Summary: We all know how Yami Bakura is the "master" or "leader" of the shadows. But did anyone ever wonder about the origin of the shadows (where they came from) and why they answered to him? This is the story of one of them and how it led to her and the others' freedom . . . and enslavement. After all, with freedom, comes a price. And one that these poor entities were willing to pay. This is their story . . .
Why? That is a question that has endless meanings. Why? It also has endless answers. In my case, and in others of my kind, "Why?", only has one meaning and one answer. It is asked when the day commences and when it reaches its conclusion. It is like our universal prayer; a plead for help and to understand.
When I say "Why?" twice a day, I am asking everyone, and yet, at the same time, no one. That is why there is only one answer - silence. "Why?" means "Why are we like this?" And then, after asking, even though we know the answer (none), we experience a brief moment of hope, longing, pleading, wishing and prayer. Then, after the silence mocks us again, we fall back into a state of forced acceptance; the state we usually find ourselves in.
We are alive, yet we are as good as dead. We are separated, isolated and alone for eternity. We have no power, no independence. The one characteristic we all share is strength. We must be strong to keep our sanity. Because that is what keeps us "surviving", if you can even call it that.
We have no sense of belonging, of freedom. We are basically slaves, and we are trapped in that fate, with only the tiniest spark of hope. Hope, that we will be rescued. Hope, that we can change. And hope, that our situation will not worsen.
And what happens to us, when our "existence" ends? No one knows for sure, but it must be better than this kind of "living". We can only hope.
I write this, knowing that no one else will ever read my words. That is because each time I write a word, it disappears. Since I have nothing to write on or with, I write with my fingers, on the air.
If someone could read this, I know what they would be asking themselves. If I was the one reading and not writing, I'd be asking myself that same question. But, unfortunately, I am the writer, not the reader. And therefore, I know the answer.
I, along with the rest of my kind, am a Shadowless Identity. We are of and live as shadows; Shadows of the Blessed. The Blessed are those that tie us to "existence". They are, essentially, our masters, and we are their slaves - never to be heard or appreciated. We are only to be seen, but never acknowledged. They dictate, unknowingly, our entire lifestyle and what happens during it.
That is why we are called the Shadowless Identities. We are only a mere shadow of the Blessed whom we are connected to forever.
My name is Elody. My Blessed's name is Melody. This is yet another cruel reminder of how unfair our lifestyles are. Everyone who is a Shadowless Identity inherits their Blessed's name, but the first letter is taken off. It is a name that continually mocks us; we are only part living, but never live a whole life.
I am alone, as are all the other Shadowless Identities. In our "world", there are two types of Shadowless Identities: those that have long given up all hope and have stopped asking "Why?" twice every day. And then there are those that know there will always be a tiniest bit of hope, and they cling to that desperate hope. They are the ones who will never cease to ask "Why?" daily. They are the ones who believe that, someday, there will be an answer.
Which kind of Shadowless Identity am I? I am the one who will always hope. The one who is always trying to defy what is impossible. I am the one who will never give up.
My name is Elody. And someday, others will know that. Someday, I believe that my story will be heard. And when that day finally arrives, I know that I will no longer be a Shadowless Identity. I will know that I am finally and fully living. I will be living the way I am meant to and not the way that was forced upon me.
My name is Elody. And, someday, I will finally, be given my freedom. And that is why, I, Elody, a Shadowless Identity, will never lose hope.
----
As Elody was pulled away from her task by her binding with her Blessed, she left her message, which nobody would ever see.
At least, that's what she thought.
A shadow was cast upon her words and read by another.
He was not a human, so to speak. Rather, he was in between the world of the living, the dead and the peculiar world of the Shadowless Identities.
His mouth lifted up into a smirk that barely concealed his sudden burst of intuition and elation.
"Well, well, well. Whatever do we have here?"
Yami Bakura had a new set of pawns. And a whole new plan forming . . .
----
Elody
Freedom.
Such a beautiful word doesn't and has never existed in our world.
And now it's all we can talk about and think about.
And it's all thanks to Him.
The Gods of Egypt must have been listening after all. For they sent Him. Our saviour, the one who will lead us out of this constant oppression and life of slavery.
We will have choices, He says.
We will be given what we need, what we deserve.
We will have better lives; they will be nothing compared to the existences before.
Better than even our Blessed's.
This. All this he promises us.
And even if it's a trap (which we're fully aware that it could be), it will be worth it. For we cannot imagine anything that's worse than this.
And so we have an agreement.
----
I can't believe we ever questioned him, our leader.
He would never, ever do something to hurt us, his family. His brothers and sisters. His best friends.
And we will do anything for him, to repay him for all he has done for us.
He doesn't ask much of us. Just that we accompany him on missions occasionally to assist him. Usually they involve defeating one or more Blessed. One time it was to take down an army of them.
But they are not Blessed anymore. They are the weak, who preyed on the weaker. But we are no longer weaker than them. Now we are the strong ones. Now we are the ones who decide their destiny, their fate.
Never before have these roles, these positions, been switched.
And it's all thanks to Him.
King Bakura.
A/N: I hope that was okay. Originally, when I wrote this, it was just a random poem and ended before the line "At least that's what she thought". But it got me thinking and so I sat down a while ago and wrote out Yami Bakura's lines. Then, today (since I have my first homework-free night since February) I sat down and wrote the rest of it. Hopefully it turned out okay. This is my first attempt at a "dark" genre story.
To be honest, I'm not sure how good the second half turned out. It sort of freaked me out a little, and I am very sorry if it creeped anybody out or anything. Trust me when I say that was not my intention in the slightest. I'm not really sure where most of that stuff came from. I was just trying to put myself in Elody's shoes and trying to write from that frame of mind. Trying to think how desperate I'd feel and then the intensified relief and gratitude for whoever rescued me, and how much I'd want to return the favour.
Sorry for the long author's note :) Thank you so much for reading!! If you liked it, or have any suggestions for improvement, I'd love to hear from you. But, if you didn't like it at all, please don't be mean since I know it isn't that great, okay? And if there's anyone who doesn't have an account, I am now allowing anonymous reviewers for my stories now.
Once again, thank you everybody! ~Melody