The vain.—We are like shop windows in which we are continually arranging, concealing or illuminating the supposed qualities others ascribe to us-in order to deceive ourselves.

-Nietzsche

Prologue: Twilight's Trance

Sapphire eyes shimmered like champagne, vivid emotion pouring over the rim of each lid in a rare display of humanity.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I never meant to hurt you."

Silky black hair fell chaotically around the youth's pillow-white face, his expression twisted and broken like a worn bed under matted sheets.

"Then say it's not true, then. Say it isn't so and it won't be."

A wistful smile stretched the quiver out of normally impassive lips. Blue eyes betrayed their speaker before a phrase was uttered, before a word was spoken. Of course, he already knew that. Sadly, so did his brother. Gradually, his tongue slithered along his mouth, a serpent sunning itself on a desert of dry skin and dishonesty.

"Alright," he nodded, "it's not. It's not true, it doesn't exist, and I'm just a bad actor without a sense of humor." Arms crossed, head down, eyes plastered to the floor, he couldn't even try to make the lie believable. Would his brother see through it? Probably. Would he remember it for the rest of his life if he could? Most definitely. And would the child prodigy, who promised their mother on her deathbed to protect her baby boy, regret this forever? Yes. Oh God, yes. There would be no forgiveness for blatantly lying or jeopardizing his safety, being so irresponsible that social services would have to intervene…

Reaching his little hand out, Mokuba slipped his palm across Seto's cheek. Softly, he cupped his brother's face, drawing the teen closer to him. As he did so, his eyes traced every fine line, every tremble, every minor flaw present. But, it wasn't the outside he was concerned with. It was the inside, that havoc-ridden, miserable internal conflict there, flaring at him like abstract art rebelling against one extreme or another. Hot colors of his vibrant youth clashing with dull grays and blues of who he is now, of what he has become-

"Who are you now, big brother?" Mokuba asked, his gaze solid, his words amazingly insightful and mature. "Who are you now and what have you become?'

Astounded, Seto tried to lean away, but found that his sibling only followed. Why couldn't he let go? Why couldn't he just push him away?

The answer came when they were seated one in front of the other, noses inches apart, each sharing the same breath as they had from childhood. Although they could embrace, rest a head on a shoulder, relax onto one another with great ease, they didn't. The only point of contact was the child's hand on his brother's cheek, a gesture that seemed loving and innocent, but was, in reality, falsely intimate.

Swallowing slowly, the oldest tried to justify his actions, tried to rectifyhimself. "Mokuba," he began, his voice already shaky, his gaze still at ground level, "I-I-"

It was useless to do this, to have the stupid hope of making things right, but he couldn't help dreaming of it. Would one lousy wish split the sky, bring on Armageddon, bathe the world in blood, sweat, and tears of his sins? Blindly praying that faith would override fear, he lifted his hand, covering his brother's limb.

"Like I said, I never meant to hurt you." Seto repeated. His voice sounded foreign, uncharacteristically quiet and gentle. But didn't he used to be that way at one time? Quiet and gentle? Naïve and trusting? Happy and carefree? No wonder Mokuba was questioning his personality. It wasn't the same as it used to be. Hardly anything on him reflected who he used to be-

His head. Someone was raising it, forcing his blue eyes off the ocean floor and out of the cold, vast waters of cyberspace he so loved to sail in these days. Dull Microsoft screen eyes met island sky ones, indigo globes that glittered like a famous resort's night on a postcard. That was how he remembered the kid, though. Always with the huge, sparkly presence, possessing a zest for life that was truly admirable.

A stab of grief hit Seto. When did I lose my passion for living? When did I trade living for surviving?

He knew the answer would take longer to find than it took for his behavior to change, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to seek it out. At the moment, his quest was completely different, wondering how someone so young could discover his dark secrets. Wasn't that cursed treasure supposed to be buried under years of sour expressions, cold conduct, and tyrannical business tactics? Since when was a mere amateur archeologist able to unearth those ancient artifacts? And, more worrisome than that, why was Mokuba exposing this questionable material rather than defending his older brother? Didn't he realize that the more any reasonable doubt surfaces, the more chances he has at being placed in a foster home?

No, Seto battled inwardly, he doesn't want that. He told me he'd never want that...

Forcing a smile, the eldest squeezed his sibling's hand. "You don't want to be with anyone else. That's right, isn't it, Mokuba? You wanna stay with me."

He delivered his words like a web designer typing in codes for a site, impersonal instructions muttered by an operator used to hearing nothing but the blips and beeps of files accepted or processed. He was used to having his every command complied with. Rejection wasn't a word in his vocabulary. There was always a loophole in someone's stubbornness, always a way to get people to come around to his line of thinking. This was no different. The boy had been a tenant in his presence for practically his whole life, coming and going according to his brother's wishes, hardly ever deviating from house rules, behavior, or appearance. Mokuba wouldn't dare turn against Seto now, not after years of being financially supported, not after helping the Kaiba estate to be as grandiose and expansive as it is today…

"It must be right." Seto declared, answering himself gleefully. "After all, who would take you as many places; let you do so many extraordinary things, allow you to have as much as I have given you? No one would do that for you better. I'm the best choice you have. I'm the only choice you have."

Fingers tensed, muscles contracted, stiff, unyielding gaze, Mokuba assumed a rigid form. Was this what he wanted, to be Seto's shadow, to live and breathe nothing but restrictions on who he was and what he could be? What kind of life would that be for him? And how could his brother live with himself, imposing such a horrible regime?

"You're just like him now…" murmured Mokuba. "…dead to the world, you're just like him."

Color drained from the brunet's face, turning him a ghostly whitish gray. Like a lost soul, he slowly slipped into his subconscious, dark waters that held sunken ships of his youth. He couldn't tell that at first glance, though. The tides there were as crystal clear as the Pacific, its foamy tides gently lapping against his body's shores like a liquid baby blanket. Wooly and warm, fresh and clean, a continuous mass of tourmaline sparkling in his mind's nursery, the place couldn't be any more inviting. Sea bubbles frothing around his toes, beckoning him closer, closer still, just one more step and he would be there-

At that point he was already in over his head. Deceived by the alluring nature of the landscape, he walked in waist-deep, only to find that every detail was a lie. It was mind-blowing to watch the water turn from blue to scarlet red, to watch the water itself change into a substance that wasn't really water at all. Thick and murky, but still runny and liquid-like, it trickled over his arms, small runnels that felt weird, awkward, hauntingly familiar…

It's the smell I recognize... Seto breathed, almost gagging on his inhalations. So strong it could make me vomit, so much of it spilt that I had to vomit…

"Blood." He whispered, voice gurgling as if speech threatened to drown him.

Mokuba blinked rapidly, as if he had stray eyelashes trapped under his lids. "What?" he asked, unsure if he had heard right or not. A shaken little voice inside told him that he had, that something was about to go wrong, but he ignored it. Psychic visions were stupid. Nobody ever got premonitions of the future-at least, that's what he was taught to believe. But the feeling was so ominous, so hardcore dead-on that he just couldn't dismiss it.

God, Seto, what's happening to you? The boy wondered. It wasn't the first time the thought entered his head. It wouldn't be the last time, either. What's going on with me? What's gonna happen to the both of us?

"Seto?" he queried, quietly, more cautiously. "What is it? What's going on?"

Mokuba heard the voice again, edging up louder in his brain. Something's gonna happen, something's wrong, severely wrong…

Sapphire eyes adapted a wild look, ones that couldn't see the little boy in front of them, couldn't see the worried features, concern-creased brow, mouth fixed in a serious line. Matter of fact, they couldn't see anything around them, not the physical world, not even the plane universally accepted as reality. He was in a place all his own, an endless bleeding ocean threatening to take him in, to swallow him whole.

"He has deceived me…"

"Who?"

Kaiba spoke without knowing he replied to the question, without even realizing that he was speaking out loud.

"He deceived me. Father deceived me. And in turn," Blue eyes, welling with tears, glazed with sadness and remorse, overrode his database's normally inflexible network. His system was about to suffer from a crash, but he couldn't prevent it. He couldn't stop it from happening before and he couldn't stop it now. "In turn, I've deceived myself. And I've deceived you, too, Mokuba. I've deceived you, too."

Seto smiled. Not lovingly or happily, but eerie, distant, empty. Creepy to look at. Would make anyone's skin break out in goose bumps if they saw it.

Suddenly, someone intercepted his thoughts, a devil trespassing in his shattered sanctuary. Welcome to your nightmare, boy. Time to take you home.

Two stout arms shot up from the water, splashing him with the blood of beatings and rape, swearing and burning, cutting and starvation. Hands, big as cement blocks, came down hard on his shoulders, palms slapping against his skin in wet smacks. Springing from the muddy depths, a large figure appeared, its size comparable to that of a bodyguard's. Blood sluicing from business clothes, a designer suit shimmering like chrome on a car grille. Slicked back silver hair, cruel, calculating expression, a frightening demeanor cultivated by a lifetime of underhanded, dirty schemes and tactics…all necessary to get rich in the business world, to stay on top forever, to force a little child to age into the most cunning and crafty CEO the entertainment industry has ever known.

Gray eyes met sapphire ones directly, narrowing into a nasty, penetrating stare. A nasty smirk hung on the man's lips like a voodoo doll hanging from a nail in the wall.

And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you…

"Kaiba." Seto spat, his face brave, but his insides trembling. "Gozaburo Kaiba."

"Yes," Gozaburo hissed, nodding. Idly, he moved one hand to his son's head, relishing the feel of those brown locks. Those luscious, gleaming, lovely brown locks-so easy to twirl, wrap around a finger, tease with grabbing at will. Without provocation, he fisted the satiny strands, jerking the boy's head back so far that his head might snap. "that's me. But do you know who you are?" Upon no response, he tightened his grip more, causing some hair to rip out. "Do you, boy? Do you?" Dropping his voice to a low, menacing tone, came chest-to-chest with his captive, brushed his mouth against the ear there and growled, "You're mine, child. Forever mine. Always and forever mine."

The emphasis on the last word was like receiving a sentence for everlasting death. It was gruesome to hear and comprehend, but it was a new horror altogether to admit and know. It was as if God was making a wager with the devil to see how much torture a person could take, how much pain and suffering the human soul could tolerate, before committing suicide. It was crazy, just too fucking crazy to follow it all…didn't that mean Seto had reached the point of insanity? If not, how much longer did he have until he achieved that diagnosis?

Too late to contemplate that now. Actually, it was too late for many things. Rescuing Mokuba from social services, saving face in a public setting, securing the family reputation before the press mutilated it for ratings-all of that would have to wait. Why did he want to be a savior all of a sudden? Didn't he understand that it was hard to save anything or anyone if he couldn't even save himself?

The hand on his head crashed down where it was before. One moment, he was thinking and breathing freely, and the next, he was suffocating, air supply cut off by the water he imagined. Blood from so many episodes, from so many years ago…was it responsible for drowning him in chaos, or was it his tears, emotion he swore to conceal, to bury in the deepest sea, abandoned in twilight's trance?

When we remember that we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.

End of Prologue: Twilight's Trance

Notes and Praise

Author's Note: It's almost sacrilegious for me to add commentary to my work, but for this, I must make an exception. Granted, this may lose more readers than it acquires, and I respect anyone who claims it to be confusing or a little, shall we say "out there". I can be awfully hard to follow, which, I have discovered, greatly frustrates some readers. According to the other extreme, others who know my style have not only been repeat critics, but also recommend me to friends. I don't know why I'm such a radical, nor do I understand how my writing contains such bizarre thoughts. Admittedly, the content becomes insane very quickly, and that is a well-known trademark of my creations. When bonded with large doses of style and literary devices, the paragraphs themselves can prove to be heavy reading. I never intend for this to happen. Every document I've submitted to this site is made with a free mind, with no language barriers, total in-your-face humanity, and a personal quest to speculate about the human nature and why people tend to do the things they do. Simply put, if you don't like, don't read.

Another complaint I received before is that Yu-Gi-Oh! was never meant to have philosophy in it, that I was pushing the boundary too far with introducing the great thinkers of the past. My only argument for that is if you don't want to read work by someone who obviously isn't the screenwriter of the show, tape an episode of the anime and watch it rather than seeking out fan fiction for it. I feel that there is so much frivolous emphasis on the "heart of the cards" that the characters lose their "heart" when the show is aired. Other writers must feel that way, too, because I read more fiction that focus on character relationships instead of on dueling.

Story Details:

Now, all that aside, I am pleased to announce that this piece, Twilight's Trance, is, in fact, a sequel to Innocent Guilt. As a refresher, that was the story of Kaiba Seto dealing with an eating disorder. As Joey began to probe deeper into Kaiba's history, he discovered that the food dilemma was only a surface issue. Beneath starvation and deteriorating skin, Kaiba unwittingly reveals through a mental breakdown at school that his worrisome behavior is linked to his father. As Joey begins to unravel the mysteries and horrible secrets of the Kaiba family, Seto becomes hospitalized for his condition and is forbidden to leave the ward. Much to his dismay, his present state earns him a transfer status to a full-blown mental facility in the inner city. Now, working against time and the law, Joey makes a hasty decision to free his supposed enemy by sneaking in to Kaiba's room at night, cutting him out of his restraints, and aiding him in a harrowing escape. Kaiba, torn between his pride and dignity, shuns the blonde's help, but passes out as soon as he sets foot on his "bedroom's" tiles.

Not quite picking up where that novel left off (yet), this prologue gives insight into Kaiba's character and some of the internal issues he hasn't put to rest yet. It's a heartbreaking scene, watching the Kaiba brothers in the same room, face to face, talk with each other while social services in the background are waiting to whisk Mokuba away to a foster home. Here, the younger brother's own identity is explored, which he indicates is in the same shaky state as his guardian's is. He doesn't really want to start over by himself in an orphanage again, but he doesn't want to continue living with an older brother who is practically a stranger to him now. This is something Seto knows inwardly, but is too terrified to admit. Later in their dialogue, Mokuba compares Seto to their previous "parent", and that's when Kaiba's world turns haywire. Just the mere mention of Gozaburo Kaiba ( his "father's" name) messes with his head, throwing him back into flashbacks he never wanted to remember. While Mokuba stalls in how to tell his sibling that he wishes he could be more than a vicious business shark, Seto is squaring off with horrifying visions of his childhood, the "training" he had to undergo to advise the Kaiba estate, and the man who beat him to become the split person he is today.

I have great expectations for this story, and one is that you, my readers, love it and get involved in it as much as I do. There are quotations in here from famous philosophers. The first two are by Friedrich Nietzsche, and the last one is by Mark Twain. The italicized sentences with an asterisks () beside them indicate that these are those people's words and not my own. Chockfull of literary devices, style, and characters that actually remain "in character", this tale features a promising new addition to the horror genre I've written on.

A Special Reader Note:

In closing, I know I've never done this before, but I think it's high time I did, wouldn't you agree? Here is my special section to everyone who has ever read and or critiqued my work. Thank-you so much for keeping an open mind while perusing my stories. Your thoughts, compliments, and suggestions are highly valued and much appreciated. Here is a little list of those whom I wish to recognize for keeping up with my postings and offering wonderful literary advice:

Draconic-Master

Foxumon

Lightning Sage

Michiro-chan

Dark Magician Girl Hikaru

raincoat

Tuulikki

Elusia

Druesilla

Rhelle

Phoenix's Princess

Ryuujitsu

My I give extra-special thanks to Michiro-chan (I'm honored at your praise), and Dark magician Girl Hikaru. They are wonderful reviewers who have this exceptional style of writing that is even present in their critiques! Seriously, how are you two able to make a review sound like a story? Anyways, you two have been absolutely dazzling to me. You both gave me the inspiration to not only continue a sequel, but to continue writing in general. And to think, I thought my writing was absolutely terrible…proved me wrong, didn't you guys?

If there is someone feeling left out that I didn't name, please don't be offended or feel hurt. Simply bring it to my attention so I can include it in my next writing. I don't like neglecting people-although my stories have a crazy feel to them, I want everyone to see the other side to them, too. Anytime a character portrays compassion or expresses humanity, remember that. I write to view all sides of someone's psyche, not just a single aspect of it.