Shadow: In a hurry, so not much time to say anything. For Compy's contest, and much love to Compy herself for uploading this since I'll be in Scotland when you read it. The pairing this time is Revengeshipping – Amelda (that DOMA guy who wears even less clothes than Ishtar X3) x Seto Kaiba.

Notes: Obviously, shonen-ai, boy x boy, with a bit of language, and character death. I've chucked in quite a bit of Prideshipping (Yami Yugi x Seto Kaiba) too.

Hex

Shh, shh, hush-a-bye my little love for just a little while. Hush-a-bye my little love, and the thorns from the cold earth below shall rise to form us a bower as we pass the time. No flowers in winter, my darling, but there shall be flowers for you in plenty, red as blood and beautiful, to rise, and wither and crumble to coloured ash and glass in your hands. The beautiful die young, lovely, didn't you know? Come, watch the tales of enchantment wrap silken thread around them and spin them away, away, away. The spider is busy, and the flies lie sweetly silent waiting for oblivion. Foolish, dare the spider not, for she is wise and fair in ways you and I cannot see. Foolish, dare the spider not, and hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye, and we'll pass time amid the thorns while arrogant fools come and go around us. My lovely, hush-a-bye, can you see the birds?

No?

"If and when I fuck you up, don't say I didn't warn you…"

It was the wrong voice hiding in Kaiba Seto's head the day that cliché would demand to be called 'the day everything had begun', memories of the wrong hands cupping his cheeks, the wrong eyes lighting with a possessive flare. The wrong tone, the wrong mouth shaping the tone, the wrong lips and teeth and tongue -

"Is that a promise?"

"Oh, quite…"

The wrong person. Kaiba supposed it must be quite rude to have your thoughts so central on one person whilst another was wrapped around your waist trying to become your second skin, but manners had never quite been Kaiba's thing. As had never been dwelling on the past, but this recent past was becoming so dreadfully irritating, in that it refused to slip away like the grains of sand Kaiba's personal history had become. The sand in the hour glass, the wrong voice kept informing him even now, when its owner had long since moved on, which Kaiba was trapped in, and if he didn't start looking back the sand would reach his neck, his throat, his mouth, and then he'd been buried in an avalanche of repressed thought –

Peh. Psychoanalytical babble.

"Coin for your thoughts, Kaiba Seto, or is that too cheap for you?"

Blue eyes, distracted, looked down, met a sardonic smile. "What?"

"You're miles away." Kaiba's current lover looked reproachful, red hair plastered to his cheeks by the wind. They were up high together, on the cliffs overlooking Domino Bay. "I'd say you had your head in the clouds, but I guess we're kind of technically there already."

What clouds? The sky above was as blue as the ocean reflecting it, bright and painful in the noontime glare from the sun. There wasn't a cloud in sight. "What?" Kaiba repeated the question, still not completely in the present, lost in another conversation with the wrong man –

"You're leaving?"

"What reason have I to stay? I know it pains you to even remain on the same continent as me, and I know for a fact your bed certainly isn't cold even when we're oceans apart."

Why was the wind always so cold, so fast when they're high up? Kaiba knew the answer somewhere, some long ago science lesson, or geography, something to do with eddies and currents and – and –

"Yami -"

Red hair is blowing, blowing, blowing in the wind, strands of gold intermingling with it in the sunshine, but again, that's the wrong person he's seeing -

"Don't talk to me!"

The story broke. Kaiba came back into himself, looking down into slightly irritated grey eyes. Not red, he has to strongly remind himself. Not red.

"Finished ignoring me yet?" Amelda is easily vexed, but then Kaiba always had chosen the ones that were inflammatory, that went up at even the tiniest spark –

Kaiba ignored the question, looking away from the accusatory gaze levelled up at him, narrowing his eyes at the ocean, at the cliff they were on. "Why are we here again? I have work to be doing."

"You always have work to be doing."

"Thus I should always be working, and not wasting time."

"You know, you're an asshole."

"You've told me that many times."

"Are you ever going to take note of it?" Kaiba looked at his companion rather flatly. Amelda sighed. "Thought not." He broke out of his hold with the other, moving closer to the cliff edge. Looking down, at where the ocean crashed at the rocks below, he whistled. "Long way to fall."

"So don't fall." Kaiba's response was irritable, his longer strides eating up the distance until he stood at Amelda's side. The wind tugged at his coat, white cloth catching the breeze and flaring wide.

Amelda, following the brunet's example of before, chose not to comment on the statement. "Hey," he leaned a little further out, pointing with one hand down the cliff face, "can you see those birds?"

"What about them?"

"Just the way they're perched in their nests, right on the rock. Don't you think that would be uncomfortable?" Amelda looked thoughtful. "I'd hate to be a bird."

"If you suddenly start sprouting feathers and a beak, I'll remember to inform you." Kaiba folded his arms, distinctly unimpressed.

Amelda sighed. "Show even a little bit of enthusiasm, alright? Even if it's just to mock the birds, at least stop being so…so apathetic about it. Kaiba, you -" A foot suddenly gone wrong.

Arms windmilled, and lips formed an almost comical 'o' of surprise, and the wind blew and blew and blew. Kaiba moved on instinct, to catch the flailing other, and red hair was blowing, blowing, blowing in the wind –

"Fine."

All stories have a beginning, but since I'm narrating I can decide we shan't bother with it. Why look so surprised, lovely? It doesn't matter here, and the golden shifting sands are of little consequence in the cold, dead winter. Cold, dead winter, darling, long ago but not-so-long as the beginning of the tale we ignore. Certainly not now, but not so far back as then. The middling times, where the land was governed under a sole king and the nobility beneath him, and all the lords and ladies were admired. Lords and ladies, beetles and mice, and the grave dirt would soon be fresh under the fingertips of one pretty lad – the lord's son, we shall call him, though who the lord himself was I cannot care to tell you. It matters little.

He, the lord's son, was tall for his age – nineteen summers -, fair of face and form. Graceful, polite – but so utterly, utterly cold. They said he could freeze a heart with but a glance of his blue, blue eyes, and he certainly broke enough hearts of both men and women alike. He was so smart, possessing a most brilliant mind, yet could not bring himself to love. There was no-one of equal thought he could bond with, and so he kept himself alone.

To the lands south of his there lived another noble family, an elderly lord and his barren wife. They had only a daughter, no sons or heirs, a most disastrous affair indeed. Of recent times the lord had decided to adopt another to carry on his family name, and had chosen a strange orphan lad that lived on the edges of his estate to take that role. No-one really knew where the boy had come from, and the boy himself certainly wasn't saying anything. He was seventeen, he claimed, and would say little more. The lord took pity on him, and took him as his heir.

My lovely, watch the children; can they see the birds?

No?

Amelda was sitting on the end of Kaiba's bed when the brunet awoke, the former DOMA member inspecting his nails for any imperfection. It was raining outside; Kaiba could hear the patter of the raindrops against the window, see the gleam of water on the leaves on the tree seen through the glass.

"Amelda?"

"Seto," the other looked up at his name being spoken aloud, "you're awake." The red-head had a penchant for stating the obvious. His eyes were just as grey as Kaiba remembered, but his skin seemed white, whiter than before… Perhaps it was just the light; the weather outside was just so dreary – "Good, some of them were whispering you'd never wake up."

"'Them'?"

"The doctors."

"What doctors?" Kaiba sat upright in his bed – why was he in his bed? –, a sudden throbbing present in his temples at the movement. "Why do I have doctors?" He loathed doctors; they were only ever called to the house if Mokuba was in serious need of medical attention – "Is Mokuba alright?"

"Mokuba?" Amelda seemed confused by the question. "He's fine."

"Then why the doctors?"

Head tilted to one side, red hair falling that way… Hadn't Amelda said he'd wanted it cut? "People have doctors when they're injured or ill, Seto; didn't you know?"

"Amelda -"

The other stood suddenly, looking out the window. "I have to go."

"What? Go where?"

"Out, there's somewhere I have to be." Amelda bit his lip. "I'll come back though, I promise, but they say you shouldn't be late for your own wedding, and I'm sure it applies to other things too -"

A stab of anger, confusion and envy. "You're getting married?"

"What? No, don't be ridiculous…"

"Then where are you going?"

"I'll be back soon." Amelda didn't answer the question.

Kaiba growled, wanting to shake the answer out of the other, but still he felt tired so his snarl lost its edge as it morphed into a yawn and his eyes closed for just the fraction of a fraction of a second and –

That was all it took; Amelda was gone. How fast he must have ran!

Kaiba sighed, and leant back into the pillows behind him. His head felt heavy, and he was tired.

He slept, and the rain kept up its pitter-patter against the windowpane.

The shadows flitted about his ceiling, the outline of feathers flickering in the grey.

"You're the new heir from down south, aren't you?"

A pleasant smile, the edges of satisfaction at the curl of the lips, in the glitter of cerise eyes. "Indeed I am." A slim hand was extended to be shaken or kissed – a little bewildered, it was shaken. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"You know who I am?"

"Your reputation precedes you."

"I have a reputation?" The lord's son was quite at sea, lost in looking at this strange, handsome step-upped child of society. Quite peculiar, but in a good way -

Bright laughter. "But of course; don't we all?" The hand took his arm, linked it and drew the other close so a whispered, breathless secret of sorts could be imparted. "Have you heard of mine?"

"Probably," the one nobly born accepted the touch, oddly not all that irritated by the other's forwardness. "But perhaps you'd still care to inform me again?"

It was nighttime when Kaiba awoke once more, the moon a sickle in the sky outside. The rain had stopped, and so it was to perfect silence Kaiba slipped out of bed, padded across the floor and flicked the light-switch on the wall. He felt like getting a drink and then reading something from his personal library but…the lights wouldn't turn on. Going out into the hallway Kaiba tried the switch there, but was met with the same result.

There were candles kept in various cupboards throughout the Kaiba mansion, going to the one nearest to him Kaiba withdrew a candle, lighting it with some of the matches that were kept beside. It took two attempts until the wick caught – with the first match Kaiba had been too startled by the sudden light on his irises, but the sudden flare of heat on his fingertips. The second time he was prepared, and the little glow of the candle changed his usually familiar home into an unknown land of golden stardust. Everything looked different at night, by the little shine offered by a candle…

Standing in the darkness with the wax clutched in his hand, Kaiba felt suddenly…so much younger than he really was. Childish fears of the dark, though long since banished, crept up and snuck around his feet, the delicious taste of the forbidden hanging in the air, of sneaking out when you were meant to be asleep. Life, KaibaCorp, Mokuba, Amelda…suddenly it was all inconsequential. He was seven again, young, small, and so very determined to sneak out of his room at the orphanage and steal some of that cake he'd seen the cook making earlier that day. There was that urge to explore, to look at places he'd never looked at before – how much of the mansion did Kaiba really know, anyway? He'd lived in the same place for such…such a long time, and yet he could never recall ever examining it totally; he'd always stuck to those places that he knew.

Kaiba forgot his drink; he forgot his book. He forgot anything but the strange childishness within him, the little candle in his hands, the big black night wrapped all around him and the feelings of the shadows brushing his cheeks, midnight feathers trailing his skin and filling him with the urge to explore, to wander. He walked to places within the mansion he'd never visited before. He walked there in the darkness, with a candle in his hand, and was startled once when before him, in some out-of-the-way room on the highest floor, on the longest corridor in the hardest-to-reach place he'd went that night, there was light before him. Flickering, golden light, spilling out of the crack between a door and jamb, weary light, like the light of not a single candle, but a hundred…

The door to the room was warped and old when Kaiba pressed a hand against it; the wood's every whorl, the grain pressing into his skin, imparting the stories of the past, of the other hands that had touched it straight through Kaiba's pores, through his blood, into the thud-thud thudding of his ever-beating heart. He pushed open the door, the wood whispering its tales to him, the outside blurb to a book with the most perfect tale within –

As Kaiba had first thought, the room was full of candles. Every surface was packed with wax, the air heady with scented smoke. Candles, candles everywhere, and the room was aglow with flickering, crazy light where the shadows danced and mingled and fled and chased each other around the ceiling and floor and walls –

The room looked as though it were alive, packed with books, and trunks, and stands. A music-box played quietly in the corner, a lace-dressed ballerina twirling inside; a mirror reflected the light prettily, prettily so everything was gold and all aglow, and brightest of all glowed the golden figure kneeling at the room's heart, hair gold and jet and ruby, achingly familiar but –

"Yugi?" No…that couldn't be right. Kaiba hadn't seen Mouto Yugi in over two years – and even then it had only been in passing. Mokuba still kept in touch with Mouto and his merry crew though; his little brother was how Kaiba knew this beautiful youth in front of him couldn't possibly the errant Game King – Mouto Yugi was travelling the globe for a few months with friends to celebrate being twenty-one at last. Mouto Yugi wasn't even in Japan – and Kaiba had the postcards to prove it -, let alone in Kaiba's mansion. Let alone in Kaiba's mansion, on the top floor in a room the owner hadn't even known existed before a few minutes ago, an hour off midnight, in the middle of a blackout.

But, if it wasn't Mouto Yugi…

"Yami?" Kaiba had the strongest urge to smack himself for the pathetic hope that sounded in his voice in the space of that one shameful word. Yes…let him focus on punishing himself for failing to hide that dreadful hope, concentrating on his failure rather than how his hand clutched so feebly onto the candle it held, even as that selfsame hand wavered and shook, the flame's flickering mimicking the pounding of Kaiba's heart –

The shadows span and whirled almost angrily and Kaiba took a step back out of surprise, but it was just a breeze, just a breeze blowing at the flames, making the light dance so –

Yami wasn't his name…

"Atemu?"

The slim youth at the room's heart looked up, red eyes red eyes red eyes red eyes -

(wrong person)

"You should call me Yami."

"Yami."

The old voice, and someone opened the book again, and began reading from the 'once upon a time…' The shadows and lights and birds all listened, and the end had already been decided from then.

Witch-child, some of the locals called the adopted heir. Witch-child, son of a witch and the Devil, conceived in the fires of Hell. Could they be far wrong? Those were superstitious times – but would we not be superstitious now, darling, if we saw a boy that shone with fire? He burned – oh, how he burned – bright and hot, and his smile was the flare of the furnace, and his eyes were the colour of flames. Charming and charismatic, and quick as light with witty retorts and easy flirtations. He could be sweet, and soon his title as witch-child slipped a little, fell, as hearts fell, tumbling over and over for this strange, brilliant boy.

The lord's son, in all his cold ice, caught the fiery witch-child's eye, and from then on all was but a whirling descent when all the feathers had been yanked fresh from the wing, blood streaming behind as the larks and the nightingales sung their last melodies before smacking into the ground.

My lovely, in your mind's eye, can you see the birds?

No?

It was raining again. Kaiba awoke in his grey, grey room, again with Amelda present. The other man wasn't sitting on his bed like the other day though – no, this time he was standing in the middle of the floor, an ever-growing puddle around his feet, a stain on the carpet. His clothes were drenched through.

The familiar headache pounded when Kaiba moved in his bed, his mouth dry and his thoughts dizzy, but his smile was as sardonic as ever when he looked upon his lover. "Been outside?"

Amelda gestured to his rather soggy apparel. "What do you think?"

"I think you look like a drowned rat."

"And I think you look like an invalid." The red-head stalked forwards, leaving damp footprints on the floor. The maid would tear her hair out at that. "You haven't been up for a while."

Kaiba strongly denied the statement. "Nonsense, I was up only the other day."

"And what day would that be?"

"…Tuesday."

"And what day would today be?" A mocking smile curled on Amelda's lips when Kaiba remained silent, the brunet wracking his brains for an answer. It felt like Thursday, but Amelda's smile said – it said – "I have to go."

(what? go where?)

Kaiba groaned. "Not this again."

Amelda continued on, ignoring the other's words. "Your little brother wants to see you."

"Well that's all well and good but -"

Amelda leaned over, his red hair dripping so droplets spattered Kaiba's chest, his skin cold, cold, cold against Kaiba's own, damp spreading from one to the other until Kaiba's pyjama shirt grew wet. Icy lips touched Kaiba's forehead and Kaiba grimaced, reaching up to brush the kiss away but – Amelda was gone again, and Mokuba was breezing into the room, smiling when he saw Seto was awake.

"Nii-sama!"

"Mokuba," the other's presence acknowledged with a nod, "could you call Amelda back here a moment please?"

"…What?" Awkward silence.

"Amelda," Kaiba repeated patiently. "Could you call him back here a moment?"

A long pause.

"You mustn't alarm the patient."

"He's…already gone, Seto."

"The patient is easily worried. He must remain calm."

"So I have to – I'm not going to lie to my big brother!"

"It's for his own good."

"What?" Kaiba frowned. "But he just left."

"He was walking really fast." Mokuba quickly changed the subject, suddenly noticing the state his sibling was in. "Nii-sama, you're soaked in sweat!"

Kaiba had to wonder at his little brother's mindset sometimes. Couldn't Mokuba tell it wasn't sweat, but rainwater? It smelled of outside.

The rain kept tapping at the window as the two brothers talked, and the pitter-patter sounded almost like the constant tap-tapping of many tiny beaks.

They progressed through the stages of friendship rather quickly, escalating the whole thing to almost explosive heights when the impudent newly-made noble reached up to his more long-standing counterpart, and kissed him. Chastely, but firmly. Had the other pushed him away then and there things may have ended differently, but the son of the lord did not push the witch-child away. Rather, he pulled the younger youth closer, and their kiss was chaste no more.

The new noble, chosen by the southern lord as his heir, was betrothed to a noble lass with quite a large dowry it was said he had taken a liking to. After meeting the lord's son the witch's son broke off the betrothal in the middle of a dance floor, and left the party they were at. The lord's son found the whole thing too amusing, especially since the poor deluded once-betrothed girl was so utterly heartbroken because she didn't think she was 'pretty' anymore.

"Do you wish I were a woman, lover?" Both young men were standing before a mirror in the elder's father's house, the majority of their clothes scattered about the floor. Only their shirts preserved their modesty, and even those were dangerously close to just sliding off shoulders to join the rest of the scattered tangle. The witch-child's shirt, in particular, was held on seemingly by two buttons and willpower alone, his plaited hair undone and loose around his face.

The lord's son rebuked the younger gently, winding arms a little more tightly around the newly-made noble's waist. "I do not wish for you to be something that you are not."

A dry smile. "I do not long to be female, I assure you."

Pale hands settled on exposed shoulders, the taller's lips against the smooth curve of the smaller's neck. "A mind such as yours would be wasted upon a woman."

Laughter. "You would rather a simple-minded wife?"

"I would rather no wife at all, as long as my heart remembers your face."

Colour touched tan cheeks, a light blush, quickly smothered as red eyes looked up to meet blue in the mirror before them. "They will think you proud, dear heart, to take no wife at all."

"They already think you stubborn, to turn down your adoptive father's choice. My pride pales in comparison to the gossip you incite." Soft murmurs drifted over the skin of the adopted noble, the pure-bred's voice sending the proverbial shivers down his lover's spine. "There are surely more subtle ways to divorce a fiancée than in the middle of a crowded dance floor?"

An apologetic shrug. "Subtlety has never been my thing."

A smile against golden skin, arms curling about the witch-child's waist. "Believe me, love, I noticed."

"…Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. I wish, I wish he'd go away…."

"What are you doing?" The electric lights were out once more, Kaiba forced to find his way to the forgotten room in the mansion by means of a candle. He could recall the last time he'd been here, the last time when darkness had fallen and he'd lost himself in the candle-glow and the shadow-dance, and the beautiful, strange Yami glimmering amidst all the lights…

He couldn't remember the day. He couldn't remember the sun. Anything that belonged to the day didn't belong to the Darkness. Anything that didn't belong to Darkness right here, right now, was inconsequential.

Darkness incarnate decided not to answer Kaiba's question, damn him.

(but then Kaiba always had chosen the ones that were inflammatory)

"…Merrily, merrily do I sing to thee, Skipidee, skippidigh, skippiday…"

"Are you feeling quite alright in the head?" Intoxicated by the smoke in the room or not, some of Kaiba's utter scathing could never abandon him.

A flash of red, red, ruby red eyes from under dark lashes. "You should put down your candle. You wouldn't want to get burned now, would you?"

"Yami -"

"Put down your candle."

Kaiba put down his candle, losing it amongst the many, many others in the room in an instant. "Yami -" He turned to find the other but the other had already gone, lost as a shadow in the flicker-flicker light.

A touch at his hip from behind, possessive, a breath in his ear – "I have something to show you."

The old thrill went through Kaiba at that, the trail of ghostly shivers down his spine, the want, the sudden flaring burning need – "What?"

"Follow me." And it was as if a breeze swept through the room at that instant, the flames all bending in one direction so that a path of sepia overlay the place of gold, leading straight to the mirror. Yami stood before it, smiling, one hand outstretched in invitation, and perhaps he was the breeze himself because Kaiba could've sworn the other was directly behind him only seconds ago.

"What?" The brunet repeated his question again, crossing the floor, avoiding catching the candles with the hem of his pyjama shirt.

"Look." Yami drew Kaiba's arms around him and Kaiba let him, his front pressed tightly to Yami's back, his chin set on Yami's shoulder. It was their old pose, their old position, familiar, almost painfully so, but Yami's eyes were clear and bright in the smoky mirror but –

Their faces were different.

Kaiba noticed the changes with a vague, stupefied horror. The mirror did not show a true reflection. Only his and Yami's eyes remained the same, red and blue, brilliant and bold though all their other features shifted and changed in the glass.

"…What is it?" Kaiba's voice dropped. A lover's whisper, hushed, reverent, smoky as the changing glass before them. It had been a tone he'd used with Yami many a time with the other held so perfectly in his arms like this, but never such a question, in such a strange, strange place.

Yami smiled at him, eyes glittering brightly but utterly impregnable. "The truth."

Another breeze above them but Kaiba found his eyes locked with dark red, and he wondered why it felt as if feathers brushed the back of his neck when he hadn't moved at all…. The candles flickered around them.

Oh, oh, I can see you're a romantic. Shall I tell you, sweetheart, that our ill-crossed lovers were swept away by feelings, and lived happily ever after? I should, perhaps, and then your dreams would be sweet, so sweet, as our nonexistent roses, but look around you, little child – we're sitting amongst the thorns. Don't move too far, too fast, else they'll scratch and claw your soft skin to pieces, and then we'll have red flowers next year when these buds are meant to be white.

I have no happily ever after for you, but shh, shh, please don't cry. Salt is not good for the soil, darling, and there is much more yet of this tale to be told.

The lord's son, like many others before him, could not say no to the charms of the witch-child, especially when the newly-made heir was so determined to have him. The lord's son, the poor boy, was whirled away by the firestorm, by the flaring brightness and heat that lurked behind the stars, behind the sun that hid behind the enchanting moon. Taken to the edges of silver-bathed lunacy but not quite driven over – not yet, not yet. Two young men, the witch-child at least thought it was love, and even magic cannot conceal things so to their society they lied, oh they lied, and society probably knew but didn't care.

My lovely, they might have blinded themselves already, but can you see the birds?

No?

"Mokuba, can I at least have my laptop?"

"No, you're ill." Mokuba was resolute, impervious to his brother's glare. "You're supposed to be resting."

"…And what exactly am I ill from?" Kaiba felt fine, apart from a mild headache. He wondered where Amelda was, but his laptop, and KaibaCorp, was more important right now. "I don't remember getting sick." Actually…he didn't remember much, or how he'd started this bed-rest in the first place. No exhaustion sprang to mind, no illness, or flu – god, not even a mild cold. If he strained his mind he could remember blue, endless ever-going blue but –

'Put him to bed', said the doctor and so Mokuba put him to bed. Kaiba didn't appreciate it; he wasn't tired.

"I'm not ill."

"Of course you're ill!"

"Why, because the doctor said so?" That was why Kaiba hated doctors so.

"Seto, you're being irrational. The doctor said -"

"I don't care what the doctor said!"

Mokuba bit his lip, almost pouting. "You don't need to yell at me."

Kaiba felt the flood of guilt immediately, sinking back into his pillows with a loud sigh. "My apologies. It's just…I'm sick of bed." He couldn't remember ever leaving the bed for such a while, and since he couldn't even remember when it was he'd started being made to stay in bed in the first place –

It felt as if something was missing. The beginning of this mess. The very beginning. The nights – why were all Kaiba's thoughts concerned with the grey, grey day? Nights – something always lurked on the edge of his mind about nighttime during the day, some wonderful secret that was just out of reach -

Kaiba gave up, the pursuit hurting his head, the drumbeat of the ache in his temples turning to a roar at his stubbornness. "I'm going to sleep now."

"Yes Seto." Mokuba turned, wearily, and left, thankful for the rest from his brother's demands. An ill Seto was a grouchy Seto.

Kaiba didn't sleep. He dozed, his lids half-closed and his grey world separated into strands by his darker lashes. Some fluttering, flickering shadows danced across the ceiling and walls, and Kaiba thought perhaps one of the maids had left a window open and a bird had flown in…yes, that seemed likely. The fluttering, frantic shadow seemed much like a worried bird –

"Tired, Seto?" Amelda. The male had the innate ability to pop up out of nowhere – Kaiba supposed he must've drifted off sometime, as he hadn't heard the door open and shut.

"No, just…"

"Weary?" The red-head approached the bed, perching near Kaiba's stomach and running a hand through the other's hair. His fingers were cold, and their tips were stained with brown. "I know the feeling."

"I don't know how," Kaiba irritably shied away from the touch, "as weariness would imply strenuous activity of some sort, and we both know how much you loathe vigorous exercise."

Amelda snorted. "Such faith you place in me." He hmmed, idly studying the other. "You're still ill. Have you been sleeping enough?"

"I've been sleeping too much."

"You weren't asleep when I came in."

"Doesn't mean I haven't gotten enough sleep at other times." Amelda raised the sheets at the other end of the bed, clambering over the spread to get to the other side and sliding his shoes off and onto the floor. "What do you think you're doing?"

The former DOMA member looked at him rather flatly, sliding underneath the covers and spooning himself against Kaiba's back. "What does it look like?" It was like cuddling a block of ice; Kaiba felt shivers automatically running down his back. He tried to recoil, but Amelda had wrapped an arm straight from the arctic around him.

"Get out."

"No; this is the only way to make sure you'll rest."

"How can I rest when you feel as if you've just walked straight out of a freezer?" Amelda's skin felt clammy too, chilling Kaiba's skin through the thin barrier of his pyjamas.

"Nonsense, that's just your illness talking."

They debated. They bickered. They argued, and Kaiba was seriously thinking about whether it would be such a blow to his ego were he just to kick the icy Amelda out of his bed, and resort to sheer childishness to get his way. Eventually (his ego winning out) Kaiba just feigned sleep, in the hopes that Amelda would just get fed up and go away eventually after having no-one to talk to.

The tactic worked eventually, Amelda-the-ice-block eventually sliding back out of the bed after Kaiba had apparently fallen asleep, and leaving the room. Kaiba waited a few moments (just in case the other looked back in again) and then immediately sat up and started rubbing his arms, chilled to the core. Amelda had been freezing, and hadn't warmed up the slightest bit lying beside his lover in bed. Kaiba didn't know what it was that had the other so cold…maybe both Amelda and Mokuba had had a point – perhaps Kaiba was sick, running a fever, and so everyone else seemed cold as a result…

The brunet lay back down again, pulling his covers more tightly about himself. A sprinkle of brown caught his eye on the sheets and he shifted, frowning. That was…it looked like dirt. Kaiba lifted the sheets up again, looking at where Amelda had lain. That was a lot of dirt, earth everywhere on the linen.

…What in God's name had Amelda been doing to get covered in so much soil…?

"Dear heart, what calls your attention so?"

"Pardon?" The lord's son broke out of his reverie, blinking down at his vaguely amused, mostly exasperated lover at his side.

"Where are you this evening?" The witch-child was chiding. "You're paying little attention to anyone, even me. I could be quite jealous." This was said with a smile, but with serious meaning behind the words.

"…There's a stranger about." The lord's son gestured to the crowds around them, to a red-haired figure socialising with the people a little way away. "I was wondering where he came from."

"You wonder too much." Reproachful now. The adopted noble took his lover's face in his hands, titling the elder's gaze away from the stranger and down at himself. "Look at me."

Yami had led him a pretty dance across the room, flitting from shadow to flickering shadow with a laugh and a flirtatious smile. It infuriated Kaiba, that the other could ring such circles around him, but he knew that if Yami really didn't want to be caught he would've disappeared altogether. That gave him slight hope, and so he'd abandoned the candle he'd used to light his way to 'Yami's room' (as it had affectionately begun to be known), joining the chase. The nightly blackout was ritual now and he thought little of it – the darkness was normal. The darkness was night, and everything of the day just…dropped from his mind. The darkness was beautiful, elusive and strange, lit by golden, golden light that shimmered from place to place and left Kaiba breathless, breathless.

He caught Yami eventually, the other curling a smirk at him as he tightened his grip on the slim wrist. It felt so fragile, blood beating beneath the thin barrier of skin but he could see such fire cast his way by the glitter where the candles caught Yami's fascinating eyes. "You…"

Yami. Yami. Yami. The name was a drumbeat in Kaiba's mind.

"Me." Another, more intimate smile, Yami's free hand rising to almost lazily stroke his once-lover's cheek. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"Truly," Kaiba dipped his head slightly, feeling his own lips quirk, "I never seem to know what to expect where you're concerned." He bent his head further. It was an instinctive action where Yami was concerned; he'd done it so many times before, months ago, years ago, but now –

A hand blocked his mouth, Yami frowning. "No."

"Yami -"

"No. You made your choice some time ago." The hand dropped, but their heads were still close, too close for just friendly acquaintances. "Are you changing your mind already?"

The accusations stung somewhere deep inside of Kaiba. "Yami -"

Yami's temper flared, and the hundreds of candle flames about them seemed to leap and flare in response. "Make up your mind!"

"Will you just -" It was too late. The room suddenly seemed empty, and Kaiba was left amidst the golden light with nothing in his hand except wisps of flicker-flicker shadow. He made as if to leave the room, and the floorboards beneath his feet creaked and cawed, the shadows shuffling their wings in irritation.

I'm not the one to tell you faerie stories child; go see your mother for that. She can coddle you, and love you whilst you clutch at her apron strings, and give you a bandage for all those scratches you've got whilst struggling around. I'm not going to tell you pretty tales so your dreams remain sweet; if what I say bothers you so much darling, you can cover your ears.

A red-haired stranger had entered the lands of the lord's son, caught the attention of the noble. He was a handsome youth by all accounts and the lord found himself liking him, walking with him, kissing him, and…rumours got around. The witch-child, naturally curious, innately volatile and possessive, demanded of his lover the actual truth. To his lover's credit, the lord's son told him the truth.

The witch's son obviously didn't like it.

Spurned, the witch-child ran away from the one born noble, returning to his adoptive father's lands to seethe. The rumours about him…the whispers of his strange beginnings – perhaps they weren't all lies. There is some truth in even the wildest of myth, and – whether it was exactly to do with the witch-child or not, it was true a spell had been laid upon the foolish one who had shrugged the youth off, a dangerous charm that cursed those the lord's son loved, and snared the man himself in webs of witchcraft. By day the man was lost in deliria, allowed to think – when able – of his red-haired lover, the stranger that the lord's son dared to claim he loved. By night the young noble could think of nothing but the witch-child, the witch-child, the devil-child from Hell, to the point he could not eat or sleep or breathe unless bid to by the enchanter. The hex followed him on wings of magic, pursuing him by day and night and driving him to the point and then –

My lovely, do you think he saw the birds?

No?

Mokuba had gone out for the day, staying over at a friend's. Kaiba knew this because the teenager had stuck his head around the door of his brother's bedroom not half an hour previously, declaring his attentions before vanishing from the mansion.

And now Amelda had come.

Kaiba didn't want to see him. He didn't quite know why, but the other's approach sent off little warning bells in his mind, flickers of unease that the red-head picked up on.

"Something wrong?"

"No, nothing."

"If you're quite sure?" Amelda had taken his usual seat beside the other's stomach, one hand pressed on Kaiba's chest. As ever these days, his touch was cold.

"Quite."

"Good." Amelda leaned down, hair swinging about his face and Kaiba fought down the urge to recoil – there was nowhere to go –

(make up your mind)

Amelda pressed his mouth to Kaiba's, lips icy, tongue cold and clammy and – and – Kaiba had a hand against the other's chest and the kiss went on and on and he couldn't breathe and there was something thick and dark between them, pushed into his mouth and - and -

And so he pushed the other away, fighting for breath when his mouth was full of that clinging, cloying…urgh. Kaiba spat, and a glob of dark brown hit the carpet, and all the brunet could taste was foul, foul mud. Amelda…had mud in his mouth?

Disgusted, Kaiba wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his blue eyes narrowed at his lover. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Amelda's face was impassive. "What's right anymore?"

"Amelda-!"

"…You just don't get it do you?"

"Get it? Get what?" Kaiba scowled, not understanding the other. "Explain yourself!"

(make up your mind)

"If you don't understand, I'm not the one to tell you." Amelda crossed to the room's window, standing there and looking out at the world of grey. Though it wasn't raining it was still cloudy outside. "Seto, can you see the birds?"

(and red hair was blowing, blowing, blowing in the wind)

(make up your mind)

Seto clutched his head, and heard the whisper of wings all around him. "What…what in God's name is going on?" Amelda smiled sadly once, and vanished.

(Are you changing your mind already?)

"How dare you stand before me and tell me that you love that – that -!!"

"That what?"

"Slut. Harlot. Peasant. Whore. Take your pick!" The stamp of a foot. "They whisper around here he was born in a brothel and that would certainly explain where he picked up some of his tricks-"

Cutting in, angry: "Says the witch's son, the devil-spawn? Are all the whispers around here true? You seem biased in your choice of rumours, love!" The endearment was scathing.

"Don't test me, you ignorant ass! You have no idea, no idea of just what you're -"

"Are you actually threatening me? Don't make me laugh! What right have you, you little peasant-born brat, to threaten me? I don't belong to you. I'm not your pet; I'm not your thing!"

"Then you'll not be his, either!"

"Don't you dare presume to tell me what to do! I'm leaving!" The lord's son stalked to the door, flinging it wide open. The words he flung back at his now ex-lover were acid. "Don't talk to me again; I don't know you."

The witch's son scowled, eyes flashing fire. "I'm warning you –if you leave you'll regret it." The door slammed shut. "Fine!"

The blackout had come again, like it did every other night. The day's events had fled, like they did every night. Kaiba had taken a candle, lit it and crept through the forbidden darkness to a more forbidden darkness to wonder over, candle flame juddering, juddering in his hand, casting flickering golden light. The door who hid the story's end from him was familiar now, each grain of the wood a friend to Kaiba's touch.

The room was filled with the light of a hundred, hundred candles and the shadows cavorted and span chased by the dancing flames. The room was alive, and the jewel that was its beating heart stood and smiled when Kaiba pushed open the door.

"Have you made up your mind?"

A music-box played quietly in the corner, a lace-dressed ballerina twirling inside; a mirror reflecting the candle-light prettily, prettily so everything was gold and all aglow, and brightest of all glowed Yami, golden Yami, Seto's once lover, once lost, twice lost, standing God-knows how in a long-forgotten room of the mansion. Kaiba had never been happier to see him.

"Yes." He dropped his candle, and went forwards.

(wrong person)

Not anymore.

Not again.

Yami was brilliant when the other came to him, taking Kaiba by the hands and leading him to the mirror once more. "Look." Winding arms around him – their old pose -, Kaiba looked.

Though only two figures stood before it three were reflected in the glass, and Kaiba felt his stomach roil uncomfortably, glancing around himself quickly for the third person that should, according to the reflection, be right next to him but –

"Amelda isn't here right now." Yami's smile was almost poisonous, his slitted eyes catlike. His reflected face was - "Amelda isn't anywhere."

Daytime crashed down upon Kaiba in the middle of the night. Everything…everything that happened before the sun fell, everything he'd repressed the past few nights, that he hadn't been able to remember before when he was in Yami's company, it all came back.

Amelda. Amelda. Amelda.

(wrong person)

(make up your mind)

Kaiba's grip tightened on the other's shoulders, and his voice went quiet, quiet, as he looked at three figures in the mirror. "What have you done?" He'd forgotten the King of Games' temper, the streak of possessiveness and stubbornness that ran through the other's veins -

(but then Kaiba always had chosen the ones that were inflammatory)

"Yami…what have you done?"

Another pretty, pretty smile, and the shadows danced across Yami's face. "Amelda's dead."

"What? No, that's utterly -"

"Please, Kaiba, I thought you were supposed to be smart? Don't deny the obvious."

Silent conversation, the crackle of flames –

(his skin seemed white, whiter than before)

White is for mourning, and winter and death -

(his red hair dripping so droplets spattered Kaiba's chest, his skin cold, cold, cold)

(it was like cuddling a block of ice)

No hot blood, no heart only cold, cold, cold -

(what in God's name had Amelda been doing to get covered in so much soil)

(Amelda…had mud in his mouth)

Gravedirt. Kaiba choked, suddenly feeling sick. He'd kissed, he'd lain beside -?

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Those that lie beside death will soon meet death for themselves –

"Seto, can you see the birds?"

Helpless now, Kaiba stared down at the one who was smirking at him. "Why…?"

"Because." Because, said Yami's smile, because you hurt me. Because you chose me first , and then didn't love me. Because you chose Amelda over me. Because, because, because. Because I can. I hate you.

"If Amelda's dead, how did I -?"

"You're asking someone who lived as a spirit in a Puzzle? You're asking someone who can crush minds, and drive people insane?"

Stupid question.

The figures in the mirror twirled, danced, danced, danced –

Yami reached up, and kissed him. "Kiss before you go?"

"What?" Kaiba frowned down at him, and then felt the heat. The candles –

"Seto, can you see the birds?"

He'd dropped his candle, the dancing flame, in a room full of combustibles and wax. The floor was wood, and the floor was burning, and the shadows ran around in the room that was alive with red, orange and gold, feathers of flames crackling and hissing and eating up the space.

Kaiba was surrounded by fire.

"Seto, can you see the birds?"

He could see the birds at last. They were phoenixes, and they were born from the hate in one little candle-flame. Yami smiled, and his eyes were red, red, red, red, red, liquid flame.

He could see why he'd chosen Amelda over the little witch.

The world was made of fire.

Only a fool will take and break a witch's heart, for it is dangerous to irk those with darkness in their blood and name. The lord's son may have set no faith in magic but magic set plenty faith in him, and when promises were broken love faded, leaving only bitter anger behind, and the need for revenge. The witch-child got it. The lord's son's stranger died mysteriously, ran over by an approaching carriage, and the lord's son himself was consumed by illness before accidentally setting his house on fire by knocking over a lamp in his room. They said he didn't even scream when his house went up, and died in silence.

At his funeral, the graveyard was full of birds.

No-one dared look at them.

…My lovely, I can see you look troubled now – vexed. Does my little tale bother you so? Shh, shh, hush-a-bye, and the thorns will melt back into the winter earth while we stand here just a little, little while. Listen, strain your ears darling, you'll hear the echoes of old stories wither and die in the flames. You'll hear the caws, and the scratchings and the feathers beating the air –

My lovely, do you hear the birds?

No?