Chiller (harry styles)

42: Paradise Paris

Walls all around me are full of color. It's an artist's Utopia. Rich splatters of sunset orange, crimson, violet, pinkberry, peach, icy white. It's no form in particular, but a picture is present in the mess of shape and color. It's like a ruined world, damaged by evil then slowly repaired with life. A tall, skinny man with a curly moustache and paint covered trousers stands at the end of the bright room. There is a floor to ceiling window behind him. The view is the eiffel tower, and the beautiful city of Paris far down below. The man tilts his head at the wall across from him, then moves his hands around like he's sizing up the art.

"Harry." I breathe quietly.

He doesn't answer me.

Where is he?

"Harry!" I shriek, still quietly as to not make the artist think I'm insane.

"Miss Styles, il n'est pas nécessaire de crier pour les défunts." The artist tells me in his gorgeous french accent.

Despite the fact that I have no idea what he just said, I did hear him loud and clear on one thing. He just called me Mrs. Styles. I shiver with giddy happiness for a second. Wow, that sounds good. Then I shake my head and focus my mind. Harry has something set up. I better play along.

"Where is my husband?" I wail, throwing my hand over my forehead. "I'm so lost without him!"

"Departed!" He cries. "De-part-ed!"

He's gone. This much I already know. I walk up to the artist and gaze past him into the window. Nothing looks out of balance. Nothing looks strange.

Then I see it. In the sky are wings, coming right for the window. Harry.

"Please, please! Go find my husband! Please!" I beg the artist.

If Harry is coming for me through the window I doubt this guy should be hanging around.

He sighs, throwing his paintbrush to the ground.

"I did not agree to babysit a diva!" He shouts, suddenly in perfect English, flailing his arms about and stomping out like a toddler.

Harry reaches the window with a glowing blue sphere in his hands. He stretches his arms out wider. The sphere grows with the effort. Something tells me to step back. Harry throws it at the glass, and suddenly it is wobbly. It looks like milky water or jello. I put my hand on it, and it goes straight through. It's like walking through a wall. I get to play ghost. Before I can even begin to thinking about how to go about it Harry's arms reach inside, and he grabs my body with a rough jerk. The air feels nice against my skin.

"Babe, I only left for five minutes. Don't kill me." He explains as soon as we are flying.

"I want to know what is going on, please." I say, my voice sounding tired.

"We're in Paris, France. I got a report that all the Merfolk are gathering in Lake Superior, the Atlantic Ocean, the Nile River. Anywhere large groups can meet. They're discussing the plan of attack. They aren't happy about the mirrors beginning destroyed. It isn't just Ariel and Ursula in the water. It's all their families, and others. I have to warn land critters, too. If I can get all the Fantasy Land creatures on our side then we have a wage against the Host of Angels and God. They'll have to keep the mirrors intact. They wouldn't fight all those people." Harry says, his eyes looking far ahead.

I don't understand what this has to do with us. Our love and the fate of beautiful, intelligent humanity need to be saved. I'm not heroic, but I want to be courageous.

"How does saving dreams help us? I mean it helps humanity, sure, but what about you and I?"

"If the Host and God see us as the leaders they will have to give you a fair chance at what you want. You want that memory bolt. Maybe we can get it without stepping back into the past. Maybe not. It's worth a try. And then there's convincing them to let us be together. We're forbidden. If not, I'll fight the power for you. For us. I'd fight anything or anyone for our love. It may just be a shot in the dark, but if we all band together and put our scary faces on, this just might work." Harry says, his voice strong and clear.