Eyes On Me

It started with the feeling of being watched.

At first, Anjali, patrolling the outskirts of the tourney’s arena while the final champions were being announced, thought a sudden storm was settling in. The fog crept over the grounds in a thick blanket, and then there was screaming, and then… silence. An eerie, unsettling silence that made the Sparkweaver’s stomach drop. In an instant, she was moving towards the arena, in the direction of the cries, and then she was struck with that familiar prickle at the back of her neck, as if someone from the shadows had rested their gaze upon her. The sensation made her freeze, and she didn’t dare look over her shoulder, afraid of what she might find there.

As it happened, she wouldn’t have to. The fog descended on her before she could even really process it, and as she found herself in its suffocating embrace, Anjali realized that it wasn’t made of moisture, but of eyes.

And then she crumpled to the ground.

---

The academy’s ceremony hall was a massive, open-air venue of marble and alabaster with gold accents and silk drapes hung between its columns. There was a gentle breeze, carrying the sweet scent of honey and wildflowers, heralding the arrival of summer very soon. And, with summer’s arrival, came graduation.

Anjali perched atop the raised dais at one end of the hall, flanked by other prominent scholars, each the head of their own respective department. Below them, their graduates gathered, practically vibrating with varying levels of nerves and excitement. A warm feeling of pride bloomed in her chest as she observed them, and a few of her students turned back to meet her eyes, gazes quickly darting away when they realized that she was watching them.

She wasn’t really listening to the headmaster’s speech; she’d heard it countless times before. It was only when he started his introduction of the academy’s most prominent scholars and instructors that she let herself focus on the words, waiting for a single phrase.

Professor Antheim, head of the academy’s astronomy department. It didn’t matter how many times she’d heard those words. They never got old. Call it vanity – and perhaps it was – but she’d worked hard to achieve her status, and her father had worked hard to put her through the education that had allowed her to get here. She felt she had every right to be a little pretentious about it.

Once the headmaster had finished his sermon, Anjali watched him return to his own seat, high above the rest of the hall’s gathered audience. At his side, greeting him with a firm hand clapped over his shoulder, was none other than Governor Antheim. Her father.

That warm feeling of pride returned to her chest, blossoming like the petals of a flower unfurling in the sunshine. At his side was her mother, her arm looped with his. She leaned over and rested her chin on his shoulder, her gaze sweeping across the crowd until she locked eyes with Anjali. Her mother smiled, full of gentle adoration, and Anjali returned the look. She could only dream of one day being as madly in love with someone as her parents were with each other. Their past had been rocky, sure, her father’s political campaign bringing the woman a great amount of undue stress, but it had all paid off in the end.

The academy’s tradition of graduation entailed a crowning of laurels, in which each department’s head bestowed a gold wreath upon their students. When it came time for Anjali to crown her students, she descended from the dais with her head held high and her shoulders squared, reveling in the sensation of the audience’s eyes on her. She drank in the attention, the adoration. She couldn’t get enough of it.

As the first student knelt before her, Anjali took the laurel wreath and held it delicately in her hands. The student slowly lifted their head to meet her gaze. Their face was blurry.

If she tried to make out their finer details – the color of their eyes, the shape of their nose – they only got blurrier. She thought they had freckles, or was it a trick of the light? And their name… it was on the tip of her tongue, but it died in her throat. Why couldn’t she remember their name?

Instead, she said nothing, resting the laurel wreath upon the crown of their head and offering a firm handshake before sending them on their way. The next graduate was the same. And the next one. And the next one. If she looked at them from the corner of her eye, she could almost make out a cohesive face, but the second she tried to really focus, it was gone, little more than a fuzzy smear.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Anjali swept her gaze across the crowd of gathered onlookers, and suddenly their faces began to blur together, too. Had they ever had faces to begin with? Her breath grew shallow as a feeling of dread came over her, threatening to smother her like a heavy blanket. She turned back to the seat of the headmaster and the governor, hoping the faces of her mother and father might at least provide a sense of comfort, but their seats were empty. Had they gotten up and left? Had they noticed her sudden wavering and grown embarrassed?

She felt dizzy. She looked back to the crowd, praying, hoping she’d see a familiar face. Just one.

And then at the very edge of the crowd, she spotted one. A tall figure tucked away against one of the towering marble pillars, blended almost perfectly with the shadows. Unlike the others, their face was clear, even from this far away. There was no mistaking that distinct profile, those slender, curved horns. That confident smirk.

As the last of her students were crowned, Anjali didn’t return to her place amidst the rest of the scholars. Instead, she slipped into the crowd, skirting along its edges, desperate to get to that familiar face. She’d broken into a jog at some point, or maybe it was an outright sprint. She had to get to her, had to get… what was her name? Jasmine? Jessamine?

Wake up.

It was a low hiss, directly into her ear, or perhaps it was only inside her mind. Wake up? Her palms flew to her temples, clutching the sides of her head as a dull ache started to throb there. She was awake…

She was awake, right?

She pushed onward, the crowd blurring together even further until they were just a singular mask, like a cloud of fog around her. They were nothing more than a gathering of eyes, watching her every move.

Jezabelle. That was her name. She needed to find Jezabelle. She scanned each marble pillar, desperate to find the woman once more.

When she finally did, it was only for a split second, before the woman slipped behind a pillar once more, as if beckoning for Anjali to chase her. “W… wait!” she called, reaching out for the specter.

You need to wake up!

“I am awake!” she pleaded. “Come back!”

Her calls went unanswered. She rounded the pillar just as the entire ceremony hall crumbled away, as if the earth beneath its foundation had disappeared and dragged the rest into the abyss with it. And then it was just Anjali and the single remaining pillar. And Jezabelle.

She jolted upright, her nose assaulted with the smell of sweat and damp earth. She lay on the ground, distant cries of battle surrounding her. And there was that fog again, made only of eyes staring into her soul. Judging her. Criticizing her. Taunting her over what could have been.

Before her stood Jezabelle, stark and warm. A welcome sight. “Sleeping on the job, love?” the Viper said, and Anjali’s lip curled in disdain.

“I would never,” she retorted, but she couldn’t hide her grin for very long. “Help me up, would you?” She didn't fully understand what had happened to her, but she couldn't help thinking the mist had something to do with it. Whatever it was, it wasn't normal fog. The feeling of being watched had yet to go away.

Jezabelle’s eyes were obscured by that feathered mask, like magpie wings draped across her brow. It didn’t hide the woman’s smile, though, and she extended Anjali a hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of the fog.”