Every time the dice betray her slender fingers as she tosses them and turn those alleged eyes up at her, they draw a little of her into nothingness. Each loss is a victory: it means she still has something in her that the eyes of the black hole want.
It almost feels like cheating sometimes. The others, they know what they're giving up to the eyes, can feel it slip away. What the eyes take from her is already gone, left behind in an unfathomable past, like the time a snake got confused and shed its soul instead of its skin.
It will be good when she has lost it all. Then she will be clean, set loose from a past out of her reach but not out of the eyes' reach. Then there will be no more for the eyes to take, and she can start to win.