Red-Eyed Witch

Red liquid splashed everywhere like the pitter-patter of the rain as Illya ran aimlessly in the hallways of the academy, her bare feet painting blood on walls every step she took. The color red — one she used to have no opinion about, but now there is only anger and hatred — now smeared her white dress, a color that is often associated with deities, it is tied with purity and holiness, indicating one is away from the hands of all evil. And yet, is she really without fault? Is she really as clean as she claims herself to be? Or is she just like how they see her, a sinner stained with blood? In a world where beliefs are prevalent, even more so than rational thinking, everything can set people off. And with her peculiar features, Illya is nothing but a fire that had set the bombs off. Left and right, all the said girl could hear was the mirth of the several smiling silhouettes found towering on the walls, dimming the already dark space she is in. They laughed and chortled, each voice higher than the other in pitch, successfully sounding like maniacs and adding to the fear that bubbled up inside Illya's gut. Like a mantra, baseless accusations of her origins are thrown without care, spreading like wildfire and thus, harming her. With such fervor, they spew mockery that brought tears to the girl's eyes, each word stabbing her like a knife, and each insult crueler than the last. A witch, a nasty and icky witch, that is what she was in their eyes. With a pair of cursed blood-red eyes and peculiar snow-white hair that reminded people of the unforgiving coldness during the long, grueling days of winter, Illya is a species of her own, different from the other nobles, and different to the other mortals. Running within her veins is the blood of the devil, capable of casting curses and bringing calamity upon their land. And of course, Illya has told them plenty of times just how absurd it is, but the voice of a little girl is never meant to be taken lightly. And even more so now that she has grown and spilled the blood of others — one she has no recollection of ever committing. Plenty of the blood that pooled on the ground beneath her splashed on the walls is not her doing, but who listens? No one, for she is forsaken by the goddess of the moon. In their eyes, she is nothing but a child of evil, bringing misfortune and death to their land. If only they looked past her peculiar features, they would know. “You wretched witch! Daughter of evil! Red-eyed monster" They all spat as venom clung dripped in their every word. It was strong enough to prick her like thorns on roses, drawing even more blood. The red liquid pooled beneath her made her feel like she was swimming in the ocean, its horrid stench filling Illya's nose. She could almost taste the iron in her mouth, and in a flash, the ground swayed under the said girl's feet. Nausea took over and all Illya wanted was to vomit, to spit the bottled resentment that had grown over the years from her mouth and out of her system. In an attempt to find an escape from the hell she found herself trapped in, Illya's feet brought her to stumble inside a familiar dim-lit room. The girl could recognize it was her room, and it was once full of lively banter, but now it only housed ruins and is blanketed by an eerie silence. The place was now a mess with chairs missing a leg and tables overturned. Worse of all, the twinkle of ocean-green eyes and the sway of messy, short blonde hair, stared into her own red irises. The white-haired girl could no longer find any signs of life and all Illya could do is cry. Like the rest, he is also gone, her most precious person taken away from her all because of their baseless hate. How could she have not noticed? First, they clawed at her flesh, breaking it open while ignoring her cries of mercy, and without even noticing, they had already clawed their way inside of her, ripping her soul as deliberately as they could. The white-haired girl wanted nothing more than to gouge her pair of blood-red eyes out of their sockets — both of the orbs the color resembling a beautiful ruby, unfortunately, that is not what people see. She clawed onto her face, leaving red marks all over, dead set in peeling everything off. The girl, in her distress, began to pull on her snow-white hair. Strands of white fell on the floor like snow on the unforgiving cold, winter days. I almost died that snowy day, Illya could recall. Alas, even as she does so to express the growing scorn she started harboring for herself and the way she looked, it will never bring him back to her side, alive and well. All she did was succumb to the pitch-black void in the corners of her mind, created by the help of those that have forsaken her. It welcomed her as if it waited for her for so long, it acted as her home, and it terrified Illya just how close to home it felt. Maybe the mockery of the laughing silhouettes were right, maybe it is her fault all along. Intense denial can make even a person with perfect vision blind. Even words that are full of lies become the truth when an animal gets cornered, pushed to the edge of the cliff with no other choice left but to jump. Perhaps, with the dearest person in front of her gone and the notion of those that despise her, Illya believes that everything is her doing, just like a cornered animal. At last, the words everyone has been waiting to hear are uttered from the said girl's lips. “I am the red-eyed witch.”