Seeing An Earl As An Owl On

He Had No Longer Any Need For Home, For He Carried His Gormenghast Within Him. All That He Sought Was Jostling Within Himself. He Had Grown Up. What A Boy Had Set Out To Seek A Man Had Found, Found By The Act Of Living.

The Crumbling Castle, Looming Among The Mists, Exhaled The Season, And Every Cold Stone Breathed It Out. The Tortured Trees By The Dark Lake Burned And Dripped, Their Leaves Snatched By The Wind Were Whirled In Wild Circles Through The Towers. The Clouds Mouldered As They Lay Coiled, Or Shifted Themselves Uneasily Upon The Stone Skyfield, Sending Up Wreathes That Drifted Through The Turrets And Swarmed Up Hidden Walls.

His Was Not The Hatred That Arises Suddenly Like A Storm And As Suddenly Abates. It Was, Once The Initial Shock Of Anger And Pain Was Over, A Calculated Thing That Grew In A Bloodless Way.

I Am Clever Enough To Know That I Am Clever.

Something To Remember, That: Cats For Missiles.