Harry Styles Mirror Picture Novels & Stories

Instead, I pad across the room and find the body lotion on the nightstand, sitting next to the photograph I pulled out before I'd showered. Harry stares up at me from the frame, his blue eyes holding that particular quality of mischief that made him dangerous and irresistible in equal measure. He's beautiful in the photograph: all sharp features and that rare smile he reserved for moments when he thought no one was looking. But the smile in this picture is different. It's genuine. It's the smile he gave me in our last week together, before Dakor decided that Harry's existence was something that needed to be erased. My hands start shaking.

the designer called out, stepping back to let me face the grand marble mirror. I stared at my reflection, my mind spinning into a chaotic maze of total confusion. I looked completely intoxicating, my skin flawless, the curves of my chest and hips highlighted by the bright studio lights. It was a style I had only ever seen in the pages of the fashion magazines I studied in the dark. The heavy doors of the parlor swung open, and Adrian walked into the room. The conversation among the stylists died instantly.

I felt even more like a potato in front of her. The man next to him was no stranger to me. He was none other than Harry Styles, an actor and celebrity known for lawsuits. He had become famous after a scandal involving his girlfriend, and I remember that this had been a time when he avoided following the lives of the famous, so I didn't know the reasons for so many controversies.

I looked at my face on a dirty mirror glass after removing the sheet that was covering it. And the reflection showed something else… The silver white hair was tainted in a glimmering pitch black color, and the once ember eyes the color of the setting sun, turned unto a pair of blood moons like eyes… glistering and piercing like if they were made of polished rubies. The facial features and the body features all remained the same… So that reflection on the wine was not an illusion? But why is my reflection like this? Is it related to me being the Harold of the abyss?

chapter 33 defiling his orders A knock came breaking Adia out of her reverie as she walked to the door, "Hey" she greeted as she saw a feminine man at the door with a full makeup on his face. "Good day ma'am" he greeted enthusiastically " Good day" Adia responded, her eyes working as she had never seen this strange face before. "Am harry, your stylist" he introduced himself seeing Adia was feeling uncomfortable. "Okay.." Adia stressed looking for a more valid explanation.

I moved around the office, looking for something to help me understand who the little boy Harry was talking about was. My heart was beating frantically, as I did not want to discover that what I suspected was true. No, it couldn’t be true. Not giving any thought to what Harry was discussing with his beta, I casually opened one drawer. I walked over to a shelf and pulled out a book with a black leather cover. I opened it and could see that it was a photo album. Did Harry have pictures? Aged black and white photographs and several color ones showed a young Harry with a beautiful woman with blonde hair and big green eyes. They were both holding a little boy whose hair was the same color as the

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I was guided to a large mirror that had been covered. “Are you ready?” the stylist asked with a bright smile. “Yes, I believe so,” was my only response, though my heart raced in anticipation. With a flourish, he pulled back the cover, and I gasped in shock at the reflection staring back at me. My long hair, which I had been relieved not to cut, shimmered in radiant gold—a shade Mrs. Black had carefully chosen. My figure was impeccably slim, with a wasp-like waist, glossy skin, slender eyebrows, and velvety eyelashes.

And maybe, just maybe, she kind of liked it too. Ivy had spent almost an hour wrestling with dresses, tossing one after another onto the floor in frustration. As she admired herself in the mirror, adjusting the perfect fit of the last dress, Harry’s face suddenly appeared in her mind. "How many fucking minutes does it take to get dressed?" Her eyes widened. The imaginary Harry in the mirror looked furious, his jaw clenched, his face slightly red with irritation. "Oh, shit!" she gasped, snapping out of it. She spun around as if he were actually standing behind her, heart racing.

When she ran to the door of the cloakroom with bare feet, she saw her father inside. Fortunately, her father didn't leave. She lay on the door frame and peeked at it secretly. Harry stood in front of the mirror and buckled the metal button on the belt. His long legs were wrapped in his trousers. Her upper body was naked, and the blond muscles were flowing with crystal-clear drops of water. From her angle, it could be seen that the swaying light on the ceiling was connected with Harry's long and straight body. He looked noble and unruly. He pulled the towel on the side and brushed his wet hair and upper body, blocking the little girl's eyes.

“Harry.” “Tell me that you’re glad to see me,” Harry’s appearance was, as always, dramatically beautiful. Tall, lean, broad shouldered, and dressed with an effortless elegance that Meguitte could never reproduce, their hair was a waist length, silky straight dyed golden curtain. From behind she might have mistaken Harry for Talen, though Talen had not worn his hair that length since his time in Alden whilst he had been grieving Gera, and Talen tended more to denim and flannelette than designer wear.