If You Feel Better

Chapter 39

A tomb like tens of others he had raided. Dark, musty, and nothing but flat, taupe stone from the walls to the floor to the ceiling. It looked near identical to all the other ones he had ever been in.

But this one was different. It even felt different. There was a mysterious, unnerving aura hanging in the air. He was not here to rob this grave. His love was gone. Princess Aya had died. Her death was announced only a day before and a huge funeral procession made its way through the capital, her coffin at the center of attention of it all. He had quietly followed from the shadows, stalking the party illegally until they disappeared into her premade final resting place.

But he didn't believe it. He wouldn't accept it. It wasn't true until he saw it for himself. But his heart was in his throat. Though he denied it, something inside him had broken upon hearing the news. It was an intense, anxious bundle of anticipation that sat in his chest, fearing the worst and refusing to leave until his question was answered.

He was alone, refusing to allow any of his men enter this tomb. He would not allow raiding of any kind, which was all his men wanted. This place was off limits and his men knew better than to cross him. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one allowed inside of Princess Aya's burial chamber without dying a brutally horrible death at his hands.

He traversed past every trap, diversion, and obstacle made to stop intruders with ease. It displeased him how little the designers put into preventing trespassing. The tomb of such an important, strong, and powerful human being should have been better protected. It should have taken him much longer to navigate his way to her final resting place than it had. He only avoided floors collapsing into pits, poisonous spikes shooting out of the walls, a dozen false rooms and dead ends, and multiple huge blocks of stone suddenly falling from the ceiling. It was amateur and lazy. He would've thought that they'd go above and beyond for a member of the royal family.

He forcibly pushed open another stone door, using his entire bodyweight to shove it little by little. It was a thick, stone slab, purposely difficult to move, decorated with colorful images of hieroglyphs, scarabs, and lotuses. He finally opened it just enough for him to slip inside, taking a moment to catch his breath, but immediately losing it again when he realized where he was.

Gold littered every corner of the room in every form imaginable: daggers, statues, rings, jewelry, amphoras, and more. The room was intricately painted with scenes from Aya's life and also with scenes of her supposed journey to the afterlife. Games, clothes, family heirlooms, and all sorts of treasures that Bakura had seen a million times before were laid across every inch of the room. But he ignored all of it. He didn't even see it. His eyes were adhered to the sarcophagus that rested in the middle of it all.

The realization of confronting the truth dawned on him. Inside was presumably the body of Aya, her death suddenly feeling very real, scaring Bakura the longer he stared. He hadn't felt scared since he was a child. He had become numb as an adult. The only feelings he had were typically of anger, indifference, or some kind of psychotic thrill. But not now. Now, he was truly afraid.

He walked up to her casket and examined it carefully, delaying the inevitable. The outside was an image of Aya, represented with gilded gold, lapis lazuli, amethyst, and more precious gemstones. It looked nothing like her, though. It didn't come close to embodying her beauty, her radiance, nor anything resembling her actual appearance. Though, Bakura knew, they could try with all their might and they would never be able to do her portrayal any justice.

That horrible feeling in his chest grew immensely as he placed his hand on the cover, feeling the weight beneath his palm, but hesitating to actually open it. He wanted it to be empty. He wanted to find someone else. Anyone else. But he had done this too many times. They were never empty. They were never anyone else than who the tomb was designed for. Still, he secretly prayed this one would be different. He once again strained to open the heavy lid, giving it one hard push, sliding it off just enough so the top was completely exposed.