I am

My tower stretches upwards, miles and miles until it all but breaches the thin atmosphere of this moon I call home. My tower is a dark solid thing. It can be said to loom, and the shadow it casts stretches well past where it should. A shadow that slithers and writhes with ugly intent, my intent.

I am The Lord Sorcerer, prince of this lonely moon, king of this tall forgotten tower, and master of the Otherside things, who are always seeking the ways in.

Smoke curls around my head as I puff at my long stemmed pipe. Today is different, today there should be some modicum of excitement for me. Petitioners are arriving. And I am dressed to impose.

I see them from my observation in my private study. Their small shuttle shuttering as it achieves entry into the atmosphere I have I have created to better suit me.

The air will no doubt be difficult for them to breathe. It is an artificial thing pumped up from vents deep at the frozen core of my home. This tower is always cold, this tower is always shades of gray and black.

It needs to be this way. It needs to be this way for my tempers run hot, and my lust is never slaked. I can never given in to the caprice of the beast. I can never ravage my guests and take everything from them like my burning blood demands.

No. I must be careful. I must be slow. Yet still, I exact my price.

There is a knock on my study door. The shuttle has descended. A washed out red carpet extends to them on the landing pad.