The Syren Song: Verse 438
“If you want me naked, you could just ask”

I wasn’t packing.

Not really.

The house next door wasn’t ours yet, and even when it was, there would still be lawyers, paperwork, inspections and whatever other obstacles stood between buying a house and actually being allowed to live in it.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t start thinking about things.

What stayed.

What went.

What belonged to us.

What belonged to Lexy and had somehow migrated into our room over the last eighteen months.

There was more of that than I expected.

I was sitting on the floor beside the closet when I found the box. It had been pushed behind several others, darker than the rest and worn around the edges. I pulled it free. Inside was a wooden chessboard. The pieces were wrapped separately beneath it.

I looked toward Ravyn. “Is this the one you used to play with Alex?”

She glanced over from where she was sitting on the bed. “Yes.”

I ran my fingers across the edge of the board. “It survived?”

“One of the few things that did.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The fire had taken almost everything. Furniture. Clothes. Photographs. Years of things collected without ever imagining there would be a day when they simply weren’t there anymore.

It was strange what survived.

Not just the fire. Everything.

There were things I’d owned for years that I couldn’t remember losing until months later, and things I’d barely thought about before that suddenly seemed important because they were still there.

I’d been thinking about that more since Lexy bought the house next door. Starting again sounded simple when you said it quickly. New house. New furniture. New memories. But there were still pieces of the life we’d had before that I wanted to take with us.

Apparently, this was one of Ravyn’s.

I turned the knight over in my hand, looking at the scratches along the bottom.

“You kept this somewhere safe?”

“Relatively.”

“Sentimental.”

Ravyn gave me a look. “Practical. It remained intact.”

I smiled.

Of course it did.

I looked down at the board. “You still play?”

“Occasionally.”

“With Alex?”

“When circumstances allow.”

I lifted one of the pieces. A knight. “You any good?” Ravyn gave me a look. That probably should have answered the question. I smiled. “Right.”

“You know how to play?”

“I know how the pieces move.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“It’s close enough.”

“It really isn’t.”

I put the knight back in the box. “Play me.”

Ravyn stared at me for a moment. Then she smiled. Not warmly. Competitively. I immediately regretted everything.

The kitchen counter was a better surface than the bed, so a few minutes later we were sitting on stools opposite one another with the board between us.

I’d barely finished arranging my pieces before Ravyn corrected the position of my king. “That feels unnecessary.”

“It was facing the wrong direction.”

“It’s wood. I don’t think it cares.”

“I do.”

“Of course you do.”

The first few moves went well. By which I meant I still had most of my pieces. Then Ravyn took a pawn. Then another. Then a bishop. I stared at the empty square.

“You left it exposed.”

“I noticed.”

“After I took it?”

“That was when it became especially obvious.” Ravyn smiled. I moved another pawn. She responded almost immediately. Two moves later, I lost another piece. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

“You could pretend it’s difficult.”

“That would be dishonest.”

I leaned back slightly. “Good to know.”

The back door opened. Footsteps crossed the kitchen. Then Lexy stopped. “What’s happening?”

“Chess,” I said.

Her eyes immediately went to the board. Then to Ravyn. “Are you winning?”

“No.”

Lexy frowned. “Obviously she’s cheating.”

Ravyn didn’t look up. “You don’t know how chess works.”

“I know how you work.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It’s close enough.” I smiled. Apparently, I had found my coach. Lexy moved around the counter and took up position beside me. “Okay.”

“That sounds dangerous,” I said.

She ignored me. “Move the little horse.”

“The knight.”

“You knew what I meant.”

I looked at the board. “Which knight?”

Lexy pointed. “That one.”

Ravyn glanced up. “Do you have any strategic reason for suggesting that?”

“Yes.” Lexy paused. “It feels right.”

Ravyn looked at me. I shrugged. Then moved the knight. Ravyn’s smile widened. “That is objectively a bad move.”

“Lexy seemed confident.”

“Lexy once invested in a company because she liked the logo.”

Lexy grunted beside me. “And I stand by that decision.”

Three moves later I lost another pawn. Lexy leaned closer to the board. “Move the castle.”

“The rook.”

“Why does everything in this game have the wrong name?”

“I can’t move it.”

“Why?”

“There’s a pawn in front of it.”

She frowned. “Then move it up to the pawn.”

I stared at her. “That achieves nothing.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Ravyn was openly amused now. I looked at the board. Then at Lexy. Then moved the rook exactly where she told me.

Ravyn actually laughed. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“I’m beginning to understand your strategy.”

“I’m not sure I have one.”

“That much is becoming apparent.”

Lexy folded her arms. “You’re going to feel really stupid when this works.”

“I look forward to it.”

The game continued. Ravyn kept taking pieces. Not recklessly. Just easily. She was several moves ahead almost every time I thought I had something. But somewhere between Lexy telling me to ‘pressure the sad-looking bishop’ and insisting that pawns were ‘basically disposable employees with dumb little hats’, I started seeing something.

Not the whole board. Not the game the way Ravyn saw it. Just one possibility.

The knight Lexy had moved. The rook she’d told me to push forward for no reason. The pawn blocking one path. Ravyn’s queen sitting comfortably behind everything else because she had stopped considering me capable of doing anything interesting.

I moved the knight again. Ravyn barely looked at it. She took another pawn.

Lexy groaned. “Our little guys are dying.”

“They’re pawns.”

“They had families.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

I moved the rook. Ravyn looked at the board. Then at me. Her smile faded slightly.

I moved again. And took her queen.

Silence.

Ravyn sat up straighter. She looked at the empty square. Then at the piece in my hand. Then back at the board.

Finally, she nodded. Once.

Lexy exploded. “YES!” She slapped both hands against the counter. “I TOLD YOU!”

Ravyn looked at her. “You did not know that was going to happen.”

“Of course I did.”

“You told her to move the rook because it was ‘lonely’.”

“It was lonely strategically.” I laughed. Lexy pointed dramatically toward Ravyn’s remaining pieces. “Look at them. They’re demoralized.”

Ravyn looked. “They’re wooden.”

“They know it’s over.”

“They look exactly the same.”

“The horses look devastated.”

“The knights,” I corrected again, unsure why considering she wouldn’t change.

“Not anymore. They’ve lost morale.”

Ravyn’s eyes narrowed. Then she looked back at me.

The smile returned. Different this time. “Continue.”

That should have worried me. It did. Five minutes later, I lost.

Ravyn leaned back. “Checkmate.”

Lexy stared at the board. Then at me. “That feels suspicious.”

“She’s better than me.”

“She cheated better than you.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“That’s exactly what a cheater would say.”

Ravyn ignored her and began resetting the pieces. Lexy checked her phone. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I have to go.”

That immediately worried me more than losing. “Where?”

“To pick up our Rise to Greatness outfits.”

I froze. “Our what?”

She grinned. “Matching outfits.”

“What kind of matching?”

“You’ll see.”

“That wasn’t reassuring.”

“It’s going to be amazing.”

She disappeared toward the hallway before I could ask anything else.

Ravyn waited until the front door closed. Then looked at me.  “You planned that.”

“Some of it.”

“The queen.” I nodded. “When?”

“After Lexy made me move the knight.”

“So, her advice accidentally helped.”

From somewhere down the hall:

“NOTHING ACCIDENTAL ABOUT IT!”

Ravyn closed her eyes. “She hasn’t left.”

“No.”

A few seconds later, the front door opened. Then closed. We waited.

Silence.

Ravyn looked at me again. “You knew you couldn’t beat me.”

“That sounds rude.”

“You knew you probably couldn’t beat me.”

“Better.”

“So, you stopped trying to play the game the way I expected.”

I looked down at the board. “After the third piece, you stopped wondering why I was doing anything.”

Ravyn was quiet. Then she nodded. “That is true.”

“You still won.”

“That wasn’t the point.” She finished resetting the pieces. “Again?”

I looked at the board. Then at her. “Sure.”

“You just lost.”

“I’m not quitting after one loss.”

Her smile returned. “I would have been disappointed if you did.” She rested one hand beside the board. “Perhaps we should make this game more interesting.”

“How?”

“One item of clothing for every piece lost.”

I stared at her. “If you want me naked, you could just ask.”

“I could.”

“And?”

“This is more fun.”

I smiled. “Fine. But what happens when I run out of clothes?”

The wicked grin on her face spoke louder than anything she could have said in response. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

Then I glanced toward the hallway. “I really hope Lexy actually left the house this time.”

Ravyn moved first. I studied the board, made what I thought was a perfectly reasonable response, and watched her immediately move again.

“Already?”

She lifted one of my pawns from the board. “You agreed to the rules.”

I stared at her. Then at the pawn. “You set me up.”

“I proposed mutually agreed stakes.”

“Knowing you could destroy me.”

“Knowing I was considerably more experienced.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds like setting me up with extra words.”

Her smile widened.

I reluctantly pulled off one sock. Ravyn looked at me. “Both.”

I paused. “What?”

“They’re a pair.”

“They’re two separate socks.”

“They were purchased together.”

“That feels excessive. You’re going to win anyway.”

“I know. That doesn’t mean you get to negotiate the rules after you start losing.”

I stared at her for a moment, then pulled off the other sock and dropped it beside the first. “You’re making this up as you go.”

“I prefer to think of it as clarifying ambiguities.”

I made my next move. Ravyn responded almost instantly. Another pawn disappeared. I looked at her. “You’re going to do this one piece at a time, aren’t you?”

“Naturally.”

“And you’re planning not to lose anything.”

“That would be preferable.”

There was something about the way she said it that made me suspicious.

“What happens when I run out of clothes?”

Ravyn leaned back slightly. “I was thinking a blindfold.”

I paused. “A blindfold?”

“Perhaps something to ensure your hands remain where I put them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You really have thought this through.”

“More than you have.”

“I’m starting to think you care less about chess than you claimed.”

Ravyn’s smile turned wicked. “Careful. I already have plans for your hands. Keep talking back and I may have to find something more productive for your tongue to do as well.”

I stared at her for several seconds.

Then looked down at the board.

Then back at her.

“You know...” Ravyn raised an eyebrow. I reached toward one of my pieces. “I’m starting to think losing on purpose might not be such a bad idea.”

Judging by the look on Ravyn’s face, I had a feeling she was counting on it.

To Be Continued…

Courtesy of Zoe Sperling’s Blog—

Rise to Greatness weekend.

There are shows you compete on.

There are shows you remember.

And then there’s this one.

The one everybody circles on the calendar before the year even begins. The one people spend months talking about, planning for, dreaming about. The one where careers change, reputations are made, and moments that last a few seconds can follow you for the rest of your life.

I’ve been fortunate enough to experience more of those moments than most.

Some good.

Some bad.

Some I’d happily relive tomorrow.

Some I spent years wishing I could forget.

That’s what happens when you’ve been doing this as long as I have. You accumulate history. And apparently, if you’re me, eventually other people start deciding what that history means for you. That’s been the interesting part of the last few months.

Everybody seems to know my story.

Frank knows it.

Bree knows it.

People who weren’t there for half of it know it.

People who watched from a distance know it.

Apparently, everybody knows exactly who Syren is, exactly how she became successful, exactly why she struggled, exactly what makes her weak and exactly why her time has passed.

There’s only one problem. The history they keep talking about isn’t mine.

Not really. It’s a version of it. A cartoon. A handful of convenient truths stretched until they fit whatever argument somebody wants to make.

That’s what makes your version convincing, Frank. You didn’t invent everything. That would have been too easy to dismiss. You took pieces that were real. I was young when I became World Champion. I was surrounded by people I trusted. I became obsessed with getting back to the top whenever I lost it. I made mistakes. I let people influence me when I shouldn’t have. There were times when losing hurt me more than I ever wanted anyone to know. All of that happened. But then you stripped away everything inconvenient.

Every time I made my own choice.

Every time I survived something I supposedly couldn’t.

Every time I stood up after somebody insisted I was finished.

Every time I changed.

You exaggerated what remained and turned me into somebody simple enough for you to understand.

The spoiled prodigy.

The narcissist.

The woman who needed everyone around her to carry her.

The woman who falls apart when she doesn’t get what she wants.

The woman who can’t accept that her moment has passed.

You know the story people tell about me, Frank. That isn’t the same thing as knowing my story. And I think that’s the mistake you’ve been making from the beginning.

You haven’t underestimated me. You’ve underestimated a woman who never existed. Because the Syren you keep describing?

She isn’t me.

She never was.

And Bree... that’s where you disappoint me.

Frank can misunderstand me. He wasn’t there for most of it. You were. Maybe we weren’t friends. But we weren’t enemies either. We never had some legendary rivalry where we spent years trying to destroy one another.

I respected you. I watched you arrive in SCW and establish yourself. I watched you become one of the names people associated with this company. You were close enough to know that the version of me Frank is selling isn’t real.

Maybe you didn’t know me personally. Maybe you didn’t know what happened behind closed doors. But you knew enough. And you chose his version anyway. Not because you know it’s true. Because it gives you the role you want.

The future.

That’s what you’re supposed to represent now, right? Bree Lancaster returns and represents what comes next while Syren represents everything this company needs to leave behind.

There’s one slight problem with that story: we’re the same generation.

You’re two years younger than me. That’s it. You’re not some twenty-three-year-old prospect walking into this company while I desperately cling to memories of another era. You’ve been doing this for over a decade. You’ve had your successes. You’ve had your setbacks. You stepped away. Now you’re back.

Bree... we got old at the same time.

So, if I’m nostalgia... what exactly does that make you?

Because nobody looked at your return and complained that you’d already had your opportunity.

Nobody said the business had passed you by simply because you’d been successful before.

Nobody told you that coming back meant you were preventing somebody younger from having their moment.

And they shouldn’t have.

You earned the right to come back and find out what you still had left. So did I. That’s the part Frank’s little story can’t accommodate. This isn’t the future against the past. It’s two veterans who are still here. Two women who have lived through enough of this business to know exactly what a weekend like this can mean. And one of us has decided she needs to pretend the other belongs to a different era in order to make herself feel like something new.

You don’t need that, Bree.

You never did.

But you chose it.

And because you chose it, I think you’ve made the same mistake Frank has.

You think you understand me. You’re preparing for the woman he described.

The fragile one.

The easily manipulated one.

The woman who needs people around her telling her what to do.

The woman who supposedly spends every waking moment trying to recreate a past she can’t let go of.

If that’s the woman you think you’re facing this weekend... I understand why you’re confident. I’d be confident against her too. Your problem is she isn’t the one showing up.

Maybe six months ago I would have spent this entire week trying to convince you of that. Maybe I would have listed every accomplishment. Argued with every accusation. Explained every mistake. Tried desperately to make sure you understood me before we ever stepped into the ring.

I don’t feel the need anymore.

That might be the biggest thing Frank has accidentally taught me.

People are going to believe whatever version makes the most sense to them. Sometimes correcting them only gives them more information.

So go ahead.

Believe I’m easy to read.

Believe Lexy makes my decisions.

Believe Ravyn thinks for me.

Believe I’m fragile.

Believe I’m living in the past.

Believe my best days are behind me.

I’m starting to realize I don’t always need to prove people wrong before the bell rings. Sometimes it’s more useful to let them keep believing it. Because I’ve heard versions of this before.

Two years ago I missed Rise to Greatness because I was hurt. When I came back, I made a promise. I said I was going to become World Champion again.

It took me longer than I wanted. A few months longer than I planned. But I did it.

That’s the real pattern in my history. Not that everything goes my way. Not that I always get exactly what I want when I want it. I don’t.

I fail.

I get hurt.

I lose.

Things take longer than I expect.

And then I keep going.

I don’t need everything to happen according to my schedule. I just need to keep moving until I get there. And now I have another goal: I want to be World Champion again.

Of course I do. I’ve never pretended otherwise. But right now there’s something standing between me and that goal that matters just as much.

You, Frank.

Not because you insulted me. Or because you got inside my head. Not even because you’ve spent months trying to convince everybody that I’m something I’m not.

Because I think what you’re doing is bad for this company.

You’ve appointed yourself the authority on who matters. Who belongs. Who represents the future. Who should be elevated. Who should step aside.

You talk as though you’ve been given some responsibility to decide what is best for SCW. You haven’t. And you’re not worthy of making that decision for this company. I’ve given too much of my life to this place to stand back and watch you turn your personal preferences into a qualification process.

The cream rises to the top, Frank. That’s how this is supposed to work. The best rise because they’re the best. Because they prove it. Because when the opportunity comes, they take it. Not because you point at somebody. Not because you put a microphone in front of them. Not because you slap a label on them and tell everybody they’re the future.

If Bree is good enough to be at the top, she doesn’t need you to declare it. She’ll rise.

If Gavin is good enough, he’ll rise.

If Alistaire is good enough, he’ll rise.

And if I’m not good enough anymore? Then I’ll fall.

That’s the part you don’t understand. I’m willing to find out. Are you?

Because if you really cared about this business as much as you claim to... you’d stop labeling milk as cream. You’d stop trying to decide the answer before the question has even been asked. And you’d step aside and let the real thing rise.

So this weekend, Bree... Frank... keep believing you understand me.

Keep believing you know how this story ends.

Keep believing the woman you invented is the woman walking into Rise to Greatness.

I’m not going to waste any more time trying to convince you otherwise. You can learn the same way everybody else does – when the bell rings. When the assumptions stop mattering. When there’s nowhere left for the story you created to hide.

And when you finally realize you underestimated me...

Be totally jealous.

-Z
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Zoe "Syren" Sperling © 2026 So Totally Awesome Productions