I do not own Pandora Hearts.
"Ow!" cried Oz Vessalius as he bumped into someone on the street. The girl that he bumped into had dark brown hair with two braids. Oz offered his hands to the girl on the ground and when the girl touched his hand, even through her thick gloves, he could feel that her hands were cold like ice.
Oz was a little stunned as he pulled his hand back and stared at the girl on the ground.
"Come to my place for a while," he said. "Your hands must be freezing out here." Oz looked at the calendar stitched onto a weaving in a store realizing that it was in the middle of autumn and although the wind blew, the sun still shined warmly on his golden hair and although he was wearing much thinner clothing than the girl, he was really warm.
"Thank you but I will have to pass on the offer. I have somewhere I must go," was the quiet response he got. Her voice was sweet and gentle like twinkling bells.
The girl started walking quickly. Oz did not know why but he followed behind her trying to escape her notice. The girl obviously noticed but did not seem to mind. When she turned the corner, she disappeared.
Damn! I did not notice! Thought Oz, visibly pissed at his carelessness. As Oz walked, he found a church. Not knowing why, he pushed the heavy doors and went inside.
Inside the church was large and vast. The church was apparently abandoned. The temperature inside the church was at least below 2 degrees Celsius.
Why is there not a heater? Thought Oz Vessalius. Paying more attention to the ruined chairs, he did not notice until later that there was a sound of the piano being played.
The melody was sweet and nostalgic in a way. Looking up, Oz saw the brown haired girl from a while ago playing the piano at the front of the church.
"What is it that you are playing?" he asked.
The girl neglected to answer but instead, kept on playing. She played and played and played. Oz wondered when she would stop but the girl did not give any signals or signs showing that she would stop.
Suddenly, she stopped ending the piece with a gentle collection of notes.
"Lacie," she said in an emotionless voice. This voice contained nothing of the twinkling sound that was filled in her voice before.
Oz did not realize what she was saying, "huh?"
"The piece," she responded.
"Oh. I am sorry for bothering you. My name is Oz. What is yours?"
"Alice."
"Okay, Alice. Where did you learn how to play this piece?"
"Memory."
Oz decided not to ask any further about the piece. "What are you doing in here?"
"Playing the piano."
"It is really cold in here. Do you have somewhere to go? Or do you want to accept my offer from earlier?"
"No."
"Okay Alice. Let us go to my place."
Alice was dragged along by Oz and together they went to Oz's house.
At Oz's house, which was a large mansion, Oz brought Alice some hot coffee.
"Do you want sugar?" he asked.
"No."
"Here. Sit by the fire to warm up your hands."
Alice moved towards the fire. She sat there for three hours. By now, it was 16:00.
"Alice, why are you suddenly so different from before? It is like you are a different person." Oz asked.
"I act." Was his curt response.
"Alice, let me feel your hands." Oz said.
Alice shook her head.
With a little more persuasion, Oz managed to touch Alice's hands.
"They are still freezing cold!" exclaimed Oz. A slightly worried expression covered his face.
"It is all right." Alice said, "They are always like that anyway. Even if I burn them, they will not warm up."
"How can you play the piano so quickly with frozen hands?"
"Cold and warm does not matter. As long as this body moves."
With that, Alice left Oz's house and marched back onto the street.
That night, Oz was in his bet still preoccupied with his thought about Alice, the girl with cold hands. Finding himself unable to sleep, he took a candle and walked out of his large mansion into his just as large garden.
From the garden, he kept on walking and walking even though he did not know where too. He just had the feeling that he had to keep on walking until he reached his destination.
As he left the ground belonging to his family, he walked down the cold stone stairs and towards the abandoned alley four blocks behind the church.
As he walked towards the alley, he slowly began to feel uneasy. Every part of him was telling him, "Do not go, do not go." But he went anyway. As he slowly approached, he could hear people shouting. One voice, two voices. And footsteps running towards one another. A gunshot. A blade being pulled out of its sheath. And the wind blowing loudly, as if trying to warn him about the bloody destiny that was about to roll out in front of him.