The days blurred together. Mornings spent studying her previous night’s plays, practicing her bluffs, and perfecting her tactics. By midday, she’d venture to the marketplace. Bustling with activity; music matched the rhythmic beats of her steps while she browsed each stall.

Every day, she would spend her winnings. Sometimes on food and necessities, though, mostly on gadgets and knick-knacks. She’d collected quite the inventory since arriving. As a kid, with each new banner she found herself under, each new city-state, she would run amok in the markets, using what little she had on useless items. In any case, the room she rented from the Innovari boarding house was feeling rather cluttered.

At nightfall, she learned the routes of the winding cobblestone streets, the intricate pathways breathing life into the city-state. Each game at a new venue. A simple glimpse of her mask or mention of “Bellona” and she was in. No matter what, that night, she would make back her winnings. Familiar faces would find her, the interactions usually the same. Word had spread through underground whispers— Bellona was in town. And at night, she would play.

Taverns, villas, small games, and small names. She was doing what she set out to do. But it wasn’t enough. Higher stakes, higher reward. She craved the rush of her first game. She missed the uncertainty, the blood pumping through her veins, lying, and being lied to, the power of controlling a room. An addiction only risky play could fix. Noticing body language, discovering tells and strategies, differentiating banners, learning about new plays and new people.

The cobblestone’s stone soaked up the searing sun as Isolde went about her routine. Silvery melodies rolled out from the lute player’s stage. Roasted pig turned over an open flame, marketgoers following the scent for a snack to keep them satiated while they browsed the plethora of miscellaneous stalls.

Smooth metal pressed against her skin as she examined an automaton. Jewels lined the edge of the music box that played when you opened it, a sweet melody to lull you to sleep. But sleep was not what she needed. Not that it would have mattered, she’d spent the last of her scrip on a new pair of tights.

Isolde smiled at the stall owner, seconds from leaving when two women appeared next to her.

‘—Titus’s Cardano game tonight,’ Isolde perked up as the red-haired woman spoke to her friend.

‘Apparently Bellona is going to be there,’ the shorter woman responded.

They were expecting her. 

‍Who is Titus? She’d heard it mentioned before, the name whispered with the same intrigue they whispered her own. A shallow breath caught in Isolde’s throat, the tempo of her heartbeat like the patter of rain on a tin roof. 

Time to go home. She had a game to prepare for. 



‘Sorry, ma’am, rules are rules, even for you,' Marcella the front of house offered Isolde sympathetic smile. 

Empty pockets and futile charisma left her standing static. A familiar pull in her stomach reared its head, twisting her core in knots. In the past month she’d nearly forgotten the need to prove herself. Her first big game in a real house and she’d blown her chance before she even stepped in the door. 

‍No. With each step, each win, and each associate made, she’d proven she belonged. She was playing this game, whether they liked it or not. 

‘Bellona?’ An elderly man came from behind Marcella, wafting in a heavy smell of smoke as he appeared. Tall and gangly, his greying hair was combed perfectly down the nape of his neck. Isolde had a pretty good guess as to who this man was.‘Titus, think you could let me in, you know I’m good for it,’ Isolde asked, not wasting any time. Over the last month, she’d learned confidence was the best approach. All she ever needed to do was ask. 

‘Everyone must stake something,’ his voice merely a raspy whisper. Or, perhaps occasionally a harder push was necessary. ‘I left my scrip behind, I have nothing,’ Isolde argued.

‘Your ring,’ Titus proposed, ‘stake your ring, it’s worth more than this establishment.’

Invisible hands constricted her throat and she found herself instinctively grasping for her ring. The only tangible evidence she had that she came from somewhere. 

‘I can’t risk it,' she responded quickly. ‘Risk? When have you ever considered risk?'

‘Please Titus, I can stake something else.'

‘Such as?' He replied, only for Isolde to remain silent, unsure of what to say. 

Titus broke the silence, 'I’ve seen you play dear Bellona, you win and the ring remains yours,’ he leant in with an enticing smile plastered on his face. Titus was a convincing man, but the ring meant too much.

‘I just can’t do it,' she lamented.‘Well, then I’m afraid I can’t help you, without collateral it’s bad business,' he replied.

Turning on his heels so smoothly he may as well have floated. Each footstep boomed, sinking through her leather boots and into her skin. As he travelled down into the darkness, Isolde thought back to Lucius, to her old dwellings, to the vacancy. No home. 

‘Wait!’ Isolde blurted out causing Titus to stop in his tracks. With cautious movements, he turned his head nodding to Isolde. He knew he’d won. Isolde took the ring off and handed it to Marcella who walked placed the ring under the desk. Isolde looked back to Titus in the hallway, but he’d gone, vanished into the darkness. 

Marcella gave Isolde the house scrip to bet in replacement of her ring. Dread washed over her body, suddenly this wasn't just another game anymore. Isolde needed to win. She needed that ring back.

Traversing the dark staircase underground sent quivers along her scales. The damp cavernous walls emitted a mineral-like smell, it reminded her of the algae-ridden rocks she and Lucius would perch on along the shoreline back home. 

Outside the door was a muscular woman with long brown hair, her arms crossed over her chest. With one look at “Bellona”, Isolde was in. 

Cold air hit Isolde immediately upon opening the door making her wish she’d worn a longer dress. Lavender spilled throughout the room from the candles that sat evenly along on the bookshelves. The underground casino glowed with oil lamps, rusted with age. Tapestries adorned the walls, heraldic symbols from what she assumed was Titus’s familial coat of arms, and velvet carpet sprawled along the floor. Walking past the security guard, she made her way to the table where five people were already seated.

The two women from the market were joined at the hip, Sable with the red hair smiled at Isolde. It was the only welcome she received. Faustina’s face remained unchanged, only glancing in Isolde’s direction. 

Titus, the dealer, and a behemoth of a man stared at Isolde. The large man, Orcus, made her old friend Viggo seem fun sized in comparison. Each player leaned in on the table. No one said a word, no one greeted her. 

The pot lay in the centre of the table, ready for their bets.

Just as the dealer began shuffling, the door burst open. A clash of wood on stone as the frame collided with the walls. Isolde jumped in her seat. Every player whipped their head to source of the sound. Instinctively, Isolde followed suit by twisting her body, straining to catch a glimpse of the late comer. 

As she looked up, a chill swept over Isolde’s body like she’d been dropped in an icy lake. Bile reached her throat as she stared wide-eyed at the door. 

‍Impossible. 

An involuntary tremor possessed Isolde’s hands and she slowly turned back around in her chair, finding the only free seat at the table; directly opposite her. Heels lightly clattered against the marble in a rhythmic strut. Isolde attempted to ignore the stares between her and the woman slowly approaching the table. Whispers hushed over the pounding of the heels. Isolde diverted her gaze, looking only at the linen tablecloth beneath her.

Trailing the woman like a lost puppy, her bodyguard pulled the seat out for her as she lowered herself in the chair. Isolde felt her stare, the silence so loud she could hear the careful breaths of each player. Taking a deep breath of her own, she raised her gaze to observe the woman in front of her. 

Bellona.

The resemblance was uncanny. Isolde may as well have been staring in a mirror. Though, there was something magnetic about her. Maybe it was the way her mask subtly glistened rainbow hues in the warm light, or the way her necklace jangled lightly with her every move, like her own personal melody. Or maybe even the way she moved. Like every touch and every look was purposeful, like it meant something. Bellona placed a printed card representing three pretia in the ante like it was nothing. As Bellona retracted her hand, Isolde noticed her finger. She promptly cleared her throat, but the lump that had formed stayed tightly lodged. 

‘My ring,’ Isolde whispered under her breath. Seeing her ring on a stranger’s hand instilled a panic that sent her heartbeat racing. No way was she losing this ring.‘Nice mask,’ Bellona leaned into the table, cocking her head to the side. Isolde adjusted her mask. The cool metal usually a familiar comfort against her skin suddenly feeling like a barrier she needed to break through. 

‍How did I ever think I could get away with this? 

‍Of course she would find out eventually. Leaving now wasn’t an option, there was too much at stake. The only option left was to prove herself. For a month she’d fooled everyone into thinking she was a master player. Time to show Bellona herself how easy it was. You know what you’re doing, you know how to win. Beat her at her own game. 

‍No one dared say a word, mere stares, and tightened jaws. Only Bellona herself would break the silence. 

‘What are we waiting for?'Cards shuffled between the dealer’s hand before placing four cards in front of each of the seven players. 

Isolde curled up her cards and her stomach coiled in on itself. 

‍What is this?

‍A wild card. A two of hearts, a three of clubs, a five of clubs, and a wild card. The wild card was artistically illustrated with a white dog running in terror from a wendigo. 

Never had she even heard of a wild card in Cardano, let knew alone how to play one. She would have to pass. Passing your turn early was an amateur move. If it were anything else she would at least try and bluff. Lie through her teeth and show how good of a player she really was. 

‘Something wrong, Bellona?’ Bellona chirped over the table, emphasising the use of her own name. Isolde’s face must have dropped.

‍Get it together, Isolde thought. The cards felt uncomfortable in her hands, loose in her grip. A bad taste lingered in her mouth with the lull in conversation and dead stares in her direction. She had no choice. She passed.

‘Passing already?’ A taunt from Titus, the old man cocked his grin with a stiffened smile showing his yellow stained teeth. 

Isolde’s hands trembled ever so slightly reaching for her new cards. The absence of her ring on her finger, baring the weight of the reminder of how much was at stake. 

Discarding the wild card and her two of hearts, she collected two new cards. Slowly, adding them to her hand, she glanced at them. 

‍You have got to be kidding me.

‍Her eyebrows raised, no control over the facial shifts. Bile rose in her throat, the bitter taste threatening to spill over the edge. Two more wild cards. 

‍How was this happening? The only way is if someone… Someone messed with the deck. 

‍Realisation dawned on Isolde’s face, eyes widening in the direction of the woman whose identity she'd stolen. Her ears rang, erasing any outside noise. Bellona set her up. Isolde’s composure was crumbling, breath quickening, her uncertainty breaking through the surface. Lucius always told her not mess around with these kinds of people and here she was in the lion’s den. She was in trouble. 

‘Bad hand?’ Titus provoked, a taut grin on his face. Intent and malice surfaced through the glint in his eye. No doubt he was in on it. They all were. Overhearing the two women’s conversation that morning, Titus suggesting she stake the ring, Bellona’s late arrival, the wild cards.

A queasiness crept over Isolde’s body like perennial weeds burgeoning back, the roots impossible to dig out. Delusion allowed her to believe she could live this life, live behind the mask, and set the endless unease to rest. But this would never be her home, and she would never be Bellona. 

‘I have to go,’ Isolde’s chair squeaked with a loud squeal as she pushed it back with impressive speed. Without thinking, she motioned toward to the pot, reaching for her ring. If she could just get the ring, and get out, she could be gone and back with Lucius within the week. She would pack up her possessions, sell what she could for scrip, and leave as quickly as she arrived. 

Only centimetres from the ring, a sharp pain erupted from her wrist.

‘Ah!’ Isolde called out as Titus ripped her hand away from the table, yanking her sideways to face him, his grey eyes glazed with venom. Sable winced on the other side of the table, looking away from the assault in front of her. Scoffs escaped the mouths of the remaining players. All but Bellona who only observed apathetically. 

‘You stake, you play,' Titus warned, any ounce of friendliness was gone. Fish and cheese breath escaped from his mouth in a pungent amalgamation as his nose nearly touched hers. Isolde leaned her head back as much as she could, ripping her wrist from his grip. Trapped, she rescinded in her seat.

Tension cascaded over the table as the game slowly continued. She couldn’t concentrate nor could she even look at the players, unable to identify their tells. She needed to leave. The air was thick, unbreathable. 

Smoke settled over the table as Orcus smoked a cigar, betting boldly with his turns. 

Rounds passed in a dizzying blur, a cacophony of doubts drowning out any bet made by other players. All rational thoughts gone. In that moment, she realised that pretending to be someone she was no longer an option. 

Waiting out the game, she didn’t care anymore, not about the respect or acceptance. She just wanted to get home and see Lucius. 

Bellona won the pot, and with it, Isolde’s ring.

The wind knocked out of her chest, her corset felt tight, like someone was pulling the strings from behind her forcing shallow breaths from her throat. 

She collected trinkets and jewellery, acquired a plethora of possessions across all city-states. But none of them meant more to her than that ring. And now it was gone, with no one to blame but herself. 

With the game finished, Isolde ended on the wild card. Everything she’d worked for in the past month crumbled like a watchtower all around her. 

Game over. 

‘Go,’ Titus ordered. Isolde wasn’t about to take any chances. 

Isolde ran up the stairs, blood ramming through her veins, her footsteps thundering through the halls, past Marcella and outside to safety. 

Under the street light Isolde stopped and bent over. Grasping her knees, she stopped to gasp for breath. The pause allowed for soft sobs to escape her mouth, rolling through the empty street. 

‘Sorry it ended this way,’ Isolde heard Bellona’s voice behind her and quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and standing up straight. Once the words settled in, heat rose to the surface of her skin.

‘Sorry? You set me up!’ Isolde yelled at Bellona through gritted teeth. 

‘And you stole my identity,’ Bellona replied, her voice as calm as the morning tide, ‘I’m sorry Titus hurt you, he wasn’t supposed to do that.'

‘Yeah, you looked like you cared a whole lot,’ Isolde replied, registering only now how much she was bothered by the lack of reaction. Bellona sighed, her eyes flickering with a certain sorrow. She reached for her face. Isolde let out a small gasp as Bellona removed her mask. 

‘This mask is a curse; it consumes you,' Bellona intoned. 'When no one knows who you are, you can be whatever you want.' 

For a moment, a shared understanding lingered between them. Only they knew what it was like under that mask. Bellona was just as lost as she was. 

Isolde flinched as Bellona reached inside her pocket and snared something small, entrenching it in her palm. Slowly opening her hand she revealed Isolde’s ring, extended in an offering for Isolde. The one on her finger wasn’t hers. But it was identical. They had the same ring. 

‘You’re giving it back to me? Why? Why get Titus to convince me to stake it in the first place?' 

‘I needed to examine it, make sure it was real,’ Bellona replied, she bit her bottom lip. This was the first time Bellona allowed her emotions to show. Isolde’s skin seared at the inference Bellona was implying. There was no way… 

‘And was it?’ Isolde asked hesitantly. 

‘Yes.’For the second time that day, a haunting realisation polluted her thoughts. Childhood dreams of masks with blank features were suddenly filled with Bellona’s face. 

Bellona was her mother. 

The words hung unspoken in the air, hovering above waiting for someone to snatch them and bring them to life. To make them real. 

Locking eyes, they stared at each other, a moment of stillness. Isolde's heart crumbled in her chest, her bones disassembled themselves as if trying to rearrange her DNA. An impossible feat, you can’t change where you come from. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

Nineteen years of the unknown, a blurry painting crystallised in seconds. Bellona the gambler, the mysterious figure, the most revered player in the game, was her mother. 

‘I guess this is yours, then,’ Isolde retrieved the mask from her satchel, unsure of what else she could say. So many questions she was afraid to ask. 

'Keep it,’ Bellona replied, ‘there’s room for the both of us.'

‘I’ll see you around then,' a glimmer of hope in Isolde’s voice.

‘Maybe,’ Bellona replied.

Isolde ignored the twist in her chest, accepting the ambiguity.

As she turned to leave, Bellona called out once more.

‘Eletta.’

‘Sorry?’ 

‘My name is Eletta,' her mother replied. 

‍Eletta.With that, Bellona disappeared back inside, reattaching the mask to her face. Isolde’s cards had only just been dealt. She wasn’t Eletta and she didn’t need to be. Though that didn’t mean she couldn’t play. 

Game on.