Authoress's Note: Here is the next chapter of the story. There is only one more after this in Part I, and then I will have a brief time of not updating until I have progressed as far as I need on Part III. Thank you for all of the good reviews so far.

            I don't own "Yu-Gi-Oh" or "Behind Blue Eyes."

"When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool.
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool."

- the Who

            Cynthia was very sick. I knew this a week after the birth of our child; it was not just fatigue. There was a bluish tinge to her lips and her eyes were always closed.

            It is very hard on the mind to watch someone waste away like a lit candle.

            I finally convinced her that she needed to see a doctor about a month after she became sick; Cynthia didn't believe in modern medicine.

            Perhaps she would be still with me if she had.

            We hired an African woman to nurse our child because the doctor said it would help prevent our child from wasting away. He told me in a quiet voice that she had used up all of her strength during the birth of our child, and the loss of energy made her very ill. He said she would recover.

            "The doctor says you will be well again." I stroked her hair; it had lost its luster, but it was still as soft as a feather bed.

            She took my hand in hers. "I never thought it would come this soon." She tried to laugh, but it turned into a hacking cough. "I'm only seventeen; I have the child to care for, and I don't want to break your heart."

            "You will be well again, Cynthia. Don't talk like that."

            "God ordains when it is time to die. Don't look at me like that, Pegasus." I winced at the use of my last name. "I know you are a skeptic." Her voice was hoarse; I refilled the glass. She drank it. "I know I am dying. No one can turn the tide."

            I looked down at her; I was horrified. "Don't die, Cynthia! I need you! Your son needs you! What about your father?"

            Cynthia laughed again; the sound of it sickened me and the room seemed to darken. I could smell something putrid in the air, her decay perhaps.

            "Don't you see?" she asked me. I thought I saw something gold in the mirror where my left eye should have been. I blinked and the image was gone.

            "See what, dear?"

            "The child. It is not my child. I bore him, I gave birth to him… but it isn't my child. It is your child more than anyone else's. Who is the blue-eyed demon I see standing over the bed at night? He calls out to you. He is in the room right now watching us."

            I thought she had gone mad.

            Now that I think about what happened, there was an odd shadow in the corner of the room. A flash of blue, perhaps, then back the way it had been.

            "Tell me about him."

            "He has blue eyes," she began. "When I first saw him, he was in the window. His hair was aglow with the light of the full moon; it was a light blue. Recently, though, his hair is darker. Black, I think, or dark blue. He whispers your name. He kissed my belly when I was pregnant and ran his fingernails over my chest. I was frightened; you wouldn't wake up no matter how hard I tried to rouse you."

            I was stunned.

            After she spoke this, I thought I was beginning to see something in the shadows. I thought her madness was making my imagination play tricks on me, but at the same time I knew no madwoman could extract Midnight Blue from my mind and paint him.

            "Please get well," I said. I left the room.

            But she didn't get well.

            I was aware of a strange presence in my mind sometimes; it sifted through my thoughts and whispered in my mind. When I awoke one morning, I felt soreness at my neck and my hand felt around until there was half-dried blood.

            Lynn disappeared without even a goodbye; I wondered if I would ever find him again in the expanse of my lifetime. The image of the bloodied bag burned itself in my mind, and the more I thought about it the more there was something wrong with that image. In my dreams, the bag melted away to reveal a girl with white hair and my eyes.

            A fantasy, of course; I have always wanted a daughter.

            Her death came shortly before her eighteenth birthday; she had been asleep for a very long time and awoke only to eat and say "I love you" to me. That evening, I sensed something was different about her. I thought I could see something around her, and the putrid odor of decay assaulted me when I walked into the room. I breathed with my mouth so I would not have to smell it.

            There was sweat on her face that glittered in the setting sun. Something about her seemed broken and without hope. She opened her eyes, which had taken on a ghoulish transparency. She was going blind, of course. Now she could only see shapes.

            "Cynthia," I whispered. My mouth brushed against her wet forehead. "Beloved."

            "I tried." Her voice was very weak, barely even audible. "I tried."

            "No!" I told her. I shook her furiously. "I will not let you leave me! So many years, Cynthia, we have so many years!"

            She closed her eyes. I thought she had fallen asleep until her feeble voice broke through the silence of the shadow of death. "I saw something about you when I met you. I see it in you now. There comes a crossroad in your life; there were three directions, but only two remain open. I have sinned against you, and if my soul goes to Hell I do not regret it. I have kept secrets."

            I thought she was done, but her voice cut off what I was about to say.

            "I remember the night they were born. He came to me then and told me you were his, not mine, that you had asked for me. I felt his presence rouse the children, and they wanted to come out. And there was something else; I felt a fork in my life. Both roads led to death, and only one had hope. I feel a great evil coming. There was another who felt this evil, someone else who loved you. He helped me. I am so sorry!"

            Her words… I don't understand them at all now that I think about it. At that time, I was not trying to comprehend what she was saying. My mind repeated, she's dying, she's really dying. She won't come back. It was a mantra.

            "Promise me you will be a good father to our son. Promise you won't let him hurt Cerberus."

            "I promise."

             "I need to leave you now. Don't think about me if it pains you."

            Tears were welling in my eyes. "Goodbye, Cynthia. I love you."

            She opened her eyes again. "I know."

            I held her hand for a very long time, unaware of anything in the room. "Cynthia, I'm sorry."

            There was no answer. Her eyes were open, vacant, and I let out a long scream. I heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. Her hand was limp and her eyes would not shut! My cries took on a high-pitched tone.

            "Cynthia!" I shook her arm. "Cynthia!"

            I stared at her body, the small ravaged form. Calm swept over me, and I felt her smooth name grace my lips one more time. A final tear fell onto her face.

            Dead are those who love me that love me as a lover. My personal tongue twister; rhythmic, flowing, and the truest thing I have ever said about myself.

            Midnight Blue grasped me and pulled me to my feet. I recoiled and turned on him; a moment of stunned hesitation left him enough time to grasp my wrist. His hair was not blue now, but had been dyed a blackish color that seemed to reflect blue and dark violet. And it was not sunset now, I noticed, but dark.

            How long had I been grasping her dead hand?

            The thought chilled me.

            Another thought seized me. Midnight was the cause of this. The monster I saw before me had wrought destruction to those I loved. It was not my fault, of course, how could I say that it was my fault? But it was; mine for allowing them to get close enough to me to be hurt.

            But there was no room for thought in that room. There were people knocking on the door and demanding what was wrong.

            "You fiend," I whispered. I threw myself at him and a hiss escaped his lips. Fury as I had never before witnessed coursed through him like blood.

            When he spoke, his voice was dangerously cool. "Pegasus," he said.

            It was then that I noticed the bundle in his hands. My child! A small gurgle came and let me know Cerberus was still alive. Midnight was cradling it in his other arm.

            He pressed me to him and I felt a surge between us. I looked into his eyes and saw his lust for me; it chilled me. His lips rested on my neck and then his fangs were in me. I grasped him closer as everything faded away.