Desires are dreadful and I craved for you more than I feared you.

If only I had known that Desire and Sorrow both were your names.


2. Chagrin - Prologue

Screams. Tire screeches. Loud sirens.

I could hear all these sounds at the same time. Though I could distinguish all of them, they seemed blurred in my ears. As if they were far away. They sounded like a barely inaudible whisper.


Left. Right. Light bumps. Up. Down.

I knew I was being dragged somewhere. My boding was moving, and moving fast. Moving but not walking. All my limbs were still; I was probably lying on something. I could feel the unknown and cold materiel against my bare shoulders and arms. My body was moving but I was not the one directing it around.


Disinfectant. Blood.

The sudden wave of smells hit me so hard I would probably have cried if I had been able to do so. That mix of smell was so familiar and so disgusting at the same time. But there was only one place in the world where such a strong stink existed.


« Open your eyes. Now »




The neon lights were so strong it blinded me right away, as if my eyes still were closed. I blinked over and over until the scene around me became clearer. A white ceiling turning yellow, stained with unknown brown droplets here and there, faded-pink walls and light-blue doors. Right in front of me were hanging some white curtains hiding the rest of the rooms. But the curtains couldn’t hide the fuss. I recognized the same sounds as those I was already hearing earlier: sirens, screams…

But was it earlier? Or did I dream about those sounds? If I had dreamed them, why weren’t stopping now that I was awake?

“Lena! Oh mon dieu!” I barely recognized my name in the middle of that sentence in a language I did not understand. As I slightly turned my head around, with an extreme difficulty to ignore the pain in my neck, I caught glimpse of a curly red-headed girl. Her features got clearer and clearer and I saw her make-up was running down her cheek, giving her a cadaverous look.





* Flash*

Airplane taking off from London.



Agathe’s strong French accent as she greeted me at the airport.



Black and red and glitters. Dresses, stilettos and make-up.



The roofs of Paris. The Eiffel tower shining. Rooftop terrace.



Wine. Champagne.



Navy blue suit. Curls. Green eyes. Charming smile.



Paris streets. Dark night. A bridge above the Seine River.



Standing on the edge of the bridge. Looking down at him. He let go of my hand and smiled.

I turned around.



Eyes closed. Stepping in the void.



“Harry,” I whispered before everything became black.


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