A story in 100 words

She sets the board as they always have. The black is hers, to match the color of her hair — once dark as coal, now grey as ash.

Brew the tea, light the candles, draw the curtains, pull out the chair on his side of the table.

Fifteen years she’s waited for the match, her opponent forfeited much too soon. The hard pain in her chest, sharper than fear, tells her this may be the night she joins the game.

She would sacrifice her pawn but she plays by the rules. As any good player knows, white always goes first.

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