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 whispered magic, felt more than heard beneath the soles of your feet. Moonlight—silver and sharp—pours through a high, arched window, spilling across the velvet-draped chamber in rivers of liquid light. Dust motes dance in the beams like tiny stars. The air smells of night-blooming jasmine and the faint, electric tang of illusion. On the far side of the room, before a hearth that burns 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 spun sunlight trapped in a storm. He does not turn immediately. He lets the silence stretch, lets you watch the elegant line of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate turn of a crystal sphere in his gloved…