Author: Desidera
Title: Ghost Love Score
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Seto/Yami, onesided Bakura/Yami
Warnings: None, except maybe confusion
Genre: Romance/Angst/Supernatural
Summary: In the bonfire you are going to burn this letter in a week's time, at midnight when the stars illuminate the sky and the mists creep closer. What you want will come to you then, for one night, for this night.
Disclaimer:
Most of what I write about belongs to someone else. Yet my one and only attempt is to create something new, I do not intend to steal from another's imagination. Out of admiration I borrow characters and backgrounds and, in this case, the title of a beautiful song.
Author's Notes:
This might be a bit different from what you expect for a Halloween story…It revolves a bit around the same topic as Dragon's challenge story does. But no stealing, promise! It may leave some questions unanswered, which is in most cases intended. Consider that a warning g
Thanks to:
Dragon for encouragement halfway through the story
mic for encouragement at the end of the story
Tuomas Holopainen from Nightwish for composing a beautiful song like Ghost Love Score, the title of which I borrowed for my story (not a songfic although the lyrics partly go pretty well with the story)
Jan Gabarek for his wonderful music which put me into the mood for this and, I daresay, improved my writing immensely…
For the KnY Halloween Challenge 2005
Ghost Love Score
I want to cut through my skin and draw vivid crimson blood from the wound, want to taste it and feel it tingle on my lips as it dries to crude brown colour. I want to write a letter in my blood, beautifully paint the words in red and watch them dry. I want to seal my letter with hot candle wax, want to press my lips into its rapidly cooling softness.
My ink will be my blood.
My seal will be my kiss.
The wax will be hot as my emotion, burning my chest from the inside, more than just a candle's flame. The wound will be deep, but my pain will be deeper.
In the bonfire you are going to burn this letter in a week's time, at midnight when the stars illuminate the sky and the mists creep closer.
What you want will come to you then, for one night, for this night.
What you make of it is yours to decide.
I will be waiting.
The Pharaoh's eyes were wide with confusion and intense with suspicion as he put the letter down. He had taken over as soon as his aibou had read the first line. This was not meant for his hikari's eye, it was meant for him.
Trying to appear nonchalant, the Pharaoh turned around on the doorstep to the house his host lived in, letting his gaze travel over the silent street on this sunlit Saturday afternoon. The leaves rustled in the near tree, an explosion of red and orange that would all too soon be destroyed by merciless autumn winds. There was no one there, save the wind as it whisked around the corner.
It was a week from Halloween.
Whereas the days were filled with sunlight, the mornings and evenings were drowned in misty pools hovering over the quiet and humid city. Turning up the collar of his grey coat he continued on his path, left behind the cars the sounds of which became distant and unreal in those autumn mists.
The mists were his. They did in every single aspect represent him as they held unattainable secrets, as they crept silently through the streets, as they swallowed the world and changed it to this unreal fantasy. Giving himself up completely to the mists was what he dreamed of, becoming one with them, free and floating, wrapping around the beautiful things this world kept just out of his reach, making them his, shielding them from everyone else so they would belong to him and him alone.
Being solid, as much as he ached for it after all those years of imprisonment in nothingness, held so much pain, for a human could be so easily influenced, be it chemical substances travelling through the body, be it the atmosphere created by autumn rain and a cloudy sky forced upon the mind. He had all but forgotten what it was like to feel this longing, this desire, and he was surprised at how physical it was, how deep it could go.
And yet, those mists he adored so much made him leave the safety of his disembodied existence.
The sky was purple in the west and a dark velvety blue in the east where the first stars appeared glimmering faintly in the distance. Night was already falling when the young CEO of Kaiba Corporation stepped out of his limousine. A gust of wind made him pull his trench coat more tightly around his lean body. The dark trees which were rapidly losing the last leaves clinging to their branches swayed with an eerie rustle in the cold wind, shivering in its wake. The path up to the huge house was traitorously dark, making it so easy for the unwary to stumble.
Not so this young man, who walked up the pathway leading to the back door of his house with steely confidence. The limousine took off as its engine gave an unnaturally loud roar, vanishing into the darkness, but he didn't heed it. There was a tingle and a whisper in the air, but he ignored it. This night was different than so many nights before, but he pretended not to notice.
Mists crept up behind the trees and bushes in his garden, the brown earth in his empty flowerbeds was hard and cold, and one could already feel the frost that the night would bring. It was unusually cold for the end of October.
The young CEO didn't look at the mists for he did not trust their delusive air of power. All that counted to him was the satisfaction of a business contract, of precisely calculated statistics and stocks, of the long lists of successful companies or duelling champions.
All that counted in his mind was a signed sheet of paper for he knew that any other promise could be so easily broken, shattering feeble hopes of starry skies and fairytales into a sickening pile of ashes and dust.
Yugi Mutou sat in the garden of his friend Anzu Mazaki, with whom he shared the weak sunbeams breaking through the clouds on a frosty October day, resting beneath a cherry tree that was already devoid of almost all its summer green leaves. A teapot passed from one hand to the other as hot, delicious liquid was poured into china tea cups. Idle chit chat hung in the air, soft chuckles and shy smiles seemed to be swallowed by the grey cloudy sky.
There was a certain peace in the way the wilting flowers seemed to bend their once proud heads towards the ground in Anzu's flowerbeds. All beautiful things were meant to wane, were transient, merely a passing fancy of one fleeting summer day. And yet, as sure as nature knew the cold winter months were to come, small seeds survived beneath the snow and frozen earth to give birth to flowers again in spring.
As a silent guardian of this peace, a scarecrow had been placed in the middle of the flowerbeds. Two sticks nailed together in the form of a cross made up its body which was covered in an old blue linen dress. The head was made of a pumpkin, though caved lacking a face carved into its orange flesh. There were only two narrow slits, a vague indication of a pair of menacing eyes. On this makeshift head sat a blue straw hat, certainly one of Anzu's worn-out possessions. The scarecrow's hands were outstretched in a gesture of both invitation and rejection. In this cold barren earth it looked like a sovereign of significant power, praying the blessing of the gods upon the freezing grounds.
The Pharaoh was dozing in a state somewhere between awareness and sleep, between the soul room and the living body, a ghostly shape resting beside his aibou. Long ago had he resigned himself to the possibility that he would never be warmed by autumn sunbeams again, neither his skin nor his lonely heart.
A sudden sound caused his eyes to fly open, trying to locate the possible threat to the life of his aibou and friend. His body was poised, his mind prepared for every kind of foul image, from soul-stealing monsters to distant dark silhouettes surging up on the horizon like storm clouds. He was unprepared for a maiden's voice singing.
The sound was unearthly, soft and high, now rising to a keening cry of agony or agonising pleasure, now waning to a barely audible lament or whimper of lust. There were no words to a song like this the melody of which was carried on the wind, bearing shivers of misery as well as seduction.
The Pharaoh noticed soon that neither his aibou nor Anzu seemed to be bothered by the song, probably unable to hear it, for they continued their light mumbling and giggling beneath the cherry tree. Restlessly, the Pharaoh's ghostly form wandered over the cold brown earth, searching for the source of the singing without success.
As his spirit drifted across the dying flowerbeds he could feel the tingle of a scorching gaze on his ghostly limbs, which made shudders travel down his back and had him gasping with the unfamiliar sensation. Breathlessly turning towards the heat of the eyes following him, he met the hollow carvings in the scarecrow's pumpkin head.
Then a warm light crossed his heart like a gentle nudge of delicate fingers on pliable skin and his aibou called out to him. Letting himself become enveloped by the warmth of his soulmate, exhausted by the feeling of sudden deprivation, he sensed his spirit drift back into welcoming darkness.
When later that day Anzu bade her guest farewell on her doorstep, the Pharaoh awoke once more to the sight of the evening sky bathed in crimson light which enveloped the whole garden in blood and fire. The flaming sunbeams seemed to be licking gently at the scarecrow's blue dress and again the otherworldly sound filled the air.
This time the outstretched arms of the flowerbed's silent guardian seemed to the Pharaoh a gesture of desperate pleading and its majesty no more than a martyr's acceptation of the foreseen end.
Complete silence wrapped around him as he stepped out of the door of the mansion, intensifying with each step he took away from the comfort and warmth of the house. There was not even the slightest rustle of wind in the leaves, only the far-off humming of car engines now and then, something he was so used to his mind didn't even register it.
The garden seemed vast as beams of light falling out of the large windows created sallow patterns and lurid patches on the wilting grass. In the dark corners underneath large trees the shadows lay lurking in their lairs, ready to crawl out as soon as one of the lights inside of the house was switched off. The mansion however was holding them at bay, protecting the ones inside from the silent darkness.
The icy cold of days before had all but vanished for a thick blanket of clouds kept the last day's warmth from escaping into the endless expanse of a starlit night sky. His trench coat hung loosely around the smooth outline of his back. His narrowed blue eyes, black as they stared into the night, were searching, travelling over each stone that was swallowed up by the darkness. Black boots took silent steps on the perfectly mowed lawn, moving towards the gnarled old oak until he was close enough to run his slender hand over the slightly fissured bark.
Turning and crossing his arms to keep his distance to the world he entrusted himself to the tree, sinking back against the trunk gracefully while his eyes never left the mansion.
Then a waling sound broke through the silence, a shriek of humiliation and pain, of sorrow and loss that turned up the fine hairs on the back of his neck as a shiver raced down his spine and curled into a sickening pool of anxiety in the small of his back. The following silence was tense, and he pressed back into the tree as if it was in his power to melt into the shadows and become one of them.
For a few seconds the night was quiet before the keening cry began anew. Wrath and fear alike rose from the depths of this inhuman sound, the fierce warrior's death shriek as he stumbles wounded into battle for the last time.
As abruptly as it had pierced the night the sound stopped leaving the garden in utter tranquillity, as if nothing at all had happened, as if the memory of all sound had been erased. The harsh release of a breath he had unconsciously held penetrated the darkness and was swallowed by it as its echo still hung in the quiet air.
A sudden impulse made his head snap to the side as once more a shiver crawled down his spine. Detecting a tiny movement of a lonely shadow to his right, he uncrossed his hands, ready for the counter-attack as his jaw clenched in anticipation. Everything remained still.
Narrowing his eyes once more, he pushed himself away from the tree trunk, his tall frame rising in hope of provoking the hidden threat into a hurried attack, rather than let it plan the next move carefully. That was when his eyes met the gleam of yellow irises, unblinking and unequivocally fixed on him, yet detached and guarded against the rest of the world.
He stood, letting the scrutinising gaze travel from his head to his boots, steadfastly and unhurriedly. When the shadow moved for a second time he remained in the same position watching with bated breath as lean but sinewy limbs disentangled themselves from the shadows and flexed as if to prepare a jump, in truth only stretching to display their strength.
Slowly and without fear the black cat walked towards him. His eyes began to water but he refused to back down from that steely yellow gaze. Stopping a few metres in front of him, the cat disinterestedly turned its dark head, standing still until its silhouette almost melted back into the darkness. Finally the animal sat down resuming its staring.
Quickly, he turned and fled from that merciless gaze with long strides. Silence seemed to suffocate him as his whole body was alert, shivers passing up and down his spine repeatedly, eyes glazing over already as he finally reached for the handle of the mansion backdoor.
Even as his hand came in contact with the cold metal the unearthly screech again filled his ears and rang in his head. Pressing one hand to his temple he jerked the door open with the other and shut out the sound by roughly slamming it shut behind him.
Three foggy days had come and faded into clear, starlit nights since the shift had occurred, since he had awoken that one morning with an excitingly tingling sensation at the back of his neck that announced a change in the energy flow that determined his life, as far as it could be called a life.
The weather had become more ill-tempered every day, changing just as quickly as his moods, from mists at dawn to clouds and rain to rare sunlit hours. The nights were alternatively warm due to the thick blanket of clouds shielding the earth from the frost of the heavens and cold but beautifully clear to the eye of the spectator.
As he regarded the ever-changing weather conditions that filled dull autumn days with a certain tension, he felt convinced that the heavens were governed by the same force that had him captured ever since that morning. Difficult to describe yet indubitably present it served to arouse his restlessness and his longing, exposing the deepest and darkest desires of his mind. Penetrating deeply into the remote recesses of his soul it dug up memories of a past that was painful to remember yet seemed to be the only cause of his prolonged existence in this world.
The lust for revenge had always been there, but now it was intensified, prodded gently at first, but soon provoked with taunts until it reached a point where it became unbearable to keep inside. His reactions resembled those of a wounded animal. Violently lashing out at everything that was coming near him he tried to master his emotions.
The strongest of those was jealousy. Long before he had gradually been granted access to his memories, he had felt the bitterness that was connected to this recollection of his past. Autumn had brought melancholy as well as the ancient and ageless ache of rejection. Hatred was only one of the forces that stirred his soul because of that, one of the reasons for him to increasingly take control of his host's body.
Before, he had used the stealth of his cunning mind to wait for the moment when the hikari would least suspect the takeover, would claim possession of the other's body, so much like the one he had lost, in a matter of mere milliseconds. The new onslaught of emotions did not allow the patient wait and more often than not a fight over control had established. However, his anger was powerful. He could feel the hikari's eyes widen as he felt the rage and bloodlust of the second soul that dwelled within his mind surge out of its boundaries, and the next thing he felt was the constricting of the other's mind around his, cooled from its usual warmth to the icy chill of naked fear, a desperate attempt to contain the danger that he knew slept within him. After all this time the hikari was experienced, but for the last three days his efforts had been in vain.
Power over a body that looked fragile but was made to endure facilitated the purpose of those intense days. While one part of his mind delighted in the swift and easy motion of slender legs that at least for now, for this very moment, were his to carry him clad in his grey coat through the misty streets, another part directed his aimless wandering to cross the path of only one person, the person that fuelled his bloodlust, anger and jealousy.
The Pharaoh was on his mind as he had been for seemingly endless ages, for uncounted sleepless nights and excruciating, hopeless days. What made the difference was the intensity of the emotion, burning as if the dark desires of all those times were combined, were slowly collected to constrict around his heart.
When the mists rose he rose with them and became one with them, for he resembled them perfectly. In long, cool tendrils they curled around his sickeningly pale limbs, the limbs of his host whose body had long been deprived of Egypt's sun, and fog patches mingled with his unruly white hair. The mists covered and hid him better than any darkness had ever been able to, like a white rabbit could survive only in the snow that ensured its safety.
Thus hidden and protected he followed the Pharaoh on his ways around the city that had been changed into a world of illusion by the mists, and by the unseen force that guided him. The Pharaoh, too, seemed to take control of his host's body more often than not these days, and he took it as an unerring sign that the crimson-eyed youth as well was slowly consumed by a sensation he didn't yet understand.
A fascination for the Pharaoh's controlled, regal posture held his attention as he traced his footsteps, mixed with the annoyance at being the one to walk behind the other once again. He delighted in hiding from those keen hawk's eyes, but as day after day their pace and the rhythm of their steps on the pavement synchronised, he was inclined to believe that it was the same for the rhythm of their breaths, the rhythm of their hearts. The unknown source of restless energy that drove him on seemed to delight in the newfound connection, for the tingling increased.
The range of their aimless wandering narrowed each day, until it became apparent that the Pharaoh was only circling his prey, probably unknowingly, yet irresistibly drawn. The next day, the forth day after the shift, finally set the stage for the true hunt, for the fearless attack they both had subconsciously expected.
Rare streaks of sunlight broke boldly through the mists and eventually succeeded in driving them away, turning the world to gold and crimson as they walked into the public park, empty but for the trees in their autumn garments which tried to outshine each other in colour and intensity. It was empty but for a tall man wrapped in an artificial white trench coat, sticking out in this sea of colour like a sore thumb as he typed entranced on his laptop.
The winds, ever fond of the Pharaoh, swept down red and golden sycamore leaves to circle his slender body, to get caught in his hair, matching the colour and form of his spikes as if they were designed only for him, only for this moment with the single purpose of heightening the dramatic effect of his appearance. The image was not wasted on the brunet boy on the park bench, whose eyes lifted from the screen, matching the Pharaoh's in beauty.
Their eye contact remained unbroken as the Pharaoh's steps slowed and the CEO closed his laptop with a flick of his hand. It was not a secret that they had waited for each other, that this was the moment the past three days had lead up to, as much as they were willing to deny the existence of the power driving them on.
A smirk that needed no words to convey its meaning flashed on the lips of the young businessman and was parried by an answering one from the former sovereign. Graceful long legs uncrossed as the CEO stood and took a few steps back from the other. Another gust of wind tousled their hair as they reached for pockets, clasps and boxes, producing a deck each, the true foundations of their power, the sanctuaries of their souls.
All this time he had remained hidden behind a tree, watching the scene unfold, entranced by its familiarity and the sense of commencement of something completely new, of something yet undiscovered. Now that the duel began, silently, without holograms and insults, with a mere throwing of cards onto the cold, hard ground, sailing on the wind, entrusted to it as they landed safely, swept away by new gusts at a flick of their hands when they were destroyed, now that he was forced to watch, his eyes widened for realisation dawned.
An age-old puzzle it was, and each of them carried a piece in his heart. Their pieces had met and fit perfectly more than once already, and now they were grasping for more, were driven by the unnatural force that had captured them as well as him to finally complete the picture, to finally find out what was their role in this image, or had been before it had been broken thousands of years ago.
An icy chill took possession of his heart as the sky darkened and made the colourful trees stand out even more brightly against the heavy clouds. Shivers enclosed his body as he stared at the Pharaoh, and with a lethal surety his hand crept to the place on his belt where he had kept the knife so long ago.
He realised then that this picture the Pharaoh and the CEO were trying to regain was the source of all his misery and pain, was a picture he never wanted to see again, a sight that was unbearable for his heart was consumed by ice as only the first pieces fell into place, and he knew that once the picture was complete he would have the knife he desired so much, and he would try to put an end to his own suffering by the irrevocable destruction of the image.
When night fell over the park, the clouds were hanging so deep they almost seemed to touch the tree tops, ominously violet and grey, resembling the state of his heart. The first raindrops began to fall but the silent duel continued without interruption, none of them heeding the rain for they were entirely focussed on each other.
However, as the water began to drench the paper of a Blue Eyes White Dragon card, the CEO was snapped out of his daze and with a snarl he broke the tension, collecting his cards from the ground. With a smile the Pharaoh imitated him, their duel unfinished, as they turned without a word, refusing to spare each other one more glance.
Minutes after they had left he stumbled from the park, drained by emotional pain and soaked by misery and rain. Without any doubt he knew that the story, the search, would not end here.
The time had not been right yet.
It was three days from Halloween.
The knife cut shallowly, almost carelessly but with precision and accuracy, in one fluent movement ridding the apple of its peel, green with a red blush here and there, beautiful as its long threads of peel detached from tasty flesh curled into spirals and loops as they landed on the floor at his feet.
Unaware of this the eyes of the young CEO were directed out of the window as his hands performed the familiar motions, as one apple after the other was ridden of its blushing cheeks. His mind was not with his occupation, seemed far off indeed as he watched the sky turn purple once more.
As finally his hand grasped at nothing, revealing an empty bowl and another filled with freshly peeled apples, he shook his head as if trying to dismiss a vague thought, or the anxiety of a man woken from a nightmare. One hand shakily passed through his hair as the other was left to puree the apples with the appropriate kitchenware.
A bundle of bounding energy, his little brother skipped into the room, asking for the apple sauce for his Halloween party that night. Confirming that he was almost done, the taller boy wiped his hands on a soft kitchen towel and turned to clean up the mess of apple peel on the floor. He stopped abruptly.
Outside the wind ripped the leaves from another lonely tree, taking them with him on a wild ride through the air, a devil's ride as their whispers sighed viciously into the moans of mourning the tree emitted at the loss. Before landing on the ground they circled one of the three stakes prepared for the bonfires, arranged in a triangle.
In the kitchen the young CEO stood frozen in his tracks, for on the floor the apple peel formed unmistakable signs, spelling out a word, Pharaoh, and a long forgotten name that would remain unspoken.
Waves of excitement travelled through his small body as Yugi Mutou added the finishing touches to his costume in front of the mirror of his room. The Pharaoh's spirit inside his soul room could feel those waves pass on to him, and compared them silently to the sensations that had blurred the edges of his consciousness all day long. The agitation coming from his aibou was no more than the feeble touch of silk, the normally warming presence of his hikari in his mind reduced to the warmth of the withering light of a single candle.
Silently the Pharaoh doubted that he could withstand the continued siege of emotion onto his soul long enough for his aibou to enjoy the Halloween party at the Kaiba mansion he was headed to. The need to take over his host's body tore at him and tortured him for it felt as if his respiration was impeded by an unseen power, left him gasping for mercy and desperate to breathe freely again.
His aibou was wiser than most people gave him credit for. Gently, he permitted the Pharaoh's takeover, assuring him that he would feel better after a few minutes in the hikari's silent room, a few minutes in the hikari's willing body.
Reluctant at first but thankful for his host's insight, the Pharaoh agreed and concentrated on the shift. Upon opening his eyes he drew in a deep shaking breath, relishing in the feel of fresh air. Suddenly he was hit by an uncontrollable surge of power, and he turned, trying to escape only to find that it was everywhere, threatening from all sides, impossible to evade.
With wide, shocked eyes he turned back to the mirror his hikari had admired himself in and gasped anew.
The sky outside was dark and purple, but clear of all clouds, promising at cold starry night. Here and there a streetlamp was lit in the distance. The old clock inside of the twilight room had suddenly stopped in its steady pace, spreading a web of menacing silence over the furniture and the only occupant of the room.
The Pharaoh stared into the mirror, unable to avert his gaze for out of the dark glass he did not meet his own crimson eyes, but narrowed blue ones, almost black as they gazed out into the night. The image of pale features and soft brown hair remained for another minute of silence, then with a startling crack the clock was set in motion again and Yugi blinked confusedly as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
His attempts to reach the Pharaoh's soul remained unanswered, so he glanced a last time at his reflection in the mirror and left the room.
Neither the barking of a lonely dog, nor car engines from the near street disturbed the silence of this night. Autumn winds delighted in the melody of the rustling leaves which, combined with the crackling of wood on three bonfires, created a ghostly symphony of whispered promises and contemptuous laughs.
His host was no longer at the party inside of the mansion for he had taken over the weak body mere minutes after he had arrived. Resistance was not an option anymore as the almost familiar force drew him out into the night where he knew he would find answers to his questions.
It seemed the Pharaoh was more determined to resist the merciless pull of the ancient power. In a tense hour of waiting white fen lights drifted through the night, circling him teasingly before fading into nothingness only to reappear tauntingly far away. He knew better than to follow them, aware that the paths they led were treacherous and full of hidden peril.
The tension was tugging on the edges of his sanity, claiming his mind slowly, thought for thought, moment for moment sucked up by the flames until finally the backdoor of the mansion opened and the Pharaoh stepped out, his regal grace accentuated by the firelight that clung to his every step as he confidently walked towards the first stake.
A dark silhouette leaning against a tree was already waiting for him. As he watched them facing each other, the flames dancing wildly in their eyes, battling in a single look that transpired long ages of this world, his hands clenched unconsciously as pain spread icily, bitterly from the core of his heart over his whole body, leaving him in shivers and sweat.
When his long fingers closed around his knife to finally end the tiresome struggle and be freed of all pain, all jealousy, all hatred, he felt the mists creeping around him, and his mouth fell open in a silent gasp of horror. His only allies, the same patches of obscure white that had hidden him from the world's dull eyes on his lonely mission, were betraying him, turning against him. Mingling with the shadows waiting under the trees, uniting with a completeness that made him ache inside, worse than he had ever ached before, they formed a realm of shadows, a realm he knew all too well.
The mists were drawing closer around the Pharaoh and the CEO as they took slow steps towards each other, as the tension in the air became unbearable and the flames flickered madly, as finally, with a moan of defeat, the Pharaoh fell into the arms of the taller man, as gasps echoed in the silence, broken only by the sound of fabric being ripped apart in despair, as finally, after thousand years of waking, the pieces forming a timeless picture were put together again.
He was being shut out as the misty shadows tauntingly, temptingly circled their creation.
His last sight was the Pharaoh's naked upper body and the golden leaves that fell onto his dark skin, turning into richly ornamented bracelets in the firelight, the drops of dew on them forming the jewelry of a sovereign of ancient days.
His last thought was calm even as his entire body shook madly. A force as strong as this could and would not remain. As the power that held the pieces together would fade, the puzzle would fall apart again, the pieces reduced to nothing but vague guesses. The revelation of this night could not stay. Nothing would be left at dawn but the memory of a foggy dream.
Never letting go of his knife he turned and staggered away, following the fen lights. A letter written in blood, sealed with a kiss burned silently in one of the stakes.
It was the night of Halloween.