The King of Thieves had always had an eye for hidden treasures, and he was skilled at finding rare beauties were one would least expect them. The pale-skinned girl had been no exception. As soon as he had laid his eyes on her, he knew he had to steal her.
It was almost too easy to kill the guards and free the slaves, although he couldn't care less what happened to the rest of them once the girl was in his possession. He and his men vanished in the night, leaving fire and destruction behind, and took her with them. She did neither scream nor struggle when they tied her up, and she remained silent until they reached the caves of their hideout.
He had to admit that she impressed him.
Now that she was lying on the blankets beneath him, her pale hair seemed to radiate a soft glow in the dim light of the fire. She still hadn't made a sound. His fingers caressed her cheek, rough on her immaculate skin, and he could feel the powerful force inside her, waiting to be unleashed. He had sensed it from the very moment he saw her.
There was a mighty beast hiding in the depth of her soul. She herself was but the vessel, so pure and fragile under his touch.
His rough brown hands were used to handle precious jewellery, yet her white skin felt so soft and delicate, it was impossible not to be afraid that he might accidentally break her. He took of her blindfold, and the blue eyes looked at him. Her gaze was shy, yet without fear.
There was no reason for her to be afraid. He knew it as soon as he looked into these clear eyes - these were the eyes of someone who had nothing left to lose. Just like him, this girl had seen too much death to be scared of dying.
His fingers brushed through her hair and she closed her eyes. It was time to find out what lay beneath this innocent shell.
Yet he was soon to find out that her power could not be freed when her mind was still conscious. In order to wield it, one had to break her.
A skilled thief never broke precious things.
The following night, she escaped. He saw her pale hair shimmering in the moonlight, like the faint light of a lost soul, as she ran away into the darkness of the desert.
She was of no use to him as she was, so he let her go. For as fragile as this strange and foreign girl might be, she was not yet broken – although he knew it was only a matter of time. But she would not die through his hands, not tonight.
The white dragon spread its mighty wings and roared with anger and despair. Kaiba had summoned his ace monster.
Bakura grinned. It certainly was a sight to behold, yet no matter how Kaiba was obsessed with this creature; he was still ignorant to its true beauty. He could not see what Bakura saw, and he could not appreciate it the way the ghost of the ring did.
To Bakura, there was nothing as graceful as the destruction of something beautiful.