The Pen is Mightier than the Sword.

Life was not easy, and it was not kind. Especially a life that had been several hundred lifetimes in the making, one poor life after another after another. Finally culminating in an individual who was so beaten, so broken, that he had no sense of self. No self esteem, no self worth, no selfishness.

It was an ironic twist of fate, or a cruel twist, that he was exotic in appearance. His looks were not the norm for where he lived, at least not a natural norm, and people often took a second glance at him. He did not see it, however, for he deemed himself nothing if not for the others around him.

If his comrades - he did not have friends, he could not form such attachments - were punks, common thugs, he would follow suit. If they were the type to follow trends, he would do likewise. If they ever turned their backs upon him... he would quietly accept that, and lose whatever small amount of self respect he had managed to achieve.

In a way, it was tragic. But to the shadows, it was beautiful. A perfect doll, forged over centuries, made only to house darkness and sorrow.

They were well pleased. When the game was played out, when The One Who Should Not Be returned to his rightful place, they would come out to play.

The Doll was perfect: Beautiful, handsome, fragile, strong, and in place to do great damage to the world.

The Dark Personality smiled to himself as he watched through his Vessel's eyes. Soon.

Note: Yes, you read this correctly. Stream of consciousness YGO fic. I should be fucking shot....
Disclaimer: Yuugiou belongs to Takahashi Kazuki, not me.