The Rules of the Game

There weren’t always dragons in The Valley. Nor bears, nor wolves, who roam the lambs. A shepherd's sheep I became as they herded the flock. I sheered my own wool to outdo the others, only to realize that I was but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Gwen knew not the ways of the world, as though she thought. Twisted and cruel, born of manic manipulations of mind and word. Piercing through her thoughts, the blade ran rampant against the thin grooves of her mind. Tearing and mutilating itself until all that was left was a fog and the glassy dim area, which grounded her to the present.

Darkness enveloped her moment by moment until she found herself back where it all began. Where rolling fields once sang with tales long since forgotten of heaven and earth. That was before they, from another time, came. It was then that The Valley of heaven, earth and hell crashed down upon itself. Forcing the queens and kings, from above and below, to stand on the tilted plain to be played by the pawn. A pawn, when crossed this checkered ground, will stand as Queen. Ultimately to be the only piece left standing.

When the Queen finally rules, she does so without a king. She rules over life and death, darkness and light, pleasure and pain. She, who sought company in such things, can never more become one without the other. One power that must only be half wielded. If instead it were unleashed on what’s left of the world, nothing would come of it anymore. Neither would there be a world left for such a power to be wielded. So there she stood as the divine's company, and nothing else.

Or so was told until a kingdom rose up in her stead. Where sat an imposter king who knew power in singular movements of the throne, and his queen who knew of a gambit. Leaving behind a valley that knows not the difference between black and white.

___________

In this world magic doth grow. Born of mistakes and missteps, as though it shouldn’t have been made. Things come alive in ways they shouldn’t, and die as they have lived.

Sworn to the bishop and knight, as they should have been to their Queen. Her people, knowing no better, lay their palms down to swear fealty to what stands for the high court. In Schach (Shash), its governing now built as a monarchy of worship and structure for those who kneel, on madness and cruelty for those who do not.

In this world magic comes from contorted premonitions. Where else would be more powerful than a place where crown servants are mistaken as monarchs? And so the kingdom thrives, until one born of she who god has forsaken, is mistaken as a commoner.

___________

None of them knew that the real Queen stood before them. Looking through the city, ready to build her empire and destroy another. No longer will they spit on her name.

She walks up to the Rook, longing for the kingdom that should have been hers. The multi-peaked cavernous rooftops shaped like crowns of their own. The centre peak reaching up to the skies like the curve of a pope’s hat. Fitting together like the rise and fall of the hills, topped with the sharpest points of Everest.

She jumps from the trees, to the first rim of balconies lining one of the polished limestone towers. Not stopping to listen to the song of the birds or the wind going to bed. Looking skyward, because towering ahead of her is the quartz cathedral. Stained glass lining it's face. Behind, a domed balcony jutting out from its slope, barely visible to outsiders. The quarters of a queen.

Entering a dark bedroom covered in a layer of dust. She finds an ancient concrete staircase and begins her climb. Once the ledge is in view, she leaps. Without fear, it being one thing she can control.

With fate always on her side, she lands where she wants to be and catches her breath. Gwen’s eyes stop scanning abruptly, halting on a face in the tower opposite her. The face stands in sharp contrast to the dim light coming from the sparkling windows of the towers. She notices the eyes, His eyes, first. Piercing, too bright to not be an anomaly. Her obligation to stay hidden lost to the thrill of their eyes connecting. Him, catching her in this moment, made her heart beat surge. It felt as if knowing Him will change something. She knew it needed to stop, but couldn’t quite extinguish her curiosity.

She glowered at Him, her inky dark eyes matching his stare. He, seemingly undisturbed about a figure on his roof. She raked a thumb across her palm, a soft and gentle touch that causes Him to shout explicitly in shock, a quick scowl alighting his sharp features. The pain felt in his nerves singed his matching palm. “So, we’re both not very good at hiding things”, she thinks to herself sarcastically.

Before He could turn his eyes back to her, she was gone. Fading into the shadows, she felt a new stinging in her palm that was unmistakably wrong. A stinging pain slicing through the delight of the phantom caress from moments before. She leaves before she ever learns that this night marks the change of everything.

___________

The Valley. Where every single part of her stems from. Because of this, the girl knew not right from wrong. Everything she knows built from what was left of the world her ancestors knew. A world that was corrupted, then rebuilt askew. She delights in the knowledge of how easily both the physical and mental boundaries can be...shifted. It keeps her powerful, though that knowledge lives inside her like a living being. In her dreams, the terror of walking shadows. Her waking hours spent frozen or shaking because of something no one else can see. The shear panic of not having control over what’s inside her mind. An unwelcome gift from a battle fought long ago. With no help to fight them off, the demons crawled under her skin constantly. Until the brief pause during the night...when she saw Him.