Disclaimers: The usual disclaimers apply; I own nothing here except Salacia and Jos. Big deal.

A/N: I realise I have a bit of explaining to do. For those of you that have been kind enough to take the trouble of reading this fic previously, I apologise. It has been brought to my attention that I omitted certain chapters when I posted it, and therefore, although they were not vital, their omission may well have marred your enjoyment of the story. Not only that, but those chapters would have explained much of the plot. Therefore, I am going to re-post Heart of Glass. I hope it will give other people the opportunity to read it. Please review it if you read, even if you already reviewed it when I first posted it. It would be much appreciated.

Sarah had gotten fat. Well, not fat. More like- curvaceous. She

realized it distantly,but, being a sensible girl, was not influenced

by the media to think her womanly shape was a bad thing. However, she

also knew that she was comfort eating, but couldn't seem to be able

to stop. She banished the thought whenever it reared its ugly


She was now seventeen years old; still at school and still living at

home with her father, step-mother and half-brother. Two years had

passed since the Labyrinth. Although Sarah would always be a dreamer,

happier in her fantasies than in real life, she was basically a down

to earth person underneath all the hankering wistfully after

something better. So she had never for one moment supposed that she

was losing her mind after her experiences in the Labyrinth.

Rather, she had been happy, not only that she had successfully beaten

the Labyrinth and its King, but that her favourite fantasy had proved

to be real. Right down to the Goblin King. Or perhaps, right up to

the Goblin King. Jareth was not a minor detail tobe dismissed lightly.

Knowing, though, that if she ever mentioned the possibility of the

events having actually taken place, that she would be clapped up in a

mental asylum before she could say, 'I wish...' Sarah had drawn even

more into herself, throwing up icy layers ofreserve between herself

and everyone else.

So that, if you didn't already know Sarah's age, you would think her

much older that her seventeen years. A distant, pensive, rather

silent woman had taken the place of the impulsive, passionate girl -

seemingly overnight. Only Sarah knew that somewhere, buried down

inside, all the passion, impulsiveness, willfulness and obstinacy

still lay, dormant, ready to be ignited.