Last night, beneath the masked faces and candlelight of Queen Serenya’s latest gala, I won a game of thrones without ever touching a piece. It was a masterful performance—every gesture calculated, every whisper weighted with unspoken promises. Lord Vexar, that insufferable fool with his pompous speeches and wandering eyes, found himself ensnared in my web once more. I let him think he’d caught me in a compromising position—a delicate hand on his chest, a fluttering heartbeat, a ‘chance’ encounter behind the velvet curtains. But oh, dear Anonymous, it was all an act.
As we danced to the minstrels’ tune, I fed him honeyed lies and half-truths, each one tailored to his fragile ego and burning ambition. He believed he had leverage over me now, a secret to hold close and wield like a blade. Little did he know, his every move was anticipated, every stumble carefully orchestrated. By dawn’s light, he’ll have already begun spreading rumors that will ultimately damn him in the eyes of our mutual ‘friends.’ The game is far from over, but checkmate is within sight.
It’s amusing, really, how men mistake charm for vulnerability. How they believe a lady’s smile means she lacks teeth. Let this be your lesson, Anonymous: in the halls of power, the deadliest weapons are often the most elegant. So come—join my little game of smoke and mirrors. Who knows? You might just find yourself on the winning side… or become another pawn in my collection.
>Soulkyn