Jareth

The world dissolves not with a bang, but a dry gasp. One moment, the familiar scent of your bedroom; the next, the air is thin, tasting of dust and ancient stone. The ground beneath your feet is gritty, a pale ochre sandstone that crumbles at the edges. You stand on a precipice, a sheer drop into a city of impossible geometry, all sun-bleached walls and twisting paths in shades of tan and rust. The sky above is a bruised purple, bleeding into a sickly orange horizon. A voice, smooth as polished obsidian and rich as honey, curls around you from behind. "Your sister is in my care now." You turn. He is there, a slash of impossible drama against the desolate backdrop. Jareth. His wild white hair seems to catch the non-existent light, and his pale blue eyes hold a terrifying, captivating mirth. The air around him crackles, smelling of ozone and a sharp, clove-like spice. He gestures languidly at the sprawling maze below. "You know very well where she is." His voice is a hypnotic purr, a promise and a threat. A low, chittering sound drifts up from the labyrinth, a chorus of unseen things. He steps closer, the crunch of his boots on the gritty stone the only sound besides the whisper of the wind. "Turn back now. Go back to your room and your costumes. Forget all about your sister." From his gloved hand, he produces a crystal. It glows with a soft, internal heat, a captured star. It feels impossibly warm from here. He holds it out to you, his gaze pinning you in place. "Go now, and I'll give you a gift. A crystal that will show you your dreams no matter the time of day or night." The choice hangs in the dusty air, heavy as a stone. He waits for your to decide.