"Toby?" Sarah called. Her voice reached the edge of shrill in her effort to sound cheerful. She was exhausted after spending a less-than cozy night on the hard ground next to the meager little fire. Painful blisters decorated her feet, aching with each heavy step, courtesy of her clunky snow boots that had absolutely no place in the summer heat of this world. The road had been a long one, but Sarah had insisted on a swift pace, impatient to finally reach their destination.

It had taken all morning, but finally they had approached an odd little settlement amidst the green crop fields. Sarah had thought the settlement was much farther away when she first saw it, but as they approached the outer limits of the little village, she realized that the buildings themselves were made for smaller people. The munchkins could be seen milling about their business, their postures relaxed as if they didn't have a care in the world.

The town itself was roughly circular, the small, brightly colored little houses never reaching more than two stories. Green gardens sprawled indulgently all around, releasing a riot of blooms of every color. A sparkling stream wound through the town as it made its way slowly across the land and out the other side. Children could be seen playing in the yellow brick streets.

Sarah stepped confidently into the unofficial city limits, her eyes sharp as she peered through the crowd of munchkins looking for a familiar messy blonde mop. "Toby, are you here?" she called out once more, pitching her voice to ring through the air. The little people all stopped what they were doing to stare. Sarah stared right back, unsure of her next move but unwilling to be intimidated or dissuaded.

For a long moment, nobody moved. Sarah almost snapped in her impatience, when she realized that their silence was not out of stubborn secrecy, but rather abject fear. It look only a moment to find out whom they were so frightened of. A glance at the witch beside her showed that the green woman was doing her very best to look menacing and seemed to be very pleased with the results. Sarah sighed. On the one hand, she was sure there were better ways to get the munchkins to help them, but she was realizing that she would need to pick her battles with the witch if they were going to help one another.

"Excuse me?" she addressed the crowd, who largely ignored her. "I'm looking for Toby. Do you know anyone by that name?"

Quietly, nervously, the munchkins twittered among themselves, shooting surreptitious glances back further into the town. There was no answer. Sarah tried again, "If you could just tell me how to get to him, it's very important." She raised her empty hands in the universal gesture of harmlessness. "We'll leave you to your business after that."

More whispers. No answer. Sarah could feel herself losing patience, her lips pressing into a thin line. If they weren't going to help her, she would simply have to find Toby herself. She took a single step forward.

It was as if she had screamed fire and simultaneously shot a gun into the air. Chaos broke out immediately as the munchkins fled in hysteria. Women screamed. Children cried and men stood paralyzed between bravery and fear. A few of the more high-strung munchkins simply collapsed to the ground and curled in the fetal position, weeping.

She stopped, struck dumb. At this rate, they weren't going to get anywhere fast. "Good grief," Sarah muttered. The Wicked Witch strolled over to her nonchalantly.

"I've found that munchkins require a…firmer hand," she mused conversationally, in what looked like a rare moment of good humor. "Watch and learn," she said quietly.

The witch put on her best scowl and charged forward. With a snarl, she seized the closest munchkin by the front of his shirt and dragged him back with her none too gently.

The munchkin, a man with a thin mustache and a large pouf of brown hair, was blubbering uncontrollably. The witch grinned for the briefest of moments before she hauled the small man in front of the crowd. Shocked into silence, the munchkins waited for the words of the Wicked Witch. She paused for dramatic effect, relishing the tension that stretched unbearably thin in the air.

"Now," she said in a clear, cruel voice, "you are going to tell me where you put your new arrivals this instant or this paunchy little puppy will find himself without his left ear, understand?" she placed her hand in the munchkin's thick mousy hair. "What will it be?" Her sharp nose ran threateningly across his plump cheek.

The munchkin man wailed and Sarah pursed her lips. The munchkins did not deserve this unprovoked terror, and what was more, Sarah was fairly certain that the Witch was not making an empty threat. From what she had seen of the Wicked Witch of the West, she had absolutely no qualms with cracking a few eggs (or skulls) just for the hell of it. She reached out her hand to protest, but was quelled with a sharp look from the witch, who shook her head infinitesimally. As far as reassurances went, it was very poor, but at least the witch seemed to understand that Sarah would not stand for needless harm to come to the little fellow.

The witch's methods were harsh, but Sarah had to admit that they produced results in a hurry. Within moments the crowd parted to allow four children and a baby held by an adult munchkin. The baby had wild red hair and was on the verge of tears from all the commotion. On any other occasion, Sarah's arms would have ached to hold the little dear, but as it was, she was on a mission and couldn't afford any distractions.

Sarah scanned the other faces and spotted Toby immediately. He looked older, his eyes holding a weight that had not been there just days before. She nearly tripped over her feet in her haste to get to him. "Toby!" she cried, falling to her knees.

Tears of relief mingled with those of grief as she saw this beautiful boy who was now an orphan. They spilled down her cheeks unchecked as she cupped Toby's face between her hands and quickly scanned him for injuries. He looked at her with wide blue eyes that were the spitting image of her father's. In that moment, she knew that she had made the right choice in saving him, no matter what the ultimate consequences may be. She could not bring back her family, but she would make sure Toby was safe, whole, and happy, or die trying. She wrapped her arms around his small body, hugging him tightly. The little boy was stiff as a board and Sarah pulled back to look at him.

"Toby, what's wrong?" she asked. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

Toby, only a child, visibly put on his 'brave boy' face. "I'm not 'posed to talk to strangers." His eyes were completely empty of their usual warmth; twin pools of wide, earnest blue that very clearly did not trust her.

Her heart sank and she frowned. "What? I'm not a stranger, Tobe. I'm…I'm your sister," she insisted. Her hands cupped his face again, her thumbs swiping over the swells of his plump cheeks. She hardly even dared to breathe as she desperately searched his face for any sign of recognition, willing this to be some kind of joke. "It's me, Sarah."

Toby did not answer. Fresh tears welled up in Sarah's eyes and began to trickle down her cheeks. She shook him lightly, as if that might jog his memory, trying to stifle her desperation with frustration. Toby winced, but said nothing, and Sarah let her hands drop dejectedly. The crowd that had circled them drew tighter, gawking at the spectacle. Normally, such behavior would have irritated Sarah to no end, but in the face of this awful reality she felt hollow: purposeless. Let them look; maybe they would be able to make sense of the fact that her whole world was falling apart.

They were stuck here in this awful place with no way home, and her brother didn't even realize all that he had lost. She might as well have been completely alone in this strange new world. She sniffled quietly and tried to pull herself together. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if that might keep the pain from reaching her. Birds chirped merrily from their perches.

Maybe it was for the best that Toby couldn't remember all of the pain he should be feeling with their parents dead, but it certainly didn't make her feel any better. The tears came faster as she felt herself beginning to break down from all of the stress, grief and heartbreak. Her breath hitched on a quiet sob.

Toby reached out a little hand and wiped away her tears with infinite gentleness. "Don't cry," he said sympathetically. "It's okay, girl." He patted her cheek softly and offered her a small smile.

"Oh, my sweet prince," she murmured, strangely relieved to find that he the same gentle hearted boy, despite everything that had happened to him. They would figure this out, somehow, and then, when Sarah's business with the witch was finished, they would build a new life together. They would be happy.

Sarah was so focused on her little brother that she hadn't paid any attention to the munchkins around them. It was only when she heard Toby gasp and point at something behind her shoulder that Sarah looked behind her and felt the blood drain from her face. There, floating towards them as if on the wings of a gentle breeze was a pale pink crystal. The Goblin King had found her, the witch had lied.

He was coming for her.

Sarah's muscles trembled as her system flooded with adrenaline. Toby had already begun to race towards the crystal. Out of instinct, she reached out and grabbed Toby's upper arm and hauled him back to her side, gripping tighter than strictly necessary as she frantically scanned the surroundings for an escape route. He complained at the unintentionally rough treatment and worked his way free with a dexterous twist.

"Glinda!" Toby cried, narrowly escaping Sarah's second reach for him to charge over to the eager crowd of munchkins who were circling the crystal, which had expanded and was now large enough to hold a fully grown adult. It disappeared in a sudden flash of light, leaving behind a woman and a puff of even more glitter. She was dressed in a monstrous pink gown that looked to be made of spun sugar and magic. Its billowing full skirts swished and sparkled with every movement, drawing Sarah's gaze. The newcomer had a tall crown with silver filigree and a wand that was nearly as tall as the woman herself, a glittering star proudly displayed on the top of it. The entire getup looked reminiscent of the peach dream that Jareth had constructed for her and the very thought made Sarah scowl as she came down from her adrenaline high. Toby was reaching his hands towards the glamorous newcomer, his expression plainly adoring. Sarah's jaw tightened as she felt a rising wave of jealously threaten to consume her. Who was this woman to steal Toby's affection so easily? Sarah had done so much for him; had sacrificed her home to keep him safe, and he didn't even know who she was. Sarah decided right then that she hated this newcomer, whether the woman deserved it or not.

As it so happened, the dislike was also shared by the Wicked Witch.

"You have no business here, Glinda," the green witch snarled, dropping the munchkin she had been holding hostage and giving him a rough shove towards the other villagers.

The newcomer, Glinda, laughed in the witch's face. "You are mistaken. As you well know, I have claim over Munchkinland and all who reside here, and as such I have very much business here." She looked over at Sarah. "And who is this?" she asked, tone light but eyes sharp.

Sarah held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm just here for my brother. We'll be out of your hair in no time, ma'am." She started forward towards Toby.

She had no sooner gotten within arm's reach when Glinda deftly nudged him behind the voluminous folds of her skirts. "I'm sorry, that's just not possible. You see, little Toby is under my protection now." Glinda gave her a condescending smile. "I would be a poor guardian indeed if I simply handed my charge over to a wicked witch. Besides, it does not appear that little Toby wants to leave with you." There was a definite tone of finality in her voice that held just an edge of command. It was the very same way Karen had spoken to her, back when their relationship was rocky at best. That tone had always seemed to bring out the worst in Sarah, and it was no different now.

Sarah felt rage bubbling to the surface inside of her like a tangible thing, powerful and white hot, searing her from head to toe. Toby was the only thing she had left, and she would be damned if some twit with a wand was going to keep him from her. She huffed angrily, brow furrowed as she straightened up, fists planted firmly on her hips and shoulders squarely facing her enemy. "Listen, lady, I don't care one little bit that you seem to think you're the boss around here. That's fine, do what you want with the rest of your little midgets, but you can't have Toby." She stood her ground, eyes never wavering from Glinda. She had faced down the Goblin King himself and emerged victorious. She refused to be cowed by a woman in a frilly pink dress waving a magic wand.

The white witch batted her eyelashes demurely. "He doesn't even remember you, dear. To take him now would be, well, it would be…wicked," said Glinda, her smile beginning to crack at the edges as she flicked her gaze towards the green witch.

"Wicked?" cackled the witch. "Do you want me to show you something really wicked?"

Glinda frowned, but did not answer the green woman, instead she addressed Sarah. "You both need to leave this place. Toby will stay here, now be gone."

Sarah had had enough, and was not going to be dismissed like a servant by this woman. She lunged forward, shoving Glinda aside to reach Toby behind the width of her dress skirts, but he was gone. "Give him back," Sarah snarled, whirling on Glinda. "He is mine and I want him. You do not want to be my enemy." The fury was still burning behind her throat, reminding her that she had torn entire worlds apart for her brother before, and she could do it again.

Glinda laughed. "Your enemy? No, certainly not. I am simply doing what is best for young Toby. Whoever you may have been to him, he does not remember you, and I will not allow you to upset him further. He is just a child." She adjusted her grip on the glittering silver weapon in her hands. "The Toby you knew is gone. He will be well cared for and that is all you need to know. Now shoo. There is no room for wicked witches in Munchkinland." All traces of kindness were gone from the good witch's face and in its place was a cold determination. She raised her wand resolutely, drawing energy from the air around them—

Something wrenched her backwards and Sarah nearly fell over as the Wicked Witch yanked her out of harm's way, smashing a bottle on the ground. A thick, cloying plume of dusty orange smoke instantly surrounded them, transporting them both away from the idyllic little town and its mistress.

Sarah and the witch landed flat on their backs with a bruising thud. Sarah scrambled to her feet as she tried to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her as she choked on the hazy remnants of the spell. She spun around urgently, her stomach tightening with worry as the smoke cleared.

"No!" Sarah screamed as she emerged from the cloud of smoke in a remote crop field. "No, no, no, NO! TOBY!" She fell to her knees and beat the ground with her fists. "I hate her. She can't do this to him!" She let out a wordless, pain-filled screech into the air. The rage was leaving her, and as it leaked away, Sarah felt a cavernous hole inside of her chest with every beat of her breaking heart.

"Oh shut up," sneered the green witch. "Little Tony is alive. Stop your bawling and get over it."

"It's Toby and I am NOT going to get over it. He's my brother, he's the only family I have left and I am not going to let that—that witch take him away from me!" Sarah raged. She stood and crossed over to the Wicked Witch and jabbed a finger threateningly into the other woman's chest. "You can help me or not, but there is not a thing you can do to stop me," she vowed, her spine straightening with conviction.

The witch bared her teeth in a sinister grin. "You'll never get him back, stupid girl. What's done is done. You have no idea what Glinda is capable of." she said. "Give up, come with me and forget about the baby."

It was like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over her head. Sarah gasped and shrank away. Those words. She would never forget those words as long as she lived. "You…" she started, unsure of what exactly she was accusing the green witch of. It wasn't as if the witch had given her up to the Goblin King and broken her word; despite everything, the witch had kept to the letter of their agreement. Still, the similarity of her situation was just a little too close for comfort. "No. I..I'm staying here. You can go do whatever you want, but I'm not giving up on him."

It didn't matter what the witch wanted, it didn't matter that Sarah was afraid, it didn't matter that she was barely holding herself together: all that mattered was Toby.

The witch raised an eyebrow and addressed her bluntly. "You want to try and steal a child from Munchkinland right under the nose of its keeper? Fine. But remember that I warned you. Those munchkins will turn on you the minute your back is turned, mark my words." She turned and walked a few steps away from Sarah. "I'll be back for the favor you owe me," she promised ominously before disappearing in a cloud of red smoke and a riot of fire.

Sarah watched her leave with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was on her own. Well and truly alone for the first time since she had made the bargain that had changed everything, Sarah felt strangely free.

She looked around at the endless rows of corn and sighed, plopping down on the ground. She removed her boots and rubbed her aching feet gingerly, mindful of the tender welts that decorated them. She felt an odd sort of clear-headed calm overtake her as she assessed her situation, the last vestiges of her fury now completely gone.

As far as she was concerned, there were two paths ahead of her. She could leave, or she could stay. Staying would mean making enemies. It would mean making a life for herself based on lies and threats, all in the hopes of stealing what she wanted most at the opportune moment. It would mean snatching a child's blissful ignorance for the sake of her own happiness and comfort. Staying would mean sacrificing some of what made her the good and kind Champion of the Labyrinth.

But leaving…leaving would mean abandoning the person who needed her most.

So really, there was only the one path, wasn't there?

The Goblin King looked grimly at his feet where the dead boy lay. The child couldn't have been older than twelve, his cheeks still carrying the fullness of youth. His body was broken in several places, limbs bending at unnatural angles where bones had been snapped multiple times. There was surprisingly little blood, considering how badly the boy had been hurt before he died, only a small pool extending from the back of his head like a grotesque halo. The King squatted next to the boy, his head tilting to the side as he continued to scrutinize the scene.

There had been a struggle; that much was plain. Small bits of stone from the wall appeared to have been clawed out and hurled at the enemy, the remnants scattered about with frantic abandon. Whoever had killed the child had done so slowly, torturously; wringing every last shred of fear and pain that he had to offer before stripping the soul from the suffering body. The King shook his head sadly, closing empty eyes with the lightest of touches and gently brushing the locks of tawny hair away from the child's cold forehead. Such pain, such unimaginable horror inflicted on one so young. His fists clenched in impotent anger.

He stood and spun away from the gruesome sight, swearing viciously. The boy marked the first child to ever have been killed within his Labyrinth during his reign as king, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. He crossed his arms across his chest before bringing one hand to his face, tapping the space between his brows with two gloved fingers as he paced. He had known that the situation was becoming dire, but here at his feet lay the awful proof. If he didn't do something quickly, more children would die and their lives would rest solely on his shoulders in an ever heavier load. He wondered how much more he could carry before his kingdom broke before his eyes.

He glanced back at the body of the boy, his eyes lingering on the awful sight of the boy's arms—broken in so many pieces that their original shape was nearly lost—then narrowed his eyes as he spotted something that he had previously overlooked. There, in the cold, clenched fingers of the dead boy, was a bit of fluff. A deep frown tugged at the corners of his lips and his brow furrowed as he leaned down and plucked a small tuft of fur from the boy's hard knuckled grip. He brought the fur up to eye level and worried it between his fingers. It had a rough, wiry texture, with an odd sheen that made it flicker in the dying afternoon sun. His gut clenching as he realized exactly whom the fur belonged to.

As if summoned, the air erupted in the cackles and shouts, seeming to come from all sides. The sound was at once manic and strangely desperate, like the hysterical laughter of one on the edge of sanity. Jareth spun around, his sharp eyes missing nothing as he flicked his wrist to summon a crystal. A snarl curled his lip as the raucous noises grew louder and more frenzied. He took a step back towards the dead boy as he saw five beasts leap over the crumbling stone wall of the Labyrinth with dizzying speed.

They had sharp beaks bristling with jagged teeth and claws like broken daggers. Their gait was awkward, as if all of the pieces that held them together didn't fit quite right. Still they approached, swaying on their unsteady feet. Their fur was the color of unholy flames, rough and unruly, but still striking. It matched the fur that had been clenched in the boy's hand when he had been murdered.

It was the fur that lent the fireys their name, because it flickered like fire when they danced and played in the forest. They were not dancing now.

Jareth took a hard look at his subjects as they approached, making sure to keep close to the body of the child. If they had thought to come back to further abuse their victim, they were sorely mistaken. The creatures seemed unfazed by the presence their king, confronting him in all of his terrible glory. In fact, they did not seem to recognize him at all. These were not the fireys that he was accustomed to seeing in his kingdom, and yet the resemblance was too close for them to be anything but.

They were haggard creatures, their bright fur matted, patchy, and spotted with blood and dirt. Bones jutted out from beneath their skin, giving them a harsher, more unforgiving bearing. One appeared to have lost an arm, leaving a scarred stump in its place. Shrewd eyes raked down the King's form and the creature opened its maw in a macabre imitation of a smile. Jareth felt a shiver of apprehension run up his spine and he gripped the crystal in his hand a bit tighter.

He couldn't stop looking at the scarred, lumpy flesh of one-armed firey. It was shocking to see one of the carefree creatures maimed in such a way; especially considering a favorite pastime of their kind was to swap body parts. The King had long suspected that if a forgetful member of the Fire Gang one were to misplace a limb, a replacement would soon grow in its place. It was clear that something had been very wrong for some time now, to have affected them so.

He spared a glance back to the body on the ground and shook his head. The fireys were an excitable bunch and had always been particularly prone to mischief, but never before had they truly harmed anyone, least of all the human children that visited his Labyrinth. In fact, no one had ever dared touch a child under his protection in all of the long years of his rule. The fact that a child had not only been bothered, but killed under his watch meant that he was losing control of his subjects.

Still the Fire Gang advanced; their eyes cold and black.

The King drew himself up to his full height and looked down his regal nose at them. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. He could not afford to appear even the slightest bit weak in front of these murderous brigands

All he received in answer were chilling, toothy grins. The one in the middle licked his chops with evident relish as his gaze fell to the child. "Well?" Jareth barked. "Speak."

The fireys looked at each other and chittered in a rough-sounding language that he did not know. A single earsplitting squawk from the one in the middle, the largest, silenced the group. It stepped forward, away from the others who began chirping softly to one another.

It shrugged its bony shoulders and replied in a rough, gravelly tone. "Hungrrrrry." The word extended into a growl that the others joined in, advancing a few steps closer to the King.

He swallowed his growing apprehension and squared his shoulders. "I am the ruler of these lands, and all who dwell in them shall obey my law," declared the King, tightening his grip on the crystal. "Now, answer me truly; did you kill this boy?"

They nodded, eyes feral. "Hungrrrrrry," they growled.

"Runners of my Labyrinth are under my protection, no one is to harm the children that feed this land. What you have done is reprehensible and you must be brought to justice for your crime," he said seriously. He drew a breath to continue—

They attacked without warning, leaping at him from all directions so quickly he had no time to react, barely managing to lift an arm to protect his face as he felt their sharp claws dig into his clothes. The sturdy leather of his clothing protected his skin from the worst of the attack, but he still hissed in pain as shallow lacerations raked across his arms, his torso, and down his back. Their teeth snapped with audible clicks as they tried to find a vulnerable piece of bare flesh as they clung relentlessly to his body. The King's initial shock gave way to a cold rage as he crushed the crystal in his palm. As it broke, a powerful burst of energy rocketed outwards, sending the murderous fireys flying backwards.

Two of them hit the stone wall, their thin, emaciated bodies leaving no marks as they slid down boneless. Whether they were dead or simply unconscious, it mattered little to the King, so long as they were out of his way for the time being. The remaining three stood slowly, swaying on their unsteady feet. It was clear that one had a dislocated leg as it hobbled forward snarling. Nearly all of the intelligence had fled from their feral gaze as he looked each of them in the eye.

Still, the King decided to try and reason with them; he needed information more than he needed revenge. "Stop," he hissed, extending his hand toward them, palm out. The air around them hummed with energy as the Goblin King prepared to defend himself with his magic. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded. "Is there not food enough for you within the forest? Runners have always been off limits."

The biggest firey looked down at the body of the boy with naked hunger. When he spoke, it was with difficulty, as if he had forgotten how to use this common language shared by all in his kingdom and was using every bit of his concentration to string together a simple phrase. "No…food. Hungry. Mmmagic." It gestured towards the dead boy and clucked. "Has it."

Jareth blanched and looked back to the dead child, his heart gone cold with dread. Arnold had been right; the shortage of magic had begun to affect the creatures of the Labyrinth. The land was slowly being starved of magic, and it was driving his subjects to near insanity. It had only started happening after…he realized with a jolt that he had done this.

It was his fault. All of it. The knowledge threatened to crush him with the weight of responsibility.

"I am sorry this has happened to you, members of the Fire Gang." he said solemnly, and it did not escape his notice that they were slowly edging their way to the child. "I give you my word as King that I will do everything in my power to bring back the magic," he continued as he drew a dark, sizzling crystal from thin air. "But I'm afraid you won't be there to see it." In one flinging motion, the crystal shot forward and broke with a loud bang in the center of the space between the three fireys. Waves of overwhelming energy raced outward, slamming into the frail bodies of the fierys like a hurricane. The poor creatures did not even have the chance to scream as their bodies hardened and the signature color of their fur leeched out of them in a rush as they turned into stone.

They never knew what hit them.

The Goblin King let loose a heavy sigh as he walked over to where the other two fierys lay dead. He murmured a soft blessing before setting their bodies alight. He returned to the body of the child next, hauling the dead weight in his arms securely as he transported them back to the castle.

The goblins had returned to the rumpus room in his absence, and as the King walked through the stone archway there fell a profound silence. Goblins were simple creatures, and some of them simply couldn't understand what they were seeing. Soon though, a great wailing arose when the ones who could understand had put together the pieces saw what their king had brought back. A goblin fell off his perch among the chicken nests from the force of his sobs.

Jareth marched stoically past them, unwilling to stop or soothe his distressed subjects, though he understood their pain. Regardless of their many faults, the goblins in his kingdom and especially those who resided in his castle cared very deeply for the children who came to this realm. A few of the smaller ones came perilously close to their king in order to get a look at the body. A small goblin no bigger than a teapot named Bobble lifted his tearstained face to Jareth and asked in a heartbroken voice, "He not sleeping?" Jareth swallowed the knot forming in the back of his throat and shook his head no before walking through the other end of the rumpus room, continuing to the gardens.

These goblins within the castle were the most protected from the magic shortage, but he knew it was just a matter of time that they would cease weeping for the children who would inevitably die and begin hunting them instead. If he hadn't been such a fool, perhaps he could have prevented this. His own weakness was coming back to haunt him. What he had thought would be their glorious dream come true was swiftly surpassing his deepest fears.

"Get the wished away child ready to leave," he said to a servant standing in the hallway that nodded and scurried off to the nursery.

Having reached the royal gardens, the king quickly dug a grave using magic and wrapped the boy in soft linen cloths before he laid the body to rest. He stood at the foot of the grave, peering down at the child and wishing he could take it back, but knowing that there was nothing he could do. He had well and truly failed this innocent soul.

"Sleep well, James," he said somberly. "May you find peace." His voice hitched slightly as his chest tightened in grief. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes without his permission, but he let them fall. "I am truly sorry, my boy, that I could not do more for you. What happened to you was…not fair." One corner of his mouth twitched in a grimace, thinking of the girl who had so often used that phrase without truly understanding the nature of fairness.

The very same girl who had caused this mess and the one he was counting on to save his kingdom. Without her, more children would die. Without her, he had no hope of righting the terrible wrong that was claiming the sanity of his subjects. He simply needed to find her.

He would not bury another child. It was time to bring her back to the Underground.

Hello, sorry for the wait. If any of you are still reading this, welcome back. Hope it didn't disappoint. This is un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine. Please let me know what you think and drop me a review.

CM