"I didn't mean to kill those people," Harry whispered, shaking his head lightly as he stared at his pale hands. The hands that were always stained with dark, putrid blood that smelled of rusting copper and bits of iron. It was like I could hear the screams of the men and women who begged for mercy before their eyes reached the back of their skull and their lungs no longer could hold air. "They have your prints. You're all over the news. Turn yourself in now and you might not get the worst of all sentences,' I muttered. He finally looked up at me. His eyes burning a small hole through my own. They held regret. But soon were replaced by indignation. "Never," he whispered so softly. So softly that you could barely hear it. But I heard it. I always heard his soft whispers that were just begging to be heard.

What started out as a joke in her mind, became any girls fantasy. She never took her mother seriously when she suggested it. Someone like her could never be something more than just an ordinary girl. She wasn't born to be someone important, nor someone who millions of girls looked up to, but that quickly changed. With one simple yes, and a second of insane courage, she became someone. She found herself, and better yet she found him. He managed to stumble into her life, and changed it from that time on. A little conversation turned into a fairy tale that you would find in a story book, but it wasn't simply handed to them. They had to fight for what they wanted, for each other.

"Darling, this is Paris. If you don't find love here, you won't find love anywhere."