It was a cold September night when the girl with golden eyes led him out to dance, the boy who wore only black and red seeming to be with her. No one knew him, besides her of course, but it was questionable by the look she gave him. Her gaze looked more like a deer in the headlights than of a transfixed lover, each step he look he seemed to make her eyes go wider, as if hypnotized. Every beat of the song, she was bound deeper and deeper into the illusion of this stranger, her eyes glazed and full of fraudulent affection. The people around them who knew her mostly passed it off as love. Others would look at them, their eyes lingering for a moment or two, and then look back at their own companion.



But of course, they only grew suspicious when the girl with golden eyes went missing. Then people began to notice things they hadn't the night before. I find it funny how none of them really thought of it. How they passed it off as someone she must have gone to school with, or perhaps a fellow she saw at the market. But who cared how they met if they were in love now?



Of course, the next morning, everything changed. Their perspectives were demolished and replaced by another. Now this boy was a suspect. They realized that this boy had never been seen before that night, this boy who wore only red and black was someone no one had ever heard of. He was a stranger. The police asked for descriptions from every person who went to the ball the night before. Almost every one of the witnesses described him the same.



"Eyes as blue as old Elder Morgenstein's."



"Hair as black as the abyss itself."



"Perfect olive skin, like silk, but only softer."



"Curls atop his head like small spiraling ribbons gone down to his ears and neck."



"Eyes of a tiger, only more majestic and cunning."



"He wore a black and red suit, something of a century before, with a blood red rose in his pocket."



But then, they were asked what the girl looked like.



"Why...that was Madame Fullay's daughter."



“Bright red hair, aye?”



“Strange eyes, she had….”



"Mistress Annabelle, it was."



"It was Annabelle, sir.... Annabelle Fullay. With brown hair as silky and shiny as a horses tail and eyes that shined a light gold. She is the one missing."



No one mentioned what else they witnessed that night. Why? They couldn't remember it.



It was not of trauma, or of forgetfulness. It was of something else. Something else was enough to make them forget the murder of John Palmer.



It wasn't a coincidence that he died the same night our young lady, Miss Annabelle Fullay, went missing.



"He was a hundred and one...."



"He died of a heart attack."



"The poor old man was at his end."





They didn't find it that strange that our dear old friend John was found lying in the men's bathroom, not breathing.



No...they didn't think anything of it until the results came out that he did not have a heart attack, but that he was strangled to death.



That gave them quite a shock.



Suddenly, this town was no longer safe. Every step you took, you had to hope that there wasn't anyone behind you. But with people like the man in black and red, you wouldn't be able to hear them anyways.



Annabelle Fullay was very observative and rarely trusted anyone. And look what happened to her. The man in black and red snuck up on her and trapped her before she knew it.



Why am I saying all of this to you?



I need a way to get this information out. I know what happened that night. I know who this man is. But I am under his trap as well.



I just have to hope that someone will care enough to read this.



Why should all of this interest you?



Annabeth Fullay is still alive.



You may be her last chance at living.



If you care, turn the page. If you are too afraid or simply don't care, give it to the hands of another.



Now that I've told you this, I will start from where it all began.



One cold September night....