That day, the forest was closer than ever. So close, that if I were to throw a stone through the window at the back, it would have landed midst the trees. I was ten years old. No, that's too young; I was probably thirteen, or fourteen. Either way, my mother had already passed away. So there was no one to stop me. Stop me from entering the forest.

The Sleeping Forest was, and is, what the villagers called it. Not that it's asleep in reality. Those that enter it will find that it's anything but. There are few that wander into the forest. Most of them are hunters. But these hunters are not after animals, oh no, it is very probable that no fauna can be found in the Sleeping Forest. These hunters are after spirits. The spirits of the dead, of the passed, those that have chosen or are forced to stay behind for one reason or another. Lost souls. Not many have heard about the spirit hunters, for they are more commonly known by their other name. Soul stealers, they are called.

I had always been an odd child, and even when I was young, the villagers avoided me. I had expressed interest in entering the forest, and that made the people even more suspicious of me. What business would a child have in a forest filled with dead? But I was interested. Fascinated, by the forest that none of the villagers would enter, and any outsiders that did, excluding the best of the thieves, none returned. So that day, when the opportunity to enter the forest arose, that day, when the forest was my own backyard, I entered the forest.

What you see, what you regard as reality, has nothing to do with the actual nature of the forest. I found that out soon enough, as I took the few steps away from my house, expecting to end up in the forest, only to find myself on the plains that were usually seen between the forest and the village. I looked back, and saw that I had indeed moved away from my house. But the forest, the forest wasn't any closer.

I've known things, since I was little. There are some things that seem impossible to other people, but come clear as a day to me. So, at that moment, when I took a step into the forest only to see it a few steps ahead of me, I knew that no matter how close or far the forest seemed to be, the distance stayed the same. So I started walking. I walked, and walked. And after an hour or so, I suddenly entered the forest.

It was completely silent. For a moment I thought that time itself had stopped. All I heard was the sounds of my own body, my slightly labored breathing, the beating of my heart. Everything aside from me was completely still and silent. Then I closed my eyes. And sound exploded around me. It was as if every possible sound that a forest could make, decided to ring out at the same exact time. The swishing of leaves, the creaking of trees, the wind blowing between the trunks. A tree falling down. Dry twigs cracking. The combined sound was deafening, but I didn't cover my ears. I waited, I listened. And then I heard it. A sound, No known word is good enough to describe it, but if you'll ever hear it, you'll know what I'm talking about. It was soft, melodious and made a chill run along my spine. In a sense, it felt gentle, but I was reminded of a predator, a cat, it is soft and silent as it prowls, but at any time it can attack in a deadly explosion of movement. That's the impression I got, the feeling I got from hearing that sound. I imaged, that it was how death sounds like. Gentle and soft like a mother's embrace, but with an underlying layer of malevolence.

With my eyes closed still, I started walking again. Following the sound of death, letting it guide me to the spirits. The moss covering the ground was soft beneath my bare feet, and not a single stray branch scratched my face as I travelled deeper into the forest, not a whisper of wind blew through my hair. I walked until the sound reached its highest point, and suddenly stopped. I felt a presence, somewhere to the left of me, and opened my eyes. That's when I met Bakura. That's when I saw perfection, and felt his gaze upon me in return.

He was stunning. Beautiful, simply magnificent, with hair like shining moonlight, the color of snow, pale skin, white like that of a bone, with a tint of blue and a translucent quality that made me think of spider web. And eyes, his eyes, the color of fresh blood, shining in the darkness of the forest, staring at me, reaching my soul through my eyes.

He had been a thief, a liar, a murdered and a killer. He spoke of grudge, of revenge and death, but he was not bitter, he sounded excited. I felt a thrill by just looking at him, and when he spoke, it was as if nothing else existed.

He was the first one to ever call me beautiful. He was fascinated by me, as I was by him. At that time, when he first touched me, when he caressed my face and thread his fingers through my hair, I felt completion. At that moment, I was ready to die. He pressed his forehead against mine, and looked me into the eye. I felt elation as I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. I had never experienced such happiness as I did at that moment. Then he shifted, and I felt his lips brush against my ear. He said he loved me, and I knew it to be true. He pulled away, as if to take in my face again, and looking into those crimson eyes, I knew I loved him back.