Standard disclaimers apply.

The Labyrinth is the property of Jim Henson and its script writers, including but not limited to Dennis Lee, Terry Jones, Elaine May, and A.H.C. Smith. Characters and concept are used without permission and not for product.


As the World Falls Down



He had known her already, long before that fateful night he'd taken her Underground. For years, her dreams had called to him, dreams of such brilliance that even the darkness of the Underground was illuminated in shades of gold and crimson and azure. Dreams so vivid that they penetrated even the castle hidden in the heart of the Labyrinth, dazzling in their childlike innocence and the very humanity of their desires. She'd dreamt of glass slippers made of tears and wishes; of knights in shining armor, who rode steeds of purest white to certain glory; of magic spells that could only be broken by the right words. They made him laugh with their absurdity. And yet he found himself drawn again and again, night after night, to watch her dreams.

Then one night he'd appeared to her.

He had been angry when she'd refused his gift. He had offered her her dreams, the very dreams that he'd ached for, and she had refused. Yes, he'd been angry, but also amused. Amused by her assumed bravado, by her refusal to cower before him. No, he had been more amused. He had become interested, and in that moment, had found himself unable to resist her. So he had given her the chance to win back her brother, the brother he had initially stolen to please her.

He had denied her nothing. For her, he had reordered time and turned the world upside-down, and she noticed nothing. He'd offered her everything, including himself, in return for her fear and her love. I will be your slave, he'd implored her. Uselessly. As she flung away the possessive hold of the Labyrinth, Jareth felt himself ripped apart, felt his carefully constructed world fall apart around him. Falling apart, falling down, falling....

How cruel she was, this little slip of a girl with wide green eyes. So cruel and so merciless.

And he was falling too, falling in love, falling down, falling apart, falling, falling, falling....

That had been seven years ago. Seven years for him to remember himself. Seven years to recollect his power. Seven years to reclaim his throne. Seven years to rebuild the Labyrinth. Seven years to find Sarah again. Seven years to watch her grow, and seven years to lay out his plan.

He'd watched with interest as Sarah grew into womanhood, leaving behind the gawky limbs of adolescence; with consternation as her dreams began to change with the increasing self-awareness of maturity, and the once prized toys of childhood were eventually discarded while he became a memory of a dream; and always, he watched her with a fervor that blazed even brighter than the dreams that had once enraptured him. How dare the wench forget. How dare she relegate him to the distant corners of her. How dare she be ordinary, when she'd turned his world upside-down and overthrew him. How dare she defeat him. For seven years, he'd watched her in anger as she lived her mundane life, watched her and waited.

He could wait no longer.


There is no ball, no strains of music on the wind. There is only the rose covered gazebo. ItsThe silver-clad occupant stares forlornly into the distance in anticipation of her dancer partner.

Of a prince.

Of a king.

Of her lover.