The seven of spades spins upon the table.  A whiskey glass awaits a drunken grip.  She fears the worst whilst he silently prays. Seven times the black and white dream had come.  The chair creaks as he shifts position.  

Magic coursed throughout his DNA; he believed with every ounce of his soul, but she was not so sure.

The seven of spades slowed its spin... his breath followed suit.

When the card stopped he felt the magic thrive. His prayer was a success and now they'd both survive.