The Queens of the Checkered Court 棋盤格場的女王們 チェス盤の女王たち

Muoviti in silenzio.

Parla solo quando è il momento di dare scacco matto.

Move in silence.

Only speak when it's time to say checkmate.

In a realm where night never truly yielded to dawn, there stood a court unlike any other—a kingdom not of land, but of pattern and fate. Its floors were endless black and white, its skies ink-dark and starless, and every soul within it moved as though guided by unseen hands.

At the heart of this world ruled two queens.

They were not sisters by blood, but by design. One wore the crown of strategy—her gaze sharp, her silence calculating. The other bore the crown of illusion—her presence theatrical, her every gesture a performance that blurred truth and deception. Together, they governed the Checkered Court, a domain where every step was a move, and every move carried consequence.

They were known simply as the Queens of the Checkered Court.

Legends whispered that they had once been mortal women, wanderers who entered the court through a forgotten Venetian archway during a masquerade long ago. Drawn by the hypnotic symmetry of black and white, they had danced across the patterned floor—unaware that they were stepping into a game older than memory itself.

When the music ended, the door vanished.

And the game began.

Years—or perhaps centuries—passed, though time had little meaning there. The queens learned the rules: every soul in the court was a piece, every decision a calculated risk. There were no accidents, only moves. Pawns rose and fell, knights leapt in unpredictable arcs, bishops whispered diagonally through shadows. But the queens… the queens could go anywhere.

Anywhere, but never beyond the board.

On this particular night, a tremor rippled through the court. The air thickened, as though a new player had taken their seat beyond the veil. The queens felt it instantly—the shift of intention, the tightening of fate.

“A game has begun,” said the Queen of Strategy, her voice low as a closing door.

“Or perhaps,” replied the Queen of Illusion with a faint smile, “a game has resumed.”

Between them, the black-and-white staff they carried pulsed faintly, its ornate crown reflecting fragments of moves yet to be made. It was no mere ornament—it was the scepter of control, the axis upon which the court turned.

From the far edges of the patterned world, figures began to stir.

Pawns marched.

Knights turned their masked faces.

The unseen opponent made their first move.

A pawn advanced.

The queens exchanged a glance—one of understanding, of anticipation, of something dangerously close to excitement.

“Shall we begin?” asked the Queen of Illusion.

The Queen of Strategy stepped forward, her gown sweeping across the board like a shadow cutting through light.

“We never stopped.”

And with that, the court awakened—every square alive, every piece in motion—as the eternal game of the Checkered Court unfolded once more, guided by its two sovereigns… who ruled not just the board, but the very idea of play itself.

For in this world, there were no spectators.

Only players.

And every soul, whether they knew it or not…

was already in check.

The Venice Carnevale is not solely about masks. Local Italians and an increasing number of foreign costumers now prefer historical costumes or painted faces. During Carnevale, the whole Venice becomes a real life theatrical stage, and many of these historical costumes carry deep perspectives...