Shared secrets sequester selflessness. When one does anything, a murmur muses about. A murmur might contain truth transformed to not betray one's self sworn to secret. 

Piddling Paddlefoot peruses the pale perfunctory halls. Paddlefoots paternity was without question noble, yet delighter in disrespect Paddlefoot was designed. Punctual Paddlefoot passes a note of double-dutched disguised drafts of dragoon. 

“Coin Master” murmurs Paddlefoot all music present in parleys a past pattern.

The hands of the servant securely stash the note and continue without pause. Paddlefoot continues walking, watching for wild walls and movable stones. A new nick nestle’s into his once honest character. A move swift, sunders the peaceful partitions between rooms as Paddlefoot plants platitudinously into his bed. 

A routine roulette of risk is the game of the court. The betrayal of character makes Paddlefoot yearn for Ship head away from port. A caller cautiously contacted to confide and not answer others even when questioned with quirt. Baleseting brooders becomes those who are not those who extort. Paddlefoot perhaps performs all tasks, the word of mouth hides his job in a large distort. The burdenful building blueprints of the kingdom weigh on shoulders not used to the sport. 

A night's rest rarely revisits Paddlefoot. Letters come in the Moon’s magnificence which must be reduced to soot. A night thought would forever to be nought, tonight is. Paddlefoot ponders precious preeminent thoughts. The time to himself an indulgence as great as shots. The heavy cover of words withheld outweigh and smoother as though the best of cots. Relieving rest remains repulsive, regrettably. 

Locks littered liturgically within worrying wisdom. An unlock unfurles banners beating for battle. The key, passive Paddlefoot. Stress silences already silent sufferings. Insomnia ensues incurring early indisposition. A council meeting commences tomorrow, conflict creation certain. Paddlefoots sleep fails, Paddlefoot fruitlessly flipping through potential conflicts of today. The Sun streams over the world's edge and Paddlefoot prepares.

A Massive Meeting misguides mysterious secret specialists. Paddlefoot enters the wide council hall, stained glass gives umbral unitarians color. A seat fifth from the head is Paddlefoots, precisely placing his piercing ears within whispers. The Kind King comes into the hall and takes the head, of the table and his guests which all swivel to hear his decree. 

“Our capital conflicts are of the Cretians,” Says the Kind King, “their treatment of their war-gotten prisoners threatens thoughts of tyranny. I,The Kind King, and my growing number of Generals have conversed and we will gather our forces and show their power in a grand display. Through this display we will cower the Cretians carefully and without the need to careen coveted lives. Our forces will move tomorrow and this conflict shall be over and out. This is my decree!” The Hall horray’s and there is not a single harrumph. The Kind King is a great Kind liar. The note passed to a discreet servant last night meant for the Coinmaster betrays this announcement. The double-dutched disguised declaration for dragoons was part of order for a great many attacks. 

Paddlefoot knows this and with this knowledge of this Kerning King contains this secret like the others. This secret secured silently suddenly stops Paddlefoot as he thinks about this hidden horror a bit too long. Paddlefoot’s pondering makes him protective and he wishes to reveal this secret. Yet to betray this future Killer King shall mean Paddlefoot shall be cut.

The weight is worrisome and Paddlefoots past protections fail to rationalize this hiding. Without words to the Klepto King Paddlefoot patters to his room to write. Punishment known, Paddlefoot persists. Pushing pen to paper and Secret Keepers Seal to his own decree. Too absorbed in this cascading river of guilt for past promises now broken, Paddlefoot writes and writes even through his time meant to report to the Kittlish King. A rap on the rotund door draws Paddlefoot away from his truthful treason. The panicked Paddlefoot picks a bird to carry his Countries confessions. The messengers sent seem to have become more and have become angrier. The door is destroyed as Poor Paddlefoot lets the Bird go to spread these words the Kind King wishes to hide and show his Kingly collapse. 

A justice as the Krampus King decrees, is dealt upon the participator to pervade the words he wishes were withheld. Poor Pitiful Paddlefoot prances to stage. 

“The weight of words withheld has been freed from my frail shoulders!” The Parading Paddlefoot tells the masses meant to see this mouthful monster put to the justice of the Kind King. 

“Hush your mouth, miserable muse!” The Killing King orders, “You are guilty of treason of trust to myself and the kingdom! Your belittling of the burden of secrets has uncovered my ploy. Have you anything you wish to say in these last moments which worry has stalled your tongue in the past?”

“The words you wish I had withheld defeat all worry left in me.” Paddlefoot gleefully exclaims. “I feel fireful and free. Any way of death shall not unsend my message on the parts of a tree. So give me your retribution, and see how my words unveil the hidden horrors you have let be.”

The frightfully fearless Paddlefoot is condemned to death. With words given using paper and pen, this man finally free from falsehoods is let go with the Priests Amen.