He's asleep. As he should be; I kept him busy more than long enough to totally and completely drain him. As a matter of fact, I should be asleep as well; my body is longing for the rest, and somewhere deep inside I might even enjoy lying down next to him. No rest for the wicked, isn't it? It's too much of a risk. My Host has school tomorrow, and it's already late. I still have work to do. My apologies, yadonushi-sama, but it's going to be a short night for you.
I should put on my clothes and leave. I get up from the bed and look around for the garments, cast aside on the floor, lying here and there. It takes me a little time to gather them all and I dress myself slowly, every movement silent and stiff. I keep my eye on him, and tell myself that I like to keep watch over my prey, to immediately respond should something change - him waking up, for instance - but inside, I know better. I wanted to call him by his name, but he has forgotten it. I don't remember it either.
Strange. Well, it's actually not that strange. The human mind is prone to remember bad experiences, traumatic experiences, awful experiences - not the happy, fluffy, wonderful kind of memories. There must've been a time when I had a mother, and I'd like to think that she held me lovingly, just like any mother would hold her newborn. But what I remember, is seeing her bloodied and battered, lying on the ground with broken eyes and blood gushing from deep wounds all over her face. Her hand, outstretched, the fingers in unnatural angles. Was she reaching for me?
She got lucky. At least she was already dead before she was thrown into that... cauldron. Before she was turned into an ingredient and mixed together with gold to create those forsaken Sennen Items. I can still hear the screams of those who were still alive before they were cooked. Those horrible screams when flesh came into contact with boiling liquid. The smell. That awful smell. That's why I eat my meat as raw as possible. I can't stand the smell of cooked meat.
The Puzzle is on the nightstand. He's been terrible sloppy to just put it there; he should praise himself lucky I don't have a need for his Item, just yet. My hand reaches for it before I can stop myself and my fingers touch the solid, sleek surface. Pure gold. Heavy gold. How much would it be worth in modern currency? But I know it's too valuable to sell. I stare at the object. Ironically, I admire the craftsmanship: pure perfection, just like the pyramids. The irony that a rowdy, dirty town of thieves has contributed to this magnificent beautiful object, isn't lost on me.
I only have to carry this Item over to the bed to smash his skull in. To dig the sharp, pointy tip into his temple, to slam it into skin and bone. Just one blow with the mere weight of the Puzzle, and he won't ever wake up again. Just look at him, in all his vulnerable glory; naked as the day he was born, spend and used, sleeping in blissful ignorance, amazing arrogance, counting on waking up in the morning. Maybe it would be fun to draw out his vessel, his Other, and make him beg for his life while holding the Puzzle up in front of him.
It's not going to happen. I have to restrain myself. Unlike the other, I haven't forgotten. I remember the time of Pharaoh and Thief King, I remember those stolen moments in the royal palace, when his guards would run outside in panic, searching for that miscreant daring to tread on sacred ground. There wasn't so much sacred about a Pharaoh, lying naked under you, his lips attached to your throat, his breathe warm and tickling, his voice heavy with lust, demanding to take him... and I complied, using my red cloak as a cover, as a blanket to cover his erratic breathing and his cries...
I have forgotten if he cried out my name. He has forgotten everything. "Lucky fuck," I mutter under my breath as I sit down on the bed again. I only need to put on my shoes. The Puzzle resides on the desk, defiled by my touch, but not moved an inch. It's his. I have no use for it, yet. I twist a little, so I can touch him, my hand on his face. Mumbling something unintelligible, he leans into my touch. His body hasn't forgotten. It still responds the same to me as three thousand years ago. My lips curl into a smile of pleasant arrogance.
"I hope you had a wonderful night," I say, keeping my voice low. An attentive lover would've covered him up with a blanket, tucked him in, kissed him goodnight. I'm not attentive. I'm selfish. I made sure I got the most pleasure out of it. "I had. We'll do this again sometime soon, okay? When you've taken another step closer. When you've learned more. When you have forgotten less."
I ran my thumb over his cheek. Despite the change in body, he still looks beautiful. Smooth. Polished. High-born. The fact that he cries and begs for a lowlife thief to take him, is the more amusing to me. I wonder how his vessel feels about this, if he already knows. Mutou Yuugi... he was smart and perseverant enough to solve the Puzzle in the first place, so there must be something to him that has eluded me so far. I don't regard him as a very powerful player on the field, though. He might be deserving of my attention later on, and in the meantime it might be fun if my yadonushi-sama approaches him, trying to find out what exactly he knows about what's happening.
"You're lucky you've forgotten everything," I say. Very gently and very lightly, I tap on his lips. "I know how happy you are with your friends and how you've made many new memories with them." I lean into him, my lips close to his. "I fucking despise you for your happy memories and your loving fun with your friends," I all but growl and he reacts; a whimper, a gasp, a hitch in his throat and for a moment I think I have woken him up. He frowns, brows knitting together in some kind of disgust and he parts his lips. I expect him to open his eyes and yell at me, but nothing happens. He sighs and turns his head to the right, his rest uninterrupted.
I want to slap him. I want to beat him. I want to curl my hands around his tender throat and choke the life out of him. I want to tie him down and unleash my anger and fury and scream at him why have you fucking forgotten? But I know the reason why, and it's painful and beautiful at the same time. I only wish I had retained one piece of information, one little bit of knowledge more: his name. I would've made him scream it, or perhaps I would've screamed it myself. Blissful, sweet peace... for now.
My fingers trace the outline of his face, dabbing at his jaw line. "One day," I promise him, "sooner or later, I'll make you wish you've never forgotten. All your memories will come flooding back to you, in all their painful glory, in all their heart-wrenching hatred and anger. It'll drive you mad, o Exalted One, and you'll lash out at everyone around you, feeling betrayed and hurt. Maybe I'll be there to pick up the pieces, I don't know. Maybe I'll be angered myself, disappointed that you've forgotten all about me. No one uses the Thief King. No one turns the tables on him. I'll make you beg for your life, for your friends' lives, for the entire world. Perhaps I'll listen. Perhaps I have forgotten to listen."
I can't help myself, I have to give him one more kiss. I don't know how long it'll take before we'll be 'together' like this. We both know it's a game. We both know the Shadows are involved. We know that one of us is going to die, if not both. A kiss on the cheek, then. I receive another sigh in return. I get up from the bed, locate my shoes and put them on. Maybe it's not that bad to have forgotten. We all will be forgotten one day. What will become of us, apart from floating memories in the vast space of darkness? Endlessly moving around in the Shadow Realm, without a conscience, without any notion? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. I want my revenge, and I will get it - that's something I've never forgotten about.