Soldier, Poet, King

The young man came, working under his king's order. A soldier, he was called by the people of his empire. He had bags under his eyes, aging faster than his youthfulness could hide. So he wore the head of something else. A boar’s head, with tusks as sharp as his sword. Allowing him to hide, from himself and the ones he’s killed.They’d read his story and look at him differently than they have before. Before the battlefield aged them way beyond their years. They call him the Poet. His words are sweeter than candy, trapping naive children to a sealed fate.His brows were always drawn in a pinch and his aging features became more prominent as war continued to plague his lands. A king, they called him. A man of great honor, yet was anointed too early to be the king they called him to be. He learned with trial and error. Years of mistakes that cost people their lives and now he throws them away with little pity. He was too hurt, too angry, too scared to stop what he’s done.//And the only thing that keeps them together is a boy named Sunshine.