Prologue:
No One Mourns the Wicked
No one mourns the wicked...
No one cries, "They won't return!"...
No one lays a lily on their grave...
The good man scorns the wicked...
Through their lives our children learn, what we miss when we misbehave...
And goodness knows...
The wicked's lives are lonely...
Goodness knows...
The wicked die alone...
It just shows when you're wicked...
You're left on your own...
From an onlooker's point of view, the young man could have been a pile of blankets.
Over the past few days, Marik Ishtar had managed to curl himself up in his blanket so much that he was just a ball.
But he didn't care.
He didn't care about anything.
He'd tried so hard to be good.
He'd tried so hard to be pure.
He'd tried, and... And...
They killed him.
Bakura...
He screamed and threw his pillow across the room, his blanket-ball distorted.
He took several breaths.
"Just..." He whispered, "Just calm..."
He'd say that many times over the past few days.
"Marik..." Came his sister's voice, "Do you want to-"
"NO!" He shouted, "GO AWAY!"
She closed the door.
No one understood.
He was evil. They said, It's good he's dead.
He was still human.
And... And...
He'd loved him.
They'd loved each other.
They hadn't said it.
It hadn't needed to be said.
"No good deed goes unpunished." He whispered.
For his goodness, he'd lost the one he loved.
He stared at his reflection in his floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room.
His hair was a mess, kohl smeared and streaked, bags under his eyes.
He threw his blankets off and walked to the mirror, staring at his reflection, his gaze hardening.
"He was evil. He was wicked." He said to his reflection, "If wicked he was, then wicked I am." He clenched his fists, "Yugi Moto will pay. They all will pay. No good deed goes unpunished, and be punished they will."
