He's the sun, blinding in its intensity.

He's the ocean-capricious, unable to be tamed, inconstant. No wonder he left the British Empire's restrains. How long can you dam water?

Everybody says he's so sunny and bright.

No.

He's not.

He's...he's young, proud, American. But anyone who says he's all warmth, all smiles and happiness, is young and foolish.

He's mad. He's seen too much of England and France's love. Children who know domestic violence have the brain patterns of soldiers. America learned from what he sees and he's convinced that fairy-tales are simply, fairy-tales.

"There's no happily ever after, Ivan."

He'd been perfectly serious when he'd said that, left Viet with burns all over her golden skin, cursing at him with words that should have been too filthy for such a pretty mouth.

And Korea.

Were all American generals so crazy? MacArthur had given him a headache with his tactics. Alfred hadn't liked him much either.

But the craziest of them all was the one they were represented by.

Once, a long time ago, he'd fallen in love with a blonde boy with a heart of gold, who'd stood up for freedom, for justice, for adventure.

And now?

For immortal creatures, love always becomes the dark, twisted, venomous type, the type that leaves you gasping for more and yet, screaming for less of it.

Well, all hearts tarnish, even golden ones.

And black hearts are better than no hearts.