nothing to fear," he murmured, his breath feathering against my cheek. "I keep my bargains." He held the crystal up. "Now, look. See what I offer you."

I let one tremulous heartbeat pass, then two and three before gathering the courage to look. When I did, the room went black. I gasped and grasped at Jareth's shirt. He tightened his arm around me, laughter rumbling in his chest.

There was the tiny cry of a newborn. A pinprick of brightness grew with each wail until the room was flooded. I blinked a few times before my eyes adjusted. We weren't in my kitchen anymore, but a hospital room. I let go of Jareth, my arms dropping limply to my sides when I recognized my mother in the bed. She looked so young, sweat glistening on her forehead, her stunning beauty still natural, untouched by a plastic surgeon's knife. She held a small bundle in her arms, a baby with a shock of dark hair.

Me.

My father stood next to her, the only lines in his face were the crinkly corners of his eyes as he beamed down at the newborn—at me. They looked so happy, so perfect, tears blurred my vision. What had gone wrong?

Jareth crossed the room to lean over my mother's shoulder. "What a pretty little thing you were. Such a pity no one thought to wish you away." He glanced back at me with a faint smile. "I don't turn all unwanted children into goblins."

I shuddered at the thought of being raised by the Goblin King—human or goblin. "Thank God that didn't happen."

His grin stretched wider, revealing his sharp inhuman teeth. "So little faith in me, Sarah. I'm wounded." He looked far from it. Dipping his head forward, he whispered something in my mother's ear. Her brow furrowed, then she shook herself.

My father frowned. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Just a little chilled, that's all," she said, giving him a weak smile.

"What did you say to her?" I asked when Jareth returned to my side.

He shrugged. "Nothing terribly pressing." He raised an arm and to my right a gilded clock appeared. The numbers went up to twenty-seven instead of twelve or thirteen—years, instead of hours. "Since this is only a preview, let's skip ahead a bit, shall we?"

Before I could ask what this was, he flicked his wrist. The dials began spinning. When the hand stopped on six, I squeezed my eyes shut.

That was the year my mother left us.

I remembered that day with painful clarity. Her suitcases in the entryway. My father's helpless expression as I stood in front of the door, arms folded, demanding she take me with her. Her kneeling before me, telling me I couldn't go, that I'd be happier with Daddy. I remembered hiding under the bed after she left, crying, believing I must have been a bad girl. Why else would my mommy not want me?

It was not my favorite birthday memory.

I heard my mother's clear soprano singing the birthday song and cracked my eyes open. The room was dark except for the six little candles bathing my mother's face. She smiled as she set the cake before a little girl. Other voices joined in—my father's off-key timber and other children. My six-year-old self's face split in a broad grin as my mother finished with a belting vibrato. Little Sarah blew out her candles and everyone cheered.

I frowned. I never had this party.

"Do you want to know what you wished for?" Jareth murmured against my ear, startling me.

I remembered what I wished for on my sixth birthday: that my mother would stay. This pig-tailed girl before me had her mother, though. I couldn't guess what she wanted. "What?"

"Roller skates," he said. "Roller Derby Skating Rink Dance Skates to be precise. Unfortunately, you get Roller Derby Sidewalk Skates instead. And oh, what a naughty little tantrum you throw, ruining your perfect party." He grinned at me. "Always so spirited."

I shook my head. "This didn't happen. This isn't real."

Jareth raised a brow. "It can be. You have only to wish it."

I stared at him. Was this what he was offering? A normal childhood with happily married parents? The horrible memories of my mother's abandonment erased, replaced with images of her being at every dance recital, holding my father's hand as she glowed from matronly pride even as I fumbled the routines. The possibility was staggering. Wouldn't that be worth any price the Goblin King might require?

"Perhaps another glimpse later in life," Jareth said, interrupting my fantasy, "before you decide." He smirked. "In the interest of fairness."

I gave him a dirty look for the dig. "Fine."

"Shall we see how you fare in adolescence?" The clock appeared again, and the hands spun until they reached fifteen. "I wonder if you're still petulant at this age, now that you have the family you've always dreamt of."

The birthday party faded, replaced by a school bell. High school students darted around me as they exited classrooms en masse. I didn't recognize the school. Obviously, my parents had settled somewhere else. I searched for myself, looking for my usual garb in those days—jeans, a billowy poet's shirt, and a vest.

"Ah, there you are," Jareth said, nodding toward a group coming down the hall. Other kids scrambled out of the way as the group passed. The leader of the pack was a cheerleader, her hair pulled to the side with dark curls cascading over her shoulder. She held hands with a handsome blond boy—obviously a senior. I stared, mouth agape, at myself as she walked by, her stride confident. Another girl leaned forward to whisper something in her ear, making the fifteen-year-old me laugh.

She was nothing like the quirky loner I had been. This version of me had the run of the school. I bet she was never teased, never heard that horrible chant Michael Ansley made up in seventh grade:

Fairy princess Sarah

kisses all the frogs

looking for her prince.

Now she's full of cooties

like a mangy dog

that rolls around in piss.

That was another memory I didn't have to relive if I took Jareth's deal. It was looking more tempting by the minute.

"Well, you've done rather well, haven't you? Although," Jareth said, tapping a gloved finger against his chin, "there is something missing. I can't place my finger on it."

"Maybe all that whining about how awful my life is?" I waved a hand toward teenage me. "Clearly, it's pretty wonderful."

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Perhaps." He scanned the crowd of students filing into nearby classes. "Now, where did you get off to, I wonder?" He reached for my hand and the colors around us bled into a swirling tornado. I closed my eyes as my stomach lurched.

I was hit by the pungent odor of ammonia and soap, and other unmentionable scents. I opened my eyes to a dank school bathroom.

"What have we here?" Jareth said, his voice echoing off the tiled walls.

I followed his gaze to my fifteen-year-old self. She was kissing a boy—not the one she'd been holding hands with in the hall. He had her pressed up against the wall, grinding his hips into her as his hands slipped beneath her uniform top. I blinked several times, not believing the image before my eyes.

Fortunately, the younger me pushed the boy's hands away before he could graduate this make-out session to heavy petting. She broke off the kiss and said in a breathless voice, "Not here."

Not here? I gaped at her. She was only fifteen!

"Ah, yes," Jareth said. "I know what's missing. Your innocence." He looked at me. "A pity, that. I found it to be one of your more…appealing qualities." Hunger flashed in his eyes, so acute I shrank from him, reminded that he was anything but human.

"Did you…?" I couldn't finish the question, sickened by the idea of his impure intentions when I was an adolescent.

"Did I what?" he asked, lifting an upswept brow. He paced behind me and leaned forward, whispering against my cheek, "Did I want to defile that innocence? Did I want to make you scream my name and beg for more?" My breath hitched as he pressed his chest against my back. "The thought did cross my mind. But then, you were far too young and your purity far too brilliant for me to mar." His lips grazed the shell of my ear, sending a wave of chills down my spine. "Now…"

I swallowed thickly. "Now?"

"Now, pay attention." He pointed to the cheerleader Sarah who was leaving the bathroom.

The boy pulled her back for one last kiss. "When can we…?" he asked, his expression hopeful.

"My parents are spending the weekend in the city," young Sarah said, giving him a coy smile. "Tell Mandy you're spending Saturday with the guys."

The boy frowned. "She's your best friend. Won't she want to spend the day with you?"

Sarah giggled and tapped his nose. "Both Mandy and Jeff think I'm going with my parents."

As I watched her walk out, I wanted to retch. This was all wrong. I shouldn't have turned into a teenage slut when my parents stayed together. This had to be some trick of Jareth's. I didn't understand the point.

"Wicked girl," he said. "Shall we find out what else you're up to?"

I shook my head. "No, this isn't right."

"No?" He spun me around to face him. "You wanted to be the center of your parents' lives—particularly your mother's. Tell me," he said, brushing a stray hair from my eyes, "does Linda encourage Morgan's headstrong nature, or does she teach her to bridle her passions?"

My hands balled into fists at the mention of my sister, and it took conscious effort to unclench them. How often did I think Linda was spoiling Morgan, feeding her belief that she was perfect and infallible?

"Why should your mother have done any differently with you?" Jareth canted a brow.

I frowned. "But my father—"

"Yes, your father." Jareth smiled. It didn't touch his eyes. "I'm afraid without the adversity of being a single parent or Karen's overwrought sense of morality, he's more than happy to defer to your mother when it comes to your upbringing."

My stomach twisted with each word. "No, this can't be the only way things turn out."

"Poor Sarah. Always so disappointed when your wishes come with consequences," he said, feigning concern. "You wished for her to stay. She did. But she is still Linda Williams, still selfish, still coveting the spotlight. And if she can't have it for herself, then she will have it vicariously through you."

He brushed a tear from my cheek. "There's more."

I shook my head. "I don't want to see anymore."

"Oh, but the preview isn't over yet. You can't make your choice without all the facts." He lifted his hand and the clock appeared. The dials began spinning, pausing briefly at twenty. Jareth glanced at me. "Hm. I think we'll skip to the end. Your college years were rather…adventurous."

Images flashed briefly before me, as if on a movie screen, of a younger me partying, of being heartless to others, laughing at the pain I caused. I averted my eyes.

The bathroom faded away, becoming the foyer in what I could only describe as a mansion. A thin thread of hope surged in my middle. Maybe I'd found a way to rise above that horrible teenager I'd been. A baby wailed somewhere in the house.

"Sophie!" I heard my voice yelling upstairs. It was unnerving. "Sophie, the baby's crying!" Footsteps tapped above until the other me appeared on the landing. She was striking in a black cocktail dress and red heels. She fastened on a glittering earring as she yelled again for Sophie.

I looked down at my worn jeans, stained by ink and paint, my hooded sweater with turpentine holes, and felt self-conscious. The Sarah walking down the grand staircase possessed every grace I lacked. I was the bohemian artist while she was the princess. She hadn't turned out so badly after all.

At the base of the stairs, a blond girl joined her, holding a baby's bottle. An au pair?

Sarah rolled her eyes. "It took you long enough. His screeching is giving me a headache." She blocked the staircase before Sophie could run up the steps. "Mr. Vanderhorn is working late tonight, and I have to make an appearance at the charity dinner. When I get home, I don't want to hear a peep from Michael. Comprendez vous?"

"Oui, madame." Sophie bobbed her head in acknowledgment before darting up the stairs.

Sarah closed her eyes, touching her forehead. "I swear, I don't know why I let James talk me into having a baby. It almost ruined my figure."

In just a few words, Sarah had gone from being a gorgeous princess to the ugliest creature I'd ever laid eyes on. I backed away as she retrieved a handbag from a small foyer table and walked out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

"No," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "You're skewing this somehow."

Jareth cocked his head. "Think, Sarah. Think who taught you how to be a woman."

"This is one of your tricks." My eyes stung with tears. "Make it right. Show me what really would have happened."

Jareth clucked his tongue. "So demanding. I could, of course, show you other possible outcomes, but this is the least…unappealing."

"But that's not me." I pointed to the door where that impossible version of me had left. "I could never become…that."

"What? Spoiled? Selfish? Cruel? Just like that sullen child reciting lines in a park who still idolized her mother." He smirked. "When, exactly, did you learn compassion, Sarah? Was it when you wished away your screaming baby brother? When you chose to run my labyrinth and discovered a greater love for your brother, for your friends, than you had for yourself?"

I sucked in a breath. "Toby." If my mother never left, he would never have been born. Life without Toby was unimaginable.

"Yes." Jareth drew closer to me, his gaze piercing. A mirror appeared in front of me. "What do you see, Sarah?"

My hand flew to my mouth as I studied my reflection. Before me was not the poorly pieced-together woman I saw every morning in my bathroom vanity, but someone with a bearing that bespoke of a quiet acceptance of herself. Kindness, compassion, and gentleness resonated in her features. An aura wrapped about her like a cloak of stars. She was breathtaking.

"You think yourself eternally fractured for want of a mother's affection," Jareth murmured. "But her love is a poison which would have blackened what you see before you."

He brushed his gloved fingers across my brow. "Would you exchange this for Linda's adoration?" he asked.

I shook my head, unable to speak. I reached toward the mirror and my reflection mimed the movement. Was this how others saw me? "Why?" I whispered, turning to Jareth. "Why show me all of this?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "To answer the plea of a little girl too young to understand what she asked."

I frowned, but the scene changed before I form a response. The room was dark, and I could only make out outlines of furniture. It was a bedroom, and as I looked closer, I realized it was my room—when I was a young child.

Beneath the bed came sounds of weeping, of a cracked voice pleading for someone, anyone, to help. In the corner, Jareth appeared—only a different Jareth, as the king of the goblins had never left my side. The other Jareth, though physically the same, seemed more disinterested, bored even.

He crouched down, peeking under the bed. "Why do you weep, child?" he asked.

"Mommy's gone. I want her back," came the muffled reply.

"Indeed." He straightened and conjured a crystal, a dark smirk curling the corners of his mouth. I shivered, wondering what sort of price he would have exacted from such an innocent for this request. He glanced at the crystal and began to lower it to offer to six-year-old me.

Abruptly, he brought it back up, his brow furrowing as he studied the clear orb. What did he see inside of it? He stood, eyes widening at whatever his magic revealed. After several heartbeats, he dropped the crystal, which vanished before hitting the ground. He turned his gaze back to bed and the little girl hiding beneath, the boredom gone from his features—replaced instead by an unsettling interest.

"I'll grant your wish, child," he said, his commanding voice belying the softness in his eyes, "but not tonight."

With a twist of his wrist, a familiar book appeared—a small red book with gold lettering. He left it on my nightstand before backing into the shadows. A whisper hung in the air, so faint that I thought it might have been my imagination. "Call on me," it said.

I turned to Jareth, frowning. "I don't remember this."

He glanced at me with a canted brow. "Of course you wouldn't. You thought it a dream—a fleeting one in the mind of a little girl whose world had turned upside-down." He held out his hand, and I paused only a moment before taking it.

The dark room fell away, replaced by the terracotta tiles and fluorescent lights of my kitchen. The crumpled playbill lay on the floor where I had dropped it. I gripped the counter, as if to anchor myself against these overwhelming revelations.

Would I have turned out so badly had my mother stayed? The part of me who had wanted to be the sole recipient of Linda's affection balked at what I had seen. And yet, I had been a spoiled, self-centered teenager before I wished my brother away. I had wanted to be just like my mother then. Understanding sunk in my middle like a lead weight. Jareth was right; she was poisonous.

And he hadn't granted the tear-stained wish when I was six years old. Had it been mercy? Generosity? He seemed capable of neither.

The book.

I'd always assumed that my mother had left it behind. I read it over and again, memorized it, performed it, feeling as though each word was a tiny thread that connected me to her. But Jareth had given it to me. Which meant… "You knew," I whispered, bringing my eyes up to meet his. "That's what you saw in the crystal—my life."

"Clever girl." Jareth smiled. "I witnessed every possibility, every splinter of decisions made or not made."

My brain felt sluggish as I processed his words. He saw everything, and he hadn't merely abstained from granting my youthful plea, but had intervened directly in my life. He had been a part of shaping the woman I became. "Why?"

Jareth stepped closer to me. "I saw your entire life, Sarah." He leaned forward, his fingers tilting my chin up. My heart beat wildly against my ribcage as I waited for his next words. "I saw our children."

He kissed me with all the hunger of a man who had been fasting for the eternities. I tasted his yearning on his lips, bittersweet like dark chocolate. I wanted to fall, to succumb to this strange fairy tale. Only he wasn't some knight in shining armor. He was the Goblin King—self-serving, cruel, and villainous.

Or was he?

My reality was being upended and I couldn't make sense of anything. I broke off the kiss, turning away as a tear glided down my cheek. This was too much, too soon. "I can't."

Cupping my face with tender hands, he drew my gaze to his. "No, not yet." He wiped away the tear. "But you will, Sarah." His lips pressed against my forehead. "Soon."

He was gone.

I sagged against the cabinets, feeling as though an entire month of days had hit me at once. Was it only this morning that I had left the house with sketchbook and pencils in hand, intent on capturing the simple beauty of nature? It seemed a distant memory now.

I left the kitchen, and on my way to my room, I paused by the bathroom. Curiosity urged me forward, and I flipped on the light. I hesitated before looking in the mirror, afraid I'd see the same reflection I saw every day—broken, searching for peace. I brought my eyes up and my breath hitched. In the mirror was the same image Jareth had shown me.

I was more beautifully whole than I had ever believed I could be.

I smiled as tears swelled in my eyes. Even if Jareth's reasons for interfering with the direction of my life had been selfish, I couldn't deny that he'd given me something priceless. Whether or not I'd chose the path that led into his arms as he wanted, I would be grateful to him for this gift.

Forever.

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you have a minute, I'd love to know your thoughts!