Red-Eyed Witch

III. THE FIRST SPILLAGE OF BLOOD

"Your name is...Oz?" The girl repeated slowly, letting the name roll off her tongue, and a sharp pang of pain hit her head that made her stumble a few steps backward. A blur of images flashed in her mind, vivid and yet, broken; blank faces and burning hatred, the emotion so strong it made Illya gasp for air as if she were drowning underwater.

"Lady Illya, what's the matter?" Came Oz's concern. He muttered a quiet 'excuse me' and moved to help the girl steady herself. Once she recovered, the blonde male hastily placed some distance between the two of them once again in fear the girl might flinch away.

But the said girl did not even notice his touch, and instead, Illya raised her head and met eyes with the said male. In green eyes swam concern, and she is not sure why those pools of green are so familiar — just like hom. But most of all, it is so comforting and kind and what's surprising is all of it is directed towards her and her only. Illya cannot fathom why he looks at her like he yearns to be near her. Isn't everybody afraid of me?

"Yeah, you need to take it easy. Anyone who is in their right state of mind would grow disoriented when thrown into this kind of situation."

Every word that came out of the blonde's mouth only worsened the girl's confusion, making it seem endless and frustrating her to no end. Unfortunately, a growing headache has begun to pound its way into the white-haired girl's head, making it throb painfully. The more she tried to make sense about her current situation, the more her head pounded as if a hammer was continuously banging on her head.

"What situation are you talking about? Explain with no details spared, now," Illya demanded, although her voice was far too soft for it to be intimidating than she had intended.

Oz averted his gaze but Illya wasn not having any of it, having her head already throbbing and thus, making her patience thinner than usual. In her irritation at his constant avoidance, the white-haired girl gripped onto the boy's arm tightly and yanked him to forcefully face her.

Oz expected the girl to be fuming from both ears with her face red and ready to explode, but when he finally had enough courage to look her straight in the eye, an unexpected sight greeted him, one that he was very weak to — tears were welling up in the corners of her ruby eyes, threatening to fall any minute. Her big doe eyes stared at him with so much frustration and her bottom lip trembled.

Illya silently watched as Oz became panic-stricken, and it was amusing enough that she almost forgot the reason for her tears. Almost. No matter how entertaining the blonde male's face looked, it was not enough for Illya to forget about the enormous frustration Illya felt building inside her as of the moment, threatening to gnaw out of her skin. The pain of her death has still not sunk in, and now she is met with a confusing situation that she, herself, did not ask for.

Watching as her lips trembled, Oz let out a sigh. Truly, what a troublesome mistress I have. And yet Oz can never bring himself to leave her alone. The thought crossing his mind alone was enough to make him cringe, it is such a preposterous act and he would rather die than leave her side.

“It is currently not safe to go out alone, but that does not mean I am stopping you. It's just...there is a killer on the loose,” he dropped so casually as if he was only telling her what he had for breakfast. A killer and whoever it is is on the loose, and she just got thrown down in this place with no memory of what is going on. Just how unlucky can one be?

With impeccable timing, a chorus of ear-grating screams bounced off the empty hallways and straight into her room — although they were muffled, Illya could still clearly hear everything, and it sent shivers down the white-haired girl's spine. Oz squinted to the source of the sound and readied himself for a sprint, that is until he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Is that what I think it is?” With big doe eyes, she stared at the blonde, a flash of worry and fear flickering in her pair of blood-red irises. The flash of emotion did not go unnoticed by the blonde male and he hesitated. He opted to leave her be, here in the safety of her room next to his where she will be safe — at least he would know where she will be in case something happens. Alas, the said mistress he served was already one step ahead of him, running towards the direction of the terrified chorus of screams.

“Wait, Lady Illya! Do not be reckless!” Oz scrambled on his feet to catch up to the white-haired girl, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as nostalgia hit him — and this is not the good kind of nostalgia that he wanted to get. Even if she had forgotten, her recklessness was still as active as ever and the boy could not help but sigh, already feeling the wrinkles forming on his forehead.

What in heaven's name am I doing? Do I have some kind of death wish? Was I always this bold and reckless? Illya scolded herself in a dilemma. The tiled floor of the hallway became colder and colder the closer she got to the source of the sound and it was only then did she notice that she was still barefoot. Her own footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hallway, haunting her like several pairs of feet chasing after her, adamant in taking her life. The girl shivered at the dark thought, was it a memory?

Nonetheless, in the dark corners of her mind, Illya is convinced that she has to see what was going on, and so she runs despite the fear that made her legs tremble, because she has to know why she got flashes of memories she has no recollection of ever happening. For some odd reason, Illya knows they are real and refuses to believe otherwise. What got me so confident in them? Illya will never know the answer to that question unless she seeks for it herself.

One more thing also bothered the girl and she kept on questioning herself over and over, forcing her brain to remember even the tiniest bit of memory in order to get a clue. If the memory really is real, then when did it happen? Chuckling to herself quietly, Illya believes she must be starting to go crazy. And seeing her laugh when there is supposed to be murder happening, Oz thinks so too.

Let your heart lead you, Illya. She heard someone say and the girl could not tell if the voice belonged to her subconscious or to someone else. It was feminine, and it sounded like her, but it sounded elsewhere, infiltrating her mind as if to speak to her telepathically. Crazed, she asked, Who are you? And as expected, no one answered.

"This is bad," she thought out loud. "I really am going crazy talking to myself like this." And Oz, having heightened hearing, couldn't agree more to her statement. But the young lad did not dare to utter his agreement in fear of an earful of scolding from her.

Illya cannot help but notice the deserted hallways where her room is located and wondered whether there really are other people besides her and Oz residing in this palace-like place. The halls were dimly illuminated as well, probably because only the two of them, her and Oz, occupied this floor.

Turning into a corner, both Illya and Oz found a set of stairs with gold railings and intricate designs with each step covered in a fancy red carpet. Wasting no time, both descended with frenzied footsteps — with Oz mostly urging her but Illya to stop but the girl did not listen.

Finally, her question was answered once she turned around a corner as groups of both boys and girls were seen crowding together over something she cannot see. Now closer, Illya can finally hear the loud sobs echoing in the massive hallway. Some were angrily yelling at each other, no doubt in a heated argument. Most girls, with their custom-made uniforms with frilly dresses, tried to stop the chaos but in the end, gave up and cried their eyes out due to the hopelessness of the situation.

“What seems to be the problem?” Illya blurted before she could stop herself, and the girl wished the ground would just swallow her whole.

And there it was again, the stares people gave her — as if they were looking into the depths of her soul, painting it black. It reminded her of every word stabbed at her like a knife. They glared at her with such hostility it knocked Illya back a few steps and made her knees feel like jelly. Even without their harsh words, the white-haired girl could already predict their words filled with venom. And the girl knew that no matter how much she tries to brush it off, it would always come back to haunt her.

Illya shrunk under their indicting gaze, her resolve to find out more about the memory she witnessed vanishing in an instant and made visible by the one step backward she took. As her body trembled, a single step backward became two, and then three, and then —

“Why are you looking at milady like with such rude gazes? And don’t even try to deny it, even a stupid donkey like yourselves could feel the hostility you all are warding off. Might I remind you that such a gaze aimed towards the heir of a dukedom is rude?” Oz’s hand is warm against the small of Illya’s back, so steady and comforting, and grounding her to reality.

Illya’s steps halted and she managed to stand her ground.

The group averted their gaze as Oz scoffed. The blonde then turned to Illya, his gaze visibly softening despite the smirk on his face. “Stay here, I’ll go take a look,” he said with a hushed tone, soft like he was handling fine glass.

Illya merely nodded, her heart still pounding from the mere presence of Oz's tall figure and confident tone, the accusing gazes already forgotten. Despite the order, Illya’s curiosity got the best of her and as the group dispersed, making a way for Oz to saunter over, Illya regretted what she saw.

At first, it was a pair of black irises that stared at her, its glow long gone. Her eyes then moved to the hole on the victim's chest — a place where her heart used to be.

Then a horrid stench invaded her nose, so strong it made her dizzy as pools of red filled her vision.

Another ear-piercing scream rang, and it wasn't until Oz shook her that Illya realized it came from her own mouth.

"Lady Illya! Get a grip of yourself!" Oz gripped both her shoulders and managed to quiet down the screaming girl. Her eyes, however, were disoriented despite it being trained on his own pair of sea-green.

Oz swore under his breath before loosening his grip on the girl. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her trembling form. He turned to send a glare towards the crowd and barked orders and threats.

"Go back to your rooms unless you want to be confined in your rooms as suspects!"

The crowd scattered, scrambling towards another turn before completely vanishing from the boy's sight. Oz clicked his tongue before turning to Illya in his arms.

"I'll take you back to your room," he started, only to falter in his steps the moment he felt Illya's grip on his hand tightening.

And her next words sent a chill down his spine.

"Did I...did I kill her?"