After reading the scroll given unto him by the whisper, his heart wept. His soul died. He was defeated. A man whose own people thought so highly of, brought down to his knees with a single scroll covered in ink. A scroll that so crudely written with a ravens feather, informed him further of what he had lost. For it was only a whisper but he can still remember the tone, and the passion held within it. He wanted to run. Every echo only brought misery and despair. He wanted to feel someone embrace him. He needed someone. But as a king, he felt weak for having issues that not even he could contorl. For admitting such a feat would belittle him as a ruler and he surely thought his people would surely dethrone him and have him exiled for being weak. Truth be told. He was already executed by his kingdom. The sentence came from his heart, and his mind brought the cold iron over his shoulders. And he way he's helplessly as he rolled down the steps of his once mighty castle.

The king of golden hearts, now solemn and alone. Began to hear whispers from her. He began to listen to her and believe what she incessantly murmured to him. Word by word, she picked the tarnish off of his pride, day by day she began to polish his once prized heart of gold. And week by week, he recovered his composure, slowly but most certainly. The greater he felt the more thankful he felt to her. To the queen of truth. To his newfound prize.

He once felt like a king. But his heart fell onto the floor by pouring his love out to his people. For he felt that things must be given in order to receive. So he continued to pour his heart out until he could do no more. And his golden perspective soon became nothing more that worn iron. Thus being, he felt that he could not ask for help because it would make him seem weak. But he knew inside that he was weak. That he was a pig, a glutton. That he was nothing more to his people than an actor changing roles. He felt that he had played no impact to his people's lives. Truth be told, he felt that he would seem too self consumed if he had asked for help. He knew that if he did his people would never look at him the same. So he decided to hide this feeling. And tried with his sharpest dagger to carve this dreaded thing out. Yet the knife was too dull to cut deeply into him. Thus he fell to the floor in a ****** mess of sadness and pity. He felt that he could do nothing. And nothing could help the king with the "golden" heart.

Once again. The king of hearts has fallen into his perpetual curse of loneliness. His curse of fruitless endeavors in his pursuit of happiness. His golden heart made thin once more. If he could weep in the rain, the rain would incessantly pour as it tries to out weep the king. But there is no torrent streaming from his eyes. At least, not during this passing of a storm.

The self proclaimed king of hearts sought after the queen of clubs to make her feel wanted, loved and cared for. But she was too busy ruling the corrupt lands of self destruction. She sat high upon her throne of ecstasy. Incessantly, she would burn her greens to escape the cursed royalty for the slightest minute. Then she would become more distant from he who tried. She would push him away believing that he was too good for a lowly queen of despair. Then she would proclaim that he can do better and should spend his precious time pursuing the queen of diamonds or *****. Because she thought that she wasn't worth his time. And the self proclaimed would try his hardest to brighten her mood. But to no avail she held fast to her self abusive habits, and continuous burning of precious herbs. So he grew gray in his kingly heart. And he had to get away to preserve this so called "heart of gold" so he left the queen to her fate. But not one day passed where he didn't think that he could've done more to help her.