A/N: Sarah's character traits are based heavily on A.C. Smith's book "The Labyrinth." If you haven't read it you should. You can find a transcript of it on the internet in several places. It's worth reading if only for the description of the Bog of Eternal Stench. Oh and I obviously don't own any of it.
Sarah was a girl of precision. Her room was neat and tidy; every item had its precise location. Her books had their precise position, alphabetical by author, and within each authors group, in order by acquisition. Her mind was made up in such a precise fashion as well.
Sarah knew precisely what she liked. She knew precisely what she disliked. She had no in between. Her only gray area was with those she loved. She loved them, of that she had no doubt. There were times however when she would be angry with them, but she never truly disliked them, or loved them less.
She liked animals. She liked children. She liked the moon on a clear night shining through the poplar outside her window framed by her precisely located curtains.
On the other hand, she disliked her stepmother. She disliked people with no imagination. She disliked changing diapers. She disliked the Bog of Eternal Stench and now she disliked the smell of peaches too.
Sarah loved her father, even if he always took Her side. She loved her mother, even though she abandoned them when Sarah was young. She loved Toby, even though he cried too much.
She liked her friends, Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Dydumus. She disliked the Faerys and fairies. She liked the Labyrinth; she disliked the tired, hungry feeling that prevailed through most of the trip.
Yes, Sarah was a girl of precision. Why then was she here sitting before her vanity mirror staring at the reflection of a girl who knew precisely nothing? The pictures of her mother were gone; she found them to be too much clutter. The dolls had been moved to her brothers room; she found she had grown out of the make believe adventures. The music box still remained in its designated location by the bed stand; it reminded her of her mother no more though. Now it remembered her of a glittering ballroom, a haunting song, and handsome man holding her.
The handsome man was precisely what bothered Sarah. She did not like him, but she did not dislike him either. In a world of precision this disturbed Sarah greatly. She did not like that he took Toby, she did not like that he made her run the labyrinth. She liked the way he smelled; she liked the sound of his voice. She did not like that the peach he made Hoggle give her had made her hallucinate; she did like the feel of his arms around her, the way he led her, and his voice singing to her. She disliked the way he kept Toby from her even after she had made her way to the castle beyond the goblin city; she liked the way he begged her to stay with him.
Sarah could only come to one conclusion and she refused to admit it to herself. In a mind of precise decisions, such indecision could only mean one thing. The only people she allowed herself to like and dislike were the people she loved. Do I love him? She asked herself. She had no answer. Not one she would admit to at least.
So Sarah sat ever night staring into her reflection, wondering what precisely her heart was trying to tell her mind. She sat wondering what to do about it. And how to convince herself it was not true…
There was no denying it though. Sarah loved the Goblin King. Every night at precisely 9 pm she fell asleep and dreamt of him.
Every night at 9:05 a white owl appeared on the branch of the poplar tree that looked into her window, framing her in her precisely hung curtains, and watched. There was no denying it. The Goblin King loved Sarah.
In his eyes it was just a matter of time before she knew it too. And when she knew it, he knew, she would know it with the same precision that she knew everything. And that was precisely what he wanted.