His string was tangled.
Tangled around black cloaks, betrayals, beings without hearts, blades in the shapes of keys, boys with naïve and idealistic views, and bastards who just had to have their revenge. Knotted around non-hearts, vestiges of feelings, overbearing paranoia, and danger around every street corner and under every loose stone. It was tied and woven into complex and nonsensical patterns, as confusing as the roads of a labyrinth; and, as he soon found, as hard to navigate as one too.
But, as long as she was at the other end, undoing the tangles was completely worth it.