Disclaimer: I do not own Kaiba Seto or anything of YGO.
Age
The moonlight slipped quietly through the slit in the curtains, the blade of silver hitting his sharp profile and carving into the little wrinkles that began to give way on his pale skin. His chestnut hair fell messy around his face, damp at the roots and helplessly streaked grey. His evening stubble darkened his chin. Glasses sat upon his nose, thin rimmed and elegant as the rest of him. His spine curved forward, he rested his hands on the ivory keys of the piano. His breath was laboured, the only noise in the stillness. It wheezed hoarse past his clenched teeth. The silence grew. The night trod soft upon his back and he waited patiently for a bead of sweat to touch his brow.
Then, like a wave crashing into rocks on the shore and moving them unstoppably with its vast strength, his body swept into the passion again and his long, powerful fingers hurried across the keys in some maddened rhythm, slaughtering the night and its seemingly impenetrable stillness. The world came painfully to life around him. Wind burst through the open window and the drapes billowed wildly. The moonlight beamed in and glowed fiercely on his figure, catching and breaking on the sweat on his temples. His eyes were open, angry and hard, steel on fire. The little deaths of the keys smashed under the tyranny of his fingertips blossomed into violent beauty of sounds coiling and dancing into each other, and Liszt's Totentanz screamed yet again in anxious despair.
He was growing old.