If only they had played that one game, they would be famous for how they played chess.

The refrain played through her head once more. How did they screw it up? Both of them so intelligent, her twins. One boy, one girl, equal and brilliant. Only twelve years old, and they decided the tournament at the end of their sixth grade year wasn't where they wanted to be.

The turning point. The loss. They would have faced each other in the final match. There were no competitors in the age group who matched them. Instead they went to a Rubik's cube contest at some unknown conference. Came home with the prize. A mere hundred dollars for Harry and Hermione with five hundred as the grand champion. For twiddling their fingers.

The speed and dexterity of their fingers were nothing compared with the velocity of their Chess play. Matches concluded in mere minutes if you could follow their moves. So quickly over, the organizers were forced to place a camera above them and play the match back to prove no illegal moves were made. Their following on Instagram, Twitter and YouTube was growing, and the State sponsored championship would have been their launch to far more.

She already had the invitation to their first national senior division competition. To have two children follow in her footsteps with such distinction --- her heart fluttered at the memory of what could never be.

Just one match. It would have guaranteed their fame. A steppingstone, which was their last chance.

Instead, she lost her dream. With their inconsiderate disqualification, they dishonored her again. Not the first time the twins went missing in action, and that was the last time.

Chess was a world which insisted on following the rules. Her wild twins went where their hearts led them. No discipline. No consideration for where their actions would lead. No respect for their mother's status.

And now? Still the same. Her ninetieth birthday, and once again, a no show. And no one from her family was there. Empty table. In fact, not one of the expected guests found their way to her celebration. Grandmaster of Chess at the tender age of sixteen, and not a single person remembered.

The cake appeared in front of her. A single sparkler showering sprinkles of light over the declaration of her long life.

"And she's only angry because they don't bow to her demands?" The girl who lit the miniature fire atop her cake shook her head.

"She'll live on bitterness. It's all she has," her companion answered.

The cake landed on the floor as Anastasia swept it aside.

"Take me to my room. I'll disown the lot."

"Does she not understand, it's Hermione who makes sure her bill is paid?" the attendant whispered.

"Queen to Rook four," Anastasia muttered. "It was my move first, and no one remembers."

"Queen to room fourteen eleven." The attendant told the porter.

"Damn rights, Queen of Chess."

Nothing else has ever mattered. I'd rather die alone if they don't want to do as I demand. I am the power. I am the Queen.