Exchange Fic #13: The Key to the Cage
The actual identity of the writer will remain secret until all the submissions are in and posted.
****
Title: The Key to the Cage
Author: moon_lover68
Recipient: slobber_neck
Prompt: It has been fifteen years since all that transpired in the Labyrinth and Sarah Williams no longer believes in magic. She believes in bills to pay and bad relationships. She believes in sorrow and loneliness. And just at her bleakest hour, she receives an invitation to a masquerade...
Rating: M for language and saucy business!
Authors Note: Some music to listen to whilst you read, Jocelyn Pook, "Migrations"
The room spun, and Sarah spun within it. Dizziness had passed, leaving only a vague feeling of weightlessness and euphoria. She dipped her head back, watching the gilded ceiling rotate. If she let her eyes become unfocussed for a moment, the little lights that adorned it would meld into a star wheel, and she the centre of the universe. For a few seconds, this world revolved around her. Her dance partner held her securely with only the lightest of touches. They were all deceptively strong, these people who danced, gorged, laughed and fucked all at same time, every minute, every night in this place. He pressed his hand against her nape, raising her head so that the colours and movement that surrounded them blinded her vision for a moment, limited as it was by the gilt edged mask that covered her brow. His own was all copper and jade, angular, not unattractive as it matched his chestnut hair and green eyes, but it wasn't the one she was looking for. His eyes gazed hungrily at her flesh, pale and pinched within the confines of a pearl and silver bodice, her breasts threatening escape as they twirled, nipples attentive and chafing even against the satin lining. Sarah arched her shoulders, inviting without the need for words in the language she didn't speak. She knew the steps to this dance well enough now. If only...
******
She hadn't noticed it at first, a small square of creamy white paper slipped in with all the other detritus that littered the bottom of her mailbox; shopping mall flyers, red stamped accounts, church pamphlets pronouncing the end of the world and invitations to join pyramid selling schemes. Dumped with everything else onto the kitchen counter as she headed for the refrigerator, it’s bright gold lettering caught her eye.
"An Invitation For Sarah" was written across the front, each letter finished with a fancy serif and little twirl of ink. The paper was heavy, sweet smelling, delightfully coarse under her fingertips. On the back of the card someone had drawn a beautiful picture of a mask such as fancy ladies might have worn to a masquerade in Venice a hundred years ago. She flipped it over idly a few times before realising that there was no senders detail, not even a time or place. No stamp either.
"Well that’s just stupid," she said to the kitchen clock, but she propped the card up against the vase with the crumbly old flowers in it because it was a pretty thing, and Sarah still liked pretty things, from time to time. Dinner was a frozen package mess in front of the television which droned its news and scandals to her uninterested ears. The food was tasteless and the world outside just as unappetising.
******
In her mind she called them the hungry ones, these lithe, glittering folk who surrounded her, guided her, taught her the steps and tempted her senses. The tables were drowning under mountains of food that never depleted. Sarah had tried them all. Dripping golden honeycombs with nectar so sweet and cream so cloying on the tongue it made the hairs on her arms rise. Cakes perpetually warm, glistening and moist in the centres and covered with silver dust and curls of gold leaf. Cherries the size of her palm, glowing scarlet with their own light, juice exploding tart on her tongue to run over her lips and chin. Golden pastries studded with brown sugared apples and roasted walnuts, buttery on her fingers as she lifted them to her mouth. Her new dance partner had ink black hair and sapphire eyes behind an opaline mask. He sat on the floor between the folds of her skirt and lifted her treat after treat, watching avidly for any crumbs or speck of juice that might be lost. Sarah laughed as he chased down a tiny morsel astray on her breast, his warm tongue recapturing the passionfruit seed so that she might taste it again. It was all so much and yet she was never sated. The music never stopped, only pulsing in time to each mouthful, each new taste. The hungry ones danced from table to table, sweeping Sarah along with them. But in the centre of the hall was a bowl on a pedestal where a single peach lay untouched, its scent overlaying everything else as its tender flesh sweated against the cool crystal. No one had offered to her, yet. If only she could...
******
The plate was scraped and set aside for another time when enough had built up to warrant washing them. There was no after hours work to be attended to tonight; all the books in her section of the State Library were immaculate, a reflection of her diligence and eye for detail. No dust jacket or broken spine went untended whilst in Sarah's care, the shelves were spotless and the war on white mould never surrendered. The books were her charges, and she their keeper and protector. They were her friends in a fashion, but not like they used to be. Once, they had been beacons of hope and adventure for a young girl cursed with an over active imagination and the dull dreariness of an unremarkable life. Her world had flared, bright and colourful for a brief time, or at least she thought it had. It was a long time ago. Sarah couldn't remember that last time she’d read past the publishers details.
After her shower she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She did this only occasionally, watching over the years as the baby faced teenager faded into a slender, pale woman and from there into a thirty something stranger who looked like a nocturnal plant growing between the cracks on a cave floor with too large green eyes and hair like inky bats wings hanging loose down the sides of her head. No wonder the gentlemen had stopped calling, she thought wryly. No one had touched her for years, but there was no reason at all to stop her attending to her own needs herself, as she did.
Later she swept through the house, locking up, tidying, putting her lunch box ice block back in the freezer for tomorrow and there was the little invitation card still propped up where she’d left it. On impulse Sarah picked it up, holding it aloft as she spun in place, nightdress spinning wide and toes getting cold on the tiled floor. She blew a kiss and dropped to a respectable curtsy.
“Why, Sir,” she said to the empty kitchen in her best English accent, “I’d be delighted!”, but the house was a cage and none of her fancies would ever unlock it again.
******
Away from the satiny sheen of the marble dance floor, other dances continued. This place was bigger than she remembered, or perhaps some things had been shielded from her sight. She’d lost her shoes somewhere, but the thick velvety rugs scattered about the small alcoves were a sensuous delight to her tired feet, although they weren't the only thing that made her toes curl. The couple on the floor knew she was there, of course, but Sarah had learned that no one here was bothered with the social norms she'd been raised with. They thought her blushes were delightful, and smoothed them away from her cheeks with cool kisses and feathers. She watched as the dark haired man and the flame haired woman rode each other to completion, their beautiful pearly skin enhanced for a brief time with sweat and the rush of blood to their faces as they moaned into each others mouths as the mans hips shuddered to a halt. His dark eyes shone brightly in the semi dark as he left his companion and reached up to take Sarah’s hand, pulling her down in a rustle of silk and lace. She lay against him, tense with anticipation and yet the most relaxed she'd ever been. Not even the other watchers in the shadows concerned her; she was more than ready for his touches when they came, quick and soft, his mouth on her breast and hands following the inner path of her legs to linger at the gate of her sex. The pressure there made her come instantly, gritting her teeth as her body curled around his, sparkling lights in the corners of her vision as a dozen waves washed over her. She was aching, her body drawing up, seeking more and the woman on the floor beside her smiled a knowing smile. Sarah was not a virgin in any sense of the word, and many hands had caressed her this night and yet she remained untouched, an empty void waiting. If only she could remember...
******
When the lights went out, all the shadows were meant to disappear. But in Sarah's bedroom they multiplied, each lending strength to each, swarming about the room, surrounding her narrow bed and whispering. She knew they weren't real, so she’d long since stopped snapping the bedside light on. Occasionally she would sit up in the dark and shout at them, just to shut the fuck up already. She already knew what they were going to say.
Tonight was going to be bad, she knew it, even as she put off going to bed for a long as she could knowing she had to work the next day. She lay in the dark, watching the shadow of the tree outside as it played with the wind.
"Useless. Hopeless." they started, quietly at first, "Look at you, wasting away doing nothing. You have a nothing job. You file away books that no-one ever reads. You've achieved nothing in that place. They'll find you flattened under a bookcase one day. No one would even notice until someone complains about that smell."
Sarah sighed and twisted in the bed, getting her feet tangled and kicking at the covers angrily. Shoving her head into the pillow and putting her free hand over her ear never helped, but she tried it anyway.
"You're so alone, you don’t even feel lonely anymore do you? All those plans you had, all the romance. None of it happened. You wasted it all. All those times you said no to things you should have said yes. You should have had adventures! You should have had love! Magic! Such a dull, dull life, Sarah, and too late now to live those dreams..."
"Well that's exactly the point!" Sarah shouted into the blackness, her real voice drowning out the imagined one that always sounded so much like hers, "It was a stupid dream, a stupid fucking dream!" She dashed away the hot scalding tears with her hands as they gripped the sides of her head, only barely registering the billowing curtains from the open window and a dark figure standing there, bending over, a male voice that sounded so sad,
"Was it?"
******
His name. If only she could remember his name. She let them lead her, soft hands beckoning, coaxing, stripping her of her tattered nightdress to plunge into an emerald bath of steaming water. The women untangled her hair until it was a mass of long curls tamed with gold pins and combs, slid her into a silk dress so cool against her damp skin. Around and around they turned her until she was dizzy and all their faces blurred together, laughing as they attended her face and adorned her limbs with circlets of gold encrusted with precious stones and ivory roses. Her masque was white, a tiny sapphire teardrop on one cheek and needing no laces to hold it in place over her brow.
Taking both hands, they propelled her through the doors into the ballroom like a galleon in full sail with skirts and hair flying wildly. There were no mirrors here, only her reflection in the eyes of those who came forward, touching in child like wonder, singing to her, others merely to gaze like contented kittens. She was the centre of attention, the favourite debutante, the belle of the ball. It was intoxicating. The music was rhythmic, primal beats accompanying voices singing in a language she didn’t understand.
She danced with them. They vied to teach her the steps, but it was only like remembering them again. They feasted with her, and the food was endless and inviting, a veritable deluge of the senses. She let them lead her into the candle lit rooms, giving over her body and writhing in wanton abandonment as they took her to heights never before imagined.
The ornate clock in the corner kept ticking, but the hands never moved an inch the whole time she was there.
She found herself in the very centre of the room, surrounded by dancers, her skin tingling as they brushed past her with silks and flowers. She swayed a little side to side, back and forth on the balls of her bare feet, hair all astray and dress rumpled and creased. If she closed her eyes a fraction, she could see him lingering there, always on the edges of the crowd, as still as a marble statue as he watched her but disappearing in less than a blink should she try and see him deliberately. It was maddening, but she thought she understood. She had done great harm here, once.
Now, with music strangely muted and eyes completely closed, she waited. He was coming closer, she could feel it, walking around the room in ever smaller circles, parting the dancers without disrupting them. He was like a beacon in her mind, she knew exactly where he was until he was close enough to reach out and touch.
"Jareth," she said, as the sudden wave of childhood memories that had been washed out over the years came back to life with a shuddering reality. The room held its breath.
"Sarah."
He was exactly as she remembered, except she couldn’t recall ever seeing him as she did now. As a child he had towered over her both literally and in her imagination, a wonderfully menacing creature full of tricks and promises and adventures and dreams, at a price she’d been incapable of paying. He’d been beautiful and tempting, the perfect lure for her nascent sexuality. The world that he created and protected, a haven for the small folk and other things that humanity would never abide had been treasure trove of magic that she had destroyed. He was smaller now, most of his magic spent. This place, this room, this endless dance was all that was left.
"And then I went and forgot this, kept on forgetting and forgetting until I… didn’t believe anymore." He stood before her and with his eyes let her know, that yes, that was precisely what had happened. Sarah reached out boldly to touch his face, her fingers following the curve of his jaw, brushing his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. She felt him still his urge to leap away from her, tasted the salt of her own tears as he forced a smile.
"Where is your mask?" she asked. He was the only one in the room without one. In answer he gestured with one hand to encompass everything she could see.
"This is it, Sarah," he said, drawing closer to whisper, "Do you want to see what lies beneath? And to think you never guessed that surrendering could be so... enticing."
Something soft and velvety touched her palm and she looked to see the peach he placed there. Looking closer at it she could see it was old, wizened, the imprint of her teeth still where she had left them many years ago. She lifted it to her mouth, her tongue tasting the concentrated energy and magic there. It was tart and dry but it came to life in her mouth, succulent and fresh. She swallowed and watched the world shatter and spread out in all directions. Jareth cradled her close to his body as the reborn Labyrinth buffeted them about in a void of wind, dust and magic.
"Don’t let me go!" she cried against the noise, "Don’t you ever let me go again!"
"I won’t. I promise."
"Why did you make me wait like that? All that time, all that horrible life?"
"We had to wait, sweetling," he told her, tearing off her mask as the castle materialised around them.
"Wait? Wait for what? Till I was withered away to nothing, my dreams nothing but lies, my own worst enemy, all this Labyrinth forgotten?"
"No, not at all Sarah," he laughed in between her protests, silencing her with kisses as his bedchamber achieved reality, "We had to wait until Labyrinth forgot you."
****
Title: The Key to the Cage
Author: moon_lover68
Recipient: slobber_neck
Prompt: It has been fifteen years since all that transpired in the Labyrinth and Sarah Williams no longer believes in magic. She believes in bills to pay and bad relationships. She believes in sorrow and loneliness. And just at her bleakest hour, she receives an invitation to a masquerade...
Rating: M for language and saucy business!
Authors Note: Some music to listen to whilst you read, Jocelyn Pook, "Migrations"
The room spun, and Sarah spun within it. Dizziness had passed, leaving only a vague feeling of weightlessness and euphoria. She dipped her head back, watching the gilded ceiling rotate. If she let her eyes become unfocussed for a moment, the little lights that adorned it would meld into a star wheel, and she the centre of the universe. For a few seconds, this world revolved around her. Her dance partner held her securely with only the lightest of touches. They were all deceptively strong, these people who danced, gorged, laughed and fucked all at same time, every minute, every night in this place. He pressed his hand against her nape, raising her head so that the colours and movement that surrounded them blinded her vision for a moment, limited as it was by the gilt edged mask that covered her brow. His own was all copper and jade, angular, not unattractive as it matched his chestnut hair and green eyes, but it wasn't the one she was looking for. His eyes gazed hungrily at her flesh, pale and pinched within the confines of a pearl and silver bodice, her breasts threatening escape as they twirled, nipples attentive and chafing even against the satin lining. Sarah arched her shoulders, inviting without the need for words in the language she didn't speak. She knew the steps to this dance well enough now. If only...
******
She hadn't noticed it at first, a small square of creamy white paper slipped in with all the other detritus that littered the bottom of her mailbox; shopping mall flyers, red stamped accounts, church pamphlets pronouncing the end of the world and invitations to join pyramid selling schemes. Dumped with everything else onto the kitchen counter as she headed for the refrigerator, it’s bright gold lettering caught her eye.
"An Invitation For Sarah" was written across the front, each letter finished with a fancy serif and little twirl of ink. The paper was heavy, sweet smelling, delightfully coarse under her fingertips. On the back of the card someone had drawn a beautiful picture of a mask such as fancy ladies might have worn to a masquerade in Venice a hundred years ago. She flipped it over idly a few times before realising that there was no senders detail, not even a time or place. No stamp either.
"Well that’s just stupid," she said to the kitchen clock, but she propped the card up against the vase with the crumbly old flowers in it because it was a pretty thing, and Sarah still liked pretty things, from time to time. Dinner was a frozen package mess in front of the television which droned its news and scandals to her uninterested ears. The food was tasteless and the world outside just as unappetising.
******
In her mind she called them the hungry ones, these lithe, glittering folk who surrounded her, guided her, taught her the steps and tempted her senses. The tables were drowning under mountains of food that never depleted. Sarah had tried them all. Dripping golden honeycombs with nectar so sweet and cream so cloying on the tongue it made the hairs on her arms rise. Cakes perpetually warm, glistening and moist in the centres and covered with silver dust and curls of gold leaf. Cherries the size of her palm, glowing scarlet with their own light, juice exploding tart on her tongue to run over her lips and chin. Golden pastries studded with brown sugared apples and roasted walnuts, buttery on her fingers as she lifted them to her mouth. Her new dance partner had ink black hair and sapphire eyes behind an opaline mask. He sat on the floor between the folds of her skirt and lifted her treat after treat, watching avidly for any crumbs or speck of juice that might be lost. Sarah laughed as he chased down a tiny morsel astray on her breast, his warm tongue recapturing the passionfruit seed so that she might taste it again. It was all so much and yet she was never sated. The music never stopped, only pulsing in time to each mouthful, each new taste. The hungry ones danced from table to table, sweeping Sarah along with them. But in the centre of the hall was a bowl on a pedestal where a single peach lay untouched, its scent overlaying everything else as its tender flesh sweated against the cool crystal. No one had offered to her, yet. If only she could...
******
The plate was scraped and set aside for another time when enough had built up to warrant washing them. There was no after hours work to be attended to tonight; all the books in her section of the State Library were immaculate, a reflection of her diligence and eye for detail. No dust jacket or broken spine went untended whilst in Sarah's care, the shelves were spotless and the war on white mould never surrendered. The books were her charges, and she their keeper and protector. They were her friends in a fashion, but not like they used to be. Once, they had been beacons of hope and adventure for a young girl cursed with an over active imagination and the dull dreariness of an unremarkable life. Her world had flared, bright and colourful for a brief time, or at least she thought it had. It was a long time ago. Sarah couldn't remember that last time she’d read past the publishers details.
After her shower she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She did this only occasionally, watching over the years as the baby faced teenager faded into a slender, pale woman and from there into a thirty something stranger who looked like a nocturnal plant growing between the cracks on a cave floor with too large green eyes and hair like inky bats wings hanging loose down the sides of her head. No wonder the gentlemen had stopped calling, she thought wryly. No one had touched her for years, but there was no reason at all to stop her attending to her own needs herself, as she did.
Later she swept through the house, locking up, tidying, putting her lunch box ice block back in the freezer for tomorrow and there was the little invitation card still propped up where she’d left it. On impulse Sarah picked it up, holding it aloft as she spun in place, nightdress spinning wide and toes getting cold on the tiled floor. She blew a kiss and dropped to a respectable curtsy.
“Why, Sir,” she said to the empty kitchen in her best English accent, “I’d be delighted!”, but the house was a cage and none of her fancies would ever unlock it again.
******
Away from the satiny sheen of the marble dance floor, other dances continued. This place was bigger than she remembered, or perhaps some things had been shielded from her sight. She’d lost her shoes somewhere, but the thick velvety rugs scattered about the small alcoves were a sensuous delight to her tired feet, although they weren't the only thing that made her toes curl. The couple on the floor knew she was there, of course, but Sarah had learned that no one here was bothered with the social norms she'd been raised with. They thought her blushes were delightful, and smoothed them away from her cheeks with cool kisses and feathers. She watched as the dark haired man and the flame haired woman rode each other to completion, their beautiful pearly skin enhanced for a brief time with sweat and the rush of blood to their faces as they moaned into each others mouths as the mans hips shuddered to a halt. His dark eyes shone brightly in the semi dark as he left his companion and reached up to take Sarah’s hand, pulling her down in a rustle of silk and lace. She lay against him, tense with anticipation and yet the most relaxed she'd ever been. Not even the other watchers in the shadows concerned her; she was more than ready for his touches when they came, quick and soft, his mouth on her breast and hands following the inner path of her legs to linger at the gate of her sex. The pressure there made her come instantly, gritting her teeth as her body curled around his, sparkling lights in the corners of her vision as a dozen waves washed over her. She was aching, her body drawing up, seeking more and the woman on the floor beside her smiled a knowing smile. Sarah was not a virgin in any sense of the word, and many hands had caressed her this night and yet she remained untouched, an empty void waiting. If only she could remember...
******
When the lights went out, all the shadows were meant to disappear. But in Sarah's bedroom they multiplied, each lending strength to each, swarming about the room, surrounding her narrow bed and whispering. She knew they weren't real, so she’d long since stopped snapping the bedside light on. Occasionally she would sit up in the dark and shout at them, just to shut the fuck up already. She already knew what they were going to say.
Tonight was going to be bad, she knew it, even as she put off going to bed for a long as she could knowing she had to work the next day. She lay in the dark, watching the shadow of the tree outside as it played with the wind.
"Useless. Hopeless." they started, quietly at first, "Look at you, wasting away doing nothing. You have a nothing job. You file away books that no-one ever reads. You've achieved nothing in that place. They'll find you flattened under a bookcase one day. No one would even notice until someone complains about that smell."
Sarah sighed and twisted in the bed, getting her feet tangled and kicking at the covers angrily. Shoving her head into the pillow and putting her free hand over her ear never helped, but she tried it anyway.
"You're so alone, you don’t even feel lonely anymore do you? All those plans you had, all the romance. None of it happened. You wasted it all. All those times you said no to things you should have said yes. You should have had adventures! You should have had love! Magic! Such a dull, dull life, Sarah, and too late now to live those dreams..."
"Well that's exactly the point!" Sarah shouted into the blackness, her real voice drowning out the imagined one that always sounded so much like hers, "It was a stupid dream, a stupid fucking dream!" She dashed away the hot scalding tears with her hands as they gripped the sides of her head, only barely registering the billowing curtains from the open window and a dark figure standing there, bending over, a male voice that sounded so sad,
"Was it?"
******
His name. If only she could remember his name. She let them lead her, soft hands beckoning, coaxing, stripping her of her tattered nightdress to plunge into an emerald bath of steaming water. The women untangled her hair until it was a mass of long curls tamed with gold pins and combs, slid her into a silk dress so cool against her damp skin. Around and around they turned her until she was dizzy and all their faces blurred together, laughing as they attended her face and adorned her limbs with circlets of gold encrusted with precious stones and ivory roses. Her masque was white, a tiny sapphire teardrop on one cheek and needing no laces to hold it in place over her brow.
Taking both hands, they propelled her through the doors into the ballroom like a galleon in full sail with skirts and hair flying wildly. There were no mirrors here, only her reflection in the eyes of those who came forward, touching in child like wonder, singing to her, others merely to gaze like contented kittens. She was the centre of attention, the favourite debutante, the belle of the ball. It was intoxicating. The music was rhythmic, primal beats accompanying voices singing in a language she didn’t understand.
She danced with them. They vied to teach her the steps, but it was only like remembering them again. They feasted with her, and the food was endless and inviting, a veritable deluge of the senses. She let them lead her into the candle lit rooms, giving over her body and writhing in wanton abandonment as they took her to heights never before imagined.
The ornate clock in the corner kept ticking, but the hands never moved an inch the whole time she was there.
She found herself in the very centre of the room, surrounded by dancers, her skin tingling as they brushed past her with silks and flowers. She swayed a little side to side, back and forth on the balls of her bare feet, hair all astray and dress rumpled and creased. If she closed her eyes a fraction, she could see him lingering there, always on the edges of the crowd, as still as a marble statue as he watched her but disappearing in less than a blink should she try and see him deliberately. It was maddening, but she thought she understood. She had done great harm here, once.
Now, with music strangely muted and eyes completely closed, she waited. He was coming closer, she could feel it, walking around the room in ever smaller circles, parting the dancers without disrupting them. He was like a beacon in her mind, she knew exactly where he was until he was close enough to reach out and touch.
"Jareth," she said, as the sudden wave of childhood memories that had been washed out over the years came back to life with a shuddering reality. The room held its breath.
"Sarah."
He was exactly as she remembered, except she couldn’t recall ever seeing him as she did now. As a child he had towered over her both literally and in her imagination, a wonderfully menacing creature full of tricks and promises and adventures and dreams, at a price she’d been incapable of paying. He’d been beautiful and tempting, the perfect lure for her nascent sexuality. The world that he created and protected, a haven for the small folk and other things that humanity would never abide had been treasure trove of magic that she had destroyed. He was smaller now, most of his magic spent. This place, this room, this endless dance was all that was left.
"And then I went and forgot this, kept on forgetting and forgetting until I… didn’t believe anymore." He stood before her and with his eyes let her know, that yes, that was precisely what had happened. Sarah reached out boldly to touch his face, her fingers following the curve of his jaw, brushing his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. She felt him still his urge to leap away from her, tasted the salt of her own tears as he forced a smile.
"Where is your mask?" she asked. He was the only one in the room without one. In answer he gestured with one hand to encompass everything she could see.
"This is it, Sarah," he said, drawing closer to whisper, "Do you want to see what lies beneath? And to think you never guessed that surrendering could be so... enticing."
Something soft and velvety touched her palm and she looked to see the peach he placed there. Looking closer at it she could see it was old, wizened, the imprint of her teeth still where she had left them many years ago. She lifted it to her mouth, her tongue tasting the concentrated energy and magic there. It was tart and dry but it came to life in her mouth, succulent and fresh. She swallowed and watched the world shatter and spread out in all directions. Jareth cradled her close to his body as the reborn Labyrinth buffeted them about in a void of wind, dust and magic.
"Don’t let me go!" she cried against the noise, "Don’t you ever let me go again!"
"I won’t. I promise."
"Why did you make me wait like that? All that time, all that horrible life?"
"We had to wait, sweetling," he told her, tearing off her mask as the castle materialised around them.
"Wait? Wait for what? Till I was withered away to nothing, my dreams nothing but lies, my own worst enemy, all this Labyrinth forgotten?"
"No, not at all Sarah," he laughed in between her protests, silencing her with kisses as his bedchamber achieved reality, "We had to wait until Labyrinth forgot you."