Ryou Bakura Appreciation Post
when you ask her for a name, she whispers stories of travellers in distant galaxies, star dust caught between webs of fragile fingers as adventurers and philosophers and dreamers chase the fulfilment of curiosity, suns reflecting the void out of their eyes. when you ask if she believes in fate, she traces 死 into your palm of your hand, fingers steady even as you shake with the knowledge of certainty.
yugioh and literature; let me cry
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