Elenoire mentioned a story her grandfather would tell her as a girl. I asked her for it, but much of the detail had already slipped from her mind. I didn't want her to go without a story, so I offered to retell it for her.

The Goblin and the Silver Apple.

Can you imagine it? A Goblin. Hoarding, conniving, disgusting little creatures. This one was no different; except, this one had something no other goblin had. He had a human. Now, as you'd expect, the Goblin wasn't keen on sharing his possessions, and that is certainly what she was.

To the beginning...

A bonnie lass, she was, the pride of her family. Diligent and hard working, wondrously intelligent and witty. She saw the good in all that was around her, she saw the good that could be had in every situation. Even in the Goblin. Even with this great attributes, she was not sought after by the men of her village. "Why?" You ask. Simple reason: her family was poor. It didn't matter how beautiful you were, not there. It did not matter how hard you worked, how capable and resolute of mind, no it didn't even matter that she could likely duel each man in the village and win! If you were poor, you were filth and filth was not to be touched. Her family made the poor look like kings and queens in their grand palaces.

It was the perfect situation, you see. The Goblin wanted what he did not have, he wanted what the other Goblins could never obtain. A human. And so he went from village to village, searching for that which he desired. He stood, though not much taller than the counter before him, in a bar and observed the night's crowd; those coming home from their long day of work. It was here that he met the father of the girl; he was begging for the scraps to take to his family, with no luck. The Goblin approached him with a platinum coin weaving between his fingers. The allure was evident in the man's gaze as it narrowed upon the coin.

"I seek that which cannot be purchased. I seek that which shall not be sold. I seek that which no man would trade for a bottomless pit of coin." The Goblin hissed to the man, flicking him the coin.
The man caught the coin in his grimy hands and quick bit it to assure it's validity.
"Wha' d'ye seek?" The man replied, pocketing the coin.
"I desire your daughter's hand." The Goblin said with a quiet voice, careful to avoid any passersby that might be dropping eaves upon their conversation.

Now, you may ask how did the Goblin know the man had a daughter. Quite simply, the Goblin was well experienced in his trade of collecting unique items. He could find a single-horned horse with nothing more than the last vestiges of fecal matter of the creature that walked one-hundred meters before it.

They bartered and spoke of numbers, riches, fame, power. All the likes that would tempt a man to give all he had in exchange of. Finally, a deal was struck. The ink wasn't even dry on the parchment when the girl was given up for collection.

This beautiful girl traded like a piece of meat in the market. For how much, you ask? For fifty platinum pieces! When the news broke to the village, the Goblin and his new bride were long gone and the coin spent on ale and women. It should be noted, the body of the man was found a cycle later in a ditch with his pockets turned out and a knife in his gut.

Before I continue, you should know this is not a happy story. It will not end in a manner you desire. There will be no justice here.

When they arrived to his marvelous home, full of unique and precious treasures, he stood her in his parlor and offered her one thing. She may choose any item, and it would be hers forever. His gift for their 'wedding'. Her eyes swept back and forth across the grand collection, frantically. There was a single object, high upon a shelf, that caught her eye: a Silver Apple. With a snap of his fingers, a servant came and fetched the polished apple and delivered it to her. The only conditions of his gift was that she must carry it with her at all times and she must present it to him for inspection whenever he desired. She slipped it into the pocket of her dress, and laid hand over it to keep it secure.

Days fluttered past and the Goblin would come and go. Some nights they would talk, others she would quietly lay in bed: crying herself to sleep. Food would be provided, but she never saw from where. There was no kitchen on the main level of the home, and certainly she would not venture into the depths of the house. Or would she? It was late into one of his voyages, one that he warned her would last a cycle or more, and she grew increasingly lonely; so, she quietly moved to the door that led into the cellar. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she gave it a quick twist and sure enough, the door opened without so much as making a creak.

Singing.

She heard singing coming from the steps below. The voice was wretched and easily quite old. In a hurry she swept down the stairs only to come to a sudden halt as an ancient woman, with mixing bowl in hand, stepped right into her path. Silently they stood there, staring at each other for what seemed like marcs. Finally, the old woman lifted her hand and beckoned the girl to follow. They spent the rest of the night, and well into the early morn, talking and sharing their stories. The girl, being the helpful and kind soul that she was, took pity upon the cook and offered to help her, to heal her. Clearly afraid of the repercussions, the cook declined and shooed her away.

Several days past by, then a week. Still no return from the Goblin, and so she ventured another trip down below. She managed to convince the elderly woman to accept her help, her healing hands, and one day, she promised, she would help her escape. A day later, the Goblin returned, though he was ignorant of the plan that had been hatched. Life returned to what could only be considered normal then. When the Goblin would go away to collect treasures, she would slip into the cellar below and help the woman. It was on one occasion of this kindness that her Silver Apple fell from her pocket and rolled into the soot riddled fireplace.

She plucked it from the dormant hearth and attempted to clean the soot from its surface. Failure. Water surely would help, yes? No. Nothing she did would clean the soot from the previously pristine periphery.

Panicked, she tucked the Blackened Apple into her dress pocket and fled up the stairs, slamming the door shut behind her. As she slid down against the door, the Goblin rounded the corner. Home from his voyage and in a terrible fit of anger at being short handed. Seeing her in the hallway, he eyed her suspiciously.

"Would the worse moment come? Would he ask for the apple?" She thought to herself as her facade conveyed nothing but joy to see her husband. No. He did not ask, not then. It was not until that evening at dinner that he requested the prized gift. Hesitantly, she pulled the Blackened Apple from her pocket.

At first the Goblin did not react. It was almost as if he was unsure of what to do. Finally, he stood and walked calmly around the table to her. Standing next to her, he gently took the apple from her hand and set it on the table.

As mentioned previously, the Goblin did not wish to share his possessions. Brag about them, of course; give glimpses to the other collectors, absolutely! Share them? Never.

In the next moment, the Goblin ripped at her hair and dragged her from the dinning room to the Cellar door. Down the steps they went, further into the blackness.

The girl was thrown into the depths of a pit beneath the house for her betrayal. Night after night her screams would echo into the house. Occasionally, the Goblin would visit her; to remind himself.