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Why do they always play classical music in museums? Light stepped up to the front desk, flashing his student ID for free entry and then grabbing a glossy brochure as he walked towards the gallery space. There was a special exhibit that he’d been assigned to visit and take notes on by his Art History teacher at school, and although Baroque art had hardly captured his imagination, it was a pleasant way to spend a weekend afternoon. At least here he could step into beauty and forget the rotten world for a while. He’d jot down a few astute observations about Bernini’s sculptures and the oil paintings of the Dutch Masters, then settle in the museum cafe with a latte and the Economist tucked away in his bag.
The museum steward called after him, “Sir, do you want the guided headphones tour? It’s free for the special exhibit.”
“Hmm?” Light turned, glancing down at the audio device. “Yes, thank you.” It would be handy for pretending he couldn’t hear anything in case he ran into anyone he knew. He slipped the headphones on but turned off the droning voice within a few moments, preferring his own internal monologue as he walked among the art pieces.
He came to a complete standstill after passing a marble bust, lips parting in a surprised gasp at the enormous painting he’d somehow only just noticed. What is this? That person looks exactly like me! Light looked around hurriedly to see if anyone heard him, snapping his mouth closed as he stepped close to examine the painting more closely. It was life-sized and nearly photo-realistic in the attention to detail, the lighting.
The plaque read, ‘Prince Kira at Rest in His Throne,’ which was only the most literal title for a painting this magnificent. The regally-dressed young man was reclining comfortably in the tall-backed and intricately carved throne, a hint of a smile on his face as rays of golden illumination radiated from behind in the Baroque style. A bowl of red apples sat on a table beside the figure, filled to the brim and overflowing onto the floor. But many of the features of this painting looked very out of place to the time period-- skulls adorned the throne, and he couldn’t remember any Japanese princes ever being painted like this before.
“Incredible.” Light whispered it very softly as he tentatively reached out to touch the ornate frame, but drew his hand back with a hiss when a voice-- his voice -- sounded through the headphones.
“Mind your fingerprints! I was just dusted!”
What's wrong with me? Did the painting just TALK? Light yanked off the headphones (which had definitely been turned off), taking a step back before realizing that there were still people meandering around and he didn’t want to cause a scene. He stared up at the painting with wide eyes, hands shaking as he put the headphones back on. He drew closer again and deliberately slid a finger across the edge of the frame, only to hear laughing this time in the headphones. He whispered, “What in the hell is this? Some kind of joke?”
“Do I look like a joke to you?” his voice huffed back. “They don’t just hang any old musty art in here. Still doesn’t keep patrons from poking at me with their grubby fingers, apparently.”
“S-sorry, I just--” Light tried to see if any of the other visitors were having a similar reaction to this or any other painting, but everyone looked serene, unalarmed. The headphones are off, but I’m definitely hearing something. “ Am I hallucinating?” He said it to himself but received an answer.
“Not hallucinating, but you’re the first person who’s ever answered me. So something must be different about you.”
Light’s heart was racing, his mind trying to find some logical explanation for all this. “This painting looks just like me.” The resemblance was far too close for it to be a coincidence. “How...why…” He heard a heavy sigh before the voice went on.
“Not that I expect you to believe this, but I was cursed to live in this painting over 300 years ago by a demon with a very unamusing sense of humor.” There was a noise that sounded like an apple being bitten and then politely chewed. “Apparently I wasn’t entertaining enough so eternal boredom was my punishment, can you imagine?”
Light slowly backed away from the painting, eyes flicking down to the plaque again. Artist unknown? Oh shit. “Um...I don’t think I should be talking to demonic paintings.”
“Wait!” The voice rose, pleading. “Please don’t go yet. You’re the only person I’ve had to talk to in centuries! Plus-- I can give you unimaginable power if you free me! The power of the gods, to judge as they do! To rule the world!”
Well, that stopped Light dead in his tracks. The power of a god’s judgment? His curiosity finally won out over his caution, and he pretended to take notes as he stepped very close and mumbled, “And just supposing that interested me, what would I have to do to free you? The last thing I want is some demon coming after me.”
“Oh no, no. He’s forgotten all about me by now. But the first thing you need to do is buy me. You have some money, yes? If you look like me you must be the most beautiful and beloved man of your age! It should be pocket change. A trifle.”
Light snorted softly, smiling as he whispered, “I don’t think you’re for sale, but even if you were, I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Hmm, pity. A pauper prince, the victim of a nasty coup, I imagine. Well, we’ll just have to be creative then. I’ll tell you a little secret, if you can remember it, and if you do as I say, my painting will be delivered to your castle by tomorrow. Free me and I swear to help you in return.”
My castle? “I’m listening.” This was just too amusing not to play along. If it really was an elaborate prank, Light would have to buy a season pass to the museum if the exhibits were this ingenious.
“You don’t hang on the wall all day every day and not pick up some interesting gossip. The curator of this museum is a right cad, has been embezzling money from the foundation for decades and murdered his partner in crime a few years ago to keep it all hush-hush.”
“What?!” Light’s pencil stilled on the paper, shocked at what he was hearing. “He’s a murderer and got away with it?”
“I see you share my strong sense of justice. Imagine my frustration at being able to tell no one about this nastiness. Anyway, I know where he hid the body-- under the stone lion in the sculpture garden. So please tell your local constable about that right away, and in return, ask for my painting as a reward.”
Light gazed up at the impassive smirking face in the painting, his brow creasing with confusion. “They’re not just going to give me the painting, even if I do help them solve the crime. And why don’t you just tell the police yourself?” He stopped there, giggling quietly at the idea of a museum guard getting such a tip from a painting.
The response was exasperated. “ Because I already told you, no one else can hear me. Don’t you think I’ve tried? As for the rest, just leave it to me. Just because I’m trapped in here doesn’t mean I don’t have any power. Prepare me a place of honor in your castle.”
Light grimaced, because what would his parents think of a six-foot painting showing up on their doorstep? “Um, that’s going to be a problem because houses in Japan are small-- and I need to keep you hidden.” He whispered, “Can you shrink down to like...the size of a postcard or something?”
“A postcard!!! How humiliating.” The voice grumbled and finally sighed, “I suppose. But only temporarily. Now, will you kindly go inform law enforcement? I want to get off this wall as soon as possible.”
“Alright, but if you are lying or tricking me, I’m sticking a stamp on you and sending you to Siberia.” Light put away his notepad and pen, pulling off the headphones as he strode towards the sculpture garden. He wasn’t sure what he was getting into exactly, but it was far from boring.
-----the next night----
“... And tonight we have a special report on the teenage detective who helped to catch a murderer at the Tokyo Art Museum….”
Sayu squealed as some pre-recorded footage of Light appeared on TV, smiling humbly at the interviewer. “Mom! Dad! The interview with Light’s on!” She grabbed Light’s arm and drug him to the couch, plopping down beside him. “Ah, I can’t believe you helped solve a crime like that! So cool!”
Light tried to look just as surprised as everyone else, shrugging as he kept an eye on the front door. “Just got lucky. Anyone would have done the same if they’d noticed the old blood on the statue.” Still, the beaming pride of his family felt good, and he basked in it until the doorbell sounded. “Oh, I’ll get that. A classmate was dropping off a book I needed.” He went to the door and stepped onto the steps, smiling at the postwoman. “Something for the Yagami’s?”
“Yes, a postcard. Not sure why it requires a signature and hand-delivery but I don’t ask questions.” She handed him a clipboard and took it back after he’d signed it, giving him the postcard. “Have a nice night.”
Light made an excuse to his family about having to study, immediately bounding up the stairs and locking the door before giving it a good look. On one glossy side was the now-familiar painting, and on the other were the words ‘Greetings from Siberia. I hope you remember my name, pauper prince.’
“Your name? Ah, the plaque. Prince Kira.” Light gawked as the words disappeared and new ones scrawled across the card. ‘Bravo. Now write a new name on this card, someone you wish would disappear forever. Hold their face in your mind as you write it.’
Light slumped down at his desk as it registered what was needed to ‘free’ the prince-- an exchange of bodies into this painted prison. “Well…”
‘Don’t tell me your sense of justice is failing you now? What’s more unfair? That an innocent man is trapped in here for centuries more, or someone who deserves it is?’
“You have a point. You’ve been in there three hundred years. That’s not fair at all….” Light pulled out his Economist magazine, flipping it open to the picture of a loudmouth dictator who’d been embroiled in one global scandal after another. “Wow. I could really change the world like this. And is it limited to just one person?”
‘Ha! I knew there was something special about you. The only limit is your imagination. This place has no boundaries. Fill it with the worst of the world if you choose.’
Here goes nothing. Light picked up his pen, took a deep breath, and wrote the dictator’s name while staring at the magazine photo. As soon as he had, the postcard trembled on the table, flying up and expanding into the painting Light had seen in the museum. Except this time, the paint was moving, swirling in a chromatic vortex, light emitting from the edges of the frame.
Light fell back out of his chair, scrambling backward as first a hand and then an arm began to emerge from the painting’s surface. “Oh shit….” He watched in amazement as his crowned doppelganger fully stepped from the painting, truly his exact image in every way. The portal snapped shut immediately, and now it was the figure of the dictator sitting on the throne with a surprised and sour look on his face. After another moment, it shrunk back down to a postcard and fluttered to the floor.
“That’s so much better.” Kira readjusted his slightly askew crown, then bowed formally. “As we haven’t been properly introduced, my name is Light Yagami…” He trailed off as they met eyes mid-bow, giving the man on the floor an amused smile. “You really are just like me. No wonder you could hear me when the others couldn’t. It must have been fate.”
Light whispered back, “But I’m Light Yagami.” How was this possible? Was Kira from another timeline, another world, an ancestor with the exact same name by coincidence?
“In that case, you can call me Kira. Seems easier that way.” The prince straightened up, holding out a hand to help Light to his feet, but Light didn’t take it. “It’s alright, I’m relatively harmless. And I certainly wouldn’t do anything to mar that gorgeous face.”
Same charm, too. Light laughed nervously, finally taking Kira’s hand and standing up. “So...what now? Do you stay in this world or go back to where ever you came from?”
Kira hummed, looking around the room with a sense of wonder. “I think you’re right that this isn’t where I belong.” He picked up the postcard, grinning deviously down at the trapped occupant. “But we made a bargain.” He flicked the postcard onto Light’s desk, pouting slightly at the drabness of Light’s clothes and the lack of aesthetics in their surroundings. “First on the agenda is to get us a better castle.” He picked at Light’s collar then patted his chest. “And some new clothes. I suppose transportation will be needed too. Can one still purchase dragons or are they all extinct?”
“Dragons?!” Light grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, there are no dragons here, and I don’t have any money either.”
“About that.” Kira sat down at the desk, pulling a piece of paper towards him. “Quill?”
“Ah, we use pens.” Light clicked a pen and handed it to Kira. “It’s like...an automatic quill.”
“Ingenious. I’m going to love this age.” Kira began to write in flowing calligraphy, numbering each line. “Like any properly cursed magical object, the painting--ah, postcard-- is bound by a set of rules. Some of them I think will work in our favor. Such as the power to control a person’s actions for a set period of time before they enter the painting. I’ll write them all out for you.”
“Really? That’s amazing!” Light peered over Kira’s shoulder, concentrating on deciphering the fanciful characters. “But...what language is that?”
“Cuneocyrillic, of course. Why? You can’t read it?” Kira smiled as he got up and gestured for Light to sit down instead. “I think you better be the one to write them then, I’ll just tell you.”
“Alright.” Light sat down, but something had been bothering him in the back of his mind. “Before that....are you sure that demon that cursed you isn’t still angry? They might not like that I released you.”
“Hmm, he wasn’t really a demon-- called himself a shinigami. But he’s so lazy he’s probably dead by now.” Kira shivered slightly, remembering that cackling laugh, the promise that he’d only be released when someone truly amusing came along. Kira’s duty wasn’t finished until he gave Ryuk the ultimate entertainment the shinigami craved; only then would he be completely free and never have to worry about being imprisoned again. He’d been given a second chance, after three centuries, and wasn’t going to waste it.
“A shinigami! Those exist in your world too?” Dragons...shinigami...what kind of place had Kira come from?!
“Don’t fill that pretty head with worry.” Kira smoothed Light’s hair and placed his crown on the man’s head to see how it looked. Perfect. “Everything’s going to go just according to plan.” Mine.