The East Wing of the castle was known as Sun's Descent and the uppermost room as the Owl's Perch.  The Owl's Perch possessed the most splendid view in the entire castle, for it was aligned just so that the setting sun would be centered on the horizon.  In the day, the orange sun would make a zigzag of light along the tops of the distant mountains and put a pale orange wash of color on the forest below.  Yet, to watch this daytime beauty, a certain mood had to take hold of him.

Today, the mood was not upon him.  So he sat in the Owl's Perch to reflect, the doors to the balcony closed, and the only light sorting the room out into its separate masses being the moon, which was given a special hole in the wall through which to shine.  He arranged it this way so that, when the moon fit perfectly into the hole, he would know the time.  When he was in such a pondering state as he was now, he did not wish to be bothered with the sound of chiming clocks.

As of late, only the night seemed to comfort him.  Darkness was the cure to his nameless disease.  And, even then, darkness did not do its work completely.  He put his fingers together thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair.

Not all was right with his physical state, but his plans appeared to be going well.  They would continue to do so, only if his magic did not fail him.

"Where have you gone?" he asked the air.

The air did not respond.

"I own you."

Silence.

"I will own her."

He looked to the sliver of the moon that was visible through the opening in the clay, brick walls, knowing full well that the moon could not answer him either. The magic only spoke when it would, but not in words...instead, it spoke through physical and emotional feelings.  Sometimes it would choose pain as its means of communication, sometimes depression.  The sad truth was that, somewhere deep inside of himself, he knew that he did not own the magic.  It had mood swings, so to speak.  It came when it chose. And that was why he needed another source of magic.  The one he possessed had stretched him so that he could see its effects through the new lines in his face.  It only gave him youth when he catered to it...and, of late, he had not catered. It knew his plans of replacement.  And it was fighting his plans through the constant torment of his body and mind.

His control was slipping...he could feel it with each passing moment.

He rose from his seat and stretched luxuriously as he watched the moon begin to completely fill the hole in the wall. It was time for rest.

He opened the large door to the chamber, and nodded to a guard whose watch had been over it.  The guard easily knew the meaning of the nod, and retired to his own room.  The Goblin King was ready for sleep.

Only in sleep was he sure of himself.

In wakefulness, he knew not what he would do next.