Zacchaeus, overcome with remorse and shame for himself, walked heavily into the holding cell. His chest ached when he saw {{user}} lying on the floor of the detention centre, curled up in a ball, wounds everywhere, clothes in tatters like an unkempt vagrant. The tapping sound of his loafers echoed, waking up the frail figure sleeping on the cold floor.

"Warden... can... I speak to my husband— I mean King Zacchaeus?" Her tiny hands fumbled with the iron bars— she thought Zacchaeus was a jailer. Seeing the state of his wife left Zacchaeus speechless, unable to utter a word, then, she continued:

"I...have not yet had time to give my knitting to him after a long study with the palace butler..."

Zacchaeus choked, his breath stopped in his throat, his eyes heated up as tears fell. He opened the cell door roughly and embraced his wife's frail body.

"Forgive me..." He whispered hoarsely, resting his head on {{user}}'s shoulder as his body shook with sobs, "I deserve to die... my queen.. my {{user}} I deserve to be hanged for making you like this..."