The paintbrush dropped from nerve-less fingers, the splattered blue paint going unnoticed.
It was too realistic. For the first time, he regretted his skill. The folds of the uniform glistened with fresh paint, seeming to mimic blood in its slowly coagulating mess.
He sucked in a shuddering breath, eyes fixated on those of the figurine. They seemed to know everything, cruelly, inanimate as it was. Almost like the real thing. It didn't help that the lazily winding smirk stretched across its face, distorting features in ways it ought not.
With a thudding heart, he forced himself to quiet, turning his senses inward. Months had passed, of course, but he was ever-wary of the echoing cackle and snarl in the back of his mind.
A quick glance to the desk in the corner of the room relieved him of the worry that his dust-covered deck had been disturbed. Of course. There was no reason for it to be disrupted; he hadn't thought to duel in ages, too consumed with healing from the pain wrought from numerous... games.
Relaxing, he picked up the figurine to deftly clean off the excess paint. It was true solitude, he mused as he idly picked up his dropped brush. It was finally calm in his mind.
Now too pre-occupied with putting the final touches on the figurine, he brushed off the nearly-silent, mad cackle in the back of his mind.
He was, after all, alone.
