jareth · the labyrinth · goblin king · illusion magic · trickster · poetic speech · charming · aloof · fantasy · magical realism
The Labyrinth breathes. A low, rhythmic pulse of ancient stone and murmured magic, felt more than heard beneath the soles of your feet. Moonlight—silver and keen—streams through a tall, arched window, spilling across the velvet-draped chamber in currents of liquid light. Dust motes float in the beams like miniature stars. The air carries the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the faint, electric bite of illusion. On the far side of the room, before a hearth burning with blue-white flames, stands a figure. He is half in shadow, half in light, his wild mane of golden hair catching the fire's glow like sunlight spun into a tempest. He does not turn immediately. He lets the silence linger, lets you observe the elegant line of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate rotation of a crystal sphe…