Harry Styles Shorts and One Shots

The Ghost of You 3

18+ only

Word count: 6,000

Harry

  Waiting.

All I've fucking done since I've died is wait. Every moment that crawls by slower than the last is agonizing, especially now since I must wait until I see Cassandra again. The feel of her body flat against mine, and her warmth seemingly warming me in turn is something I can't ever recall feeling while alive. Her hot tears splashed against my shirt and I felt them. I feel everything when I'm around her, even arousal at the conversation we had about her bedding Anthony.

I couldn't let it happen. Every single vessel in my body flared at the thought of her having to sleep with him against her will. I will slip him nightshade every single night if I have to, I don't care. I won't let him hurt her. I've put myself in far too deep already, but I don't even care. She knows I exist, and I'm the only one who wants to protect her.

How can I protect her against everything, though? What if he ever laid a hand on her when I wasn't watching? What if I was? My touch is powerless to every single living human except for Cassandra. I'm still unsure as to why or how, but I'm not complaining.

She is pure, encapsulated beauty with a kind soul and tender heart. She deserves a better life, a better husband, a better father; everything. I spent all night resisting the urge to just sit in her bedroom and watch her sleep. I couldn't think of anything more peaceful than that, even my walks in the garden couldn't compare to that, I'm sure.

I'm standing by my coffin with the sunlight streaming hazy beams into the room, illuminating it completely. The door to the room squeaks open, and I'm immediately excited as I turn, but fall with disappointment once I see it isn't Cassandra. I'm hoping she actually enjoyed my company as much as I did hers. I know she isn't desperate for human interaction like I am, but still.

Two men of the church come in and bless the room as they do every morning, saying a prayer quietly together as they walk around to every coffin of every king who has been laid to rest here. I always wish their prayers would free me of this tether to earth, but I remain here still every day, regardless of what they say. Is it normal for spirits to linger the way I do? It can't be since I haven't seen any others the entire time I've been dead.

The door is pulled open again, and I'm overtaken by the sight of Cassandra in the morning light. She glows when she enters the room, her hair being a beautiful, cocoa waterfall around her shoulders and down her chest. She's wearing a pale yellow gown that flows around her effortlessly, some of the fabric dragging behind her on the marble floor.

My heart feels as if it has started beating again, the same way it always feels when she is around me.

"Good morning," she says to me, the two men in the room turning to greet her.

"Good morning, my lady," one of the men says. "Have you come to pray over the fallen kings?"

Her eyes glance to me nervously, flicking back to the men. "Of course."

"Then we will leave you to do that, my lady."

The two men bow, thankfully leaving before they see the princess talking to herself.

"How did you sleep last night?" I ask her, leading her to the opposite end of the hall, away from my casket.

She shrugs. "It's a bit unnerving sleeping beside a man you don't know."