The Short Stories of Harry Styles

Neverwood: Part 7

The feel of the soft fur beneath his cold fingertips was a welcome warmth that he hadn't realized he'd missed.

Harry sat in his usual chair at the long dining table just beside the kitchen, the small fawn still wrapped up in his arms as he glided his fingers over it.

Harry had been surprised to find the house empty, even more so by the genuine worry that had flooded his system. He'd been worried about Jessie and he wasn't quite sure what to think about that.

He bowed his head, chin to chest, to watch the fawn's brown eyes slowly lull and then close as it entered a realm of calm in his arms.

How odd...a creature finding solace in his embrace.

A furrow of his brow and a scrunch of his strong nose and he was instantly withdrawing from the baby in his clutches. He wasn't sure why he'd come to it's aid. His first instinct wasn't to rip it to shreds like he normally would. He was destruction after all...he was heartless.

That word had triggered something inside of Harry. He hadn't acknowledged his deformity in quite some time. Ignored it, rather, because to entertain the idea that his chest was nothing more than a literal hollowed out catacomb was almost too much for him to bear sometimes. Even for one such as he.

Yes, he'd done the one thing the Fae frowned upon.

He'd fallen in love with a human.

Stupidly, naively, he'd given his all to that mortal girl so long ago. He'd been in this withered state of being for so long he'd lost count of the years as they flew by, not slowing for him whatsoever.

Yes, he'd fallen in love and when she'd given him that rose ring, he'd put his heart into it. He had gently coaxed his beating heart from his chest and literally embedded it into that ring with the hope that their love would be the undying kind. He'd been a fool, a lovesick pup who doddled on romance and fine details.

As a boy he'd love to read the in between of a person and Cynthia was everything in between. She had blonde hair but it was the shimmering shades of gold and silver that flecked in the sunlight that caught his youthful eye. The dusting on her cheeks and lips weren't just a paltry shade of red, they had hints of peony pink and symphonies of peach.

Yes, Harry loved the fine details. He loved to observe and take in every breath, every smile, every frown, every flutter of eyelashes so that he could fall in love with the spaces in between.

And then, Cynthia had come to him in a panic.

They were meant to make the jump together, the jump into immortality and marriage. Love everlasting but she'd rushed to him that her father was ill...that he needed her to marry well...marry rich....

What were human riches to the riches of the Fae? He had rubies and emeralds and sapphires galore but that hadn't been what she'd meant.

What had she meant?

Harry felt a thump in his chest, an echo of what his heart used to do just beneath his sternum and he rubbed a large palm over the spot as it ached.

That was a story for another time...it did not do well to dwell on the past.

Suddenly, his pointed ears piqued and heard panting breaths coming from outside of the door.

Jessie.

He shifted in his seat...not out of nerves...never out of nerves.

Harry only hoped he could do this one kindness and be done with it. Gain back her favor so that he may move forward with his plan.