Once upon a time mirrors were different, made of mercury and silver. It is hard to find such a looking-glass these days, and it has less to do with the passage of time than most would like to think.

Mercury is quicksilver, thought to have been a liquid form of moonlight by ancient alchemists. Very few initially knew about its strange and toxic effects, so the precious quicksilver quickly came to be regarded as a liquid of supernatural power.

The alchemists weren't entirely wrong.

Old legends say that if you step in front of the right mercury-mirror, it will show you for who you truly are, rather than for what you are.


It was hard to say exactly when she had noticed that things were different. Relations were better between her and her family now, that was to be expected, but all the other stuff…

Sarah Williams laid her forehead against the cool wood of her desk. It was eighth period Study Hall, the last period of the day, and she was having a minor crisis. Usually she would be looking forward to going home, changing out of her uniform, and just relaxing; today, she wasn't so sure she could handle it. Not when a million different, tiny little details were leaping to her attention, details that hadn't been there a few years ago.

She had changed, Sarah thought while rearranging the crooked pleats of her skirt. Sarah Williams had once been a girl who floated through life, ignoring the facts she didn't care for and replacing them with fantasy of her own design. She never would have consented to a private school that had a uniform looking suspiciously like it had been borrowed from the Catholic school down the street. She never would have cared about what was or wasn't happening at home. That girl wouldn't have noticed half the stuff that seemed to be going on and, even if she had, probably wouldn't have cared.

But the older Sarah Williams did care; cared too much, perhaps. Minor things, all of them, but getting worse. For instance, she thought morosely while sparing a quick glance at the clock, everything she ate, be it steak, salad, or ice cream, left the vague after-taste of peaches in her mouth. Then there were the errant smells, like all the forests of the world locked within a single puff of air, earthy and masculine and coming from no identifiable source. And absolutely worst of all, she cringed, was the feeling she got while walking down stairs; that, somehow, between one step and the next she was in a completely different place rather than just one stair below where she had been.

And it wasn't getting any better, she silently moaned; more details were making themselves apparent every day. Just yesterday she had noticed that she was constantly fighting an urge to lounge across chairs and sofas, rather than simply sit in them, and she seemed to be plagued by an unflagging restlessness. Music, too, had changed; became something richer, each note a symphony unto itself, nearly a living thing to her tortured senses.

The bell rang, startling Sarah and filling her with dread. School was monotonous on a good day, but at least life seemed more normal there than it did at home. That morning she had been swamped by an errant sense anxiety, like something big was about to happen, and she wasn't exactly eager to be getting back to it. She let loose a sigh as she filed out of the room with the rest of her classmates. Unfortunately, staying at school wasn't an option; there were no after-school activities for her today, so she had little choice but to go home.

The halls were crowded as usual, students frantic to get out of the building and enjoy the rest of their day. It nearly took an elbow to a few unsuspecting stomachs just to get to her locker. Her thoughts wandered as she spun the lock's dial, so unfocused that she nearly jumped when the locker next to her slammed shut.

Andre Drenham. He was about as uninvolved in the school as was humanly possible, and yet people still took notice of him. He had dark hair and dark eyes, startlingly offset by pale skin. His body had the light tonal build that suggested he was an athlete, and he was tall, well over her 5 foot 6. The girls had a tendency to flock around him, a fact that the jocks would have despised him for if they hadn't been too busy trying to get him to join one of their teams. He had a crooked smile and an easy manner around women that suggested he never had to try very hard to get whatever he wanted. In terms of social hierarchy, he was the senior with the golden touch.

And he was staring at her, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth and a strange emotion lighting his eyes.

Sarah quickly looked away, turning back to her own locker. Something about Andre made her uneasy, like the fact that for the past three years he had been staring at her, or the fact that she found his presence too magnetic to resist. Or the fact that he was way out of her league. She dated artists and writers, not pretty-boys. But Andre had charisma, even when he wasn't speaking; a subtle charm rolled off his very being, commanding attention and adoration.

He was still staring at her.

And it always made her nervous. Not a hands-shaking-break-out-in-a-sweat sort of nervousness, but in a hypersensitive-I-can-feel-his-eyes-fixating-on-my-ass sort of way. Sarah bent over, reaching for a textbook at the bottom of her locker, and prayed to God that when she stood up he would be gone. She straightened, shoving the book into her bag, and didn't trust herself to turn and look. He was still there, in any case, she could feel his obsidian gaze roaming over her.

For three years they had occupied neighboring lockers, and for three years Andre had been there watching her every move as she switched out textbooks or packed up to go home. What was his deal?! She fumed silently, nervousness disappearing as her temper was stoked by three solid years of vague unease. Her spine stiffened and she slammed her locker shut as she turned to leave.

He was still staring at her!

The smile had turned into a twitching smirk, dark eyes glittering with amusement, and a single black brow rising in question as the metal of her locker vibrated with the strength of her outburst.

He never said anything, Sarah growled to herself, in three years Andre had not said a single word to her. Even now he remained silent.

A snarl rose out of her throat, vicious and distinctly un-ladylike. "What?" she snapped like an angry child. "For the love of God, what?!"

"Hello to you too," he murmured mockingly. His voice was a rich tenor, smooth like silk running over satin, with just the tiniest trace of some sort of an accent. To Sarah's ears, his voice tumbled through the air like a heartbreaking sonata, and she had to wonder if this was another tiny detail that was coming to light or if it was the result of a schoolgirl-crush.

Sarah had very little experience with crushes, had really only ever loved her ex-boyfriends in a platonic way. The only practical experience she had at all was with a certain Goblin King; perhaps that was why she found herself acting hostile now. Or, despite the fact that he had a face to make even the angels weep, Andre's staring was really staring to freak her out. With a shake of her head, she began to walk away from the lockers, suddenly wanting to leave even though that meant having to go home.

She didn't make it very far before that painfully wonderful voice caught up to her. "That's all I get?" Andre asked with a playful pout, keeping an easy pace beside her while she tried not to break out into an irritated jog. "Three years of being locker buddies and all you're going to do is snarl at me?"

"Maybe if you weren't freaking staring at me all the time-" Sarah cut herself off when she caught sight of his increased amusement.

A devilish grin had bloomed over his lips and his eyes had taken on a positively predatory light. "The funny thing about that," he purred, "is that you have to be staring at the person to notice that they're staring at you."

She stopped in her tracks, turning to gape at him. People walked around the pair, grumbling about the obstruction they created.

Was Andre trying to flirt with her?

A blush slowly crept its way up her cheeks; he was teasing her. He had to be; after all, what girl wouldn't find herself staring at a guy who had so much raw magnetism as he did? Still, three years was a rather long time to set up a teasing barb.

Or perhaps he was making fun of her. Quiet, bookish Sarah being forced to acknowledge everything she couldn't have in dark and enchanting Andre. It seemed like such a low thing to do but, in her experience, most teenagers were just the right amount of petty to have no qualms over it. Andre, despite his easy manner and charm, was likely no different.

Sarah beat her blush down and turned to leave, surprised that it wasn't her habitual anger that stiffened her spine but, rather, hurt. So what if she was a little geeky? What did it matter if she would rather shop in antique parlors than at designer-brand stores? It didn't make her any less human, she still had thoughts and feelings, still had hopes and a heart.

It took her a few strides to notice that Mr. Drenham had followed her out the building and was still shadowing her steps as she began the short walk home. No doubt waiting for some sort of response, a flustered denial or perhaps a meek admittance of guilt. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction! If Mr. I-Can't-Keep-My-Eyes-To-Myself wanted to follow her home, that was his business, but she wasn't going to make it interesting for him.

"You really aren't going to talk to me, are you?" he asked after a block or so. He laughed then, and the sound that rolled through the air was so rich, so full of velvety little nuances, that Sarah couldn't help the shiver that iced its way up her spine. It was so familiar, that laugh; she knew it from somewhere, didn't she?

Irritation bolstered her hurt feelings, allowing her to get just the right amount of snap into her voice. "Is there a reason you're following me?"

If Andre noticed the sibilant annoyance that was lacing her words, he chose to ignore it. "I heard that there's going to be a new student transferring in soon, and I just wanted to be sure that he wouldn't be taking any of your attention away from me," he replied in a way that wasn't so much smarmy as it was simply, frighteningly honest.

"Could you be more full of yourself?" Sarah gaped at him. "Did it ever occur to you that the only reason I might be giving your arrogant ass any attention at all was because your staring freaks me out?" She lengthened her stride, knowing that once they passed the upcoming row of hawthorns the front porch of her house would be in sight. "And besides, who I choose to associate with is none of your concern."

The far-reaching branches of the hawthorn trees began to disperse, the strangely jagged leaves revealing the old Victorian home she lived in. She mounted the front stairs in no time and was just beginning to breathe a sigh of relief when a strong hand caught her by the arm, bringing her back to face the man she was doing her best to ignore.

Andre's hand was large, warm, and surprisingly smooth. He gently trailed his fingers down her forearm, briefly encircling her wrist in a shiveringly light caress, before clasping her fingers in a soft but firm grip. Dark eyes stared at her from under equally dark brows, his expression strange and unreadable. In a flash his habitual crooked smile returned, and he lowered his head to press a tender kiss to the knuckles of her captive hand.

Then he was gone, walking down the front path and heading for the road. In the second before he crossed the threshold of the property he turned, lithe torso twisting in a way that made the shirt of his uniform mold itself to every curve and sleek plain that existed on his lightly toned body. "Just promise that you won't tease him the way you tease me; I dislike competition," was all that came out of his sinisterly silky lips before he began to make his own way home.

"I dislike competition," Sarah mocked childishly.

Afternoon had given way to evening, just as the evening had steadily given way to the night. It was only a handful of hours, six or seven at best, but her brief encounter with Andre had played in an endless loop in her mind, making each hour pass slower than the one before. By the time dinner with her family had ended she had been an irritated riot of nerves; all those extra senses that she had slowly been becoming aware of seemed fixated on her tiny interaction with the dark teenager. Her sensitive ears, which seemed to make music of nearly any sound that graced the air, rang with the quiet melody of his voice, all other sounds suddenly seeming discordant and grating; her nose no longer caught the errant scents of the wild, but seemed to eternally remember a spicy male tang that had briefly sharpened the air around her; and, worst of all, her skin, which hadn't previously shown any inclination to develop any extra sensory ability, seemed to burn where he had touched her, a phantom caress ghosting over her arm and making her want more.

In short, the past few hours had been hell, each minute presenting a small eternity and every second spent seeming to tease her senses into even greater awareness.

Sarah sat at her vanity, slowly brushing her long hair out. "Where does he get off, saying stuff like that?" she asked her reflection. For a brief moment she screwed up her face, trying to imitate his quirking brows and arrogant smile. "Don't tease him the way you tease me. Ha!" She set her brush down with a bang and began to braid her hair. "I don't tease anybody! If that's Drenham's idea of flirting with a girl, he sure is abstract about it!"

Except for that kiss, that was pretty direct, a teasing voice from inside her defended.

"A trifling," she reasoned. "Any man could kiss a woman's hand, not so long ago it had even been expected of him to do so." But her knuckles itched at the remembrance and her skin seemed to twitch with the desire to be pressed to Andre's lips once more.

Liar, the voiced purred, you desire the experience even more because of the fact that it's no longer expected. A man charming enough to press a kiss to a woman's hand should be rewarded with kiss for his own, shouldn't he?

"No!" Sarah growled. "There will be no kissing." She quickly tightened and tied off the braid her fingers had rapidly been working through. "Tomorrow will be exactly like the last three years have been; he'll be silently staring at me, and I'll do my best to ignore it. Today was probably just…" Green eyes studied their own reflection carefully, trying to read some sort of an answer out of the mirror. "A fluke," she murmured to herself.

Finished at the vanity, Sarah quickly changed into her nightclothes, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed.

"Just a fluke," she whispered to the dark room.

Sarah made a point of avoiding her locker that morning. She could admit that it was cowardice, something that she had always taken great pains to avoid in the past, but she nearly hurt because her body seemed to crave Andre's presence so much. It was as if he were a drug that had flooded her system, getting her addicted with just the tiniest of tastes. If that wasn't cause enough to hide from the man, then she didn't know what was. A dark shadow loomed over her plan, though; her first few periods of the day would be blessedly free of the entrancing Mr. Drenham, but she would have to switch out her textbooks eventually and she knew she couldn't skip the sixth period Poli-Sci class that they both shared.

Hiding makes you look like a fool, a voice hissed, this one different from last night, sounding more like the confrontational fifteen year old she had been. A little bit of teasing, and you're going to let some mortal boy turn your world upside-down when even the Goblin King himself could not?

She hadn't thought about it that way. In that light it seemed almost silly to let someone like Andre get under her skin when a certain blue-eyed terror hadn't been able to. Not completely, anyway. They had similarities though, Andre and the Goblin King; both were magnetic and charismatic, both-

Whispers began to tear through the hall, like a wildfire through a water-starved prairie, derailing her train of thought and making her glance around in curiosity to see what had happened.

An arm looped itself through her own, and for one panicked moment Sarah thought that perhaps Andre had decided to seek her out. Her fears were unfounded though, for when she turned around she was greeted by her friend Erin. "What's up?" she asked as soon as her heart had calmed a little.

Erin shrugged a little causing her dark curls to bounce over her shoulders. "Just the new kid. I don't see what everyone's so excited for, it's not like we never get transfers or anything."

"Maybe he's dishy," Sarah offered, pulling her indifferent companion toward the entrance hall to see if they could get a look at the newcomer that was causing such a stir.

After the fact, she would swear that her knees turned to water, and would always be amazed that she hadn't swooned into any innocent bystanders.

Sarah stood on the second floor balcony that overlooked the entrance hall, a curious eye taking in the oddity of the small space being completely packed with people who were trying to look as though they all had a legitimate reason to be there. A small island of space had been afforded for the new kid, although kid probably wasn't the right word. The teenager was tall, though it was hard to tell by how much when she was a floor above him, with a graceful, willowy sort of build that still contained enough muscle not to appear effeminate. Silvery-blond hair cascaded over a pair of strong shoulders, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she could hear him speaking in a crisp, animated British accent to those who were brave enough to approach him.

Sarah tensed on Erin's arm, beginning to get a very bad feeling.

He had an arrogant bearing to his stance, a certain way of posturing himself that was both domineering and appealing. He wore the standard uniform, yet it still looked stylish and fitted close to the skin. When he moved, turning his attention from one person to another, the gesture seemed inhuman, too sleek and controlled to have been executed by a normal person. She was getting a very bad feeling, and was turning to leave when she noticed that Andre had come up behind her and Erin, effectively trapping them against the balcony railing until he decided to move away.

She wasn't sure if it was the flash of movement that he must have seen from below, or some sort of predatory instinct, but she suddenly found herself staring into the ice blue eyes of the newcomer. Eyes the she knew; eyes that Sarah Williams had seen before.

Jareth! Her mind wailed, raged, trembled, but her body refused to move.

Something flared in the depths of those ancient eyes as they locked gazes with her, something fierce and knowing, but Sarah couldn't help but feel that there was something wrong with the picture she was looking at; almost as if something about the Goblin King was missing.

"Looks like you two know each other," a dark whisper rumbled over her shoulder, making her jump. She had forgotten about Andre!

He had moved closer, as close as possible without making physical contact, and his obsidian gaze was briefly hidden under the shadowy waves of his hair. Andre stepped a little off to the left, flanking her open side, and when he lifted his head she noticed that his eyes were narrowed. His black gaze flitted between her and the blond teen below them—who still hadn't taken his steely blue eyes off of Sarah—before asking, "Do you?"

Sarah floundered for a moment then, oddly, found herself answering, "We've met; it didn't end very well between us."

"Pity," Andre murmured, remorselessly. After a few more moments of eyeing the newcomer, he lifted a hand to her head, gently sifting his fingers through her hair. "I'll see you in Poli-Sci, Sarah," he purred, then disappeared into the crowd of students.

Her scalp tingled, the skin of her neck felt seared where his whispers had brushed, and the side he had left now felt empty. It felt like she had been taken from a sun-warmed meadow and plunged into frigid waters.

"Since when did you and Andre start going out?" Erin asked with wide and astonished eyes.

Her friend had been so silent that Sarah had forgotten she was there. "We aren't," she babbled defensively, "until yesterday we weren't even on speaking terms with each other."

Erin raised a shapely brow, "And the new kid?"

Sarah took a calming breath before looking back down to Jareth. He looked positively fierce but, somehow, that didn't seem to sway her the way it once had. "He's old news," she said to her friend, hoping that he could read lips; maybe then he'd leave her alone.

The week that ensued was strange, to say the least. Jareth dogged her steps without making any actual contact, and Andre never seemed to be too far behind—though she was unsure if that was because he had simply taken a dislike to Jareth, or if it was because he too was dogging her steps. By the time the weekend rolled around, Sarah was ready to scream; not only was she being stalked, but strange rumors about a love triangle were beginning to circulate around the school. As if it weren't enough that Erin thought she was secretly dating Andre, now the entire school seemed to be of the opinion that her foreign lover from England had come to the States in order to win her back from Mr. Drenham.

But the weekend was stretching before her now, two blissful days without having keep a lookout for the erratic blond or the persistent brunet. It sounded like heaven; or at least it would have if it weren't for the fact that the very strange attraction her locker-mate instilled in her was smoldering in her belly.

"Ignore it," she chided herself. "If Drenham makes an actual move, then fine, but there's no point in pining after him like a love-sick puppy."

No, an inner voice purred, today was all about her. On this bright and chipper Saturday she was going to visit her favorite antique parlor with the hopes of finding something interesting and within her price range. Today was a day to forget about the weird men that chose to barge into her life, a day to surround herself with the thrill of long-forgotten treasures.

At least, that had been the plan, but nothing ever went according to plan for Sarah Williams.

She had been in the back of the parlor, cooing over an ancient mirror and a stately grandfather clock, when a shadow fell over her. Strong hands wrapped around her waist, bringing her back against a solid chest. "How long do you intend to ignore me, little girl?" Jareth asked in quiet snarl.

Loath though she was to admit it, Sarah had made a very careful study of the Goblin King during her brief stay in the Labyrinth. His every action had enamored her. He had a wickedly commanding presence, a devilish charisma that had left her feeling more than just a little flushed, and his voice… his voice had a sensual awakening.

Such was not currently the case. His touch was stirring nothing in her and his voice sounded strangely discordant, as though it were the right combination of sounds with the wrong timing.

Sarah frowned; something was very wrong about the whole scene.

She scrambled her brain, looking for a response, not knowing how to judge the situation. As her eyes scanned the room for some help or a likely escape, they snagged on the mirror off to her side. The frame was old and ornate and the glass was strained in places, a testimony to its age. Her green gaze widened in shock.

Blond hair fell over her shoulder, but she was the only thing reflected in the mirror.

Her mind tripped over that fact for a few seconds, not fully able to understand what it meant, and an asinine comment had been halfway to her lips before she was pulled to the side, out of Jareth's grasp. Instantly, her skin began to tingle, the muscles of her belly clenched in desire and, if she had been a cat, it was a pretty good bet she would have begun purring.

"I do believe the lady takes displeasure with your company," came the quiet growl of her savior.

Andre. Why was she not surprised?

It was sweet, in a way, that he was trying to play her Prince Charming, but against Jareth she had a feeling that it was a game that could turn deadly.

The blond creature turned deadly eyes to the man standing just behind her shoulder and, for the first time in a week, Sarah was finally able to pinpoint what it was that had first bothered her about Jareth. Though her time in the Labyrinth had been brief, and very little of that time had been spent with the Goblin King, she knew that his pupils had been uneven—one perpetually dilated, making it seem a darker blue than his other eye. Ever since his strange reappearance into her life, her mind had been trying to alert her to a strange fact: right now, both of his eyes were an even icy blue.

"I don't believe it's any of your business," Jareth hissed coldly, the discordant not in his voice rising.

Though he was behind her, she could practically feel Andre lifting a mocking brow. "Sarah told me that you two once parted on disagreeable terms; it doesn't seem as though she's particularly interested in fixing that."

Jareth glowered and, though she was getting the feeling that perhaps she wasn't seeing this conversation from the right perspective, Sarah decided to intervene.

"Now boys," she chided, stepping further between the two, "you have to play nice, or you don't get to play at all."

The blond 'teenager' shot a glare to the man behind her before bringing his attention back to the green eyed girl. "You haven't won; I'm not giving up, Sarah," he warned before leaving.

"You never do," she sighed to his retreating back, then turned to face Andre. He was as darkly handsome as usual, and the desire that had been simmering in her belly began to push its way through her veins at the sight of him. "I'm sorry about him," she murmured quietly, not really sure why she felt the need to apologize, "we have a… complicated past."

If that thought bothered him, he didn't voice it. Instead he brought his hand up to caress her cheek, making her skin sizzle at his touch. "Go out with me," he said—somewhere between a command and a plead—in a tone of voice that could have brought even a bitter old spinster to her knees before him.

Maybe it was the bone melting tone of voice, maybe it was the fiery desire that coursed through her, perhaps it was the way his bottomless eyes seemed to smolder as they gazed at her, or the fact that after three years she was intensely curious about the teen that was always staring at her; whatever it was, she simply found herself unable to refuse.

They left the shop hand-in-hand, but for a brief moment Sarah could have sworn that she had seen a glimmer of blond hair reflected brilliantly in the dusty old mirror.

They dated and, slowly but surely, Andre really was becoming her Prince Charming. She had never had such a wonderful time in all her life; her dear Mr. Drenham was funny and sweet, with just the right amount of wickedness to make a girl feel a little naughty for dating him.

But a dark cloud hovered over her happiness. True to his word, Jareth hadn't given up and, though she did her best to ignore him, his actions had become increasingly aggressive. It made her all the more thankful that Andre was her boyfriend because she wasn't sure how she would have escaped the blond, time and again, without him.

She had to wonder, though, why the ethereal creature hadn't used any magic in order to keep her attention. Andre was strong and sometimes a little imposing, but surely he was no match for the Goblin King. She couldn't even begin to imagine what sort of power he wielded at his fingertips, so why wasn't he using any of it?

The thought passed, as did all thoughts of Jareth's incongruities.

Time passed as well, and soon the Spring dance was upon them. For the first time in her life, Sarah was actually looking forward to the school function.

And yet, in the corners of her soul, something niggled at her.

"Breathe, Sarah," she told her reflection in the vanity. "It's not like Andre hasn't seen you in a dress before." And what a dress it was! While not as formal as the prom, the Spring dance was still an excuse for the girls to dress up, and she had not wasted the opportunity. The bodice of the dress was black silk and blue velvet, giving way to a midnight-colored tumbling skirt that was elegant in its simplicity. It was a dress that was beautiful without being lavish.

Sarah inspected her reflection. She felt giddy and childish, a natural blush lighting her cheeks while a purely delighted smile bloomed over her lips. Andre was wicked, but there was also something about him that was a little Old World. Dancing with him was going to interesting, if not outright fun. The thought made her regret all the years she had chosen to ignore him; they could have been dating for three years already if she'd just had the courage to approach him!

"Water under the bridge," she murmured with a shake of her head. Her life was too full of unexplored 'what if's for her to start becoming curious now. With a final light touch to her upswept hair, she left her room.

Andre had barely left her side when she was ambushed by Jareth. Pulled into a darkened corner and pressed between a hard wall and a solid chest, Sarah felt a bit of panic beginning to rise.

"Leave me alone," she hissed. "God, why can't you just leave me alone? I've moved on!"

Jareth ran a finger down the smooth line of her bodice. "And if I haven't, Sarah? If I've returned to your world with the sole intention of dragging you back to mine, what then?"

She knocked his hand away, not even feeling as though she were in the presence of the Goblin King. "My life is finally in order, so I don't give a damn what excuse you cite for this harassment. I have Andre now, and you have no power over me!"

Something akin triumph seemed to flicker through his strange gaze, but in that moment a very irate looking Andre hauled him away from her. If a scuffle ensued, she missed it. One minute Jareth was held within the vicious grasp of her angry boyfriend, and the next minute he seemed to melt into the crowd.

Something about the situation seemed skewed, completely wrong, but she wasn't given the time to contemplate it before Andre gently smoothed his hands down her shoulders and led her to the dance floor for a nice quiet number. "Are you alright?" he asked seriously. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, and I won't ask, but that guy is freaky."

Sarah moved closer to him, enjoying the heat his body threw off, and let out a sigh. "Sometimes I wonder if it isn't my fault. I know I did what was right, but at the same time I think I also may have done what was wrong, like there was no good solution and my only choice was to hurt him," she whispered, more to herself than her boyfriend, who wouldn't have understood in any case.

A strong hand lifted her chin, bringing a bright gaze to meet his obsidian eyes. "You wouldn't leave me for that creep, would you?"

She shook her head, briefly tamping down the guilt that her statement had risen up.

"Good," Andre replied, then smiled that wicked, crooked smile of his, "because you're stuck with me."

Sarah laughed and finally fell within the steps of the swaying dance, he mood lightening as she focused the man before her. "Stuck, huh? For how long?" she asked with a smile.

"How does forever sound to you?" he countered with a question of his own.

"It sounds wonderful," Sarah nodded, humor dancing in her eyes.

He pulled her closer then, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, his lips brushing against her ear causing a shiver to lick its way down her spine. He had been whispering 'sweet nothings' to her for a few minutes before his voice changed, dropped a few notes, became inhumanly tempting. His arms tightened around her waist and he gently bit her just below the ear before whispering, "Just fear me, love me, do as I say…"

Mercury-mirrors don't lie.

A/N: This was written for challenge number 75 at the Harem (a Jareth/David Bowie yahoo group). I have to say that it's a tad more abstract that usual for me, since I'm usually so fond of giving explanations, so I think this story definitely isn't suited for everyone. I encourage you to draw your own conclusions, but if it really just baffles you, I'd be more than happy to explain. (On a side note, this is the first story that I've done set in high school, so I hope that the atmosphere isn't too off.)

(On another side note; to my Bodice Ripper or Listen For Thunder readers: Updates coming soon!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Jareth or Sarah, they belong to whoever it is that happens to hold the rights to the movie Labyrinth.