This is... uh... not exactly what you asked for, but the first thing that jumped into my mind oddly enough. No fandom.
When he threw a handful of memories into the pot, he figured that he would win either way, though it was his very first game. He had no memories but sorrow, solitude, despair; no laughter had ever touched his life; he would lose that grief, or win some of the treasures on display--a slice of a summer's day, a love lament from a star, a deep secret no one knew.
On the way out, feeling oddly empty, he admired the glowing crystals and the scenes depicted within--a laughing man, a wedding, two children, a man at a poker table curled up in despair--odd, that the man in all those portraits would have his face; he had not played a single game.
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When he threw a handful of memories into the pot, he figured that he would win either way, though it was his very first game. He had no memories but sorrow, solitude, despair; no laughter had ever touched his life; he would lose that grief, or win some of the treasures on display--a slice of a summer's day, a love lament from a star, a deep secret no one knew.
On the way out, feeling oddly empty, he admired the glowing crystals and the scenes depicted within--a laughing man, a wedding, two children, a man at a poker table curled up in despair--odd, that the man in all those portraits would have his face; he had not played a single game.