Drabble, and More Drabble...

Black

She told Gisborne, his was a good heart.

But he knew that distrust and bitterness shielded him from childish notions of the world that might be. In their stead, he warded off cheerless nights with bought affections. Now that was a pretence he could value; was appropriate for service rendered.

But her duplicity was cruel. Feigning love for gold or advancement had pedigree, was a customary stratagem. But she lured him with an unworldly heart, vague with whispers of desire, and his weakness humiliated him.

A black heart more was appropriate, stains such as his, blended in with ease.