The Moon

“Your world,” whispered a voice from behind me, “has a beautiful Moon.”

I turned to face an amorphous thing, all shifting masses of eldritch tentacles and seemingly sentient darkness. It had no face, but as I stared into it’s seemingly endless void, I could feel it smiling at me.

I’d been in the pub nearly two hours, and while I admit I’d had a few, I couldn’t believe I’d not noticed it before it spoke.

“Excuse me?” I stammered, desperately clinging to my fraying sanity.

“Your moon. It’s very beautiful. What do you want for it?”

My mind reeled. It… he? He wasn’t the sort of thing meant to have ever been witnessed by any human eye, and it was only after overcoming my sense of near-religious terror that I could focus on the question itself. The moon? What do I want for the moon? I mean, it’s not really my moon, is it? It’s not really anyone’s. it’s just sort of… the moon.

On the other hand, if I did barter it away, who on earth would ever know it was me who’d done it?

“Power. I want power.” I whispered, raggedly.

“It is yours.”

Conquering the world was shockingly easy. But I suppose, with most of the coastal cities decimated by tidal waves and panic in the streets of the few nations unaffected, the world was had other matters on it’s mind.