Hellooo..ooo..oo..o…

Uhm, yeah, I just tossed this fic in to keep my account running and letting everyone know, that yes, Felidae is still very much alive and has found a new obsession: Yugio-oh, or rather, a certain bishie from the show(I don't like the show, but that particular guy-yummy!)
Where was I? Oh yeah, this story was originally situated at , but since it's the rating is mostly because of the language, I decided to put it here.

So, go on and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Yugi-Oh, the sonnets are Shakespeare's and not even the vehicles mentioned in this fic are mine. I do, however, own the plot.

Summary: Kaiba recieves several mysterious love letters. Who could this secret admirer be? Pairing: Seto/?

Reviews: Yaayyy, please yes!

Archive. Like duh, just say where.


Twelve signs

When he received the first letter, he thought, it was just another haiku from one of his countless admirers.
He couldn't count the fanpost he received (mostly from heiresses or wealthy ladies, which were looking for a rich husband for either their daughters or themselves), praising his beauty, genius, business skills and what not more.
This one, however, was..different.
First of all, it wasn't a haiku, but a sonet, originally written by Shakespeare, and penned down in the most acrybic, beautiful handwriting he had ever encountered.
The kanji were so delicate, they seemed like pieces of woven silk, rather than simple inked callygraphy.
Second, the poem was less a praise, than an advise:

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

He let the expensive, hand-made paper glide through his fingers, reading the poem over and over again.
The letter contained nothing else, no 'beloved' admired', 'dearest' or similar endearing names, no explanation, no 'sincerely', 'love', 'yours forever' or any other greetings.
Only those disturbingly fitting lines of poetry.
Whoever chose this poem, knew him on a level, he himself rarely tread on.
He smirked.
Finally, a secret admirer, who displayed some sense of style and originality.

Seto couldn't wait to find out, who this person was.

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Don't worry, the chappies will be following even as you read…