Finale: I'll Never Forgive You

And so…my covers hold within them many anguished screams that continue to echo as they ricochet down the halls.

Somehow, it didn't take long for the house to fall into its ruins, slip into the decay that seemed to have an order all its own. Without the workers keeping busy, everything faded and molded. Without love living within, nothing had any will to remain pure and clean, fit to be used. So, the decay had already two months and twenty-eight days before the workers left the mansion.

No one moved in. People knew unhappy spirits had to haunt it. And no one could give the spirits any rest. When some strangers did move in, they left within the week, unable to bear it. People cannot live within utter misery and hope to stay sane.

One person visited the mansion once, however, completely at ease as he walked down the halls. Almost, he seemed to belong to the place he was so comfortable. But then, he had been here before.

"Nothing must remain of him," the figure said lowly, glare focusing on me as another's glare used to. But this one seemed far worse, not a glare of annoyance or lack of time or accusation of what I held; this glare held utter malice and contempt mixed in with a glee that nearly made me tremble where I rested in the master bedroom.

The usual, comfortable walls changed from the bedroom to some other place, somewhere deeper, darker, lower…colder. Like a tomb.

The one holding me spoke again, not seeming to need any light to see his path down the stairs.

"A person can change their soul into any kind of monster, but in the end, the shadows always eat them alive."

He slipped something between my pages, something similar to me, only more slender. Another book filled with personal handwriting rested safely within my pages, and I knew from its very persona that this was one I had to protect with my life…so my owner had willed into my very pages.

Finally, his hand tossed us to our final resting place: a spot on dull stone in the midst of choking fumes. Then, a dousing with something oily, and a single match lit me like a dry prairie fire sweeping down the grasses. All my secrets, my emotions, my stories…all could soon puff away in a single breath. Worst of all, the one I should have protected soon burned along with me, my pages unable to stifle and choke the flames.

"I warned you, Kaiba. I warned you before, didn't I? 'Kaiba, you've hurt my friends and my family…I'll never forgive you, even if you beg for mercy.' And so it is. Finally, my plan for you comes to its end."

The flames had eaten my pages so swiftly that only a few remained in blackened crisps. The spine might have held some inky words that had been too thick to burn easily, but no one could make sense out of knowing one word every line. Of the other book, even less remained because of how much smaller it had been. Completely helpless to protect the little one, to stop the flames from eating it alive…

"I crushed your heart and you never remade it. Never had the chance because you never got Mokuba back. He ran to me at the end of Duelist Kingdom. And your brother was the final piece of your heart. That was the puzzle piece I never let you have." An eerie smile crossed his face and the flames lit in his eyes, making them completely red. Redder than the dragon amulet's ever had been documented within me. The dragon amulet that had not existed as this one's red eyes did.

Behind those eyes, a different set rested, and so completely different from the first set were the second that it made this one's evilness that much worse. A single change could occur and an innocent boy returned to the surface, blinking as if awakening, having no memory of what had happened during the time the other was in charge. Like what was documented in my pages.

But always, the other would continue to plot no matter whether in charge or biding his time within. The eyes could look upon friends of the innocent one and see enemies…and he would strike again. To someone. Sometime. He had time to spare to ensure he received the best vengeance. Even if those innocent eyes offered forgiveness and friendship, the malevolent eyes would never do so. Not to anyone.

Slowly, the embers died away and the figure turned away. He said one last line full of complete arrogance, and the echoing tone would dig a pit in anyone's stomach:

"My enemies never get a second chance and my plots never fail." He smirked. "Heh, heh."

Then, the dark figure turned away and went back up the stairs, leaving me to rest in my bed of ash, to cool and flake away, covers all that remained in any wholeness. The other book that I had wanted to save and shelter was but sooty fingerprints on my blackened, baked cover…and some cover it had been, too. Utterly worthless. Its inky words had been absorbed by my hardened leather and manufactured ingredients, its story ingrained with my own.

But both were lost utterly.

Not a learning tale would this be. No one else would see what had happened and maybe take a simple truth to mind and remember, changing the way of his or her life.

I shall be the only one to ever know the complete truth, for I remember the tale even with my pages burned and cracked away, ashes to dust.


End.