Sarah is hidden in the shadow of a curtain in his study, trying her damnedest not to break her silence and give away her hiding place. She is watching him while he works, hovering over a globe of sorts, with its top half removed and flames licking its sides, trying in haste to reach his blanch and slender fingers before they recede.
Pitiful truly that it has come to this, relying upon alchemy to lessen the heaviness of his lids and obliterate the blur creeping in at the edges of his vision. But drawing upon additional magic to stay conscious would be a waste of the stores of energy remaining to him. Thus the brew currently warming. Sleep, most would suggest, as if the obvious solution never occurred to a being just short of o m n i s c i e n t. But to slumber is to be weak, to allow vulnerability, both of which the King abhors. Yet even dulled by exhaustion, the Goblin King remains sharper than most. The presence of another lingers like a shadow, the weight of eyes as discernible as any physical touch. Had any other dared to presume entrance into his private quarters they should have been dragged from their hiding spot, made to grovel and apologize for daring such deceit and then punished despite their repentance. But he knows the eyes upon him now, has been burned by the sensation of their stare before.Those innocent green eyes.What brings Sarah here? It is that curiosity that stays the lash of his tongue, for the moment at least.
