In the mind of Marik Ishtar existed two chambers: one a bright and thriving thing that brimmed with life, the other a dank afterthought that had only twice crawled out of its corner. It had been four years since the Dark Half had his reign of terror, and though the memory of him stung like a cold breeze, his moment had passed. Eventually the only one who still had the occasional fear of him was his creator (who the Dark Half would still strongly assert is still that scared little boy with a hot knife at his back).

Though he was still afraid, Marik never thought that his Yami was anything less than extinguished from existence completely, that he could still be stirring in the back of his mind, dreaming his sick dreams and waiting to come forth again. He was so sure of himself that he did not notice the Dark Half stirring, the brief flashes of consciousness that didn't feel quite right. The Egyptian had plenty of other issues and under Rishid's guidance he did not dwell on the defeated spirit.

Yami Marik, for all his mad and generally chaotic behavior, was stoically patient when he had to be. If he so chose, he didn't have to feel a thing. He could lie dormant for years, unmoving, unthinking, and he'd be no worse for it. Yet, barely human as he was, he could want and took some disgusting pleasure in fulfilling that want. He didn't have to sit in anticipation, shuddering, in pain at a want he could not fulfill and might not be able to for a long, long time. He didn't need to put himself through agony.

He wanted to.

On a particularly quiet night, all of his wanting paid off. Marik Ishtar slept soundly, dreamless until a familiar figure appeared before him in the void. It took him a few moments to realize what it was and it was not until he heard that voice again that he could fully comprehend it.

"Did you miss me?" Yami Marik said, his pupil less eyes twitching rapidly as if there were something to look at.

"It's been a long time since you've invaded my dreams." Marik said, turning away.

He was used to nightmares, but he couldn't help but be scared at how accurate that voice sounded. Not much different from his own, but to him it was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Should I be insulted?" the Yami said, "Or are your dreams just that realistic? We have so much to catch up on."

And then Marik woke up, or at least, he felt as if he was woken up. He wasn't in his room, and Yami Marik was still there beside him.

"Remember this place?" the Dark Half said, "This is where I kept you last time."

At once Marik threw himself up against the wall in a vain attempt to wake up from what he was still trying to convince himself was a dream. Yami Marik licked his lips in anticipation, the boy's increasing fear exciting him.

"I appreciate the display, little host," he said, "But you won't be leaving here so easily this time. I do thank you for letting your guard down so much. I wonder what it's like, to be able to forget so quickly."

Marik didn't reply. He was still desperately trying to wake up, begging some unknown force not to let this be happening.

"It's been so many years, host," he said, shaking with his combined hatred and desire, "Do you know where I was? Do you know what I've seen?"

He grabbed his host by the hair, pulling him up to his eye level, "I've come to know madness with great intimacy. And so will you."