Book Dragon: "Don't have a clue where this came from. I just wrote down the first word and the rest of it just sort of flowed after. Hope you find it as interesting as I do."

Rose Red.

That's the color of blood, isn't it? Spanned across blinding white snow. The first snow he had ever seen. That's the color of blood when it's first spilled, isn't it? The type they die those crimson dresses women wear. A brilliant bright crimson, like the blood is shocked at being in open air instead of the narrow goodness of the veins. Like it has a mind of its own. Like it is alive.

It is alive, come to think of it.

Only when it dries is it truly dead. Lacking of life. Pale shaking fingers touch that pool of steaming redness. Still warm. Shock was leading to confusion in his purple stare. Shaking confused fingers of a man who had neither seen snow nor blood in that fashion, forget seeing them together like that.

Someone was killed here.

His breath, short and impatient, comes in fast gusts of fog in the cold of the winter air. Violet eyes darted with bewilderment, staring and searching the great pool for a purpose of it's being there. You know Violet seems to sound and look a lot like Violent? One letter off. Eh? Not that big of a difference on the surface, right?

It's only when you know the means of those words that you see they are not the same.

He put the blade down slowly, releasing it from his sweaty gasp, horrified. The kitchen knife that was wetted with the same drying crimson. It landed softly with a thud in the bright white of snow. Flakes where falling on his face. He didn't know that you called them snowflakes. They were pretty. None were the same. His eyes settled on them wonderingly.

He didn't know why he was here. Didn't know why his shirt was covered in blood. Didn't feel the slashes at his arms or the cuts in his palms. Didn't feel the receding warmth or the sleeping vessel with in him. Was he even sleeping? He didn't know. He decided he was going to lie down, for a while. He felt tired. His wrists itched. He laid on his back, his purple eyes on the black sky, dropping glittering specks of snow on his face.

He stared at the moon and the stars peaking from behind a huge black gray cloud with wide awaking eyes. Awed eyes. Weeping eyes. Had it been in defense? Or was it an attack? Why was he crying? The pool was drying in the snow. His great purple eyes were closing in the dead of night.

Yeah, Yami. Who did you kill? That was what his mind enquired angrily. Weird. Yugi wouldn't wake up. He wanted to ask him the same question. Wanted to ask what they were doing out here. Why Tea's name was on the great gray stone about a foot away. And why he was so tired.

Someone was dead. It was almost like he could smell it. His eyes finally closed, leaving him with no moon or stars. Only blackness. Deep stretching blackness. An abyss he had eluded for so many long years. It was ominous but surprisingly a great relief to finally be seeing it. He felt the flow of liquid from the itch of his wrists and realized that it was him bleeding out. Realized that the gray stone was actually a gravestone.

Have you ever noticed how Violet can depict love?

Have you ever noticed how Violet and Violent are only off by one letter?

Have you noticed that freshly spilled blood of a mournful heart is the color of roses?

Yeah. Who did you kill Yugi? Who did you kill Yami?

The single word left him in a wisp of fog before he plunged into eternal sleep.

"Us."