There is no witch or wizard in this world richer than I am. I own the night sky over London in December. I own the tiny silvery bubbles in a glass of butterbeer. I own every streetlight in Knockturn alley and all the dandelions around the Shrieking Shack. I own the paws of the sphinx and the top of the cheops-pyramid. I own the softness of a dogs ear, and you are mine too, especially your eyes. I own a piece of everything beautiful I've seen in this world. That's my treasure, my sole happiness.
My house is not marked on any maps, and no one has yet found the way to it. I'm the only one living in it now. I own my house too, but that's not important. I have filled the rooms with things I find beautiful: glass-butterflies, dragonscales, fine art. But the most beautiful of them all is missing. You. You and your eyes. I have prepared a room for you in my house, but somewhere deep inside I know you will never come to me.
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I once met a girl with such beautiful eyes.
I wanted to pick them like flowers, to take them from their owner and bring them home with me.
I wanted to have them standing in a vase on my desk, or keep them looked away like precious gemstones for me to look at whenever I wished.
Precious flower-gemstone eyes to give me happy thoughts.
I decided not to pick them after all.
Sometimes the flowers are prettiest when they stand in their field not in a vase on a desk.
----
I watched you from a distance. You where mine, but you didn't know it. I don't think you ever knew. I had never truly claimed you, I liked you better when you where running free for me to watch over. I sometimes thought about what would have happened if I had told you, but I don't think like that anymore. It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters.
I watched you from a distance, I observed your face in the reflection on a water surface. I was the observer, still am, will always be. Sometimes I feel like I'm standing outside of time, watching tide pass by. I liked to think that I was your guardian angel, but I am no angel, I know that now. Maybe I was an angel once, but I'm fallen now. I don't know when I was kicked out from paradise, and I don't know if this is hell. Maybe this is the way it is supposed to be. Maybe I never truly was in paradise. Maybe I just gazed through the gates and into the paradise of your green eyes.
I knew you would eventually die, but I had arranged things for you. Your eyes would always live, they would always be beautiful and they would always belong to me. Did I cause your death? I don't want to think so, but I will always carry that doubt inside me. That's why I'm leaving now, when I finally have your eyes in this house with me.
I never wanted you to grow old. I didn't want the blue clouds of age to disguise your eyes. I didn't want time to make your fiery hair burn down to white ashes. I used my black magic to keep you from aging. I took measures to make sure your eyes lived forever. I wanted to save your beauty, but I might have ruined it all.
I saw the
flash of green light. A sickening shade of green, nothing like your eyes. I
couldn't save your life, I couldn't save your body, but I could take your eyes
with me, and I did. I put them in the room I prepared for you years ago. I hope
you like it. It's in the east tower, with a big window and white marble-floor. I
painted the walls myself in a light shade of blue. I put your eyes so that you
could look out the window. I smoothed one wrinkle on the rose-colored
tablecloth and left.
I have never once met your eyes since I took them from your dead body. I put them in your room and left with the intention to visit you later, but now I don't dare to go in there. I know you will look at me, because your eyes still live, but I dread your unblinking stare. What if I scare you with my appearance? What if you hate me for what I did? I probably should explain myself before I leave forever, but I don't think you'd understand anyway. I don't even know how to explain something to a pair of disembodied eyes.
Maybe I shouldn't have done this, but it's to late for regrets now. Your eyes will live forever in that room, and maybe - since the eyes are the mirrors of the soul - a piece of your spirit will live in there too.
I don't know if I'm going crazy, or if I have ever been truly sane. I can see the signs now. The lonely person living alone in a too big house. Now complete with odd body-parts. I fear I will eventually be buried under the weight of my collapsing mind. Something inside me tells me that as long as I see that I'm going mad, there is still a piece of sanity left. I have no illusions though, I can't leave this downward spiral, and eventually I will give in. The very last resort to escape the pain. To lock myself in and throw away the key. Allow the bird to leave the cage. Break the window. Madness.