Chapter Thirteen: By Susan Kay

Bakura POV

As the weeks slithered by and the months sneaked away, I found myself actually getting used to palace life. Granted, it was hard to get used to it in the beginning: what with the soft beds, my coarse language, and Rishid always keeping a wary watch on my itchy fingers. Although I was officially Malik's servant, I had a good amount of freedom, and it took me a while to get used to that.

But some things never changed. Regardless of poverty life or palace life, my mask was still the mystery among the people, my white hair a frightening omen, and my pale skin an abomination. Wherever I went, people stared at me: servants gawked, mothers hid their children, and none of the teenaged boys wanted to be near me. Since I was fifteen, I was ripe enough for a married life, but no woman, servant, slave or otherwise, ever came up to me.

I never really cared much for romance, so I wasn't that hurt when I realized that I would never find another woman who would ever be interested in bedding me. Perhaps I was fortunate to be spared with the ignorance that there was more to a woman than sexual need; therewas also love, and that for sure, I would not ever have. Who could ever love someone as strange as me?

Malik had once told me that I should not be bitter about my appearances and the past that they had granted me. Of course, at that point in time, he hadn't been aware of my past and its true, morbid extent, but I was curious to what he had to say. He had sort of winked at me and told me that it wasn't my pale skin and white hair that kept on ticking him off; it was my sharp tongue and stubborn, violent attitude that was my undoing. I had sort of oggled him in a confused, incredulous expression, and he had laughed and patted me on the back.

As I grew to get used to palace life, Nadir often came by to see me. When I was much younger, possibly seven, Nadir had found me picking my way through Egypt's poverty life through stealing. I wasn't sure what type of potential he saw in me, but rather than stopping me when I dared to enter someone's house, he merely watched me.

When I had finished my business of pantry-raiding, he had been waiting for me outside. It was night when I first met him, and I was startled to see that I had been caught.

He was much taller than me then, looking down upon me with a strange sort of fatherly firmness. My arms had been full of hard bread and a couple of fruits, and my cheeks where bulging of dried meat. I remember staring up at him dumbly, with wide eyes, wondering how the hell was I supposed to worm my way out of that situation.

To my surprise, Nadir didn't turn me in. Instead, he allowed me to continue stealing at my will, and often, he would meet me sometime during the night and stay as my companion. I became to appreciate his company and actually soon enjoyed it.

So when palace life became too much for me to handle, I was glad that Nadir often dropped by to give me lessons. Most of the such lessons were physical combat, self defense, and even how to read and write. When I had mastered that, he even taught me the religion of my people, the mystic beliefs, and not only that; Nadir also taught me the mysteries of the world.

I was very much interested in occult, divination, tarot reading, palm reading. In truth, in some aspects I was mostly interested in the mystery of magic. Perhaps some part deep inside of me, I had hoped that perhaps if Ra had the power to prevent a drought, or defeat Seth, or turn an evil man good, maybe he could change my fate.

As the years passed by, I found myself slowly forgetting my misery. Rather than being Malik's 'slave', I was exactly as he described to me as: a play-date. A companion. Someone to sit and talk to. I used to comment about how stupid it was to expect me on his bed ready to talk, but Malik had retorted that I should've only talked when I actually had something decent to say. I had smiled.

There were many things I could talk to Malik about. After the cage was removed, Malik offered for me to sleep in his bed until my cot arrived. Even though I had been disgruntled and expected some sort of mockery, my suspicions all disappeared when Malik and I ended up talking endlessly into the night, snuggled warmly against one another under the sheets.

We talked about life, we talked about philosophy, we talked about the stories we used to hear and the songs we used to sing. Malik was very interested in music (granted, he was interested in a lot of things), so when I felt particularly stronger and a bit more happier, I felt inclined enough to sing some of the songs from my village. Kuru Eruna used to have festivals every month. Now it was empty. Echoing and empty.

Yet, when I sang to him, I realized that the memories were suddenly a lot less harder to bear. When I allowed my voice to carry to his ears, lulling his eyes into an enchanted sleep, I found that with each note that flew from my lips, another weight seemed to be lifted from my chest. Singing to Malik songs from my old village strangely seemed to help me adjust to my life at the palace: forgetting my old life in a miserable, dead village, and moving on to my new life; happier, more comfortable, and with more companions than I had ever had in my life.

Although I liked singing and I liked music, I was not one to sit around and do nothing. Nadir often tried to encourage my musical talent, saying that although my voice was a coarse tenor, with proper training, it'd be the most miraculous gift of music Egypt had ever seen. I, however, was never interested in sitting in front of some sheets of paper all day, trying to hit the right notes or extend my lungs to accomodate that one long melody. I liked the outside. I had always liked the outside. I liked the wind and the sun on my bare, naked face, but when will that ever happen?

Malik had seemed to notice this, and he himself did not like being locked up either. When Nadir had finallly convinced me to at least practice my voice to sing at the upcoming Pharaoh's ball (why I agreed, I'll never remember), Malik thankfully interrupted us and asked me to come outside.

Ignoring Nadir's exasperated frown from under his turban, I followed Malik through the winding halls and out the back, garden doors. He led me through the garden and the gazebos, past the little rivers and ponds, and finally, to the very back of the garden, where the walls were shaded and hidden by the trees. It was behind these trees he stopped, and turned to look at me.

His eyes sparkled in a strange, yet beautifully wistful way as he stared at me. I felt his eyes rake from mine to my face, my mask. I stiffened. Even though Malik and I had gotten closer, I still didn't dare let anyone touch my mask. My mutilation was my fate...I was not to show it to anyone unless the time was right.

I don't even remember who told me that...perhaps it was my mother when she died protecting me...

"Bakura, don't! Don't go near the edge! Keep away from the edge!"

But why must I always keep away from the edge? Why must I?

"Never show your face!"

Why Mother...why? Even I am not familiar with the face behind my mask...I never really looked...afraid that Ra might strike me down if I did.

I lowered my head and turned away from Malik's gaze. Slowly, I felt him reach up a hand, and rather than stroking my face like I thought he'd would, he softly brushed away my hair.

"No one will see," Malik said, his voice gentle and sweet. "Even I won't look. But you don't want to keep being locked up all the time, do you?"

I paused, cherishing the soft caresses in my rough hair. My fists trembled unsurely. Malik tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

"I'll close my eyes and look the other way," Malik whispered. "I promise I won't look."

I closed my eyes and felt his fingers briefly skim the edge of my mask. I bit my lip and took a halting breath.

"Promise?" I whispered.

Malik's eyes glittered beautifully and he smiled, nodding his head. He stood up straight and closed his eyes, covering them with his left hand, as his right hand slowly slid from my hair, to my chin. Here, his fingers closed lightly on the edge of my burlap mask and stopped, as though he was silently asking for permission. I closed my eyes and felt the tempting first breath of air when his fingers first lifted my mask; with a deep sigh, I nodded my head, and he swept off my mask.

I never turned to look if he really kept his promise. My eyes were closed the time as I felt the wind against my cheeks. My very pores had never felt more revitalized, refreshed and breathing every breath of air that floated through the trees. Even the rays of the sun peeked through the leaves, and I cherished the warm droplets I felt against my face. My right side of my face burned slightly from the new experience of it all; since it was that side that was mutliated, it was a lot more sensitive.

I took my time appreciating the only moment I had ever been allowed to bare my face. I took deep breaths, forcing myself to hold back the tears of adolescent, wasted years. I tried my best to not cry at touching mercy of Malik, who I had not heard yet scream, faint, or gasp in horror. I could only have hoped that he wasn't looking in silent fear, or whether he had died straight away from my cursed face.

I slowly lowered my head, not wanting to tempt Malik to look. My mask, still in Malik's hands, were still and patiently waiting for me. I let a touched, bewildered smile grace my face for one moment. Malik had his back turned to me, both hands covering his face, my mask nearly in his nose, and he was taking deep, excited breaths from my mask.

I slowly reached out a hand and, just for a moment, hesitated. I had never touched anyone before; most people didn't like the idea that I could have physical contact with anyone. When Malik and I shared that bed those nights, I always had curled up in a protective ball and he was the one always holding me, stroking me, cuddling me. He was an affectionate thing, but would he allow me to touch him?

I bit my lip and just tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't look," I quickly said, noting that he was going to turn around. "Just give me the mask."

"You finished?" asked Malik, his voice muffled from behind my mask. "Already?"

I blinked. "...You expected me to take longer?"

Malik shrugged, still not relinquishing my mask and breathing deeply. "Iunno...maybe? You like the sun, right? I can wait."

I smiled faintly, touched by his compassion and consideration. I reached forwards and briefly skimmed my fingers over my mask.

"You just don't want to give up my mask, do you?" I joked. For once, my voice was void of bitter sarcasm. Malik burst out into giggles and buried his face into the burlap.

"How can you stand such a thing?" he asked me. "It's so scratchy and hot. It smells nice though..."

I quirked an eyebrow. "It smells nice?" I asked dryly. Although he was hiding behind my mask, I could tell that Malik was blushing.

"Well...yeah," Malik admitted cutely. "But um..." He straightened himself again, and turned to me. "My eyes are still closed. I can wait a bit longer if you want to stay."

Once again, I was touched by his consideration. I shook my head and touched my mask again.

"It's okay," I said quietly. "This is enough."

Nodding quietly, Malik slowly released my mask, and quickly lowered his head so he would not see my face. I was about to readjust my mask to my face when I saw how he fidgeted. It wasn't a frightened sort of fidget, it was more of the one of impatient curiosity. The ones he'd get when he couldn't wait to examine or see or ask about something.

I looked at my mask in my hands, and looked back at his golden hair.

Why must I keep away from the edge?

I slowly placed a hand on my mutilated cheek. Even I wasn't sure how bad it truly was...but Malik...could I...?

Never show your face!

But to who, Mother? To who?

If you show your face, they'll hurt you, child.

What if they won't hurt me?

They will, baby, they will.

Mother!

I bit my lip and sighed. Fingers trembling, I lowered my mask, and gently tapped Malik on the shoulder again. He quirked his head up a bit, as though asking if I was finished with my mask. I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting up.

"No, wait," I said quietly. "...You want to see my face, right?"

He seemed startled, but quickly shook his head. "If you don't want to show me, you don't have to..."

"I want to," I said softly. "I want to."

Malik seemed to stiffen, and I could feel awe and excitement and touched delight pour out of him in droves. He wasn't afraid, I realized. He was eager to see my face. To laugh or to mock, I wasn't sure, and for a moment, I faltered, unsure if I could trust him. But on little hand on my wrist soothed me, and I then realized that he would never mock me for my face.

I dropped my mask to my side, and stood up straight. Keeping my eyes straight ahead of me, I slowly brought him up to full height. His head was still bowed.

"You can look now." I closed my eyes. "You can look."

I felt his hair shift against my hand as he lifted his head. A small gasp issued from his lips, and immediately, I blanched. Had I destroyed him? Had I destroyed the only friendship I had? Ever? What had ever convinced me that if I ever showed him my face, he wouldn't hate me like everyone else? Fear me?

I was about to curse myself for my stupidity when I felt a light touch against my horrendous cheek. A small tear slipped out of my eye against my will, and I lowered my head, yeilding to his touch. I cursed myself for such a terrible display of weakness, but Malik did not show contempt towards me for it. Rather, he softly slid his hand down my cheek, along my jaw, and finally, cupping my chin. A small, soft thumb brushed away my tear.

"It's not that bad," Malik said suddenly. "I don't know what everyone's making a fuss about."

I was surprised. Startled, I instantly opened my eyes, and saw his violet ones staring right back at me. They weren't wide-eyed and small-pupiled in fear, or even flashing hatred or contempt. Instead, they shone at me wtih a strange sense of confusion, and even ...sympathy? Beyond those two emotions, I could not read the rest of his eyes. They seemed to glow at me with more than just compassion...the twinkle seemed to be that of awe...and the clouded amethyst shade seemed to be...

I bit my lip and shook my head. No, I wasn't thinking straight.

"What did you say?" I asked, not sure if I heard him right.

Malik leaned his head to one side, as though analyzing my face to see if it looked better that way. "...I said," he repeated. "That it doesn't look that bad. One side of your face isn't even ugly."

His eyes suddenly lost that glassy look, and they suddenly regained a certain sharpness to them, as though he had just caught and corrected himself. He touched my left cheek. "Really. Like, there's nothing even here. No blemishes, nothing. It's not even ugly. It's..."

"It's what?" I asked, my eyes wide open. "It's what?"

Malik softly blushed, and quickly dropped his hand. "Nothing," he stuttered, looking away. "It's nothing. It's not even ugly." He turned to me again. "Your right side isn't that bad either. It just...kinda gives youa really...evil look."

"Evil?" I repeated. "Malik, don't spare me the euphemisms. What does my face actually look like?"

Malik frowned a bit, as though thinking hard. He scratched his head.

"Well...I mean...it's kinda scary, I guess, but not in an ugly way. Your scar...it just...it cuts along your cheek like from your eye so it makes you look a lot more meaner than usual," Malik paused, and his eyes twinkled. "IF that's even more possible..." Malik smiled. "But I mean...I could get used to it. It's just...it's not ugly. It's just..." Malik thought about his word again. "Unique." He finally said. "It's different."

I stared at him, gawk-eyed and stupid. Finally regaining my composure, I shook my head in an aggravated manner.

"You mock me," I said snappishly. "Don't try to cover up your fear with petty words. It's hideous, I know."

"You never even looked at yourself, have you?" asked Malik hotly. "It really isn't that bad. I don't know what everyone's talking about, I think they're just afraid of your hair and your scar. Your scar might look really scary, but it's not ugly. It's just ...very piercing, I guess."

I wrinkled my nose. "And you're not afraid?"

Malik stood up to his full height and puffed up his chest. "No I'm not," he said defiantly. "I think they're stupid to keep on making fun of you this way. You really aren't that bad looking."

Strangely enough, I felt as though Malik meant that in a different way, but I payed no attention and resumed putting my mask back on. I felt genuinely surprised that he was not afraid of my face, but I couldn't let it show. Malik had always been a different person than anyone else I ever knew.

Malik quickly stopped me.

"Don't put that mask back on ever again," Malik said firmly. "Your left side of your face isn't even ugly. I'm going to ask Rishid to make a good mask for you...one that covers only half your face, the side that everyone's afraid of. Then people will see that you're not as bad as they think you are, and that way, you can at least be more comfortable. That thing was suffocating!"

I stared at him, my eyebrows arched in an expression that clearly said that I thought him as mad. He huffed impatiently and snatched my mask away, and tore it promptly in half.

"Malik!" I yelled. "What the hell?"

"It's not healthy for you to wear this mask," Malik said shortly, letting the pieces fall to the floor. "Here." He promptly bent over and ripped a large strip of his own cloth belt, made with the finest silk and linen Egypt had to offer. Since I was a servant, even my garments weren't as comfortable as his. He tore his cloth belt up and took out his dagger from his sandals, and promptly poked two holes in it.

"Here," he said, handing it to me. "Wear it until Rishid can get you a good mask. We'll make it out of plaster...or maybe even alabaster! Or glass! Glass is easy to mold and we can fit to adjust to your face! Then you'll always be comfortable!"

I looked at him dumbly, taking the silk mask in my hands. He scratched his head again and seemed to be thinking something deeply.

"I know..." he said slowly. "Bakura, you're playing at the Pharaoh's ball, right?"

"Right," I said stiffly, not liking to be reminded that I still had a score to practice. "Why?"

Malik smiled. "I hear it's a costume ball!" he said excitedly. "We all dress up and dance and stuff! Wouldn't it be absolutely specially elegant for you if you came to the ball wearing a mask? We'll make a mask made especially for you that night...one full one to cover your whole face while you perform, and then, at the end of the performance when you dance with me, you can wear your half-mask! Rishid and I will get your masks made so prettily...oh, Bakura, you're going to look so beautiful!"

I blinked, utterly stunned at the different strange compliments hurled my way. One, I had never had anyone call me beautiful except for my mother...was he mocking me? Second, why the heck would I wear so many masks at once, I only needed one...and third...What? I was going to be dancing with Malik?

"I'm going to be dancing with you?" I asked, rather stupidly. Malik immediately lost his smile and his cheeks flushed brightly.

"Well, if you want to," Malik mumbled embarrassedly. "I mean...if you don't want to, you don't have to, but you're going to have to wear a costume to the ball anyway...so we may as well get you a mask too..."

Suddenly Malik's eyes light up. A breathless smile returned to his beautifully cute face.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "They'll wear masks! I'll as the Pharaoh to make the costume ball into a ---a---"

"Masquerade?" I supplied dryly. Malik squealed.

"Yes! A mask-raid ball!" Malik jumped up and down. "Everyone will have a beautiful, fancy mask, so you won't be the only one; no one will recognize you, they'll think of you as some handsome lord from the far out countries...I'll bring you in with me not as my servant, but as a...a..."

Malik blushed again and quickly looked away. "...Well...um..."

"A date?" I supplied again, though this time more eagerly, and slightly in disbelief. Malik flushed and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Um...I mean, if you want to," Malik mumbled. "I just thought, if maybe...everyone's so mean to you all the time, and they don't even know how you really look...if everyone wears a mask, you'd be considered an equal, and maybe...if you dress up really nicely and come with me ...'that way'..um..maybe they'll get to know you and treat you nicer." Malik giggled nervously at me. "I mean, I got to know you, and you're not ...that bad." Malik lost his shy demeanor and poked a tongue at me. "Baku-jerk."

I smirked at his little nickname. He often called me "Baku-jerk" if I was being too bitter about how people treated me. It was a juxtapostion...a contradictory name since he always told me that no friend called a friend 'jerk' or 'stupidhead'.

"Shut up, blondie," I shot right back, beginning to grin. I had never grinned without my mask before. Malik's eyes widened and twinkled and he flashed me a brilliant smile.

"Your face looks even better when you smile," Malik said wistfully. He held out his hand to me. "Wanna come back inside? We'll start getting preparations...we'll start getting clothes for you, the finest silks...right from Asia and Greece! And we'll get them formerly ordered and personally altered...Rishid and I will get the best glassblowers to make your mask..."

"It'd be kinda stupid to make my mask out of glass," I said dryly. "People would see right through anyway. It wouldn't cover anything up."

Malik frowned and pouted. "True..."

"Plus," I added, "if I fell, it'd break, and you don't exactly want to mutilate my face even more, do you?"

Malik scrunched up his nose. "Shut up, it'd be a pity to screw up your face," he said at me. "It's fine the way it is."

Malik paused again, and continued his initial ramble. "And then...we'll get ..um...sculptors, I guess, to make your mask out of plaster or alabaster...and we'd let it cool in the basements or something and put balm inside it all the time so it won't rub against your skin, and we'll fit it perfectly so you won't even need a string to keep it on..."

I smiled and let him ramble, slowly tying up the temporary silk mask around my head. I ripped the last strands of thread that obstructed my eye-holes, and saw Malik watching me.

"Will you do it?" Malik asked me.

"Do what?" I asked, surprised.

"Come to the mask-raid ball with me," Malik said. His eyes suddenly seemed to get bigger, eyelashes longer, and beautiful depths more captivating. "Will you?"

I sighed, but I couldn't help but be touched by his feverous attempts to make me feel more of an equal among my fellow Egyptians. Anyways, one night in glamour and beauty wouldn't be all bad...though I had doubts that people's views of me would change, I suppose one night wouldn't hurt.

I held out my arm to him and bowed curtly. "If I may escort you," I said politely, eyes glittering mischevously. Malik's near-emotional expression suddenly lit up wtih that of pure joy, and he promptly wound an arm around mine.

"The pleasure is mine," he said, mockingly curstying and smiling sweetly. "And you are?"

"You can call me, my sire," I bowed again, "Touzoku."

"Touzoku," Malik repeated distantly. "What a beautiful name."

"To match an equally beautiful face," I smirked, nearly sarcastically. Malik giggled and touched my mask.

"Of course."

With our little imitation ended, Malik and I headed back to the palace. Since the silk was thin, I could feel the wind and the sun against my face regardless. However, as we made our way through the gardens and pass the rivers and ponds, our arms intertwined, my heart felt more warmth than it had ever felt before.

Before we entered the palace, I snuck behind his ear.

"By the way, it's masquerade," I whispered, "...blondie."

Malik POV

We spent the next few weeks preparing for the mask-raid ...masquerade...ball. I has asked the Pharoah to change his plans slightly and to say the least, he was most excited. He said it was a great idea and could promote equality and freedom of speech for all. I had nodded my head impatiently and hurried off before Pharaoh Akunamonkanon could start talking about politics and governments.

Bakura, however, was too busy with Nadir to get any of the important things done first.

"Malik," Bakura once said to me, huffing impatiently over his score, "finding a robe for me doesn't qualify as being 'important'."

"It's not important!" I had huffed. "It's EXTREMELY important!"

Bakura had rolled his eyes at me from behind the mask and continued at the harp. We had gotten him a harp since the European instruments were too expensive. It was large, quite tall and quite big; as tall as him but much wider than him. I liked watching him as he played the harp, focusing so intently on his skillful, nimble fingers. The web that their spidery instincts created caught me in such intrigue and romance and magic that everytime he practiced, I was in awe.

"A robe is extremely easy to find," Bakura told me. "The night before, we'll just stop by a market place and get one. That simple."

"It's not that simple!" I blew a bang away from my eyes in aggravation. "We have to get you cut for it! It has to look absolutely perfect!"

"If Nadir says it's okay, I'll steal one from the tombs," Bakura said off-handedly. "That would certainly be more than enough for perfection...it's fit for the Pharaoh himself!"

I stood up and glared at him. He took no notice of me and continued on playing, plucking at the strings and listening intently for any sour notes. Perfection, always perfection, and nothing less of what was expected.

"The Pharaoh," I said, "is at least four times bigger than you, Bakura! We have to find something perfect for you to wear! Somethingthat accentuates your beauty!"

Bakura's face fell into a glower and he glared at me. "Malik, I'm trying to practice."

"Well, after you practice we'll have to get started!" I said loudly. "The ball is only a few days away! And we still haven't found your clothes!"

"Don't mock me," Bakura said shortly. "I'm ugly enough as it is, there's no point dressing me up."

"Yes there is!" I retorted. "We only have a few more days..."

"All the more reasons for me to finish THIS SCORE, dammit!" Bakura cursed at me. "Malik, just leave me alone,okay? I still have to finish the finishing touches for my performance!"

"Aren't you just going to play the harp?"I asked, somewhat bitterly.

Bakura shook his head. "No...and as for what, you'll have to wait and see."

I huffed and stomped out of the room, leaving him in Nadir'squiet, teaching presence. Fine...if Bakurawouldn't cooperate, I would just have tofind a dressfor him myself.

A couple of days passed, and I was caught in the mayhem of fitting my own clothes. Nadir came to me one day while Rishid was pinning the last scarves of my gown (I was dressed as an Grecian prince from Athens.)

"Oh, there you are, Master Malik," Nadir smiled faintly at me. "Sorry to disturb you. Have you found a gown for Bakura yet?"

I scowled, pouting when Rishid poked me accidentally with a pin. "No."

"Good," Nadir said, smiling. "Because I've found one for Bakura already. He's ready for the ball any time now. What about his mask?"

"Finished," Rishid said proudly, his voice muffled because of the pins between his teeth. "Took many glassblowers and sculptors to make it, but we got it."

"We have three," I said, grinning. "One for Bakura's every-day use, one for his performance, and one for his ball tomorrow."

"Well prepared," Nadir nodded. "Alright then. I shall leave you to the masks. Make sure that you give them to me before the ball; Bakura doesn't wish to be seen before it is necessary."

I scowled. "He won't even let me see?"

Nadir's eyes glimmered. "Oh, dear Master Malik," Nadir shook his head. "Bakura won't let anyone see."

The day of the mask-raid...masquerade!...ball arrived. I was dressed in fine, pale, beige silk, sleeveless and long. A cloth belt was once again, wound around my waiste, a beautiful lavender colour to match my eyes. A royal, rich lavender cloak was draped over my shoulders, and red ribbons adorned my wrists and forearms. My sandals were tied around my ankles and strewn up my calves. My hair had been swept up in a half and pinned with a jeweled scarab bettle, its wings spanning over the intricate design of my hairstyle.

I was pleased with my mask. It was a deep purple, dotted with silver and diamond droplets about the edges. Pure white feathers adorned its edge, and from the tips of the feathers were strung thin strands of beads that were linked back to my beetle. The mask only covered half my face, just from my forehead to the bridge of my nose. The silver and the diamonds were accentuated wtih the gold in my gown.

As planned, I was waiting at the edge of the entrace leading to the grande hallway. Atemu came up to me, dressed as an Arabian prince, compliments to Nadir for his turban.

"I'm surprised you fit all your hair in that thing," I joked, as Atemu hopped towards me.

"It took a while," the prince admitted, pushing the side of the turban upright. "Like my pants?"

I looked down. "Very baggy."

Atemu smiled. "I thought so too." He glanced at me. "Hey, when is your servant coming?"

"Rishid?" I asked. Atemu shook his head.

"No...the other one."

"Bakura?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. I'm waiting for him."

"Oh." Atemu thought deeply. "I don't think he likes me."

"I don't think he likes anyone," I admitted, sighing. Atemu smiled again.

"Well, he seems okay," Atemu said. "Maybe we all hang together later, after the ball."

I nodded, pleased with the idea. "Sure!"

Atemu grinned and hopped away into the hallway. "See you Malik!"

I waved. "See you."

"My my," a voice purred behind me. "If you had other accquaintances for tonight, you could've sent note to me..."

I gasped and turned around. Standing behind me and had been previously hovering over my ear, was Bakura. My eyes widened at his attire as I began to rake them over his entire being. He stood so tall, so grande before me, that for a moment, I faltered. I just had to appreciate the moment of his most handsome glory.

"You look wonderful," I breathed.

And indeed he did. If it was possible, he looked even better than the time I had seen him in the gardens. In fact, he looked absolutely unrecognizable! He was dressed as an exotic Arabian performer, (compliments, once more, I supposed, to Nadir), wearing the most beautifully intricate robe I had ever seen. It was a beautiful, fiery, ruby red in color, matching his eyes and complimenting his lightly tanned skin. Beneath the floor-sweeping robe, he wore another one, this one paler, light, a pale beige, closed and tied about his waist with a golden-white sash. The sash trailed down with the rest of the open robe, complimenting the golden, twinkling jewlery he had adorned himself in.

His white hair had been cut (it was getting very long) and now it was at his shoulders. A hood was drawn over his hair to conceal it, and crowned on his head were strands of fantastic beads of jewelry. He was wearing his full mask, simply because he was to perform first. It was black, a pure contrast to the brightness of his robes. Glass and diamonds dotted around the edges of his eyelids, and fanning from the sides were red and yellow feathers. I found myself blushing and gaping in awe. His mask looked as though it had been created with pheonix feathers itself!

"My dear Grecian prince," Bakura said, his voice sounding lightly exasperated, "will you stare at my face all night?"

I found myself blushing very hard, and quickly averted my gaze. I coughed self-consciously.

"You...you..." I coughed and cleared my throat again. "You're late."

He laughed a bit, very softly. I sneaked a peak at him from the corner of my eye. Although, being at a teenage year, he was still tall and gangly, I could see his strengthening, wider shoulders, and his slowly stronger muscles. His legs were no longer skeletal and nimble, but they were growing harder and more muscled in the Egyptian sun. If he wasn't built, he was at least finely toned.

"I'm fashionably late, my dear Prince," he corrected. He straightened, like a fine gentleman, and held out his arm to me. "Shall we proceed?"

A smile slowly lit up my face, and nodding, I wound my arm around his. Although I couldn't see, I knew he was smiling at me, since his eyes were twinkling in that soft, beautiful way that showed his inner happiness. My smile strengthened and we entered the double doors flew open wide. We entered the banquet hall.

I had been right. With Bakura in a full mask and everyone else in full masks too, no one could recognize him. Rishid and the other servants were not to attend in the direct mist of the ball; they had been shifted to another room where they could enjoy themselves among each other. The Priests were all lined up and were dressed in awfully funny matching gowns. A few servants here and there served food and entertainment (the servants still had to have shifts in terms of servicing the ball), and a couple were trailing protectively as guards after their masters or mistresses.

Many people flocked to see us. As a tomb-keeper and a close friend of the Prince, I had been allowed to attend. They all came to me, complimenting on my dress and my eyes, "Oh, young lord Malik, how much you've grown!" "Oh, little Malik, your eyes, they're just like your mothers!" but mostly, all of them asked:

"Malik, who is this special man?"

I could see that Bakura was surprised that no one could recognize him. The silver of his hair was hidden, and when it was seen, people just said, "Sire, what a wonderful wig!" All the women complimented on Bakura's handsome stature and stance, and his beautifully estrange red eyes.

"Malik, who is he?"

I smiled and wound my arm tighter around his, and patted him fondly on the shoulder. "This, everyone, is Touzoku," I said. "He comes from a far off country, so far away that we don't even know how to pronounce its name."

Everyone awwed and nodded. "He's a Lord there."

"A lord?" They all exclaimed. "Ra, have mercy!"

They were eager to know more about him, compliment more on his beautiful form, when he suddenly stepped away.

"If you will excuse me," he said shortly, "I must perform."

And he quickly left. I smiled after him, knownig that such close contact was a new thing for him to get used to. I told everyone that he was to perform, and since he was a secluded magician and musician, he liked his privacy and didn't like people. My mysterious backround of him simply made everyone more intrigued, and when we sat down to watch Bakura at his harp, I saw all of the women crowd in the front to see.

That was probably the first timeI had felt a twinge of jealousy.

Bakura POV

I was certainy not used to any of the compliments they had showered me with. A part of me wished quickly to get away, and when I could stand the stifling, incessantly stupid heat of fat men and their even fatter wives and their unneccessary talk, I left.

Everyone gathered close to watch me at the harp. I played it carefully, making sure that I made no mistakes. It was an Italian song of great romance...as I allowed my fingers to comb through the strings, I noticed how everyone began to slowly swoon into my great tapestry of music. My power and my beauty...I allowed my voice to carry so tremendously throughout the banquet that it felt that Ra himself was still.

When I paused in my music, the rest of my surprise kicked in. A magnificent display of lights showered itself from the ceiling, and the hall grew dark. Dancing girls, with my teaching, unfurled themselves from the shadows and began to dance to my music, which had grown more lively. In the darkness, they looked enchanting, mystical. From a simple song, my music slowly grew into an opera...a great opera of Ra and his son, and Isis, his queen, and the intricate love story that they wove. The floor beneath me glowed with my magician magic, and soon, the whole room was entirely captivated.

And I...

I was truly happy.

Malik POV

I was truly mystified by Bakura's talent. He had directed this all himself? The lighting, the music, the dancing girls and the boys and the magic? This was all his?

After the performance, Bakura quickly left the stage and returned to me in his half-mask. I froze in my track while everyone else flocked to his side and asked him, complimented him of his arts and how he had done it. But I, I remained where I was, even more captivated by something far more beautiful than his music.

His face.

He still had his hood on, so no one really recognized him. Everyone exclaimed about his beauty, and truly, he was beautiful. His lightly tanned skin was smooth and unblemished, and his ruby eyes were lashed in long, angular lashes that required no kohl. His lips were firm and chiseled, and when he smiled, they curled in such a way that it was the most gentlemanly thing I saw...but when he grinned, I could see the child in him, the child that played and laughed with me, that understood me.

It was then I realize that I had fallen in love with him.

Years of spending time with him had gotten us closer...finally gaining his trust and seeing his face had bridged the last gap. I had fallen in love, and there was no way I could ever get back up.

He turned his face to me, and I gaped in awe at his sculpted jaw, his beautifully shaped face. I suddenly felt light headed, so when he swooped towards me and caught me, I was thankful.

"Must you stare at my face all night?" he joked at me. I smiled fondly and gently caressed his mask with my fingers.

"Show them," I whispered. "Show them."

Without even a hurt, hesitant glance, Bakura nodded, and after putting me right way up, he tore off his hood and revealed his silver hair.

I didn't even need to describe their expressions when they saw who he really was. I was too proud for words.

Okay, whew. Eighteen chapters and I was still debating to add a lemon. If I did, that meant I would've had to write a whole romantic bit leadnig up the lemon, which I am NOT up for.

These flashbacks wll last hopefully one more chapter. If not, then two more, at the very most. They'er all under the category of "Intermission."

I called this chapter "By Susan Kay" for all of those who had read "Phantom" and could recognize some of Bakura's quotes as Erik's. I was tempted to also call this chapter, "The Edge" in regards to Erik and Bakura's "Why must I stay away from the edge?" Anyways, I'm not trying to plagerize, but since this is a PotR crossover, I wanted to drive home why Bakura and Erik are similar, so I used the same quotes they used when they were younger. "Why must I stay away from the edge?" "Why must you stare at my face all night?" And for the next chatper, "Are you quite sure a SMALL jar would contain me, Madame?" XDXD

Anyways, enjoy the chapter. Hopefully we can finish the Egyptian flashbacks in one to two moer chapters. READ AND REVIEW PLEASE!