Red eyes.
Dammit, red eyes. He's grown to despise the color, which is rather unfortunate because it is everywhere. In spells, in curtains, in his own damn clothing. But that isn't as horrifying as seeing those eyes whenever you dream, staring at you, looking into your soul. But it doesn't matter that much, seeing as that's a thing the red eyes can actually do. He had to admit he hated magic sometimes. He thinks it's a spot ironic, actually. Green versus red. It's always been something versus something. No grey. (What would be between green and red? Brown?) And frankly, he's tired of it, because there's a part of him that wants to scream that it's not fair, that he shouldn't have to do this, that he didn't want to be alive. He shuts that part up pretty nicely, as far as he can tell. But these are more nighttime thoughts, brought on by waking up again because he can't stand to see those red eyes again.