“I’ve been having trouble, of late.” said the Fool.

“What sort of trouble?” asked the Beauty.

“A trouble of the heart, my dear sweet Beauty. But I shan’t trouble thou so.” replied the

Fool.

“Oh, please. Do tell!” begged the Beauty.

“Thou can’t be serious...mine own tongue, loquacious though it may be, couldn’t possibly

Captivate thine attention for more than a mere minute!” cried the Fool.

The Beauty, not having even changed expression, awaited the Fool to speak. With a sigh,

the Fool began to tell of his woes, confident now the Beauty shall listen to the

entirety of the tale.

“Mine heart hath been captivated, dear sweet Beauty. So much so, that it threatens to turn

me from Fool, to Beast within a single beat of the heart.

I have written letters to whom my heart is held captive...though she hath not received

any such letter. They line mine own room as a field is lined with its own

melancholy landmines. I shan’t give a single one to this woman, my dear sweet

Beauty, for if I do, I do so knowing I shall jeopardize the relationship I already

possess with her, though it be not of an intimate one, I shalt forever hold it dear,

for its meaning is far greater than any moral a false God holds true.” sorrowed the

Fool.

“Why not simply give her a letter in secret, judging her reaction as either pleasant or

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

displeasant?" suggested the Beauty.

“Alas, my dear sweet Beauty. ‘Tis not that simple. Those letters shalt forever remain

merely a fantasy of the heart.”

Clearing his throat, the Fool pressed onward as a Soldier lone in a battlefield.

“Damn my cowardice, my dear sweet Beauty! I have not the courage, nay, the audacity to speak of my feelings I hold for her!

My dear sweet Beauty, the mere flow of her hair seems to mimic the flow of the Ether,

nay, Time itself! It is as if Cosmos herself weaved a fabric of cloth out of her own

constellations!” sorrowed the Fool.

“Why not take this leap of Faith, my dear sweet Fool? Thou couldn’t possibly have

entered this woman’s mind to know it this easily!” suggested the Beauty.

“Alas, my dear sweet Beauty. ‘Tis not that simple! She would laugh and dismiss such a

compliment, as so many others have done in the past.”

Clearing his throat, the Fool pressed onward as a lone Romantic in a field of white roses.

“To hell with this fear, my dear sweet Beauty! If not for it, I could simply make my

feelings known and be done with the rejection.

To look into her eyes, the small pools of the most exquisitely crafted Belgian chocolates,

to see the pure, yet worn, soul that resides deep within, day after day...would

make me the happiest Fool to reside upon this dying Earth.” sorrowed the Fool.

“Why not simply gaze into this soul and say what needs to be said? Thy sorrow hurts me

so, my dear sweet Fool!” suggested the Beauty.

“Alas, my dear sweet Beauty. ‘Tis not that simple. For you see, I have already begun such

a quest, though the dear sweet Beauty I am speaking to hath not the faintest clue,

even now…” sorrowed the Fool.

The Beauty’s hazel eyes grew wide with the sudden realization, then burst into tears,

embracing the Fool.

“Thou certainly are the Fool, for not informing me sooner and without a riddle.”

suggested the Beauty. “And so you are now mine, my dear sweet Love.”

The Fool closed his book and released his pen, wiping the tears from his eyes. He

clutched the chest that contains his stolen heart. It ached...oh, how it ached!

“Terribly sorry, my dear sweet Old Friend. Thou must hold tightly to thy feelings, for, I

fear, they are nothing more...

Than a mere Fantasy of the Heart…” sorrowed the Fool.