The next day, Jareth paid Sarah another visit.  She was sitting on her bed, staring at the pinky-orange patch of sky out of her high window.

“Sarah,” he said, stepping through a wall.  She jumped and turned to face him.

“Don’t you ever knock?  And what’s wrong with using a door for once?” Sarah snapped.

“I can see you’re much better.  You should regain strength quickly now,” he replied laconically, his gaze drifting deliberately over her rumpled form.  He did love discomforting her!

She scowled.  “Good, then I can get outta here again,” she retorted and turned her face away.

That didn’t bother Jareth.  It gave him a chance to admire her profile.  He chuckled.  “Do you want to leave?”  he asked lightly but the question was serious.

“I guess so,” she said, confused for a minute.  What did she want, she asked herself?  “Why?  Are you going to send me home?” she asked curiously.

“No,” he replied bluntly and tapped one boot with his cane in a distracted fashion.

“Then why ask?” Sarah said more to herself than to him, rolling her eyes.

“Because, the answer is important,” Jareth said, his voice clipped.  “I need you to listen to a story.”

“A story,” Sarah repeated, disbelievingly.

“Yes. Mine,” he retorted shortly.

She stared at him with wide eyes.  She’d love to hear that.  She had a million questions about him but didn’t dare ask.  To her discomfort, he perched himself elegantly on the edge of the bed.

“It begins 1600 years ago – in earth time, that is.  In Underground time, it’s been far longer.”