Twenty Sided Die
Out of the entirety of her unique dice collection, the twenty-sided die is most definitely her favorite. Of ‘course, she’s got others - the classic six sides, eight, twelve, and so on. Each die possesses its own unique color and pattern. Each die is of a different shape and weight. However, no die, no little round ball, can ever be as mysterious or unique as the twenty-sided dice of her collection.
She has a few of these particular dice, though her absolute most favored is the black one. It’s ebony shell is laced with a faint, smokey gray design, while large white numbers lay upon each side. This particular die stands out among the other various shapes, sizes, and colors of it’s companions. This die is her most prized... not because the die is expensive or the most beautiful, but because of it’s meaning. Twenty faces, twenty possibilities sits in the palm of her hand. Each number stares her down with whispered words of temptation, dusting her ears like the crisp breeze of a fall evening. From each number manifests a change in fate, a shift in her story. The roll of the die determines good and bad, right from wrong, and decides if her world will grow to be sunny and beautiful, or crumble beneath her feet. Her job isn’t to stare down at the die and hope it doesn’t lead her to a fate most unforgiving... her job is to roll the die, and live within the fate bestowed upon her.
The twenty sided die has become her greatest companion and most terrible weakness. Due to the die, the girl can be ripped from her spot at a cozy table surrounded by friends in her small house on the country-side, to suddenly finding herself within the heart of a deep forest, surrounded by decent-sized goblins with daggers, and the only way to defend herself from their wrath is with the roll of the single die. She can stare into the yellowed gazes of her enemies, catch sight of their crooked smiles and eager claws, and understand that the roll of the die determines whether she’ll live to see another day, or meet a most unfortunate end, right there, right then, on the forest floor.
Times like these cause her to no longer feel the comfort of her home. She cannot hear the echoed voices of her companions as they anxiously await her fate, and in the thick of the tension, she cannot even detect her own heartbeat thudding in her chest. All she can do is pick up the die, feel it with her fingers... and toss it.
Perhaps it’s the thrill. It must be. The thrill of wondering if she’s going to make it out of this alive. Perhaps this is what keeps her going, assists her in working up the courage to roll. The roll of the die is a sick game that toys with her very being, her very essence, everything she’s encountered in life leading up to this very single moment, and she loves it. She lives for it. To hear the clack of plastic as the die hits the table, to read the number, to wonder if she’s rolled high or low enough to survive this.
She’s gambling with her own life, and all bets are placed on her most favorite tiny object. She loves it more than picking up her pencil and scribbling down new information on her rumpled character sheet. She loves it more than whatever reward or fate she might get after the fact. Nothing thrills her more than not knowing who lives and who dies. She isn’t a school girl procrastinating on studying for her exam. She isn’t someone who cuddles up in a ball under blankets on a cold winter day to watch television. She’s so much more. She’s an explorer, an adventurer, a savior, a hero, and the roll of the die allows her to pick up her sword and swing.
She lives to roll the twenty-sided die.
