Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.
-silence and souls
She is silent, as always. Silent as the doll in her arms (the one that reminds him of a smoother little face from a more promising time). She was always quiet; that much hasn't changed. It doesn't matter what he tries.
"I thought you would appreciate this form. Very symbolic, is it not?"
He gives a harsh laugh, because the uncharacteristically metaphorical statement doesn't coax so much as a blink. No matter what he says, no matter how far he goes in his quest for revenge (revenge for her, at least in part, and how can't she know that?), it is never enough to merit a response. Any human in her position would be shocked, horrified, at the depths to which her loved one would be willing to sink. And perhaps, if she were still human, she would be. Perhaps she would cry, grab his arm, ask him to stop the torture and the killing.
Perhaps.
Bakura doubts it. She always understood the merits of doing whatever was necessary, and she knew all too well what came of men backed into a corner. Never mind what homeless, orphaned boys backed into a corner would do.
"The lack of hair was an appropriate touch, I feel," he continues. "You did tend to complain about the length of your own. You could have simply cut it, I suppose, but we all have our vanities."
A useless effort, of course. She remains silent, staring at him with eyes unsettling as a grave. It would unnerve him if he hadn't become the stuff of nightmares himself, somewhere along the way.
She is powerful, this new form of a woman his old self loved. One of his favorites. On her own she is a terror, attacking with a killing gaze and even using the soul of her broken baby doll as a weapon (this is fitting, he feels). When killed she is even more deadly, ever willing to assure his victory even from beyond the grave (this, too is fitting—as well as comforting, in some sick way). Her form is horrifying and not of this world. Colored like a corpse long buried and clad in armor, another touch Bakura appreciates (because it gives the illusion that she cannot be hurt—no one can hurt her, never again).
"There is something to be said for the concept of souls sealed in cards," he murmurs, almost to himself. Figurines are more to his liking, still, for metal is far less fragile than what are essentially slips of paper. But of course, cards are easier to keep nearby—and games such as Monster World haven't really caught on with the Pharaoh or any of his little friends. Such a pity, especially as he and his host had gotten so proficient at them.
The monster stares blankly at him, her mouth not moving to speak. Not that he expected anything more.
The time is drawing near when his plans will all come to fruition. Finally, after millennia of waiting, he will finish what was started in an Egyptian thief village no one cared about. Finally, he will put their souls to rest. The soul of the one who would have been his little sister (because somehow he always knew it would be a sister), as well as one other he has never quite been able to let go.
"Never fear, Mother," he says coolly, looking into those cold eyes once more. "We will end this soon enough."
The form of Dark Necrofear is silent, as always.
-end