Through Heaven's Eyes, a yu-gi-oh fanfic

AN: Special thanks to the Yu-Gi-Oh! Fanfiction Contest Forum, it's been quite the ride!

Through Heaven's Eyes

The last words the Thief King heard before he was sealed away were those of a curse:

"Your vessel will defy you."

And as he was dragged to his confinement, those words would be branded in his mind, straining whatever morsel of sanity he had left. The irrepressible Thief King would slowly be subdued by the thousands upon thousands of years of solitude and the blazing fiery that fuelled him would become something that simmered and smouldered but was no less potent. And as the evil in his heart flourished in his mortal life, it would proliferate even more so, becoming like a malignant tumour that eventually ate up all that was good and pure about him. The endless stretch of time made something different of him, because he was only human after all, but it did not make him entirely unrecognizable.

He would fill the void of silence with his own thoughts in order to delude himself into believing he could defeat it. Amongst these thoughts was the belief that there would be an end to this. Whatever this 'vessel' would be, it would change things and he believed that change, any change, any change at all, would end his accursed misery.

The cost that once damned him became an obstacle he was willing to challenge. Give him anyone or anything, he thought, and he would change it too; make himself lord over it; make any thought of defiance absolutely impossible. He knew no mortal could stop him and, for the most part, he was right.

It would not be easy because nothing had been, so be braced himself; allowed his mind to comb the possibilities of the sort of monster this vessel would be.

So when he found host in a gentle, timid teenager, he was instantly suspicious. But when his suspicions did not come to fruition, when it became less likely that something else festered beneath that soft-spoken exterior, the former Thief King wasted no time in striking.

The boy's mind bent to his will with an ease the former Thief King was not accustomed to. For a while, he revelled in this and felt it was a much deserved justice for the trials of his past.

What the he didn't realize, however, was that there was part of the boy's mind that actively resisted. In order to preserve a part of himself, the boy's subconscious sent out a piece of him to be divided amongst two containers: one to hold his image, and the other to hold his heart.

Through him they were created and through him they would come together.

She stopped just before the transparent crown of the goldenrod staff grazed the tip of her nose. At first she was frozen where she stood, eyes fixed on the thing that was far too close to her face. Then, her gaze travelled down the length of the weapon to the transparent hand that held it, then the arm and, finally, to the face of its wielder.

And she could not find the words to express what she saw.

His expression was neutral and even though she expected him to demand that she identify herself (and possibly her business), he did not. It was almost as if he wanted her to infer these questions herself so that he didn't have to voice them. This was confirmed when she noticed the outstretched arm shook ever so slightly and how it looked like he was struggling to maintain that face.

Still, she couldn't say anything because this person; that face, was so… so…

"I'd like to know who you are," he finally said in a voice that made it somehow even less possible for her to respond. Clutching the heart in her hands, she stared at him, convinced this was an illusion. She tilted her head to look around the weapon but what she saw didn't change.

Then, to her surprise, the heart went warm. She was comforted by this and any fear she had of this person dissolved. The confusion, however, remained, "My name is Change of Heart," she replied softly, then followed with a nod towards the sleeping person's bed, "And this is my master."

His brown eyes went wide and the arm with the weapon twitched, though still poised for attack. Those eyes that confused her so much scanned her face before he carefully commented, "Your name and…" he glanced at the dark side of her body and pressed his lips together.

And she was sure she knew what he was thinking, she just wanted to know if he'd outright say it. Which he did not.

"But I would never go against my master's will," she stated, curling her black wing self-consciously. Talking to him made her uncomfortable and it wasn't because of the weapon, "I would like to know your name as well. You're the splitting image of him."

And maybe it was because she claimed to serve his doppelganger or maybe there was something in the way she spoke that told him she wasn't a threat. It probably wasn't the way she looked, she thought. But he lowered his weapon, "Please call me White Wizard," pause, "…Bakura."

She swallowed and turned so that the dark side of her body was out of his eyesight. The looks, the voice and now the name too. Maybe this was a being far better suited to serve her master than she was. She made to take her leave, again, not out of fear, but because she felt herself unworthy. But before she could go, a noise from the sleeping boy stopped her.

A tear slid from the corner of her master's eye down to his ear and his face scrunched up in pain. At first, it was only his head that moved, but then he flipped himself over onto his belly and started to writhe. He clawed at something on the bed, groaning all the while before grabbing his pillow and chucking it to the other side of the room. He flipped onto his back again and both hands flew to his neck. His lips then moved but no coherent words came out and, to her horror, he threw his head back and coughed and wheezed violently.

She was instantly at his side, the White Wizard momentarily ignored. She tried to touch his face but her hand went straight through and the same thing happened when she attempted to stabilize his shoulders. With his condition worsening and she unable to directly affect any change, she frantically scanned her surroundings for something to help her. It was then that the heart she held against her belly responded for the second time that night, giving off a throbbing warmth in her hand. When she held it out to her master, the soft glow lit up his sleeping face but seemed to do nothing else.

Then, gradually, he calmed. The thrashing ceased and he lay still on his bed, face no longer contorted in anguish. The hands at his neck relaxed, settling on his chest, which rose and fell regularly once more. When he let out a long, contented sigh, the light from the heart finally extinguished.

Relieved, she stepped away from the bed and held the precious heart close to her. But when she became aware of the White Wizard's presence again, her self-consciousness came flooding back and she turned away from him, scrunching her neck between her shoulders.

She squeaked when he tried to step closer and turned her back to him completely, making her best attempt to draw attention away from her dark wing. When she snuck at glance over her shoulder, she saw that he had tucked his weapon in his belt and had both hands respectfully clasped in front of him, "I, um, just wanted to say," he began, brown eyes dropping to the ground and the heel of his foot swivelling back and forth in its spot, "That, uh, sorry, I'm not very practiced…at this," And… and… was he flustered? "I just wanted to say," He paused for a long time and as she waited, she found herself turning to face this (apparently) non-threatening creature, "I think what you did was… was… truly amazing, Miss Change of Heart." Did her name really sound that weird? Yes, yes it did. "I'd never be able to do that. Um, thank you for saving him. Thank you."

The awkwardness between them was so pronounced, it made her want to run. Or fly. Or whatever the swiftest, most cost-effective, non-attention provoking way of getting out of awkward situations was. But she stayed because it looked to be pretty awkward for him too. And, unfortunately, there was a wall behind where he stood, so there was nowhere for him to go even if he wanted to. Despite how uncomfortable everything was, the thought of this, this perfect man as embarrassed as her made her giggle – which she didn't show of course.

So, clutching the heart for security, she ducked her head and smiled sheepishly, "I was only doing what I'm supposed to – for my master. Thank you for your thanks?" She quickly amended the last part, "I'm sure you'd do the same in your own ways. You're a wizard after all. I'm just, well, I'm not sure what I am exactly, but not a wizard, uh, but now I'm rambling. You're welcome, I guess?" Yes, that was very graceful. Very graceful indeed.

The wizard's hand went to his mouth and he chuckled softly. Then, when it seemed he couldn't hold it in, his cheeks puffed out, his face turned pink and he laughed out loud. Such a reaction would have normally prompted her to escape but she really couldn't get a sense that he was mocking her. And his laughter was so contagious that she found herself letting loose and joining him.

They didn't really know what was so funny or why it was that funny, but it just was.

It wasn't easy to track the passing of time when she was only permitted to take a physical form intermittently. At first she thought her master controlled when she could leave the card but whenever she appeared, he was either sleeping or elsewhere. The strange conditions of her existence wasn't exactly cruel, it just confused her because there was so much she didn't know. But for Change of Heart, not knowing also meant there was that much not to long for, which gave her an odd sort of peace.

The second time she appeared in her master's bedroom, the White Wizard was nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the fleeting disappointment, she took the opportunity to really look around her master's space. Even with only the streetlights to illuminate the room, there wasn't much hidden in the shadows. His room was simply furnished, tidy and practical. Except for a calendar and an analogue clock, the white walls were bare. The desk itself didn't have much on its surface; just a textbook she couldn't read, his pencil case and a thin green binder. An empty wastebasket stood at the foot of the desk beside a generic black bookbag. The few things on his waist-high dresser were neatly arranged by height and the small mirror leaning against the wall behind it was spotless. No sign of a personal touch. No true claim to the space, it seemed.

She couldn't gather much from what her master was like from this, which was disappointing. Maybe he was neurotic or maybe he was unusually secretive. Or maybe (and she really wished it wasn't this) he was just a really boring person.

But then there was the display case in a corner opposite of his window. At first, she'd overlooked it because the darkened glass in the dim light spoke little of what was inside. It was only when the heart came to life again, when it glowed that comforting, warm light that had saved her master before, that she noticed.

Approaching it, the vague outline of little shapes and blurbs of colours came into better view. Little figurines! Her master had collected dozens of them, all arranged in rows on the shelves like miniature soldiers. Scanning each other with quiet awe, she realized that each was unique and there no repeats. There was also something imperfect about them, as if they were… homemade.

She did a double take when she came upon a familiar-looking white wizard.

No way.

"I wasn't going to ask, but this is really bothering me. But it's making me nervous that you keep staring at it."

She yelped and whipped around, nearly dropping the heart. The White Wizard, the real ('real') White Wizard was behind her; had entered with such deathly silence he my as well had materialized on the spot, and was now close enough to see exactly what she was looking at – which was pretty darn close.

He held up his empty hands; the weapon was tucked in his belt, "I am deeply sorry for startling you," he said with a feeble smile, "I'd tried very hard not to look like I snuck up on you but I'm just a spectre, you see, and my feet don't touch the ground either."

Sure enough, just like hers, they didn't.

"Though, in retrospect, I suppose I could have cleared my throat or something," he added, "Would that have helped though? I wasn't here for very long, I assure you."

She shook her head, the words lagging. She was still jittery and her brain had yet to catch up, "It's okay, I was just," she gestured with a floppy hand at the case, "Looking. It's very… nice."

She glided out of the way when he stepped up to the glass and manoeuvred herself so her darker side was facing away from him. But his full attention was on something behind inside of the case and he was frowning deeply. He clicked his tongue, "Ugh, this is so embarrassing; I wish he'd put it near the back or out of the way or something."

"Um, what's embarrassing?

He pointed, "This one. The White Wizard. Well, technically, the me. Yes, that's me, right there, the blob of clay that looked like it was made in a frightful hurry. No, no, don't look at it... y-you can stop looking at it now."

She fiddled with heart, gently tossing it back and forth in her hands, "It's fine," she assured weakly, after detailed thought about how to say it without him misinterpreting her words.

But he just grimaced and shook his head, "You don't have to be nice about it. Let's just talk about something else and forget I said anything."

"Okay."

Silence. Silence so thick and endless and saturated with more of that awkwardness that made her want to go completely invisible (she was already partway there anyways). At first, they dodged any sort of eye contact, then overcompensated by nearly staring each other down. At one point, the White Wizard cleared his throat, but when she looked up to see if he was going to say anything, he just grinned really wide and quickly looked away. Seconds stretched into infinity and she wished the heart in her hands would do something other than simply glow so she'd have something to distract herself with.

Finally…

"A-are you thinking about it?"

He blinked, "About what?"

"About," she rolled the words around on her tongue, "your…" she waved a hand at the glass case, "I'm sorry, I don't know what that's technically called. I'd call it a 'figurine' but I don't want to offend you if you prefer to be called something else. That you anyways. The small one. In the case."

"'Figurine' is fine." He pressed his lips together and, reading too deeply into that, her insides clenched.

"No, really, if you prefer to be called something else. I want to be politically correct." He was offended. He was so offended.

"I'm not offended, really."

"It's okay, I won't be offended if you tell me you're offended."

"I'm not offended! Please, 'figurine' is fine. I'm flattered really. Really. Oh please believe me, you're making me really nervous."

And now she was making him nervous! "I'm so sorry! Don't be nervous!"

"Okay, okay, I'm not nervous anymore!"

The silence returned; creeping back upon them like an unwanted guest that ate too much didn't like to shower. If there never existed something that went beyond infinity, at that very moment, such a measure of time was invented. The analogue clock ticked away and both parties could have sworn it was getting louder.

"I still think it looks nice." The words cut through the silence like a firecracker in the dead of night.

"What does?"

"You… I-I mean it, the figurine, in there, of you…looks nice." At this point, she was sure her sense of reason, and about three quarters of her sense of decency, had abandoned her, "Not that you don't look nice too. Because you do. Look nice."

Clutching the heart for dear life, she backed away as he stared at her.

"T-thank you," Was the unreadable reply.

"You're welcome."

They took turns nodding at each other, both jumping off the ground their feet didn't even touch when a groan from the bed was heard. Their master murmured something before turning over and they shared a glance before watching him carefully to see if they'd roused him.

"I think I was being too loud. It happens sometimes and I don't monitor myself properly. I'm so sorry," one finally voiced.

"No, I was the loud one. I'm sorry," said the other.

"How about we agree that we're both loud and we're both sorry?"

"Agreed."

Pause.

"But I was slightly louder."

She was surprised to see the room bathed in pale sunlight and the bed empty and neatly made. It was ironically eerie since there was little indication that this place belonged to her master without his actual presence. It was too bright; uncomfortably bright, in fact, and she couldn't help thinking that the dark side of her body was just that much darker in broad daylight.

Which was why she didn't want to make her presence known to the White Wizard, whose back was to her as he seemed to be watching something outside. Realizing she couldn't retreat back into the card at will and knowing he could turn around at any moment, Change of Heart contemplated hiding under the bed. It provided the only plausible hiding space since she didn't know how to get into the closet and there was nothing else in the room to hide under.

The bed idea was silly, partly because she wasn't sure the narrow space would accommodate her wings very well. But maybe she didn't really need to crawl. Maybe she could just sink through the mattress the way her hand went right through her master. But if she tried to sink through the mattress and failed, the White Wizard would notice and she'd make a fool out of herself.

She let out an exasperated sigh, realized how loud it was, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, hi again." The White Wizard adjusted his hat, obviously startled.

She didn't even have time to give her hiding space a try.

The look he gave her was one of restrained accusation, as if to say 'I know you were watching me but I'm going to be nice and not address it.' And, to add salt to injury, he smiled sweetly.

She curled her wings around herself and said whatever came first to mind, 'He's not in bed today. It's the first time I've seen that happen. It's, um, well, it sort of threw me off a bit."

"Well that's because he's outside!" He waved her over enthusiastically, awkwardness forgotten, "Come, come look at this!"

Hooked by his excitement, she joined him at the window where, for the first time, she saw her master in his waking life. He sat on a swing, book in hand and his heels pushing him back and forth in place as he read. A light breeze flipped a strand of hair across his face and he brushed it away, tucking it behind his ear. But it would come loose again and he would have to keep doing it, though this didn't interrupt his reading. Every so often, he would look up from the pages and stare at nothing in particular for a short while before turning attention back to it. When the wind blew through the pages mid-read and he lost his place, he would wrinkle his nose (maybe that was what he did when he was annoyed), balance the book on his lap, and frantically try to find his spot with both hands.

She cradled the heart, "Wow."

"Yeah," the White Wizard said softly, "And, you know, I've been standing here for awhile now and I just can't stop watching. It's like looking at the flame of a candle; nothing is really changing but, but there's something fascinating in it. If that makes sense."

"Hmm."

"I wish I knew what he was reading. You can't really tell by his face."

"Hmm, no, you can't."

A warm peace settled on the two as they watched on. There was something immensely reassuring seeing their master like this. He may not have been laughing out loud or revelling in the company of others, but they got a sense that this was what he wanted; to be left alone, to be the owner of his own thoughts and actions.

This time, the silence that followed was a mutually comfortable one.

"Miss Change of Heart," the White Magician began, almost inaudibly.

She blearily came out of her daze, "Yes?"

"You, you said the last time that you thought I looked nice." He paused, "At-at least that's how I understood it."

She turned and, in the light, was amazed at how gentle his countenance was, "Um, yes."

His gaze was no longer trained outside; it was on the dusty windowsill. He took a deep breath, "I think you look nice too."

She reeled, the dark side of her body tingling. But he wasn't finished, "I think you're beautiful, actually."

And she couldn't meet his eyes when he finally gathered the courage to look at her but she did, from her peripherals, see him reach out his hand. It came closer to the darker side of her face and she wanted so much to close her eyes so she wouldn't see his disgust when he touched her. But she was too afraid to even do that so she just stood, waiting, allowing the seconds to stretch past.

His hand went straight through.

Sometimes the nightly torment was so violent that there would be physical marks on her master's body the following day. On some occasions, he would be so thoroughly exhausted or injured, that he couldn't go to school. It was during those times that both Change of Heart and the White Wizard felt the most helpless because they, being their master's guardians, could not even fulfil their one and only purpose.

But it was also in those times that they drew closer to each other and, even when touch was forbidden, comfort could still be given.

Both kneeling on the ground as if praying to some unseen deity, she held out the heart with both hands to the master that was clutching his leg in his sleep and screaming. The White Wizard placed each of his transparent hands on top of hers, keeping them hovered just enough so he didn't have to see them go straight through.

Its radiance lit the room, channelling all of its wielder's force; the light so bright, it could be seen from outside. Yet, still, her master screamed and trashed and writhed where he laid, the evil in his head holding strong.

So she bore onwards, believing she could draw strength from the Wizard. And she believed this was possible because, alone, the light was never this bright and the warmth never as enduring.

She could feel herself drained from the effort until she only had the strength to keep the heart from falling out of her hands, which she feared the most because she didn't know if it would be possible to retrieve it again if she ever dropped it.

The light dimmed, blinked, and then died completely. She pulled it close to herself, protecting it against her body before collapsing backwards, barely able to keep herself upright. Her master was still screaming, though with a hoarser voice. And in the dark, it just sounded all the more heart-wrenching.

"Are you okay?" The White Wizard was by her side. He instinctively reached out for her but stopped and pulled back, "Are you okay?" He repeated instead.

At first, she couldn't bring herself to say anything, not with her master in so much agony. The tears came and she silently let them fall with the knowledge that they would disappear as soon as they touched the ground.

"I tried," she finally managed, "But it didn't work. I don't why. What is it? What is doing this?" And the need to take his hand, to hold it tightly, was so overwhelming that she was rendered momentarily incoherent again.

"It's bigger than you or I. You did your best this time."

The screaming persisted, the only sound in the night. It filled the room, bounced off the walls and surrounded them. It struck at every nerve in their transparent bodies; tore at their own hearts. And it only began to fade, trailing into broken, raspy groans when their master, like them, exhausted himself. When he finally, finally stilled, it wasn't merciful sleep but defeated unconsciousness.

And then, the only sound was her stifled crying. The White Wizard, himself distressed, tried his best to console her, "It's over now."

It would have been the perfect time to be drawn back into the card, but instead, she was forced to remain. Her master lay in a foetal position, both hands hanging limply onto the leg that had hurt him. The other leg was bent in an uncomfortable position that probably would go numb during the night and bother him in the morning. If she could, she would've rearranged him so that he'd rest more comfortably. But she couldn't. She couldn't do anything, it seemed.

"It's over now," she repeated in monotone. The White Wizard was so close, she should have felt the warmth of his body. But she didn't. So she wrapped her wings around herself, giving the heart an extra layer of protection as she watched her master. And she would watch him this way until she was allowed back inside the card again.

But on the better days, they looked forward to exploring their world together.

On one such day, it was snowing and they watched from their master's window as he built a snowman in his backyard.

"It's supposed to be wet," the White Wizard stated, though not sounding entirely convinced.

"Are you sure? It looks just like your hair. And your hair seems like it would be soft."

He laughed, "It's not that soft!"

"But it's still soft, is your point," she quirked a thin brown eyebrow.

And, even though they were more comfortable with each other, he was still flustered, "Well I guess it could be less soft than this, yes. Um, but, uh, I don't think he can shape it the way he does if it was soft," he added, to steer the topic elsewhere, "See? Look."

Their master was struggling to lift a large white ball onto a larger white ball. He bent over and, with gloved hands, attempted to heave it off the ground. But, apparently, it was heavier than it looked because his legs shook in the process and, no matter how many strange faces he made, it wouldn't budge. He stopped to stretch his arms and back before trying again. Still, nothing moved.

"It worries me that he is struggling so much. I can't bear to see the pain on his face. I-I wish we can do something to help."

The White Wizard nodded solemnly, "So do I," he scratched his chin, thinking, "But I think this a test for himself. I think this accomplishment would represent a significant achievement for him. I cannot think of any other reason why he would continue such a purposeless task after repeated failures."

Good-looking and insightful. She was impressed and all the more glad to share in his life. Her master had resorted to making the ball smaller by breaking off parts of it. He rolled up whatever was left and attempted to lift it again. It came off the ground this time, but fell apart just as he almost got it where he wanted it. Frustrated, he threw his arms in the air and stomped his foot. When he tried to pull the foot back out, it was stuck.

"And yet he still persists," she said softly, touched by her master's endurance.

"His dedication is indeed inspiring."

Her master bent down to yank his leg out of the snow with both hands. After some pulling, it sprung free, throwing snow in the air with it. But the force made him stumble backwards and, with flailing arms, he fell on his butt.

"I don't know if I can watch anymore."

"I think he would want us to watch."

The snow was deeper than it first appeared because almost half of her master's body had sunk into it. He pushed off with his right side first but slipped and fell back down. Pushing off with his left side proved to be more helpful but it was slow going and he had to roll onto his knees first before he could get off the ground. After taking the time to catch his breath, he furiously swiped the snow off his clothes, only to find he'd lost a glove.

"It seems the outside world is can be fearsomely relentless. Our master is so immensely brave," the White Wizard commented, shaking his head at the unfairness of it all.

Lips trembling, she could only nod her agreement.

They could have been realms apart, seeing each other through a mirror or window or rift in time. He could have been the product of a vivid dream or an imagination gone awry. Or he could have been the result of a mind no longer able to delineate between the real and the fictitious.

This was what it was like to love a spectre; to long for something only half real.

The reaction to reach out and touch was so automatic, so instinctive, even for creatures like them. It was so deeply rooted that it could not be undone; no amount of conditioning, no amount of failure could teach the mind otherwise.

They could only stop themselves after the fact and, even then, they would often forget.

Any semblance of normalcy, any attempt to adapt, would be shadowed by this. There existed between them an aching melancholy not unlike a dull pain that, at times, could be forgotten, but was always there.

And even though they lived for their master, a selfish part of them wanted to live for themselves.

As she got to know her master in his waking life, she came to recognize inconsistencies in his behaviour. And as she saw more and more of it, she came to suspect that these weren't merely inconsistencies but it was actually someone or something else completely.

Sometimes he would go to bed with a knife, this habit becoming more frequent until it was always there, in his hand, poised for attack, even while he slept. They would watch with disturbed anxiety as it would swipe the air without warning, his hand performing intricate moves with the knife that shouldn't have been possible in his sleep.

Worst still were the things he said as the shadow of the blade danced on the walls – ominous and vulgar threats in a deep, gruff voice. He would speak words of revenge against an unknown monarch, elaborating on how he would go about doing so with a depth of gory detail that only came from someone with first hand experience – or someone with a strange affinity to the subject.

It sounded like the creature was commanding their gentle master to be an accomplice.

It was chilling, even for untouchable spectres like them, but perhaps what disturbed them the most was the ease at which this other creature completely and utterly consumed their master. It was as if it their master never stood a chance against it; that he shouldn't even bother trying to fight for control of himself.

She recalled the nights when he was in pain and wondered if there was greater suffering now or if he was completely oblivious.

It was during these times that the White Wizard would just stare. He would study the things that happened to the person who was his mirror image but do nothing about it. And she wondered if this a resignation of sorts; that he saw himself as their master and, like his master, could not see himself defending against it. She burned to know why he watched so intensely though, because she would not have been able to do the same.

But that was all they could do when this happened – stand aside and watch on, waiting second after agonizing second for daylight when it usually let go and slithered away somewhere.

Which was usually never the case.

She came into the bedroom one day to find her master's display case left open and about half of his figurines missing. And it was honestly no surprise that the White Wizard was gone as well.

She had been abandoned, it seemed, and didn't regret the thought that if only one of them came back, she'd much rather it be the White Wizard than her master.

In her hands, the heart went as heavy as lead.

The resentment held long after her master came back empty-handed. Whatever transpired while he was gone had rehabilitated him and, for weeks on end, he slept soundly through the nights and carried on merrily during the day. He became healthier, less vigilant and even held onto his friendships.

But she didn't care. Not only was she useless, she wasn't even allowed release from her meaningless existence. She couldn't distance herself from her master, even though she'd begun to despise her tether to him. The heart would not fall out of her hands. She could not leave it, drop it or chuck it far away from her. And, like an invisible noose, the deck that housed her card would pull her back whenever she tried to leave the room. The four walls of the little space became suffocating and it angered her to be forced out of the card so frequently (or even at all) for absolutely no damn reason.

Sometimes the loneliness gripped so hard, even a non-existent breath was hard to take.

And the once useful heart got heavier and heavier in her hands.

Time was altogether ignored. Many things were forgotten. Much of what made her a reflection of her master faded like aged wallpaper.

Yet still, on the occasional better days, when her mind engaged with the living world again, the dim trace of rationality entertained the thought that change may come. Strangely enough, it was these brief moments of "lucidity" that allowed her to notice when her master began to falter again. And when it became clear that this was the case, a part of her was glad for it.

Like it or not, this was what she'd asked for.

She arose to the gentle swaying of the ship. Her master stood on the deck, elbows resting on the railing as his eyes trained on the dark strip of land ahead. At first, she thought her senses had finally detached from reality for good. But then she saw the deck peeking out from her master's pocket, her own image faced up and staring back at her.

The heart had regained some semblance of life to it and seemed to beckon her to identify with her master again. Its warmth reminded her of a purpose she'd forgotten some time ago and she dimly remembered the sense of urgency, the deep fear she had during those nightly terrors.

The spectre, invisible to her master, joined him on the edge of the boat. But when she came close, she immediately sensed something wrong. Beneath that gentle face, something was festering but it didn't want to show itself.

Her master turned, looked directly at her and smiled a cruel, ugly smile before turning attention back to the horizon again. Terrified, she fumbled with the heart, struggling to get a grip of it. Finally managing to clasp it against her chest, she barely had time to register the familiarity of this creature before she was forced back into the card. For the first time in a long while, she wanted to stay and protect her master but her hold on the real world was forcibly weakened until there was just darkness.

"With this card I will turn you against your comrades. The very friends you sought to protect, you will now destroy."

Every muscle, only part real as they were, shivered as the icy cold felt like it went straight into her core. She swayed, then collapsed on her knees and hugged herself tightly as the cold nipped at her everywhere. Even though she had never felt pain, she knew this to be it, somehow, she just knew.

"No, I refuse."

"You won't have a choice in the matter."

There was no space for her to move, to take a breath and she struggled to make space for herself, to push the offending walls around her out just a little more so she could take in some air. When her wiry lids lifted, she saw, through a thick window, a playing field. On the opposite side, banded together, were four creatures – duel monsters – much like those of her master's deck.

But that was the only glimpse before she was pulled to the ground by the weight of something more invasive than pain. If she knew of only one thing this could be, this must have been it and she was terrified by the reality of it, by the sheer, overwhelming proximity of it. She was no longer a bystander fearfully watching on while it plagued someone else, someone dear to her. She was in the middle of it now, vulnerable and helpless to save herself. This was the hand that tortured her master. This was his raw encounter with it all of those nights. And she, the spectre, could now clearly see why he could not resist it.

In her mind, she cried out to her master to save her but she knew the creature heard it instead.

"This card allows me to control any opposing monster and I choose you, little Yugi!"

The voice made the heart in her hands shake and she deliriously rocked it in her arms like a baby, herself as feeble and powerless as it while this enormous thing held her in its hand.

And then, as if pulled by an immense gravity, she was compelled to action. The creature simply needed to nudge before she felt herself slip. She clawed and scratched at whatever she could cling to but she kept sliding and sliding until she teetered on the edge.

"No, please, don't force me! I can't! I won't do this!" She pleaded, her tiny voice barely reaching the creature, if it was willing to listen at all.

But she was going to fall and when she did, she would have to do as the creature commanded or be destroyed.

Destroyed.

The possibility of it barely became an option when she was caught by a strong hand.

"Yes, you will have to be destroyed, but it will be for my sake and the sake of my friends and not him."

Her master speaking directly to her was like a soothing balm on a tender wound. There was compassion in his eternally kind countenance as he spoke. Even as he commanded her to be destroyed, he did not regard her as a tool but as a valued ally.

For a moment, she was spellbound. Then, that face brought back memories of the White Wizard and she knew that if there was a possibility of her seeing him again, it would be extinguished if she was destroyed. Then and there, she wanted to plead for her life, but how could she when it belonged to her master to instruct and eliminate as he wished?

"I'm asking you to do this for me so I can save my friends and be rid of him."

Gripping securely onto her master's hand, she thought back to those all those nights he had suffered. Each of those nights had been as painful as this, perhaps worse, and he had endured it many times over.

And she was, first and foremost, her master's servant.

"Please trust me in this."

She was her master's servant.

A breath; a beat; a blink of hesitation.

"I play Change of Heart!"

And she obeyed.

On the field, it would be her master who spoke and her master who moved. Through him, she tapped into her greatest strength and, together, they allied with the Lady of Faith. With the Lady's outstretched arms, Change of Heart and her master addressed their friend on the opposing field:

"I've taken over one of his cards instead of yours. I'll control her while you attack me. You can win against the evil Bakura."

As a team, their conviction was so great that, for the first time, the creature reeled. Both she and her master felt it when its control over them waned; when they could continue to stand tall even in its midst.

"I can't," their friend said, "I'd be destroying you, sending you to the graveyard!"

"I don't care!" There would be no truer words than this, for herself and her master, "It's better than being enslaved by an evil spirit!"

The creature was afraid because they all knew it was finally going to lose.

Swallowing her tears, she bowed to her master in submission, "Do it!"

They shut their eyes and braced for death. But they were instead almost brought to their knees by a pure white light and a voice that assured their salvation.

Too concerned with shielding herself from the intensity of it, she was unaware of her separation from her master and the events that led to the banishment of the creature. When she could see again, the field, including her master, their friends and the creature, was gone. Only one person was there, the one she'd been longing to see for an eternity.

The White Wizard Bakura.

He rushed to sweep her in his arms and held her high above his head before pulling her close in the first hug of their lives. After having yearned to touch him for so long, she could only hang limply in his arms, stunned beyond measure while tears burned her eyes. His clothes were soft, like his skin, like his hair, like the tips of his fingers on her cheek. He was warm, like the heart, but it was a warmth that surrounded her, that she could sink into. It was a warm that protected her.

Her hands went to his face, to trace the curve of his jaw, his chin and his nose before twirling between her fingers a strand of his hair. And it was so, so good that she could touch now, she thought dumbly, because the water was blurring her vision and making it hard to see him.

He pressed his face to her ear, the air from his breath sweeping past her hair, "You did it. You did it. You did it! You beat the creature. You beat the creature, Heart!"

"I don't, I-I don't," She leaned on him, like a person who couldn't walk. She would talk into his skin if she had to, because she wanted so much to keep touching him.

He slid his cheek across hers so their noses pressed together, "You beat the creature. It's gone for now. It's gone for now!"

She nodded, only understanding the way his face lit up as he spoke and not really sure what it was he'd actually said, "I missed you," she blurted, both hands patting at his face, "I-I thought I wouldn't see you again."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault."

"But still, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Just stop being sorry, please. I feel bad."

Nobody knew where to lean because neither had done so before, so it was a very sloppy, awkward, experimental first kiss. Their noses got in the way, they weren't really sure how to breathe around each other's faces and they weren't sure when to pull back. But it was good enough.

The White Wizard wiped the saliva off his cheek, "It will come back. It won't be gone forever. It came back for you after I had beat it."

And it felt like her insides dropped, "Then what do we do?"

"We have to trust our master."

She didn't hesitate this time, "I can do that."

-End-

AN: Some of the lines from the ending scenes were taken from Season 1, Episode 13 of the English dub. I hope you enjoyed it, your comments are valued.