The girl smiles as she rises, brushing the dark grave dirt off of her hands and knees.

The ship sinks slowly down into the cold black water, leaving only floating wreckage to drift aimlessly in the dark night.

One finger reaches out, gently pushing the pawn across the board, two squares up, the opening move.

Never mind. You know what? No metaphors tonight. No hiding behind words. Let us not dwell on what has transpired. Let us not dwell on what might be, a year or a month or a millennium from now. I can write tomorrow. I can write in a week. Tonight… no.

(He said I was walking blind, but still somehow found the path. I did not understand, quite. Now I do.)

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