Three Ways to Break Your Heart (and One Questionable Man)
This evening I pulled out three decks with very different approaches to tarot:
Same three cards across all three: the Three of Swords, the Six of Pentacles, and the Knight of Cups.
What I got was less a comparison and more a personality test.
Three of Swords — How would you like your heartbreak?
Romantasy gives us three green swords suspended over the sea, each marked with a celestial symbol: sun, moon, star. It’s soft, symbolic, almost beautiful. This isn’t a scene of heartbreak - it’s the idea of it. Fate, cycles, emotion, inevitability. The kind of pain that feels written in the stars.
Tarot of the Divine, meanwhile, has absolutely no interest in subtlety. A woman prepares to plunge a sword into herself beneath a storm-lit sky, drawn from a tragic Japanese legend. This is heartbreak as sacrifice. As inevitability. As something you walk into with your eyes open and your hands steady.
Marseille gives you three swords and the quiet confidence that you know exactly what that means.
One gives you a moodboard. One gives you a tragedy. One gives you homework.
Six of Pentacles — Generosity, but at what cost?
In Romantasy, a delicate, bejewelled arm extends over six crowns, magic swirling around them. This is not casual generosity - this is courtly. Fae-adjacent. Potentially binding. You’re not just receiving a gift here; you’re entering into something. You might want to check the terms and conditions.
Tarot of the Divine flips the dynamic entirely. An Inuit woman gathers coins offered by grateful beetles. This is reciprocity, not hierarchy. Kindness returned. A sense that generosity moves in circles rather than top-down.
Marseille once again presents six coins, arranged with quiet, mathematical certainty. Balance exists. Interpret accordingly.
Here the question becomes: who holds the power? And does the deck think that matters?
Knight of Cups — Ah. Him.
Romantasy has fully committed to the bit. A young man stands by a window, holding a letter, sealing it with what might be wax and might be blood, and is described (correctly) as “charmingly rakish”. This man will absolutely write you poetry. This man will absolutely make questionable decisions. This man will absolutely ruin your life, but in a way that feels narratively satisfying.
Tarot of the Divine gives us a Mongolian warrior on horseback, steady at the edge of rushing water, an eagle perched on his arm. This is still a romantic figure, but one with control, purpose, and direction. Emotion here is something carried with strength, not chaos.
Marseille presents a knight holding a cup on a somewhat alarmingly small horse. He is, technically, doing his job.
One writes letters in blood, one crosses rivers with dignity, and one is a functional unit of emotional delivery.
So what’s the difference, really?
Looking at these three decks side by side, the contrast becomes clear:
Romantasy works in symbols, tropes, and vibes. It asks you to feel your way through the card.
Tarot of the Divine tells stories. It gives you narrative, context, and emotional clarity.
Marseille strips everything back to structure. It assumes you either know the system or are willing to meet it halfway.
None of these approaches is better than the others - but they teach you tarot in very different ways.
Romantasy says: you already understand this, somewhere in your bones.
Divine says: let me show you a story that explains it.
Marseille says: you’ve got the tools. Use them.
So now I’m curious:
Would you rather have your tarot heartbreak delivered as a tragic love story, a symbolic moodboard, or three swords and a silent expectation that you’ll cope?
