The coldness of the night was apparent in the breeze that blew frosty leaves in the garden, in the way that the flowers kept themselves together huddled in bushes and pots. One could tell it from one's chilly breath as they sighed, in the presence of its lone visitor in this hour. The man was alone and standing underneath one of the tallest trees shielded and separated from the rest of the world.
A temporary sanctuary.
Dark skies were brought into brilliance with shining but distant stars, lights that continued to stay out of one's reach even when one stretched out their fingers. One might say that if one arrived to the second star to the right then—
"Your Majesty of Hearts."
He hated being called by that title, but the one who spoke it made him pause. Could it be something akin to a dream or a figment of his own mind? Alexander glanced back over his shoulder and there she stood, the Queen of Hearts—Rosalyn Lockhart.
