Red-Eyed Witch

IV. SHE WHO IS KNOWN AS THE WITCH OF THE ACADEMY

"What in Cynthia's name are you talking about? Of course not!" He exclaimed, and even as he said that, Oz is unable to meet Illya's trembling gaze. His gaze remained downcast as he hung his head low as if he were afraid to face the white-haired girl.

He knows something, at least that is what Illya believes from the way he avoids making eye contact with her — as if she had always been good at reading the emotions reflected in his pair of sea-green eyes.

"But I can still see her, she is over there, next to the body!" The girl insisted whilst pointing a finger to where she claimed to have seen a figure of a woman. Her eyes were wide with fear and her bottom lip quivered. Oz furrowed his brows, his grip on the girl tightening in concern, yet he did not refute her claim because he has a vague idea of what or who Illya is seeing.

It's your fault, it said, its dark eyes hollow and devoid of any traces of life. Yet, she smiled maniacally at Illya as if her eyes were still functioning, repeating the phrase over and over like a mantra. Each word dripped with venom, each stronger and louder than the last. It echoed in her mind the same way the mockery of others did all her life.

It’s all your fault!

“No!” Illya yelled in response but the girl hovering over the dead body only laughed at her like a hyena, repeating the same words over and over. The pitch of her tone rose higher and higher with each word, so painful that Illya can feel her ears ringing. And when it became unbearable, she clamped both of her ears in hopes of keeping the awful noise out.

"Lady Illya, who are you talking to? Can you describe whatever it is that you are seeing?" Oz inquired, his brows furrowed and mouth in a deep frown as a wave of distress washed over him. But it seems like his words are falling on deaf ears as the said girl continued to shudder in fear.

Looking back at the body, Oz finally saw what his mistress was seeing. It's her, and her appearance looked the same as always. Her pair of eyes, despite how hollow they might have looked like to those that can see her, held all the pain she went through. When she noticed his gaze, the charred girl smiled — one that held so much animosity he was sure was not only directed towards him, but also towards the white-haired girl in his arms. Instinctively, Oz hugged Illya closer to his chest.

Be that as it may, it still pained him to see such a pitiful sight — an innocent girl who raised hell because she was driven off into a cliff, left with no other choice but to jump down below the raging sea of fire. And she, alone, is paying for it, shouldering the sins of those that have wronged her as well as her own, as unfair as that may be. While her perpetrators went unpunished, the rage that urged her to retaliate forced her to suffer as a form of her punishment.

It’s a hellish nightmare all over again.

Alas, all Oz can do is avert his gaze and assist Illya back to the safety of her room. Having been left powerless, the blonde male can no longer do much to change the situation. All he can do now is to protect Illya. Oz knew well just how vicious mortals can be, and her title as a duke's daughter will not matter here.

“Let’s get you back to your room, you need to rest,” he began once Illya quieted down.

The girl still squirmed slightly and the pace of their short trip towards her room became much slower. Even without a clock, the girl is very much aware of just how slow the time is running. Once in a while, Oz would find Illya taking a quick glimpse with curiosity in her pair of red eyes, a direct contrast to the fear that made her tremble.

The boy figured it would not be long before she would bombard him with questions, and he fears he will only provide more confusion than clarity, for he, himself, also does not know what to make of her appearance. Never had she appeared this early, or at least, not to Illya who had just awoken.

Restlessness is all Oz could guess after years of inactivity. And in those dormant years, she had grown more livid, eager to finally get her hands on those that she cursed and spill their blood and paint them on the unsuspecting walls of the academy. Oz could only hope they all be safe but even he doubts the idea. Asking the gods for help was out of the question for they hate meddling with mortal lives. Oz's brows furrowed at the thought of the moon goddess, Cynthia. So much for being this kingdom's patron goddess. Though, he does not say it out loud, not when she has already done what she can. Oz cannot be any more selfish, but for Illya, he cannot help but want to ask for more.

The voice can no longer be heard echoing inside her mind but from the corners of Illya's eyes, shadows danced mockingly with huge grins plastered on their faceless faces. It reminded her of the countless nightmares she had — vivid imagery of fires that burned mercilessly, eating away her flesh while shadows created by the flame danced as they laughed at her as if they enjoyed the show.

"Ignore her and look straight ahead, do not let her conquer your mind," Oz muttered and prevented her head from looking in the silhouettes' direction. He rubbed soothing circles on the small of her back, successfully steadying Illya's shaking body, making their pace back to her room much quicker.

Silence permeated in the air as Illya crashed to her bed. Oz remained outside the doorstep, unsure of whether to leave her be before she can ask or make sure she is finally alright first.

"You saw her too, didn't you?" Illya began and Oz gave her a sideways glance, his arms crossed and body faced away from her. Still, the blonde male chose to remain silent, his mouth in a thin line but Illya took his silence as a yes.

"Who is she and why did she talk to me? Why can she talk to me? And why is she blaming me for the death of that girl — whoever she is?" Standing up from sitting on the comfort her bed gave, Illya sauntered over to where Oz stood, her legs still wobbly. Illya hugged herself as she shivered at the image of the dead body replayed in her mind, the memory stuck in her head like mud. It was a direct mirror to her own tattered body swimming in a pool of blood.

"I just don't get all of the things that just happened, Oz," the girl whimpered while her voice shook. "Aren't I supposed to be already dead? I got hit by a recklessly speeding car. But part of that was because someone pushed me to meet my demise as I felt a hand on my back. And the last thing I knew, I'm thrown a few meters in the air. In a blink of an eye, I'm covered in a pool of blood. My blood. Everything hurts but death numbed it down. Someone called to me and I woke up here — it's all so absurd now that I am talking about it out loud!"

The crazed glint in her blood-red eyes made Oz stumble back a few steps. He wondered just what the girl had been through to react in such a way. Even when most, if not the entirety, of the kingdom became her enemy, Illya never bent towards their false accusations based on stupid superstitions. Well, maybe once, but he had known her to be someone mentally strong despite the nights he had witnessed her cry her eyes out to lessen the pain.

But now, can she really not remember a single thing?

"Even here," the white-haired girl began again. "Wherever this is, am I still viewed as a villain?"

Even without him uttering a single word for an answer, Oz knew that the girl already knew the answer to her own query.

The room temperature appeared to have dropped the longer the thick silence continued to hang in the air. It was as cold as the snow beneath her feet that one winter day, where her only companion was a fox with golden fur, an animal she had a fateful encounter with in the cold and unforgiving weather. Illya could remember the warmth the animal gave off when she encircled her short arms around it for a hug, and she gazed at her hands as if she could still feel its soft golden fur.

"When did that ever happen?" Illya muttered to herself, brows furrowing. She craved the warmth the little animal gave, but the room turned colder as she realized it may as well have never happened; a false memory is all that was, born from a desperation deep inside her, and Illya feared it to be false.

It was not until she felt a gentle nudge on her sides did she raise her head. Oz stood directly in front of her, green eyes holding a certain emotion Illya cannot comprehend. Then he sighed as he patted her head.

"What you saw was the witch of this academy," Oz stated, his voice small, as if talking about her pained him. "I know someone in here is a killer, and it's not her or you," he declared, voice oozing with confidence.

Gripping both her shoulders, Oz narrowed his eyes at the confused girl. "Do not let the witch get to you, or else she will use you to do her bidding. Whoever is behind the murders, knkw that you are also a victim waiting to be killed. Do not trust anyone."

Do not trust anyone. "Does that mean I should also not trust you?" Illya blurted before she could stop herself and the girl was immediately filled with regret. The blonde male visibly stiffened, the grip on her shoulders loosening.

Clearing his throat, Oz retracted his hand and distanced himself. "That is...up to you," he muttered, eyes downcast in hopes of avoiding meeting her own — something he seemed to like doing whenever he wanted to avoid a certain thing, the white-haired girl noticed.

"Sorry," Illya replied, her head still swimming in confusion. Considering the fact that she cannot believe how she's still breathing and talking like a car had not just slammed itself into her, and now she is in a place where there is a murderer on the loose. Illya wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep, whether she wanted to sleep forever is debatable.

But every time she does so, it's the witch that appears in the pitch-black void. Whoever she is, there is no doubt that she has found Illya interesting.

"Who is she? Or rather who was she and what is her name? Where did she come from? There is still so little that I know of her," Illya finally asked. They keep talking about her but the white-haired girl still has no idea what her name might be.

"She has no name and so every single student in this academy knows her as the witch."

And that is why they associate her with Illya — the kingdom's red-eyed witch, Oz thought, choosing to withhold the information from the already confused girl. Else, she would crumble with the vulnerable state she is in currently.

"But they believe that I and the witch are the same, don't they?"

Oz visibly froze, eyes darting everywhere but her face. Years of verbal abuse have made Illya familiar with the title given to her.

"It's that, isn't it? The way those students are scared of me, it's because to them, I am the red-eyed witch."