Writing Prompt 1

He disliked words.

It was a distaste that he could clearly trace to his father. The man was not the type who spoke much, nor did he like to be around children. He would much rather be working, preferring statements and numbers to his family.

In this, his progeny was much the same.

The youngest son did not like to associate much with others. He preferred the company of his own solitude and a glass of bourbon. It was not arrogance that separated him, but so much more.

The woman by the window did not say anything as he took a sip of the alcohol and moved another chess piece. He even had a difficult time speaking to her, though she was closer to him than his own flesh and blood. She understood why he removed himself from civilized company and retreated to the shadows of his room.

He did not know if he loved her. Perhaps he did, but not in the conventional sense. He had never once presented her with flowers or chocolates, or gifted her with jewels and clothes. He had never once spoken word of tenderness, and neither had she. His heart never stopped when she was near, and his face had never known the blush that romantics told of.

His sister told him he was a heartless bastard. This woman had never hinted that she thought differently. Her touch was never one of a lover or a friend, and his knew no softness.

He downed the rest of the bourbon, and poured more from the decanter, the crystal clinking against the wood when he set it back down.

It was a mutual goal that tied them together. A path that he guided her through, it was true. He was the one pulling her strings.

He took the second castle with his queen and sighed. The sound was echoed, and he looked up to see her standing beside him. She bent down and moved the black knight to check his king.

A smile threatened to cross his face. He hadn't seen that move. She was forever surprising him with new talents. He had never known her to play chess. What a devious woman she was, keeping secrets. He supposed that he was no better, having told her little to nothing about himself.

Changing her outlook was much more important than their remote relationship. No, he didn't love her. He was using her to move his plans closer to fruition. However, he did not want to see her harmed in the process, so maybe he was more attached to this particular piece on his board.

He smiled, and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. Perhaps not a pawn, then. Much more than just a pawn. She had insinuated herself as a queen, his most powerful asset, his best tool, and the one deemed worthy to stand beside him at all times.

Her skin was cold, like marble, smooth and unfeeling. Not human at all, but something more than that. A statuesque figure, the epitome of all that which feminine nature aspired to be. Lethal, poisonous, like a drug that was sure to numb all senses as the mind slipped into blissful oblivion. He had never once aspired to dabble in something so dangerous, but having tasted it once, it was heaven.

Heaven to not have to think. To never plan. To not have to maintain a distance. To be on the same plane of existence, and not somewhere higher.

Perhaps the relationship was not remote as it was one-sided. Or mutually beneficial, using each other for one's own gain. He wanted to win, she wanted to be free, and they both wanted to escape.

Reality was painful. It was wonderful to run away, even for a second. As much as he wanted victory, he was content to contemplate the possibility of a fantasy. The fantasy of a world where his game was no longer important, and he could escape the long shadow that he had lived under since his first breath.

But the purpose of a fantasy was to imagine what could never be realized.

Or perhaps it was just the bourbon's fantasy.