Disclaimer: We don't own Yu-gi-oh, but if we did...well, it would be all about Kaiba and Bakura! And wouldn't that be awesome! Anyway, this is our first fanfic, so be nice. All reviews are accepted, except for flames. No one benefits from flames! But please, leave reviews! We really appreciate it!

Ravyn sighed and brushed a lock of jet black hair away from her face, focusing on sidestepping boxes and duffel bags to bring in even more boxes and duffel bags. The moving men had taken care of large, heavy pieces, like furniture, but her parents were cheap and weren't willing to pay them to bring in things Ravyn could manage on her own. They could certainly afford to pay the moving men for another hour, maybe two – it couldn't take longer than that to unload everything, especially for six big, strong men – but they always said they didn't become rich by throwing away money when they didn't have to. Which didn't stop them from buying everything under the sun and vanishing whenever there was work to be done around the house, of course. She wasn't sure where her parents had run off to, but they had left her to unload the family cars.

She bit back a curse as she tripped, nearly dropping her burdens. The spacious house had become a convoluted maze, with only a few open paths to follow. She had never realized they owned quite so much stuff! It had taken her a good half an hour to almost fully unload one SUV, and there were two more jam packed with things just begging to be brought into the house.

Winding her way up the stairs, Ravyn threaded her way into her bedroom, dropping her bags onto her unmade bed. She paused to catch her breath, storm gray eyes scanning her room. She was pleased with it – though compared to her last room, the closet space was merely adequate – but she was tired of constantly moving and switching schools and never making any friends. It made no sense to her – her parents were never home, so why did they feel the need to buy a new house every year if they rarely lived in it? And why couldn't they move somewhere interesting for once instead of ragtag towns and unheard of cities? Did they ever take the feelings of their only daughter into consideration?

Of course not. What a silly question.

Tired of hauling things and frustrated by the lack of help, Ravyn closed her door and sprawled out across her bare mattress, knocking a few boxes onto the floor. It felt good to relax for a minute, to rest muscles already protesting the abuse she put them through. Her eyes slowly drifted closed, thick lashes caressing her delicate, soft pale skin. She had very nearly fallen asleep when the sound of someone knocking on the door startled her into full consciousness.

"Ravyn, honey? Can we come in?" Her mother's voice was precise, cultured, with an almost musical quality to it. She had won her husband's heart with a song – a tale so romantic it made Ravyn giddy and teary-eyed – and hints of her talent were evident in every word she said. She always claimed her daughter had inherited her singing voice, but Ravyn had never been so sure.

Feeling a little irritated – odds were, they hadn't emptied anything out of the cars – she replied, a little too loudly, "Yeah, sure."

Her door opened and her parents stepped into the room, looking as different as night and day. Her mother, slim-necked and elegant, had full dark hair falling to her waist, the ends curling naturally; her eyes were a beautiful honey with flecks of lilac, her brows precise lines above her thick lashes; perfect nose, perfect chin, perfect figure. Everything about her spoke of perfection, the type of woman songs and fairy tales had been written for. Tall and slender, always clad in tones that brought out the lilac in her eyes, or the hint of red in her hair, she looked far younger than her years, and her husband had often called her the "perfect little prize". Ravyn had always felt inadequate around her, both because of her looks and because of her talents. Ravyn could play the piano, but she couldn't sing like her mother; she could play Duel Monsters like a champion, but she couldn't sew a straight line to save her life, or cook a three-course meal, or paint a portrait. Though she never said it, she could tell her mother thought her a failure. Ravyn was never able to live up to the dream her mother pitted her against.

Ravyn's father, on the other hand, was a little on the short side, stout but strong, his arms corded with muscles – muscles that should have been put to use carrying boxes, she thought grimly – and his hair was the color of sunlight in sand, his eyes a merry blue of an undistinguished shade. He had always doted on his daughter, providing her with everything she had ever wanted – within reason; he'd never heard her pleas to stay in one town for longer than a year – and called her his "beautiful little star". He had cute nicknames for just about everybody he met and liked, though few ever stuck for very long. Though his talent in Duel Monsters was small, he still took the time to play with her and support her, buying her any card she wanted. After all, he'd always said, it was a better hobby than drinking or prostitution.

And of course, he had been there when she'd lost her best friend.

For a brief moment, tears filled her eyes, darkening them nearly to black, but she quickly blinked them away. She was usually in control of her emotions, at least so far as to be able to avoid crying in front of people. It had been years, however, and the wound was still raw. She sometimes woke from dreams still feeling the heat of the flames against her skin, still hearing the agonized screams.

"What do you want?" she asked, a little too testily.

Her parents exchanged a look, and for a moment, she was afraid she'd slipped too far – that they had seen how upset she was, how she was still floundering in an attempt to grasp something to help her heal, and once again they would try to insist that she see a psychiatrist. She'd made it clear to them on many occasions that she had no desire to open her heart to a complete stranger who only wanted to overmedicate her and receive a hefty paycheck for the trouble.

Luckily, she had misread them.

"Sweetie, I know we missed your birthday last month," her mother began, kneeling by her bed as if in supplication. Even that was done with grace, with art, as if at a great performance; it made her sick.

"Glad somebody finally noticed." Her tone was rather dry. That had been a particularly lonely birthday, spent only with the few friends she'd manage to gather around her. Her parents had been off gallivanting in Egypt and had entirely forgotten about her, as they always did. She'd lost track of the number of holidays she spent staring at her own reflection.

Her father knew her better, could read her face like a book, and realized that his wife was not welcome there. Clearing his throat, he said, "Little star, we were thinking about you, contrary to what you believe. We picked something up for you, but we were saving it for the perfect time to give it to you…"

"My birthday would have been a good choice."

Her mother's mouth tightened and she shot a look over to her husband, eyes flashing dramatically. Ravyn ignored her.

"Yes, well…I apologize for that." He extended his hand, a small, wrapped box nestled in his palm. "Here. Happy Belated Sweet Sixteen, my beautiful little star."

Feeling oddly hesitant, she took the box, a small smile threatening to spread across her face. Last year, they hadn't gotten her anything and hadn't realized until Christmas. They thought that giving her a Mercedes would soothe her hurts, forgetting that she didn't even know how to drive. She felt almost as if this were a peace offering, though she knew better than to get her hopes up.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, the blue highlights catching the rays of the sun streaming through her open window, she slowly plucked at the expensive paper, eventually tearing into it as if it were no more than newspaper. It made a satisfying sound as it ripped, and she casually tossed the pieces aside, "accidentally" showering her mother with them. She made a disgusted sound – one would thing she was doused with excrement rather than paper – and quickly stood up, backing away.

The wrapping fell away to reveal a small, shiny wooden box, strange symbols etched on the outside. She traced her fingers over the symbols, her head tilting to one side; she could almost read them, almost understand them, as if an old, dusty part of her recognized and had often used these very same odd letters. She stared at them for a few minutes, eyes shifting color as sunlight streamed over them and then fled, feeling as if the symbols were speaking to her, whispering in ancient tongues and practically thrumming with power.

She saw herself in her mind's eye – a tanned, scrawnier version of herself, looking wild and dangerous. She was in a desert, standing near a white horse that she knew didn't belong to her, though she held its reins as it drank from one of the desert's rare water pools. Sparse, wiry vegetation grew around the pool, and she was idly poking at it with a foot when she suddenly looked up, staring towards the horizon with a look of horror. Someone was coming closer, someone – or a great many people – she was fleeing from. A sense of panic gripped her so hard she gasped.

Suddenly, it was gone; all of it. It was just a cold, wooden box in her hands, and the vision fled as if it had never existed, like an old, nearly forgotten dream. The silence was so thick she could almost feel it resting upon her skin.

Her father broke the spell entirely. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Her fingers trembled for some reason as she opened the box, lifting the lid carefully. Inside lay a simple, thin golden anklet, nondescript save for a stylized Eye of Horus near where she assumed was the center of the chain; she had nothing but the clasp to go by. Though small, it had an antique look to it, and must have cost her parents a fortune.

Not that they didn't have spare cash lying around.

"It's beautiful," she breathed as she lifted it out, the delicate metal catching the light. For a moment the eye winked at her, clearly a trick of the light, before returning to cold metal.

"We got it in a bazaar," her mother put in proudly, as if she had trekked dozens of miles on foot to find a hidden marketplace to purchase her daughter's present. "As soon as I saw it, I knew you had to have it."

"It's a one-of-a-kind," her father said kindly, smiling over at his wife and sharing in her pride.

That didn't surprise her. Almost every piece of jewelry she owned were custom made, one-of-a-kind items. It had gotten to the point where she took it for granted.

Smiling finally, the motion lighting up her face, she leaned back against her headboard and propped her ankle up on her opposite knee. Undoing the delicate clasp of the anklet, she draped the chain over her ankle and snapped the clasp closed. It sounded louder than it should have, but she chalked that up to her imagination. She had been moving heavy boxes in rather warm weather, after all.

"I love it," she declared after staring at it for a few minutes.

"I'm glad." Her father walked over, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Now, your mother and I are leaving for Tuscany tomorrow morning…"

"What!"

"…and I want to make sure you have everything you need to start school."

"When was this planned?"

"Didn't we tell you?" He glanced over at his wife, who casually looked the other way.

"No!"

"We'll be gone for six weeks, possibly more."

Her voice took on a whining tone. "But why, daddy? You have only been home for a week now!" Just the amount of time it took to tell her they were moving, and to pack everything up and ship it to another strange, unwelcome place. She didn't think their old house had even sold yet.

"I know, my pretty star, but I do need to work every once in a while. They called me to Italy, and your mother will be going with me."

Thank goodness. Only once had he ever left his wife with his daughter; that had ended in disaster.

"As usual, there's plenty of money in the bank account, and cash in the safe downstairs. If you ever need us, you have my cell phone number, and when we arrive I'll call with the hotel information. We've already hired a maid service to take care of the cleaning, and we can hire a cook as well if you wish. I remember you liked the last one."

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks again, but she still refused to give in. Turning her face away, she murmured, "Fine. Go. I want to be alone."

"Little star…"

"I said go!"

So that's why they'd given her the present now. So well timed, an expensive attempt to make up for their near-constant absence. She was on the verge of breaking, she knew; any moment she would burst into tears, and she didn't want them to see their not-so-perfect little daughter become red-faced and blotchy. Her mother always bragged that she could cry and still look pretty, but Ravyn didn't have the coloring for it.

She heard them murmur something to each other, too quiet to pick up, and then they were gone, the door closing quietly behind them. Reaching out to her nightstand, one of the few places where she had already unpacked things and put them away, she grabbed a small framed picture and clasped it to her chest as she buried her face in the mattress and cried.

She didn't see them off the next morning; they left before the sun had risen, while Ravyn was still asleep. She'd used the last of her energy to push the boxes off her bed and find her sheets and comforter and pillows, making her bed and crawling into the blankets in exhaustion, putting off unpacking the other cars for another day. She'd awoken to the sound of birds chirping outside of her window, the sound soothing and pleasant.

Rolling onto her side, she looked around for her alarm clock before remembering that she hadn't even unpacked it yet. Growling in frustration, she snatched at her watch and squinted at it. It was late morning, and while a part of her didn't want to get up, she knew it would be best to finish unloading and begin unpacking. Besides, she needed to find her bath items so she could take a shower, and then she had to go shopping for her school supplies. Her first day of class was coming up a little too quickly for her, but it wouldn't do to be unprepared.

She slowly got out of bed, yawning and stretching. She'd been too tired to change, and her outfit was wrinkled beyond belief, but her parents weren't home so she didn't care. She would drop everything off at the dry cleaner's later that day or maybe tomorrow.

She began unpacking the boxes already in her room, putting empty hangers in her closet and setting out hairbrushes and figurines on her desk. When she came to her clothes, she laboriously shook them out, setting aside the ones that needed ironing and hanging up the others. It was well past noon when her stomach finally stopped her.

She was pleased to see that her parents had at least left the cabinets and the fridge well stocked. Making a quick meal of chicken cacciatore and angel hair pasta, she felt rejuvenated, and began transferring things from the cars into the house. Almost too late, she realized she'd forgotten to put the leftovers in the fridge, and she paused to despair the loss of such a delicious meal. She didn't mourn long.

It was night by the time she finished, far too late to go shopping, and she ached too much to go anywhere anyway. She indulged herself with a lavender oil bath in the massive bathtub in the bathroom connected to her room, lighting a few dozen candles and flicking the lights off. It was a fire hazard, but she was always careful around fire.

Sleep came to her easily, and the next day was spent unpacking and cleaning around the house a little – something that she had always found soothing, keeping her hands busy while her mind was free to roam, though her mother refused to touch a cleaning cloth – and taking a taxi downtown to buy her school supplies. Her uniform arrived in the mail, luckily, though she wrinkled her nose in distaste as soon as she saw it. Who had thought to pair that shade of pink with that awful boring blue? Still, she tried it on anyway, eyeing herself in the mirror critically.

It didn't look half bad on her, she decided after a while. It didn't hide her mature bosom, or her pert behind, and her legs looked rather shapely against that shade of blue. The bow left much to be desired, and she still thought the pink was hideous, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. She'd refused to wear the uniform in a previous school and had been rather harshly disciplined for it. She didn't know if Domino High was as rigid with its rules, but she wasn't about to find out.

She fell asleep that night in front of their gigantic flat-screen television, one of her favorite movies running.

The morning of the first day of school was hectic for Ravyn. It took her absolutely forever to get ready, because she had to look perfect. Some time was saved since she did not have to laboriously choose an outfit, but she just could not figure out how to do her hair to make herself still look presentable in that hideous school uniform. When she could not find her favorite perfume, she nearly threw a tantrum, her stormy eyes darkening with tears. She eventually uncovered it – tossed in one of her drawers, beneath a few dozen photographs of herself and her old friends.

She made herself a quick breakfast of pancakes and bacon, mentally reminding herself to take her parents up on their offer and hire herself a maid and a cook. After all, she couldn't possibly be expected to maintain the entire house, cook for herself, and still keep her grades up. It was unthinkable.

By the time she was finally ready to leave for school, she felt oddly reluctant. She looked around her spacious living room, backpack over her shoulder, shoes on her feet, and felt an almost physical pressure pushing her down, keeping her in the living room. The golden anklet felt warm against her skin, and she bit her lip, wondering what was causing the ominous feeling.

"Well, I can't stay home," she said aloud, breaking the irritating silence in the house. That was one thing she never really got used to – the constant silence. Even when it was broken up by the sound of the television, or the beat of her favorite music group, it seemed large and empty and silent, making her feel alone. Shivering, she rubbed her arms and left, heading towards school.

There were many students on the streets, walking towards Domino High as well, and she carefully studied them as she walked, head held high. They seemed normal, like students in her other school, though occasionally one had an expensive, designer backpack, or something similar to denote their status. They were few and far between though, and strangely enough, that made her feel a little more comfortable.

She got lost in the hallways, never having expected the school to be so big. She finally had to poke her head into one of the classrooms and ask directions from the teacher, cheeks flaring a pretty pink. They were even darker now as she stood in front of her class, waiting for the teacher and watching everyone make their way inside. No one gave her more than a second glance, which made her fume internally – she'd gone out of her way to make herself exceptionally pretty and no one appreciated it! – but she decided to give them time. After all, sometimes people were wary of strangers.

When a familiar head popped into the room however, her breath left her as quickly as if she had been hit in the stomach. Eyes growing wide, her lips parted, she stared incredulously. Memories assaulted her, making her grow faint, and she had to lean on the teacher's desk or risk falling to the ground. When her breathing finally returned to normal, she shook her head, almost as if denying what she saw.

It couldn't be.

"Ravyn?" she girl asked curiously, staring at her with just as much surprise as Ravyn herself felt.

"Erika?" she replied, feeling as if someone were constricting her chest. It couldn't be her, it just couldn't! In her mind's eye, she saw the framed picture she'd put up at her bedside, of herself at a young, tender age with another girl, her then best friend. Erika. Who had died.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," the girl quipped, and Ravyn could only stare.