Your eyes are the brightest of all the colors, I don't wanna ever love another...
|My feet barely touched the cold marble floor. I was floating in my own private bubble, so unsure of what to do, so hurt.
My breath was a cloud of vapour. Each puff sent out a small cloud that was destined to fade and disappear almost instantly.
My eyelids grew so heavy, things began to disappear from my field of vision. First the lamps in the distance, then the nearby pillars, then the people, and finally, the floor.
This was always happening.
I was standing alone in a room painted with shadows, stretching on for all eternity. I reached out a hand; I felt no surface. was the only thing in it, like a survivor of an apocalypse that wiped out everything else.
Yet, despite the fact I couldn't see them, I could hear the people around me. I heard things like: "Such a pretty girl, what a waste..." and "She used to be the girl everyone admired, you know... terrible thing, what happened to her..."
I fell. Literally and figuratively. Both in the present and in the past.
My knees were painful and my chest had suffered a hard thump, but I just remained lying on the invisible floor. Almost exactly how I had met him.
Two years ago, I had been walking by the seaside, alone, like how I did everyday. I was normally alert to the various things on the sand, lest I injure myself, but that day, I had been pondering my language options at school. Being the blurcase I was, I had not noticed when I had kicked something. Instinctively looking down, I saw a boy lying on the sand. His hair was untidy and fell into his face, and his eyes were closed.
Bending down, I inspected the mysterious stranger carefully. He wore a T-shirt proclaiming 'Get Your Heart On!' and a pair of well-worn jeans. He looked like a local, but I had never seen him in our tight-knit community before.
Suddenly, his eyes opened, startling me. They were brilliant, green, even brighter than an amethyst, glimmering with the brilliance of a diamond. They were wide and searching, boring into my own caramel brown ones.
I backed off, but in my haste to place more distance between us, I lost my balance and fell flat onto my back. I could feel the sand scratching my bare skin and matting my hair, but I was distracted as he leaned over and gazed at me. His eyes had only one word to them: warm.
I fell in love there and then. I fell in love with his easygoing personality, his loving nature and caring attitude. Of course, his family's wealth (as it turns out, he was the son of the two doctors that lived two streets away) didn't hurt. The fact that his parents and sister, Lumina, all accepted me as a part of their family didn't hurt either. Like me, he loved music and his guitar was precious to him, 'second to only my lovely girlfriend', he would claim. It was a studio edition Gibson lesPaul, crimson and as bright as blood.
That's why no one noticed the bloodstains on the guitar on the night of the murder, exactly 15 months into our relationship.
I'll never know what actually took place, but according to the police and my own conclusions, he had been practicing the guitar in the living room and had heard a yell or something of the sort from the kitchen, where both of his parents had been found, bloodied and dead.
Due to the shock, he probably did not see the perpetrator sneaking up to him. The messed-up state of the living room had indicated a scuffle, before the murderer had hit him with his own guitar, then fled.
When I had turned up at his house the next day, I had seen him sitting on the couch, his hands on the guitar; but strangely, he wasn't playing anything.
Imagine my shock when I saw his blank, dead eyes. There was no sparkle or emotion in them; yes, they were still beautiful, but in the way a a forged sword was beautiful; emotionless. They weren't the crystal orbs that I had loved so much, they were mere glass replicas.
After that, everyone thought that I had gone insane; I saw no light where the lamp was right in front of me; I saw blood on the most random of things. On some days, I couldn't even get out of bed, let alone walk around, yet on other days, I prowled the streets in search of the person who had killed a whole family in cold blood. Even little Lumina had not been spared on that night. She had just been 13 years old, with childish fantasies of white horses and fairytale-esque happy endings.
I ignored the voice, and continued floating inside all my memories, vicious anger and unshed tears. Just like that, he was gone... gone!
I was so consumed by my thoughts that I did not notice the man sneaking up next to me, and withdrawing a knife. But when he was about to stab me, I definitely knew.
He was the one who had killed Ezreal.