Twilight

The garden was not overly large, nor was it spectacularly ornate. However, it held an undeniable beauty bordering on enchantment. It was shaped like a crescant, dotted with lillies and white roses with a tall stately oak tree near the back. Lilac bushes grew at random intervals, adding a splash of color.

As always, an easel was set up beneath the old oak, a young woman busily creating an image on canvass with paint and brush. She was clad in filmy cream skirts and a blouse of matching color, its billowy sleeves rolled back to reveal porcealin skinned, paint splattered arms and hands. The image emerging from paint and pigment was from the young woman's childhood, a figure that had both thrilled and terrified her. He was a willowy man with wild blond hair, clad in a high color and cape, grey hose and high black boots. He held a crystal sphere in long, elegant fingers, his expression one of coy amusement. It was his eyes ,however, that drew one's attention to the painting, striking orbs of differing colors, one ice blue the other earthy brown. They cut like razors even as a mere painting.

She wasn't quite certain why she had decided to paint him, hadn't so much as thought of the tales of him in many years, and yet here he was, smiling at her from her canvass. She shook her head at him, brushing long, white blond hair from her face. The Goblin King. How she had loved the stories of him as a child. Even then he had fascinated her. Her grandmother had told her of the Labyrinth that was the first defense of the Goblin City. She had told her of their fey king who could be, like most denzines of Feary, both cruel and kind, either stealing children to make them goblins, or doing favors for mortals who pleased him. She found herself smiling as she leaned closer, moving her brush in delicate little strokes to highlight his mane of wild blond hair.

"It's certainly been a long time, your Magesty." She murmured wryly, her full lips hardly moving. "How fare things in your Labyrinth?" She chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head. She would never utter aloud how feircely she had beleived in him, in fearies and magic as a child, would never admit how feircely she still belived.

Her friends knew how much she loved old myths and stories, tales of Fearie, knew her paintings were a reflection of that passion. But, they would never understand how insistant these images were, how she was compelled to bring them into being because of the fey voices that wanted to be heard. They'd think her a madwoman.

She didn't mind. This was something that was hers alone, her own private look into the realm of Feary. So intent was she on giving life to the Goblin King, she didn't even notice the white owl as he hooked his talons on a branch above her, watching with wise dark eyes. He tilted his head to one side, rustling his feathers as he watched, silent, patient. He was in no hurry. An owl was born with all his questions answered.

Only when it grew too dark for the girl to see properly did she pack up her paints and brushes and move inside her little house. The owl continued to wait and watch, until most of the lights had gone out. A single, dim golden light shone through the curtains. The owl bobbed his head once and spread his wings, gliding almost lazily towards birch tree that grew outside that window, white in the moonlight, black against the stars. He hooked his claws on another branch and settled himself down to wait and watch with those grave dark eyes.

Inside, the girl had changed into a filmy white nightgown and was sipping from a steamy mug as she paced at the foot of her bed. The lamp on her bedside table threw her shadow along the walls at odd distorted angles. It seemed to tremble and dance as she moved. A little red book was in her hand and she was staring at the faded title that was printed on its coverin gold. The words "The Labyrinth" was glittering faintly in the dim light. She smiled slightly and opened it, pale green eyes scannning the old print as she seated herself in a fluffy chair by her window.

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered," she murmured. "I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the goblin city.."

Absently she set aside her mug and opened her curtains and window, looking out over her yard. It was a beutiful night, a warm breeze bringing with it the scent of lilac and roses, the sky was clear and flawless. The stars glittered brightly in the cool light of the full moon. It was this milky light that illuminated the white owl that was perched just outside her window. She rested her chin in her delicate hand and her albow on the wondowsill. He was close enough to touch, but something about the way it sat, perfectly still, staring right at her, sent a shivver down her spine.

She tore her gaze away and picked up the little red book again, flipping to the beginning of the story. She didn't get far, however. The lights in the room died quite suddenly and her mug crashed to the ground though her hand had been nowhere near it. She rose to her bare feet and hurried over to her lightswitch, flicking it up and down. To no avail.A startled gasp escaped her lips as something brushed ehr legs, skittering to the safetey of the shadows beneath her bed. Soft biting laughter rang out as shadows contorted and danced, brazen figures peering out at her from their hiding places in her mirror, under her bookcase and dresser.

Something soft and feather light brushed her cheek, a ghostly white shape soaring into the room and circling her ceiling. She threw up her hands to fend it off, eyes closed. She couldn't even scream as the owl swooped towards her again on those silent, velvet wings. There was something sinister about the bird of prey. She felt as though, if it touched her again, she would die. She could feel things tugging at her nightgown and hair, heard the faint humm of music. The air was faintly electric, alive with some unseen energy. She oepened her eyes just slightly, peeking through her fingers at the shadow lengthening on her bedroom wall. She was stock still, even when she felt hot breath on her ear, a voice like white wine uttering a single word.

"Ghastly."