The sufferings of fools, is a lovers game. Yes, oh truly it is a game for fools. Puck said it best. "What fools these mortals be". There is no happiness is this game of love. Only termoil and traidgy awaits those who dare walk into the dark, canvas depths called love. For those who embrace its dark tendril around your waste, beware of it’s fangs alluring and waiting for the opportunity to bite it’s salivating teeth into your heart. Oh, bless it be those who avoid this dark wretched path called love. For they will reap the rewards of peace and tranquility that boasts of the great that came before them. Please I implore you, at all cost, and at your discretion, I beg you, beware and take heed of the dark, and lonely road called love. And Heed the once cheerful soul of an old man, who once dared tred upond the dark, claw branch, cold black swamp, of a trench called love. For that old man was once wise, but is no longer, after spending his youth in the foul and wretched, plagued infested wound, that is black as pitch, and corrupt and evil as malice, that is love. No don’t think of the notion of going down that path. Nay, don’t even think twice. Because you will only find heartache, betrayal, and a bitter taste within your sour tongue if you dare tred those claws that is love. Beware my young children, beware.

-Letter of Dreaded Loved