Underground

XI

"Yous is need'd now," the tallest goblin announced after dramatically clearing his throat. The other goblins nodded enthusiastically in alliance, muttering encouragement to have you follow them. "Time be short."

"Okay. Where am I needed, exactly?" You asked, gently stepping down from the throne and shuffling awkwardly after the small group of goblins. They guided you out of the throne room and to the immediate right.

"To Him," the chunkiest goblin chortled. "He wants you."

Him. They just mean Jareth. With the time almost over, you figured he must want your answer. Your hand brushed absently over your pocket, and thoughts of Harry flashed in your mind again.

You weren't scared. You were confused. Is this the life you wanted for yourself? To be a servant yet to be served?

The goblins led you into a room larger than you could fully comprehend. You gasped in admiration for the luxurious decoration. Expensive cloth was draped in every inch; gold, silver and glitter woven seamlessly into the room. People dressed in ball gowns and tailored suits danced and twirled, their voices sounding muffled, but growing clearer as you took timid steps further.

They wore masks that depicted goblin structure, all with various shapes. Some with long noses; others with droopy eyes.

"What is this?" You managed to ask, now turning around to face the goblins who had guided you here. But you fell quiet and startled as they were no longer there. You faced the way you had come, only to be staring directly into a curved mirror. The door was no longer there. You watched as couples twirled behind you, and suddenly your mind felt hazy, like you were experiencing a dream.

You no longer looked rough and tired. Instead, you were dressed up in the finest of gowns. Light blue and embedded with jewels; the skirt was heavy looking, yet as you swished your waist it felt incredibly light. The shoulders were a type of mesh material, and it was completely sleeveless. Your arms were protected by silk gloves, which matched the colour scheme you had been dressed in. Your makeup was simple yet elegant, and your hair was half up, half down, woven with the same jewels and glitter that decorated your dress. A small tiara perched on your head.

You frowned at the realisation that you weren't weary a mask like everyone else.

You slowly turned around, a worry cascading over you as various eyes finally found your form. You took tentative steps into the room, straightening out your shoulders and keeping your head held high. But you were okay—this felt no different than walking on stage in front of hundreds of people in an audience. The only difference is that there was no script, no guidance on what to say or do.

20 minutes remained for Harry.

You explored the ballroom in a hidden childish delight. You'd always dreamed of being swept away in the elegance of a masquerade ball; something straight out of a fairy tale. You were briefly reminded of Cinderella when she met her Prince Charming, and how they danced so beautifully throughout the night—until the clock struck twelve and the magic started to lift.

Would the magic vanish at the thirteenth hour?

You listened to the other dancers as they spoke with one another, their voices joyous and happy. They shared tales of their adventures; memories that made one another smile and snicker. Their words created a familiarity inside you, recognising their personalities as those of your beloved cast mates and friends.

"... hiccuped during her monologue!" One of the patrons finished with a howling laugh, her smile wide and rather contagious. You stifled a laugh with your hand gently pressed to your lips, your shoulders shaking at the fond memory that had you enraptured. "The audience was none the wiser. Yet she maintained an elegance that nobody could possess."