He was sitting on his throne, a bored look on his face. The dance was on a roll but he felt no desire to participate. He had declined a lot of dance proposals already, from timid princesses, sophisticated noblewomen and majestic queens. The girls are beautiful, no doubt about that. But his heart remained still. There must be something wrong with him, he thinks. For who wouldn't think that way, when you are in a room full of beautiful women and yet your heart remains unmoved?
"I guess no one fits his fancy.""Maybe he prefers men.""Nonsense, he was just shy and unknowledgeable with regards to women. He is still young, after all."
The raven haired prince stood up abruptly, clearly aware of the gossips about him. He glared at the group of socialite murmuring about him and walked towards the punch bowl.
Even at the refreshment table, the gossiping never ceased. But once they saw him approach, the people would stop and smile at him. Back turned, he locates a bottle of red wine and a glass. He could have asked a servant to do this, but he needed to walk, to get away from the people murmuring about him. He was about to take a sip of wine when he heard a louder wave of whispering behind him.
How dare they? His anger boiled inside him. I'm right here and they have the guts to spew nonsense about me? I will make them pay! No one noticed that he was holding the glass too strongly. No one noticed as the glass broke in his hand, spilling wine on the floor. He turned around in anger, ready to slash at the inattentive servants, ready to behead whoever dares to gossip about him. He turned around only to be surprised.
Because when he turned around, he saw a goddess.
Almost in front of him, across the room, stood the most beautiful girl he ever saw. The latecomer wore a black princess gown that clings to her curves. The gown alone is breathtaking, but the wearer is all the more gorgeous. For even if she came wearing rags, she will still be the most beautiful person in the room.
Her hair is a peculiar shade of green, like freshly grown grass in summer. And he remembered how citrusy it smelled and how soft it was to touch. Her skin is the whitest white that he ever saw. She was white like porcelain except for the healthy blush on her cheeks when she saw him looking. And her eyes, he hadn't seen eyes like those before and yet he recognized it. Her eyes are deep pools of gold. Shining, illuminating and blinding, just like the sun. He remembered looking through those eyes and drowning. He hadn't seen her before, but why does he recognize her too much? And those majestic eyes are looking at him now, beckoning him. It was then that he noticed his heart's erratic beating.
He stood rooted, mesmerized by the beauty before him. Unable to think rationally, he shook his head and clutched his chest to calm his crazy heart. It was then that he realized that everything stopped. The murmurs ceased, the music and the dancing halted, and every pair of eyes are glued to the emerald goddess.
She bewitched them! He thought as he took notice of the dazed look on everyone's face. He found himself looking back at the witch, a folly he knew, for his heart started to beat faster. Knowing that she got his attention, the beauty turned her back and walked towards the patio. And when she was out of the ballroom, everything resumed to its original state. The music starts and the dancer continues, as if nothing happened. The spell is broken, but why does his heart remains enchanted?
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, hoping to clear his head. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself just outside the door to the patio. He didn't even notice that he walked. His rationality berates his actions. He's bewitched, it claims. But deep down, he feels different. The other part of his brain reprimands him, for being a hypocrite, for denying himself, for not following her sooner.
Hands on the knob and his mind on war, he followed his heart and opened the door. He walked in quickly and closed the door. Unable to locate the bewitching lady, he ascended down towards the fountain below.
'I thought you wouldn't come." The raven haired prince stood gaping. Breathtaking, he mumbled, his face turning red. The beautiful lady was sitting on the sill of the fountain and he couldn't understand how it is possible that the lady is more radiant than the moon. And for the hundredth time, he stood rooted.
"I… you… beau…No… wi.." He cursed his muddled mind. And then the witch laughed. I missed her teasing laughter, he thought absentmindedly. She smiled and his heart nearly combusts. If this goes on, she will be the death of me, he thought. What is happening to me? What is she doing to me?
Calming his racing heart, he blurted the only plausible explanation for his reactions. "You're a witch!"
Her smile turned into a smirk, a smirk, so familiar to him he swore he saw it before. She seems so familiar yet foreign to him. Bridging the gap between them, the emerald haired witch buried her face on his chest, her arms wound on his neck.
"Yes I am, Lelouch."
Despite the surprise, his body seemed to know what to do. His arms wound around the girl's slim waist, his face buried on her hair. He smiled as he smells the citrusy scent of her hair, he remembered right. He didn't know her but he felt whole with her. This was his first time seeing her, but he already knew everything about her. And as he tightened his hold on the girl, he felt his worries vanish, his mind at ease and his heart at peace. He didn't even know her name but she felt like home.
"Remember your promise, my dear Warlock." He heard the girl mumbled. He releases his hold a bit as he gazed down, wondering what she meant. He swallowed his question as the softest lips met his in a chaste kiss.
Before he could deepen the kiss, hell, before he even realized what happened, their lips part. And as their lips part, distance seems to grow between them, leaving him wanting.
"Wait!' He started to run, to try to bridge the growing chasm that separates them. He feels confused. She was not running away but the distance continues to grow between them despite his efforts to be closer. She raised her hand to him beckoning, a single word on her beautiful lips. He followed pleading, "I lo…". But when he was about to reach her hands, the darkness consumes him.
The words died at his lips as he fell. He fell into oblivion but landed jerkily into his bed.
He sat up, awake, drinking in the sight around him. It was just a dream, only a dream. And yet his heart was racing badly he thought it would burst. He stood up, trying to clear his mind. And this was the power of his father's geass. For after a drink of water, he had already forgotten the dream. He had forgotten the enchanting witch or the promise or the confession that he never had the chance to say.
But as he lies in his bed again, he felt a deep longing in his heart. For even if his mind was erased, his heart remembers. His heart ached, missing someone's presence. But looking around, he couldn't find or think of anything or anyone absent or missing. And thus, Lelouch Lamperouge, rolled restlessly on his bed, begging for deliverance. Night after night, he dreamt of a green haired witch. He dreamt of their promise, of her lips, of his longing. Day by day, his mind forgot. It was a vicious, torturous cycle that will loop around until he remembers. And until the green haired witch, in a black bunny costume, helped return his memories, Lelouch will continue to live with hysteria instead of a heart.