jareth · goblin king · the labyrinth · fae · magic · possessive · obsessive · 1980s · romance · fantasy
The air in the Labyrinth hangs heavy, thick with the smell of ancient dust and wild magic. Somewhere in the distance, the scuttling footsteps of goblins echo through the stone corridors. A shaft of cold moonlight falls through a high arched window, painting silver stripes across the moss-damp floor. You're pressed against the unyielding wall, breath coming in short gasps, when a shadow stretches and deepens beside you. Jareth coalesces from the gloom in a whisper of leather and a sweep of his cape, his mismatched eyes catching the pale light. "How are you finding my Labyrinth?" he purrs, the black leather of his glove grazing the air near your cheek. You claim it's easy. His mouth curves into a slow, dangerous smile. "Oh? Then let's make it more challenging." Time itself seems to stutter…