It is amazing how quickly one forgets one's commitments to this thing, when one misplaces it for what feels but a mere moment.

[The first is spoken softly; it is unclear whether Jareth is musing to himself or to an audience -- one would likely suspect the latter, as the communicator was deliberately turned on, rather than the button being accidentally pressed in the middle of the sentence. Jareth himself looks contemplative, lounging as he is at the foot of a great tree, one gloved hand delicately tapping his chin.]

Seasons, and time, and all of it so carefully constructed. A whole world shrunk to pocket-sized; a corner of a corner in which the pieces are collected. But the game remains still unclear, does it not? One would be tempted to comment on the fairness of it all-- [here a soft laugh, as at an inside joke] --if one were so inclined to such folly.

Perhaps I am merely curious today.

[The hand comes away from his chin, a perfectly round crystal ball forming on his pursed fingertips; it flashes briefly in the light before Jareth cuts the feed.]