Marik closed his eyes, and wasn't at all surprised that the one thing that greeted him behind his eyelids were purple. A very dark purple which easily could be mistaken for black, but was purple nonetheless. And Marik could easily be trusted to be completely sure in this matter, he had after all had years to study the colour; back then he were a kid, once he was trapped in the shadow realm, and every single time he closed his eyes. Though the one ultimate proof had been back then, so many years ago, once the colour first had taken form. And later on once he had to design the clothing for his rare hunters – sometimes people wondered how, and why he had gotten the idea to the cloaks, and even if he would never tell anyone, the answer was simple; Because it was what he always wore, and seeing how he always had been there to take Marik's pain away, it were only logical to make. Even now Marik still wore purple clothing (though he made sure it reminded as little as possible as his style), after all even though he later on had taken complete control of their shared body, threatened to destroy the few things which Marik held dear, it had still been Mariks goal, the goal which had ultimately giving them both life, that he was fighting for – even at the cost of Marik himself.
Shouldn't the colour surrounding him be black now once the Pharaoh had banned him to the shadow realm? Well…
Mentally Marik closed his eyes only to open them again to see the black purple twist and tighten, darkening into complete blackness, and brighten to brown, gold, sand-blonde, a lighter shade of it self, and even a bit of white.
"Good evening hikari." A tanned pair of arms reached out for him from underneath a lighter, yet still rather dark purple cloak.
…
Marik had always liked purple.