Mild trigger warning for light torture in this chapter, just a heads up.

Yu-Gi-Oh! and all related characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi

"And even if you were in some prison, the walls of which let none of the sounds of the world come to your senses - would you not then still have your childhood, that precious, kingly possession, that treasure-house of memories?"

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Chapter 1: Prose with Tea

The china cups and teapot rattled as Marik set the tray down on the coffee table in the study. His father nodded his thanks and poured himself some, sipping it quietly as Marik took the seat opposite of him. He poured his own cup, but let it sit on the table, as it was still too hot for his liking. The last time he'd gulped down hot tea, he couldn't taste anything for three days. After a few more moments in quiet, his father set the cup down, "Get your history book, we're going over the New Kingdom today."

He stood up from the chair and went over to one of the large book shelves in the room. He reached for his history book, only to find it one shelf higher than where he'd left it. He stood up on his toes, left leg extending a bit for balance, and grasped hold of the book. He brought it back to the couch and sat down with it, opening it to where they had last left off. His father got up off the adjacent loveseat and went to stand behind the chair Marik sat in.

The boy looked up at his father, waiting for further instruction and nodded when he was told to read aloud a few paragraphs, "…Pharaoh Atem was one of the shortest reigning kings in the eighteenth dynasty, but despite his short term as ruler, he commanded a wealth of power within his court. There is rumor he had six court officials that were all capable of some feat of magic; each being able to summon strange creatures from stone carvings. The Pharaoh was said to be able to call upon the might of the gods themselves to punish any and all who opposed his laws..."

Marik felt his father rest a hand on his shoulder, patting it lightly as he continued to read. He thought he heard his father say something and looked back, "Did you say something?"

The older man's lips moved again, but no sound came from them. Marik frowned, realizing something was out of place, "Father, what's wrong? Father?"

"Father…" he whispered, eyes slowly lifting open. The bleariness of sleep slowly began to fade as the lights of the ceiling came into view. At first his heart leapt, not recognizing where he was. But after a moment his mind recollected, doing little to calm him. Sighing, Marik simply lay there. He couldn't get up as the straps were still holding him down, meaning his options at the moment were limited. His throat was still sore from screaming the other day, and he didn't fancy another session of that. Eventually, the ceiling became just as boring, and he shut his eyes. That's when he felt it, a pressure in his lower abdomen. When was the last time he'd gotten to use the rest room? He did have tea to drink, and that always filled his bladder to the breaking point.

Violet eyes observed the area, but there was no sign of a bathroom. It seemed the room was meant for sleeping only. Marik scrunched his knees together, and debated calling out. But he wasn't sure if someone would hear him or not. Minutes ticked by, and he began to feel every second. Finally, he relented, and called out.

He waited; nothing. He called out again, but louder this time. Minutes passed, and still no one answered his cries. Marik whimpered, not sure how much longer he could hold out like this. He had enough self-dignity to not wet the bed; he hadn't done that since he was six. Would he hold his bladder so long that he would simply explode? Marik really didn't want to find out if that was the case, and tried to squirm free of the restraints. Balling up his fists, he yanked his arms against the straps, trying to pull them through. But they were just tight enough to prevent his skin from slipping free.

"Anyone? I have to go to the bathroom," the child wailed.

Silence continued on for a few more moments when, as if by godsend, Marik heard a key scraping in the lock. Hassan stepped into the room. His hair wasn't pulled back today like it had been before. It fell around his shoulders like plumes of white feathers. He walked up to Marik's bed side, "Feeling any better-"

"I have to use the bathroom!"

"Of course…one moment," Hassan nodded as he went about undoing the straps that held the boy down. Marik sat up immediately and rubbed his wrists self-consciously before attempting to make a frantic run for the door. That was, until Hassan caught his wrist, "Hold on, I have to take you there," he sighed standing up, putting a hand on Marik's shoulder, "Follow me."

Marik's stomach leapt up into his throat. This was the first time he would be leaving his room since he first woke up here. Suddenly, he felt hesitant. What was it like out there? He recalled having seen part of a scary movie his brother and some of his friends had been watching. The halls had been dimly lit, dingy and run down. There were people lying and sitting on the floor, wailing and muttering to themselves dressed in filthy hospital robes. His father caught him watching it and grounded him for a week. What he'd never told anyone though, were the bad dreams he'd had after the fact. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, sobbing and afraid, but didn't feel he could go to his siblings or his father for comfort. It was just a dream after all, not reality, and dreams could not hurt you.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped this was all some bad dream. That he would wake in his own bed. He'd go downstairs for breakfast, get ready for the morning, lessons with father, perhaps go and explore in the wooded area behind their home like he had done so many times in summer before. A nudge forward from Hassan brought him spiraling back to reality, and he hugged himself as he was led out of the room.

Marik glanced around the hall. It wasn't what he had been expecting at all. The walls were a stark white, the same color as the room he'd just been in had been. There were four other rooms, two adjoining on either side of his; all seemed silent. There were no other people in the hall besides him and the doctor as he was led out a door into another hall. A few nurses were milling about, not really paying him and the doctor any mind. The walk to the bathroom was much shorter than he'd anticipated it being, and the bathroom itself wasn't out of the ordinary either. It was a room with a sink, mirror, and two toilet stalls. Hassan closed the door partially and said he'd be outside when he was finished. He quickly relieved himself before going over to the sink and looking at his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot compared to when he'd last looked at himself. Then again he hadn't slept well in what felt like days. Though for all he knew, it could have been only a few hours on the shots they had given to him.

Marik sighed to himself. His hair was matted. The remainder of the kohl he wore around his eyes was a sooty mess, making him look more like a raccoon than a child. He turned on faucet and silently washed his hands before splashing the cool water onto his face. It felt absolutely wonderful as it trickled down the contours of his cheeks. He did it again several times, rubbing his face vigorously, losing himself for a brief moment. Satisfied that he had removed what was left of the kohl on his face, Marik shut the water off and grabbed a towel lying on a shelf next to the sink. He buried his face into the soft fibers and patted it dry. Marik looked back into the mirror and touched his cheek, and froze at what he saw happening. The Marik in the mirror drug his nails down the side of his face and neck. Angry red welts began to form, slowly leaking rivulets of blood. The boy blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes. When he looked back his face was perfectly fine. No marks, no blood. His heart began to race as he backed away from the sink. Was he still dreaming?

"Marik, are you alright in there?"

"Um, fine! Fine! I'll be out in a second," he blurted out, looking back at the mirror once more. His terrified, unmarred face stared back. Shivering, he hurried out the door, breathing a little harder than he'd anticipated. To his displeasure, it didn't go unnoticed.

"Are you sure you're fine? You look a bit pale…"

"I told you I was!" Marik blurted out defensively.

"Easy…" Hassan sighed, frowning a bit, "Are you hungry at all? You haven't eaten since you arrived here. They should still be serving breakfast in the dining hall, if you are."

"I…" Marik's stomach growled loudly in reply to the question. He winced at the sudden empty feeling and clenched at his abdomen, "Yeah, I'm starving…"

Hassan nodded and put a hand on his shoulder once more, leading him further down the hall. Marik didn't really say or look at the man as they walked in silence. He simply glanced around at the doors as they passed. One was labeled 'Infirmary' another 'Male Ward A'. When they arrived in a much larger looking hall space, they passed by a room labeled 'Day Room'. He looked inside the open door and saw other people wandering around. Most of them were sitting at tables reading or playing cards or some other activity like any normal person. If it hadn't been for the hospital gowns, Marik would have pegged them as average people. Others seemed to be lost in space, staring out at the large windows at the world beyond.

Hassan noticed him looking, "If you like, I can show you around later?"

Marik nodded but said nothing, continuing to let himself be led towards food. The Dining Hall looked much the same as the Day Room had. The only difference being was that there were more tables and someone serving food on the far end of the room. No one was really in line at the time, so Hassan took him right up to the counter and got him something to eat. It wasn't his sister's cooking by any means, but as soon as the lukewarm food hit his mouth, he didn't stop eating until the tray was bare. Hunger finally satiated, Marik looked up at Hassan. The doctor looked surprised at how quickly the boy had finished the food, but gave him a small smile. The smile was not returned by Marik, who looked like he was lost in thought.

"Marik, is there something you want to talk about?"

He shook his head, blonde hair shifting a bit, "I just want to see my brother and sister…"

Hassan sighed, "I know you do. But you're not allowed to see anyone right now Marik. At least not until I finish your evaluation. If you're deemed stable enough, I can get you moved from the seclusion ward to be with the other male patients. Then your siblings can come see you."

Marik growled and pulled on his hair a bit, "Why do I have to do this? There's nothing wrong with me! I didn't kill my father! I didn't!"

Hassan frowned at the boy as his tone became slightly shrill, "Regardless of whether you think you didn't do it Marik, the fact of the matter remains that you did."

"I wasn't me, I swear!" Marik's eyes began to fill with tears, "I'm telling the truth…"

Hassan's frown deepened as he noticed some of the other patients staring at the two of them. He stood up and put his hand on Marik's shoulder once more, "Come on. We'll discuss this more in my office."

Marik shoved the hand off his shoulder, but quietly followed the doctor out. As they walked the halls to Hassan's office, the boy refused to look at him. He sniffled quietly a few times, rubbing at stray tears with the back of his hand. For all intents and purposes, had he not known the truth, Hassan would have believed his pity act. He seemed to really believe he was innocent. But sooner or later, Hassan would find the motive behind the deed. Then maybe he'd be able to properly help his patient.

Hassan gestured to a chair that was in front of his desk. Marik took the other chair and looked down at his hands in his lap. Hassan paid the child no mind as he dug through a file cabinet for Marik's information. He brought the manila folder over to the desk and sat down. He flipped through to the pages he was looking for and removed them, sliding some over to Marik. The boy looked over at the forms and stared at them blankly. He looked up at Hassan for instruction.

"I need you to answer the questions on the sheet. There is no right or wrong answer, just give the ones you feel best describe how you feel in relation to each question."

"What is this, school?" Marik muttered as Hassan handed him a pencil.

"If that helps you get through the evaluation, then yes, you could think of it as such."

Marik growled, looking down at the papers. His eyes scanned the first few questions. They asked him things like whether or not he was comfortable with groups of people, if he had a bad temper, or if he felt anxious or nervous. He filled them all in, slowly making his way down the list. From time to time he glanced up at Dr. Bakura, only to find him busying himself with something else. It looked like a file for another patient, but he couldn't really see who it was for. He nibbled his lip before glancing back down at the paper he was supposed to be working on, and the next question made him pause for thought.

Do you ever feel separated from other people like it's you against them?

Marik frowned and moved his hand to check the 'no' option next to the question. But when he brought the pencil back from the paper, he noticed the other option checked. Quietly, he erased, thinking nothing of it. That was, until it happened a second time, then a third; all on the same question. He erased it a fourth time, starting to feel his heart race. He stared at his hand as he brought it down to check the box that was labeled no. This time, he felt it. A tense feeling came over his arm, and his hand jumped to the other check box, marking it. Marik stood up quickly, pushing the chair back. The legs screeched across the tile, and the pencil landed with a clattering echo throughout the office. Hassan blinked and looked up at the boy. He was looking at his hands, turning them over as if expecting to find something attached to the other side.

"Marik, what's wrong?"

The boy didn't reply. He was too transfixed by his own hands to have heard the inquiry. Hassan reached a hand out and grasped his. Marik's eyes widened, startled upon contact and he pulled away, stumbling back a bit. Hassan frowned and got up, getting closer to him, "Marik. Tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"There's nothing wrong with me! So stop asking!"

"It's my job to ask. I've only got your best interest in mind-"

"Shut up! Just shut up and leave me alone!"

Marik felt tears forming in his eyes again. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be home, with his siblings. With his father. But Father was dead. He wasn't going to be waiting for him to come home. Wouldn't be there to teach him. Wouldn't be there to...

His thoughts dissolved as peals of laughter began pouring from his throat. Marik felt his legs give out from underneath himself and his knees smacked into the floor of Hassan's office. Why was this happening? Why was he laughing? He could still feel hot streams of tears pouring down his cheeks even as the horrid noise ripped through the room. Echoing off the walls, sounding even more distorted with the reverberation.

"Marik! Marik, get a hold of yourself!"

Hassan grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly in an attempt to snap him out of it. But the laughter did not stop. Marik looked to the doctor with pleading eyes, wanting him to make it end. Hassan, frowned, thinking for a moment. After another minute of the unhinged laughter, he finally pulled the child into a hug. He held Marik's body tight to his own, trying to force the child into a state of calm. Still Marik laughed on for a while longer. But slowly, the tremors echoing through the boy began to still. Moments passed, and eventually, Marik became quiet altogether. Hassan sighed as the boy's body went limp in his arms. He quietly set him down on and went back to his desk to dial the nurse's station.

Moving; he was moving along on something. He felt the sensation of something slowly slipping around him. It ebbed and flowed quietly along, a soft rushing sound entering his ears. Marik opened his eyes, and realized he was floating in something. Water, he assumed. It carried him along for what could have been hours. There was nothing above him; just a vast, black space. No light, no moon, no stars. Eventually, Marik grew tired of the weightless sensation, and he righted himself. Much to his surprise, the liquid was quiet shallow. As he sat up right, his feet were able to touch bottom. Marik looked around at the water for the first time, and felt his stomach beginning to drop. It wasn't water at all he had been in, but blood.

Marik felt his throat beginning to tighten, and he scrambled as quickly as he could to the shore, finding that it was covered in various reeds and other water dwelling plants. In fact, he felt as though he had seen them before. But the thought was fleeting, and he pressed onwards. The reeds crunched and snapped under his feet. After tripping more than once over the reeds and his own feet, Marik finally broke through the troublesome plant barrier to the other side. Panting heavily, Marik looked down at himself, expecting to see his clothes soaked red, but they weren't. He was clean, save for drips of water trailing off the tan robes he was wearing. No traces of blood on him anywhere. Shivering, Marik looked around at what lay ahead of him, and his eyes grew wide. He was standing on the threshold of what appeared to be some sort of palace.

It didn't seem to be any ordinary palace either. High, fortified walls, large pillars decorated with papyrus and lilies, limestone exterior walls, Hieroglyphic writing and hierarchal scenes; for certain this was the palace of an Egyptian Pharaoh. He'd seen many artist depictions of them in his history books, but none like this. To say it was grand was an understatement. But Marik didn't have long to admire the façade of the structure. Shouts from behind alerted him that he was not alone. He turned to look and saw a group of soldiers charging towards him, spears in their hands. His mind panicked, and he ran.

Sand clung to his damp feet, kicking up a spray of dust as he sprinted forward; he dared not look back, for he knew the men would still be chasing him. But try as he might to gain speed, the waterlogged robes he was wearing were beginning to slow him down. Marik ran a short distance longer, but found that he just could not press himself to go on. And so he collapsed to the ground, his lungs screaming at him for air. The footfalls of the soldiers neared, and Marik knew he had nowhere else to run. One of the men shoved him to the ground; he coughed as some of the sand entered his mouth. As he spat the distasteful substance out, he felt the tip of a spear head lightly jab into his back.

"State your business here, peasant."

"I'm…" he choked a bit, trying to sit up. Marik stopped when he felt the tip of the spear nearly pierce his skin, "I'm just lost!" The guards hauled him up to his feet, and he squirmed, "Please, I didn't know where I was at…"

One of the soldiers scoffed at him, "Of course you were. Hope you enjoyed your stroll, because you won't be seeing the outside for a while," he sneered.

Marik looked up at him, eyes widening, and he thrashed more, "Put me down! I'm telling the truth! Help! Someone hel-guh!"

The other guard brought the blunt of his spear down on Marik's head, and he felt his vision black out along with his limbs giving out. It was a few minutes later when he regained his awareness, and the guards were still dragging him along. But they appeared to be inside now. They must have brought him into the palace. They're going to lock me up. I'm never going to get out of here. I'll turn into an old man, withered and broken. Or they'll have me killed. I just want to go home. I just want to see my family again. See father again…

Suddenly the guards stopped mid-march. Marik wasn't entirely sure why they had until he heard a voice from in front of him speak, "Guards, what is the meaning of this?"

"This boy was found trespassing outside on palace grounds. We're taking him to be detained, my Pharaoh."

Pharaoh? Marik slowly raised his head and opened his eyes. His vision was still bleary, and he couldn't make out much of the man before him and the guards. Only that he seemed to be wearing white cotton and some sort of gold or brass adornments on his person, and that his hair seemed to stick out at various angles. But he dropped his head again after only a few seconds, feeling like his world was spinning.

"Take this boy to my study. He is to be treated as my guest. Understood?"

Both soldiers nodded and led the delirious boy away and down a different set of hallways. Marik groaned the pain his head getting worse. He lifted it again, finding he was able to see a little better than before. Finally, the trio reached their destination: the study. The guard holding onto him released his arms, and Marik struggled to keep his balance. He grabbed a nearby chair until his legs didn't feel so much like rubber and looked behind himself, only to find the guards had disappeared. He could have run then, maybe he would have found a way out of the palace. But something compelled him to stay, and he decided to take a seat in the chair he was holding onto. There were three other chairs nearby like it, and a small table. A few dusty tomes lay scattered on it, looking as though they hadn't been touched in a while. Marik picked one up and flipped through it; it appeared to be a book of folk tales. He didn't get to read very far into it, as a set of footsteps entering the room.

Fearing he'd be in trouble, Marik quickly shut the book and set it back on the table a little harder then he meant to. A low chuckled emitted from the other room's occupant as he neared him, "You may read if you like, after all that's what they're there for."

Marik glanced back and felt his heart quicken. It was the same man from before. The one the guards had called Pharaoh. He could now see him more clearly. His tricolored hair did indeed stick out at odd angles. His skin was a mid-toned olive, similar to Marik's. His eyes were a deep shade of violet. As Marik's panicked eyes met his, he could faintly see the corners of the king's lift in amusement. As he got closer, Marik noticed he was holding something in his hands. It was a silver tray. On the tray were a clay teapot and two empty cups. Blinking Marik looked up at the king, bemused.

"I did say you were my guest, did I not?"

"Yeah, but…" Marik looked down at the cups then back at the Pharaoh, "I guess it's just…odd."

Chuckling, the king poured them both some tea and handed Marik his share. The boy took it without a word and sipped it quietly. The older man sipped his, then carried the cup with him over to one of the shelves behind Marik, "What is it I might call you, child?"

"I'm Marik…and, not to sound rude, but, I don't know your name either…"

"Is that so?" the king pondered, sounding surprised as he scanned the spines of the books, "The name my father bestowed me was Atem."

Marik blinked, his own surprise surfacing, "Atem?"

"You sound astonished. Is my name that remarkable?" he asked, turning to face the child.

"No, it's not that. I…I've read about you in my books before…"

"I see…" he smiled, walking over to Marik's chair. He leaned on the back rest and looked down at him, "What is it these books say about me?"

Marik bit his lip, humming to himself in thought as he tried to recall what he had read before, "It said…you possess great power in your court; that you and your priests can summon monsters. Is that true?"

Atem chuckled again, "It seems my reputation precedes me. Yes, it is quite true. Would you like to see one, my child?"

The boy's eyes widened, both in fear and inquisitiveness. A real monster! He wondered what the monster would look like. Marik thought a moment longer before giving two curt nods in response. Atem's smile widened and gestured for the boy to get up. Marik did as told, setting his tea down on the table. The pair moved to a space in the study where there was more room. Marik stood, watching with curious intent as the reverse pyramid shaped pendant around Atem's neck began to glow. The light transfixed Marik's gaze, and he continued to stare at the golden pyramid even as it dimmed and faded. When nothing seemed to have happened, Marik blinked and looked around the empty space in front of them, but nothing seemed to have materialized. The boy opened his mouth to comment until something wrapped right around his waist and wrists that jerked him backwards.

A scream erupted from his throat as whatever grabbed him dragged him backwards. The restraints drew tight, stretching his arms out to the sides, rendering them useless. When his body had been snapped into place, shackles near his feet bound them painfully together. He was completely immobilized. His eyes frantically looked around at what was holding him. It seemed to be some sort of metal device in the shape of a half circle. There were four large spheres, two on either side of him. A metal rod stuck out from each. They sparked slightly, giving him little warning before electricity shot fourth from the spikes.

There was pain. Unimaginable pain that tore through his body like the teeth of a jackal: sharp, swift, and merciless. Marik shrieked; it felt like every fiber of skin, muscle, and bone was being ripped to shreds. Tears ran from his eyes; snot dribbled out his nose and down his throat. He began to cough. What came back up tasted of copper. Was he dying? Marik wished that he would die. Just so the pain would stop. What he thought to be minutes ticked by until the electricity finally ceased. His muscles went slack, and he sobbed even as the monster seemed to fade back into obscurity. His body smacked into the floor, but he didn't have the strength to get back up. He laid there, tears drenching his cheeks, turning his skin raw.

And he heard them: footsteps. Someone bent down to his level, but he didn't register it to be Atem until the other man lifted him up to his knees. Marik stared back at him, eyes blank, utterly crushed. He thought the king was his friend. That he could trust him. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't bring himself to utter any words. Atem smiled at him, eyes seemingly apologetic, as he pulled the boy to his chest. His arms held him firmly in place, stoking his back gently, in an almost comforting manner.

"W-why-" Marik choked out. The feeling of more blood dribbling down the corner of his mouth nearly made him gag.

Atem lifted the boy's face up with a finger under his chin. Marik searched his face for the answer, but could find nothing even remotely close to explanatory. Finally, the king answered his inquiry, "I do this out of love, my child. Nothing more, nothing less," he crooned, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb. As the boy trembled in his arms, Atem pulled Marik's face closer to his, and pressed their mouths together in a soft kiss. And Marik's mind reeled, plunging him back into the darkness.

Marik lurched forward, and immediately his stomach protested. His breakfast came back up, spilling onto the floor. As he heaved, trying to force the food to stay down, he felt someone hold his hair back for him as the placed a small bucket in front of him on the floor. As his stomach began to calm, and his heaving turned to sobs, he looked up to see who was holding his hair still. It was Dr. Bakura. And without really thinking, Marik threw his arms out and held tight to the white-haired man before him. Hassan said nothing to him; he simply held the boy there, stroking his hair, shushing him until he eventually calmed.

"W-where…"

"The infirmary…I had you brought here when you passed out. You've been out for about an hour."

Marik nodded silently, continuing to hold onto the doctor. Not wanting to let go. Not wanting to succumb to the dark of sleep again. But his mind and body were so weary, so painfully tired, that he felt himself slipping back into that beautiful oblivion once more. Perhaps it was because the doctor was there, his one familiar in this lonely, sterile place, that he felt safe enough to let the gloomy black swallow him up once more. His eyes slipped shut, and the world became but a distant memory.