A Hearts Journey Into Love (Part 1)

The world seemed alive more than before. Heart knew this. He stood silently outside his house that he hid in now mostly all the time. His hair seemed black with a red blood-like sheen to it. The wind tossed it softly and the fibers danced and swayed with the music that nature played for them. Smiling he turned from the world of the outside and back into the dark but safe sanctuary of his hut. 

His eyes turned to the mirror that hung so terribly on the northern wall. Striding towards it the figure came into view, his figure. His shirt was torn and bloodied. Scars laden most of his skin and his eye was torn. Blood stains still remained. Caked upon the now healed wounds of the past. As if he refused to wash away the proof of the pain they had caused. A recent small cut lay on his right cheek. Nothing big but it was sure to leave it's mark, just as all the others had on his life.

The pain never healed from some the larger marks. Wincing at the pain whenever he remembered the fight he fought and lost for them. Seemed nearly worthless now. He would never fight again, no not until a knock should rap upon his door. Until then. Inside he laid, waiting.

He swore himself to solitude. That war he fought for those many years. Trying to win prizes and honors he only dreamed of being true. Failing... Every single time. His eyes opened. They shined a green tint, but seemed to despair at the new emptiness that his warrior soul now felt knowing he would never rush into battle once more, no, his Master swore his solitude to be sure. To never initiate a war without the Sign.

Leaning over a small wooden desk that seemed to be the center piece of the dark and musty room, Heart, picked up a small pen and began to write. 

"My soul burns with a passion unloved. A passion that seeks to be quenched. No normal Heart of woman has understood, felt and embraced what power I wield. No... They all waited till they had me trusting them. Releasing the gift I sowed for so many years to them. Then in fear and desperate retreat they slash and hack at my flesh. A heart alone I am. For no love could love, Heart."

Sighing the black haired boy laid the pen down and closed the book before a single tear of blood dropped. Landing on it's cover it seemed at home. For this was the book of a writer's Heart. His blood ran deep within the pages and stories. The cover wasn't to be any different.