Interlude [h.s]

five

Alouette enters her rooms and throws herself on the bed. She's exhausted, if she closed her eyes now she wouldn't wake up before the alarm clock rings again.

The light of the sunset comes in through the window and washes the entire room orange, leaving a warm tint on the usually white walls.

The entire room is white with the occasional beige tint of the couch and headboard of the bed, and, taking into consideration the looks of the rest of the building, he knows the colour palette has to stem from Harry's personal choice.

Everything is bright and modern there, so different from the headquarters of the Revolution. There's no dust anywhere, not even forgotten there by mistake. It almost feels like she's in another century, and it agitates her deep down. That isn't the world she was raised in. She came from the unlucky part of the town, not the powerful, rich one that was the symbol of her oppression. Stuck in there, it's hard to remember there's an actual world displayed at their feet, one that's going on even without her.

There are people struggling to pay for electricity and losing their homes right out of the door, hidden from view just around the corner, and yet they're there, in that palace, living comfortably, having everything they need and more and, apparently at least, not caring about anybody else.

She hates those double standards.

She still can't believe she met Harry, the source of all her problems, the man that sometimes looks more like a doll than a person itself. Before seeing him, she'd never thought anyone could look that polished. It's kind of scary, in a way. He's got it together to an almost obsessive level, it's like he strives to be perfect in every situation.

Her phone suddenly rings and she's shaken out of her thoughts and thrown back on earth, landing on the soft pillow of her bed.

She reads Evie's name on the screen and sighs, bringing the device to her ear. "Is everything alright?" She asks her carefully, turning to lie on her back and looking up, observing the line of a shadow on the ceiling.

"No!" The assistant squeaks on the other side. "Mr Styles is in his rooms, and I need to put the new suit in his closet!"

"Why don't you just knock on the door?"

Evie sighs. "So what, I should have him open the door for me and expect him not to ask any questions? He can't know."

"Then wait for him to leave."

"That's the plan, Lark. That's the plan..."

Alouette sits up at the dangerous tone of her voice. "What do you mean?" She asks her, quietly hoping she understood it wrong.

"You can distract him!"

She didn't.

"Are you kidding me? Distract him?!" She exclaims. "That's basically asking to be thrown in the dungeons or something."

Evie snorts. "We don't have dungeons, Lark."

"So get thrown out, killed, whatever he usually does," Alouette says, feeling nervous at the simple thought of having to interact with him again. She isn't necessarily scared of him, but of what he might do. She's in his den, the only way to survive is to play by his rules.

"None of that will happen," Evie tells her. "If you check, I left a folder on my desk. He said he needs it urgently, so you can use it to distract him."

Alouette gets off the bed, covering her mouth as she yawns, accepting the obligation to leave her bedroom. "I'll do it right away," she gives in, sliding the opaque glass to the side and entering the bathroom, fixing her hair in the mirror to make sure it doesn't look messy. The last thing she needs is to find herself in front of Harry while looking like a scarecrow.