He remembers his mother's face well enough. She had black hair that she wore in a braid, always tied off with the same purple ribbon. She was tall, with a

kind, loving glow about her- always inviting, always beautiful.

And it was from his mother that he inherited his bright blue eyes.

He doesn't have a picture of her, but he doesn't need one- all he has to do is look at Mokuba to remember. (He looks so much like her; it's almost scary.)

(Look after your brother," she told him, the day Mokuba was born. And he always, always had. He'd always remember that promise.)

What bothers him, however, is that he can't remember his father.

No matter what he tries, or how much he wishes, when he pictures his father, Gozaburo is the only face he sees.

He never could figure out why that was. He tries to remember, tries to shove the other man out, but heā€¦can't. Gozaburo is forever etched into his memory. He couldn't recall the kind father he once knew- the one who, at the very least, could twist his tongue to say 'I love you.' But the man who made his life Hell; Seto remembered him without any difficulty.

He wishes he knew why.

Seto hates not knowing. (Even more, he hates forgetting.)