Eyes of dark brown gazed emotionlessly at the pallid hue of his ceiling. Tresses and fine threads of silver hair pooled over a dark blue cushion of an old, worn out couch. Such uniquely colored locks of hair were entangled around a pale right hand’s lithe, long fingers, caressing the soft and warm skin. Finely shaped pale lips formed a slight frown, fingers of a free left hand occupying themselves by gently caressing and petting a shimmering golden object that lay flatly on his chest. The ancient ornament of gold, the Millennium Ring, cast a golden light across the ashen ceiling, destroying the perfect naked coating of pure snowy white. Pale lips parted to release a gentle flow of air into the cold, poorly furnished living room the silent being resided in. Ryou Bakura, a mere teenage male with unnatural beauty and serene nature. Thick white lashes fell to a close, brushing against flawless ivory skin. Sweet whispers fell from soft lips, a voice that reached no one. He never felt so alone and so bored at the same time as much as he did now. Muttered outspoken thoughts flooded the once silent room, seeming to echo in the deafening stillness. Fingertips trailed along the brown leather chord that was attached to his ancient Egyptian relic. He began to shiver as he fingers reversed direction, tripping over cold metal and rested over the Millennium Eye that stared at the ceiling as he did before. Memories of his psychotic, power-hungry other half flooded his mind. That ancient spirit that lived within the golden artifact still haunted him in his dreams at night with flames, shrieks and blood in each nightmare. But now, he was beginning to miss the mildly psychopathic yami. Eyes of warm chocolate brown opened again, hands drawing away from both his hair and the Ring to rest on the soft material of his couch, and push his rather unhealthily starved frame. He ate, but his appearance suggested that of some anorexic beauty, with dead self-esteem and loss of caring for health. He couldn’t stand those people. Ryou reluctantly sat up and ran his hands through his long silver locks, combing through smooth white-silver hair. A moment later, he stood up and stretched, then gazed fondly at a sketchbook that rested on a wooden oak coffee table that sat in front of him. Gingerly picking up the drawing pad, he flipped the cover back and brushed past a few pages, evenly filed nails tracing out intricate details of a young girl’s face that resembled his own. “Amane-chan…” He breathed the name of the smiling girl, a pretty smile of his own curling his lips as tears blurred his vision, threatening to fall. Ryou blinked back the stinging tears a bit to see clearly, deciding those tears should go unshed for now. Right now, he could gaze lovingly at the cheerfully beaming girl, and return the drawn gaze with his own happiness and adoration. “Aishiteru, Amane-chan.”
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