For some reason, Yami Bakura had found himself fascinated with his host's blood. When he possessed the boy, he found the similarities and differences shocking. White hair, crimson eyes; close enough to his old body... But what he found very strange was that the Boy was...pale. Whiter than any royalty he had ever stolen from. He was certain it had to be some modern disease. And it made him...oh so curious when he looked at his host's arm, tracing the blue veins with stolen eyes.
The first time he'd sliced the body open, it had spilled over the sink. Ryou's father was sleeping a door down, prepared to leave in the morning; the boy would be sad. And maybe the boy would cut himself, to see the blood as Bakura had done. But little Ryou didn't know about the marks yet. Bakura cocked his head, staring, entranced by the pale skin so perfectly ruined. So he cut again. The blood was slick against his fingers.
"Best not to let you die," he muttered, bandaging the ruined arm. He looked around, as though someone were watching. His pale lips descended upon his host's arm. Kissing it better. "Forgive me," he whispered, switching the light off, red eyes glowing, "Forgive my lust, Landlord..."