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He was so distracted by the constant stream of ear shattering screams eminating from Sarah that he barely had time to register what happened next. One second he was dry and seated and the next he was dripping wet and standing. In a blur of hair and skin, Sarah ran past him, out of her bedroom and down the hallway in the direction of her kitchen.
She had thrown the glass of drinking water from her nightstand at him.
Dripping and enraged, Jareth stalked after her down the hallway, finding her in the kitchen, standing with her back to one counter. A large, polished wood table stood between them. Sarah's breath was coming rapidly as her eyes widened in horror at the sight of him again. She spun around, pulling a rather impressive looking knife from a block of wood resting on her counter.
"Who are you?" Sarah sputtered, holding the knife out in front of her. "What's happening?!"
Jareth wiped the remaining droplets of water from his brow, flinging them dramatically off his glove and onto the floor. "You know very well who I am," he growled back.
Sarah's eyes darted wildly around the room, as if planning her next move. "This isn't happening," she said, her voice coming much faster than normal. "I'm having a severe hallucination."
Jareth rolled his eyes. "I haven't the time for these games, Sarah." He took a step towards her but paused when she screamed again, now holding the knife towards him with two white knuckled hands. He sighed.
"I do not intend to harm you, Sarah," he said, surprised at how easily her name now rolled off his tongue.
"No, no you don't," Sarah said, her voice a bit manic. "You don't intend to hurt me because hallucinations aren't capable of physical damage."
Jareth cocked an eyebrow.
"Yes," Sarah affirmed to herself, nodding and licking her lips nervously. "This is a hallucination. Just a side effect of the sleeping pills. Very common probably. Nothing to worry about." She had begun to speak in a sort of nervous flutter, her mind and heart racing spastically.
"You say hallucinations cannot cause physical damage," Jareth repeated slowly, his mind forming a plan to end this nonsense.
Sarah nodded, the knife shaking in her hands.
"Very well," Jareth sighed again, producing a crystal quickly against his fingertips. Sarah gasped, her eyes getting even larger. Then, faster than movement could be detected, Jareth threw the crystal at one of Sarah's windows across the open space of her airy diningroom. The window panes shattered noisily, causing Sarah to drop the knife to the floor, her hands flying up to her ears instinctively. As the last of the broken glass fell to the floor, she turned slowly to look at Jareth, her face as white as a sheet, her mouth a small "o" of shock.
"May I proceed?" Jareth asked, his voice sounding bored and formal.
Sarah was frozen. She couldn't process anything, so she just nodded again, willing herself to remain concious despite the arythmia of her heart.
"Your stint with that glass of water was your one warning," Jareth drawled, his eyes following Sarah as she managed to cross her kitchen to one of the rustic wooden chairs sitting at a table. As she sank into it, she licked her lips nervously. "I've never given a warning before, so consider yourself lucky."
"This can't be happening," Sarah finally spoke, her eyes watery with disbelief.
"Really, Sarah, have you gone daft?" Jareth replied, exasperated. "I'm not in the habit of having to prove my existence to this degree. Small children accept things faster than you."
"They don't know any better," Sarah whispered, unable to stop herself.
To her surprise, she thought she saw a smirk briefly play upon his lips. He suddenly looked around, his lips curling into a snarl of disgust.
"Honestly Sarah, how do you live here?" He picked up a small carved wooden sign that read "Bless this Mess" in a playful font. "It's frightening."
"Like you're one to talk," she replied, her voice still soft, but slighty more sturdy. "Your castle was filthy."
Jareth made a tsking sound. He moved a bit closer to her, his hands neatly folded behind his back. His eyes were calm in a disturbing way as he studied her face. "Why do you think I'm here, Sarah?" He asked suddenly.
Sarah blinked. "What?"
"Deaf as well as daft," Jareth muttered. "After fifteen of your years, here I stand, in your kitchen. Why?"
Sarah stared at him for a moment, caught off guard.
"Alright, let us try something else," Jareth replied to the silence. "Since your return from the Labyrinth, have you noticed anything...different?"
Sarah swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I always thought it was a dream..." she said, her voice trailing.
"Now we're back-tracking, Sarah," Jareth admonished. "I believe I already addressed the "is this real" part of the morning in quite a spectacular fashion," he reminded her, gesturing in the direction of the shattered window. "However I would have no problem with destroying the rest of your windows if you require further proof."
His tone bothered her. It was mocking and cruel, just as she...remembered him. She stood, forcing herself to appear as if she was more in control. "Yes, I have noticed some differences," she answered his previous question, hoping her voice sounded calm.
"I see," Jareth said, his eyes darkening. "Explain."
Sarah tilted her head slightly to one side. Without speaking, she moved towards the broken glass of the window. Jareth found himself tensing up as she drew near to the shards, momentarily afraid she was planning on using a sliver as a weapon. When she reached her destination, however, she didn't pick anything up. Instead, she turned to him, making sure he was still watching. When she was satisfied that he was, she gently ran a finger over the smooth part of the window frame.
Jareth watched in silence as the window began to morph and regrow, the thousands of tiny pieces of broken glass turning into silvery droplets, rolling and joining with each other faster and faster until the window was completely repaired to a state of perfection.
Sarah was still watching him, her hand now at her side. Her stomach churned as she took in his changed appearance. He seemed to exude the very essense of her nightmares.
"My, my," he said, his voice slow and tight with anger. "What a marvelous. Little. Trick."