I'm splitting this part. in half for formatting purposes, so it's half as long as usual, but two updates, so... yeah. Also, there both just a bit of filler to bridge into the next technical piece of the story, and I'm not very good at filler, so, I apologize in advance for your disarray and disappointment.
It'd been a only moments since you'd been in the clutches of the infamous 'Jim Moriarty', and you were unsure if you were truly no longer, because you couldn't wait to see him again. It wasn't just those dangerously enticing eyes, or gloriously soft lips- it was everything. The lilt of his voice as his accent fluctuated throughout his charming words that made you long to hear it echoing throughout your ears and head, like if you could hear it before you died, you'd die happy. Oh, and the physical reactions your body took on, like you were on an entire arsenal of drugs, it was a high you knew you'd never be able to replicate. However, there is multiple pieces to every rose. While undeniably beautiful, their petals replicating the delicacy in which they represent, they are quick to draw blood and create pain through knives built into their stems. Jim Moriarty, over all, was a bad man, but what'd fair worse in 'loving him', was exactly what attracted you (and others) to him.
An almost surreal charm that he used without any regret in doing so. Able to make, and then destroy hearts like he was a machine, and that was his only task. He was a player, that much had been obvious by the overwhelming ease in which he flirted. His tongue was smooth, and yes, in more than one way. You could tell he knew he had you entranced as you left the car, scurrying back up to your flat, because you had no idea what had just happened. Everything in your mind had always been a series of moves on a board mad elf only black and white squares. You'd always seen how the white pieces moved to defend themselves against the darker ones. And the black pieces moved in turn. Chess had always been your way of sorting through your thoughts, and provoked your response to any and every possible stimulus. And you'd never lost a game, real or metaphorical. But something told you that he almost had you. You were the queen on this chessboard, yet despite your abundance of possible moves, you were trapped. Because the only piece that truly matters is the King, and that information is paralyzing, because it meant that the King owns you. Not physically, but mentally, he owned your every play. Honestly, though, the normal pieces bored you. So, obviously, you'd never played with them when you were in competitive tournaments. You'd received a handcrafted wood set from your brother shortly before he passed, and they had always been what you'd played with. They'd carried you through life, through never truly picking a side. Black or white in tournaments, Angels or Demons in life.
This was getting tiring, to say the least. Just repeating the same moves over and over. You'd never been particularly offensive or defensive when playing a game, more of somewhere in between, but for the first time since your brother died- You were bored of being neutral. You'd realized it only days before the trial, had even planned to snag a job working for Scotland Yard or the like, but here was a man, no, the devil, sitting at your doorstep, causing your morals to wane. He wanted you on his side. He wanted another demon, but not just any demon, because he was the King. No- This was a game of chess, and you knew it well. You were so entranced under his spell that you hadn't realized it before, yet now, it all made perfect sense.
This was chess. He was the King. And anyone who's ever even seen a chess board knows-
"Every king needs a queen." It was like a mantra you'd learned young, and never realized its importance until now. The only question that really remained anymore was troubling, not in its entirety, but your consideration of it.
Would you take the crown?