Bakura took the small painting, suspicion evident in his gaze as he studied Solomon for another moment before glancing down at the object and running careful fingers around the outside edge of the frame, feeling where the texture was different on the oil paint. He understood what Solomon had done and even as he turned the painting over, the blood was hardly more than a stain-- the binding had been accepted, magic was reacting to it.

It was tempting to break it right there. It wouldn't kill Solomon, he knew that but it could potentially damage a part of his magic, not to mention en emotional toll. It's a trick! kept playing over and over in the back of his mind.

"I don't have anything of theirs," he answered. "Just a five year old's memories. The soldiers burnt Kul Elna to the ground when they were done. Even if I could have found something, I would have lost it again when I was sealed. Oh I have the Ring..." His mouth lifted in a humourless smile. "But a cursed Item forged from blood and bone made gold is hardly a keepsake. And for as loud as they are up here?"

He touched the side of his head mocking, almost deprecatingly. "I still can't talk to them individually, even after all this time. My mother, our Elder, the other children who were my friends. It's like being taunted with something you can never have. I have to get them through the Memory Gate. They deserve it and I... I would like the chance to say goodbye. Do you understand?"

Bakura flipped the small painting back at the necromancer. "You're an idiot. If you have something like this, you crack the skull of anyone who so much as looks at it wrong-- you don't go giving it away to make a point."

A faint scowl, then he looked away. "Where's this portal of knowledge?"