Prologue

Prologue (Mirahj)

 

For nearly one thousand years I have gracefully danced away from time’s embrace.

 

Father Time has yet to learn my steps. Never will he catch me. I am untouchable.

 

Behind me the dust of centuries settles, and within sight the promise of countless decades glisten promisingly, a mirage glimmering over the sands of time…

 

And yet…I still hunger for more. I do not tire of my existence. Never would I dream of a short flight and an end to it all…

 

Funny isn’t it? One would believe the world would grow boring after years of living in it. After all mere mortals only have the capability to make so many decisions, so many mistakes, before the play becomes redundant, and like forgotten gold, begins to tarnish.

 

Life gradually becomes your favorite show, exiled to reruns on late night television. After years of watching eventually the viewer begins to anticipate her sitcom family’s moves, begins to predict which way the plot will unfold. And in true mortal fashion they do not dare surprise her. Off like good little puppets, they trod into easily resolved disputes and fairy tales with weekly happy endings. It would stand to reason that after centuries of observing and foreseeing the world’s trials, mistakes, and uninspiring triumphs, that little old me would grow to be much like the despondent housewife, staring mournfully at a flickering screen of plots and their plotters in which only the characters have changed. However…when one begins to judge and plan her marionettes’ move…that is when the game spins into her favor, and evolves into something much more interesting…it is then the game is in her hand, and the world and its players are merely her pawns, to win with, as she will.

 

After all, how can one lose when they know how their opponent will strike and retreat? Think of it. Prey is much easier to catch if you know which corner it is that they will flee. If the hunter knew where the stag would take flight, the mighty animal would lose its best defense. And the huntsman would prevail victorious, catching his game whenever he wished.

 

It is simple logic. If facing a well-armed and informed adversary, any move your quarry makes is much more likely to be their last, and each enemy whether a mere pawn or the mightiest of queens is a danger that they must be wary of. There is no hiding if danger lurks in your sanctuary. Therefore, with strategy and patience, my dear, even the most humble of pawns can topple a king. You can play chess at its finest…unfolding on battlefields and unassuming boards alike.

 

‘Tis a game of Kings, demanding logic and cunning. A game in which only time can sharpen the edge of your talent. And I…I have had years to hone my skill.

 

It seems so silly that I am laying out a mere game in a metaphor for humanity, but the similarities are as plain as the sun that warms every world. The game’s straightforward complexities and mind-bending outcomes are just a few of the reasons my passion for the game flourished that balmy summer in His Majesty Kamar Zahar’s palace. My infatuation with the sport of strategy and the raja who claimed he created the little squares of war, burned nearly out of control in the heat of his jungle citadel. As time passed my attraction for the man rapidly cooled, and my love for the game smoldered slow and steadily throughout my many centuries, branding lessons into my soul that I will never forget.

 

Observe your challenger…Patience, the longer you have to watch the more weaknesses they will unknowingly impart to you…Outmaneuver, and surround…

 

Oh, little raja how well you taught me, just the two of us lying together under the sheer curtains of the palace. Laying under the moon and the Ranee Indrani’s long crooked nose. Your unwanted bride knew she had lost you the moment I entered her waiting chamber with your mother’s jewels resting upon my slim neck. I had no shame. The entire household knew what we were doing each night, and yet I had not a care in the world. In fact, I was a wicked little thing, flaunting your favor for me at every chance. I had you firmly under my power. I was your jungle lily and you were mine to keep. The spell of that season wove around me so tightly I could barely breathe throughout the whirl of it all. The smell of jasmine in my hair, and the cool enveloping haven the silk sheets of your bed created for me in each hour of darkness. At sunrise I would emerge with my hair tousled, and a smile gracing my tanned skin. You were utterly mine. My every whim was your command. My excitement over the games we played thrilled you. And many a night you would take me to your bed nearly asleep. My thirst for victory keeping us awake until our limbs were heavy with exhaustion and our desire sated from intense competition.

 

I saw you so earnest and eager for me to love your game as much as you loved me. I learned a wealth of knowledge in and out of your silk palace.

 

I discovered a woman’s response to a man as you slowly traced my back during the long dark hours when you thought I was only yours. I was not cold flesh and bone, but a woman filled with heat and passion. I found delight when I first ensnared you in your own game. That very night I stumbled upon the thrill of victory and the whisper afterwards the led to a fire rushing through my veins like no other sweet murmurs from your lips had ever done before.

 

Through my first conquests that summer, I became a woman long after I had discovered the joys of lovemaking. I learned who I was and who I was to become. I realized that one little word would always send a shiver of pleasure racing up my spine. For I was not the beautiful young woman you took to your bed. Through your little game, I saw the world with a conqueror’s hungry eyes, and you dear prince were merely my first victory. All my innocence was merely a perfect mirage…one you never saw through until it was much too late.

 

Sweet Prince…you were such a fool. To think that you were so sure I was yours…you forgot what I told you.

 

I always win…no matter what the cost…

 

I will leave you with nowhere to run…nowhere to flee…and no one to turn to…

 

There is no way to escape.

 

Love is a fool’s game…

 

Checkmate darling, you are mine.

Reviews

[Sarah Wilson]

Dang girl! I'm sucked in! You write like a poet! Her personality and point of view is fascinating and realistic, the feeling of her detachment for humanity doesn't make you feel detached from her, which is a common mistake.