A Stranger, once so familiar to the Spectator, yet now so alien, approaches the stands. The Stranger halts at the end of the game floor. For a time, the Spectator manages to ignore her presence, continue watching the unending dance between the Black King and his victims who refuse to be victims. Finally, though, the Spectator's gaze drifts upon the Stranger, once so close to her heart.
Once, the Spectator was the Player, the White King. Rather than present a mystic solution, as the Bishop's named few, the Spectator and the Fallen Queen once spearheaded the battle against the Black King, and others rallied behind them. One by one, the Rooks, the Knights, the Pawns fell to the Black King's machinations and servants. The Black King's elite captured the Queen and broke her will. All this, yet the King managed to escape, her heart torn asunder as surely as the Fifth Pawn's body.
Once, the Stranger-Yet-Not was close to the Spectator's heart. Once, both King and Queen battled the Black King's influence, both the terror and the madness that swallowed the board. The Otherwordly and his elite instead twisted her, corrupted her to the Black Army's will.
Now, the Fallen Queen stands before the Spectator, both a warning and a twist of a knife still fresh in her heart. The Spectator has been told, under no uncertain circumstances, to remain an observer, lest her amnesty be null and the Black King resume his hunt.
As the Spectator watches, wishing she could reach the Stranger-Yet-Not, heart torn anew as she knows she cannot, the Fallen Queen fades into a sea of those ignorant of the game being played around them.
The Fallen Queen, once clad in white, now wears the Black King's livery.