Editing King of Hearts: 'Suicide King'

The man couldn't have been older than thirty, yet he had a look of world weariness more appropriate for someone twice his age. He reached into his holster, and pulled it out: a small revolver, silver barreled and ebony-handled. It seemed unexceptional, by all rights it looked to me like a normal sixer. But then I spotted the Brand, on the bottom of the black handle; a small heart with a crown over it, on the bottom of the black handle. Suddenly, I knew exactly what I was looking at.

The man looked me in the eye, and spoke, his voice just as tired and worn as his gaze. "Yes, this is what you think it is. The Suicide King, King of Hearts. The King always finds his subjects, the bullets go straight to the heart without error. But each shot carries with it more than force and death. Every time, the world grows more barren and hopeless to me. The sky is darker, colors are duller, people become far greater shitholes in my eyes. Each round makes existence seem more bleak and pointless, and makes me crave release. That's how it got it's name, boy, it steals your will to live. I don't know how many more fights I've got in me, you know? Before I inevitably fall, and some fool claims this crown for their own. But I will not be gunned down by a rival or an enemy. No, when it has sapped the last bit of joy from my heart, I will die by my own hand, and to me it will seem the sweetest moment of my life." 

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