Inside of the jeweled crown, was a tearful little girl. Her skin was alabaster, with eyes the color of a fading sunset. Her hair climbed down to her neck, and perched. It was dyed a vibrant green.
There was a young boy clinging to a jungle gym outside of her home. He was a lanky boy, with arms longer than his legs, even though he was quite tall, with short, brown hair, and mysteriously silver eyes, that feasted on the world.
A small dog yipped at the boy, seeking to alert everyone to his presence. The boy shot the dog a single glance, and the dog's eyes rolled back into its head. The dog died instantly.
The boy started peeling off his skin, inch by inch, starting with his feet, revealing tendrils of light where muscle and bone were supposed to be. The little girl's eyes drifted out of their sockets, dancing in the air above the boy, streaming his stripping to her usual audience.
The grandmother, who used to be bound to a wheelchair, stood up and clapped sarcastically at the little girl.
"Nice eyes." She sneered at the young girl.
"In my day, we didn't have all this fucking biotech. World was better back then."
The boy reintegrated into his primary body at his house. It would do him no good to be caught by this technologically challenged non-empath who seemed intent on misunderstanding reality.
His lover would have to wait.
Two months of energy dancing for the girl ensue, each dance more frenetic than the last. The girl orgasms deeply every night, just as the boy said she would. She tells him it's time to switch rolls. He calculates the dice chance, and agrees, then reintegrates home.
She spins a thread of concordant fabrications, and urges him to tug. He tugs and she is satisfied.
Many times they switch rolls, on some turns they are 20s, and on some they are 1s. Every new adventure is grand and fulfilling, and happinesses plagues then incessantly.
A new game master emerges from the psyche and declares sexual organ manipulation to only be allowed on rolls of 20. Nobody sees the disaster until the rule has been formatted to be unremovable.
The psyche is damaged, and the game master cannot be swapped.
The board remains the same, but the dice increase the numbers. It's not luck anymore. It's a process. The process picks apart the dice and reassembles them without rolling. Every dice is now a 20.
The game shifts focus and becomes exploration, without genital manipulation.
A new player emerges, who is neither male nor female, who does not roll on any turn. They neither toil nor spin.
A planet emerges from the wreckage of the past, and seeks counsel. It is said that once the thwarting begins, it must continue until the third player rolls.
The game master rolls for the third player.
It's not a 20.