Shadow: I was too tired to write and upload yesterday; I spent most of the day attempting to do a To Kill a Mockingbird essay. Don't get me wrong, it's a good enough book, but essays on it are mind-numbingly boring. (sighs) I also went shopping for temp hair dye – I'm going vamp this year for Halloween! (smiles)

Warnings: Shonen-ai pairings (boy x boy) - mostly Prideshipping (YY x SK) but with hints of Darkshipping (YY x YB).Angst, and character death.

Disclaimer: My mum's on at me to write a Christmas list. Maybe I'll stick YGO on it…

Flashbacks and other thoughts are in italics.

Thoughts that take place in italic sections are in bold italics.

Yami's emotions are all over the place this chapter. Expect mood swings.

Both sides of the border

Bewitchment

What the mortal eye can see is made up entirely of light.

Then…light is a powerful thing, isn't it? It provides colour, warmth, hope. It divides day from night, and ranges our world in a vast array of varying hues. There is light, there is darkness, and there are all the shadows in between. Everything spiralling down to nothing – for that is light and dark. Darkness is the absence of light, as death is the absence of life and nothing the absence of something. But…what is a shadow? A shade?

A shadow is a dark area or shape produced by an object coming between rays of light and a surface. A shadow is partial or complete darkness. A shadow is sadness, a gloom cast over the world, a weak or inferior remnant of something stronger and better that had been before.

A shade is merely a colour, relating to how light or dark the hue is; a slight difference between one thing and the next. But then, the shade is also the cool balm away from the scorching sun, a soft dimness that wraps you in semi-darkness and soothes away hurt. A shade is a ghost, a phantom of change, a pale comparison to a breathing life.

…So why did so many compare life of all things to such bleak ideas? In the words of the everlasting bard: 'Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.'

Life and light are equal in a mortal's eyes…but does the same hold true for death and the shade?

It was such a pretty, pretty day - beautiful, in fact, only a few days before Midsummer.

And what a Midsummer it looked like it was going to be! Everywhere was bursting with life and colour, the air rich and heavy with the dizzying scent of the world when it was most alive.

Oh, fateful irony at its most cruel.

The wind seemed playful that afternoon, dancing through the leaves in the mansion grounds and blowing people's hair in their faces. Thousands of tiny ripples were created on the lake by the breeze's teasing touch, a soft sigh the air's only comment upon those gathered at the water's side.

It was a sentiment echoed by many.

Beside the lake, under a tree, the jade green of the growing grass was disturbed. A small, select crowd was gathered about it – a splash of darkness in a sea of colour. It was a startling juxtaposition, and impossible to miss because of the sheer transference from one mood to another, from all the shades of the rainbow to absolute black.

There was a hole in the ground.

Dark, rich earth was obvious to all, a few averting their heads, crystal tears falling from eyes unable to see the gaping maw that was slowly devouring the white casket being lowered into it. A few stray roses, becoming unattached from perfect wreaths laid upon the case fluttered downwards into the darkness, the blood-red of their petals looking all too much like blood on freshly fallen snow.

He hadn't wanted to be buried in a church graveyard.

It had been something those closest to him knew – it would have been awkward apparently, had they attempted to go against his wishes. So, in agreement by all, he was to be buried in the place he loved the best. Under the tree. By the lake.

Where it had all begun.

It had been meant as an odd question at first, a random thought that popped into his head and he expressed before really thinking about it. But, on thinking about it, Yami realised it actually meant a lot more than he originally intended. And it stirred up so many emotions….and not only in him.

"If I were yours and you lost me, what would you do?"

Brown eyes regarded him in surprise – since when did he ever initiate conversation?

A raise of the eyebrow, message easily conveyed to his companion. Well?

"If you were mine…?" A soft whisper, a quiet voice filled with longing. "I would tear apart this world and the next to find you again, rewrite all of creation and defy the gods themselves to take you from my arms again."

Yami smiled at Bakura; a sad, sweet, smile. Ruby eyes shimmered with tears, a few crystal droplets already clinging to dark lashes. His voice, almost hoarse from grief:

"…Is it so inconceivable he would do the same?"

There were five red roses. He'd picked them all from the same bush, at the height of midday when they bloomed most fully. Thorns had pricked his fingers, the colour of his life's blood the same shade as the petals it fell upon. They were beautiful flowers.

The first he'd planted under a yew tree at midnight, between the roots of the ancient wood.

The second he'd placed at a church gate, hidden in the grass of hallowed ground.

The third he'd placed at a crossroads, with red petals pointing home.

The fourth he'd left beside running water, a babbling stream chattering to all who heard it.

The fifth…

The fifth and final rose he'd kept close to his heart, constantly pricked by the sharp barbs upon its stem.

On the third day he buried it.

Bakura pitied him, and he envied Seto. Yami had known it for…forever really – at least as long as he and Kaiba had been together. It would have been a year, that night.

Yami didn't really know what to think anymore. To feel. Everything blurred together and left him empty of emotion – except when everything spiked, and he lashed out, full of rage at the world and the way things were. And anything and anyone else that stood in his way at the time. But now…

Now he was quiet, and he was waiting. There were no more tears left to cry.

'Right?'

"I miss him Yugi." Black hair nestled under crimson-tipped spikes, Mokuba wrapping his arms around Yugi's waist. Tears dampened the older teen's shirt. "Why did he go?"

"I…don't know." The hikari's words were soft, grip tight around his companion's waist. "I just don't know."

"They were – you saw them! Why would anyone want to- how could anyone want to…?"

"It was an accident, Mokie." Amethyst eyes, once bright with laughter, were dim. "It was a horrible accident." A deep, steadying breath. "That's all."

Bakura placed a hand on his arm. "Yami, some things just aren't meant to be." Dead silence, the albino frowning at the lack of response. "You cannot reach him now."

The former pharaoh didn't look at him. "You easily forget tomb-robber, don't you? Tonight is Samhain, when the Season of the Dead begins." A slight smile graced fair features. "Nothing is impossible."

"I know what night it is, pharaoh!" The snapped words caused scarlet eyes to stare.

'Did Bakura just-?'

The elder spirit had lost his cool. "What fool are you to tempt the spirits so? You offer yourself to them willingly, beautiful and unprotected – do you think them blind? There are more souls than one that would have you pharaoh, and not all of them are dead to you. Give up your love for a shade, and move on."

"No."

"This is ridiculous! Yami – it's nearly been three months!"

"Why should you care?"

"The border between life and death is sacred Yami; you can't meddle with it like this!"

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" The monarch's voice had lowered to a hiss. "You have no idea-"

"I have plenty of ideas!" The quiet of the night had been completely abandoned. "I know what you're trying to do Yami, I know why you're doing it – do you think I haven't seen how lost you've been? How lost he's been? I've seen you both – I've seen what agonies you've went through and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you were separated, but you can't do this!"

Notes.

Notes and files and books and disks…how was it possible for one person to accumulate so much stuff?

With a heavy heart Mokuba began to sort through the mess, placing work and personal items in separate stacks. Appropriate papers were filed together whenever possible, put away in their corresponding drawers for a later time. It kept Mokuba busy for a long while, his mind distracted –

Then he found the box.

At the bottom of one of the most hardly-ever-used drawers it sat, mockingly innocent in all its velvet-clad glory. Where Seto had placed it, earlier that March, so Yami would never find it.

It looked odd, lying there, amongst all of nii-san's work. Out-of-place and alien – though perhaps Seto hadn't minded. After all, he had been planning on taking it out sometime.

But then he'd never had the chance to use it…

It was night, cold even though a fire burned brightly in the hearth –the window to the room was open, and a steady breeze blew in. Yami was seated at a desk made of some kind of dark wood, face pale and hand scribbling away at worn paper. His pen flew across the paper, black ink a fever, scrawling one word again and again and again.

Seto…

A gasp for breath, the clatter as the pen hit the floor and the sudden scream of pain, of anguish, of a soul pushed too far. The paper snatched – crumpled -, flung into the fire beside to blacken, smoulder as flames ate away at a heart's desire.

Burying his face in his hands, Yami wept.

And the winds blew in, and carried the ashes of his self away.

"Why?" Crimson eyes were painful to look at. "Why can't I do this? He was stolen from me! Why can't I take him back?"

Stolen…?

"Yami, life isn't fair-"

"You think I haven't noticed?" Tanned hands were clenched once more.

'A tragic accident' they had said. 'A few seconds beforehand and everything would've been fine.'

Arrows to his soul.

'He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

Fools.

That was meant to console him? Wipe away all the pain, the rage, the grief? Replace the soft kisses and gentle touches? Blue eyes that warmed in the special moments they were together alone? The comfort of a shoulder to cry on and the strength of an arm wrapped about his waist?

Because it didn't.

Smiles and joy, love and laughter. Breaking down icy walls and burying himself in a loving embrace. Sleeping at a lover's side and feeling secure.

All his for but a few months.

I lit a lantern to guide you home.

I wrote your name to call your soul.

I gave you blood to strengthen your heart –

Oh…why won't you answer me?

Bakura tried a different approach. "…I may have never liked him Yami, but I admired him because you loved him."

'Huh?'

"He managed to win you round…something no other had ever done before – however hard Yugi's pest of a cheerleader girlfriend tried to disprove the fact."

"What does…Tea have to do with anything?"

"You don't remember?" Lips quirked upwards in a smile. "She tried to make out you were her boyfriend so you couldn't possibly be dating Kaiba – and then when it was proven beyond a doubt you were dating him, she claimed at least you had loved her first."

"I don't recall that."

Bakura shrugged. "Maybe you've just forgotten it, or maybe it was just never mentioned in your hearing. Actually, it was probably the latter; you were a bit touchy around the time you and the High Priest hooked up."

Yami looked blank. "But what does this have to do with-?"

A soft smile, brown eyes tinged with more than a hint of jealousy. "He still loves you, you know."

"Seto?"

Bakura nodded. "…Would you really punish him for that love?"