'Paris, Will and me.'
Louisa Fielding had just taken her last breath on the mortal plane before she slipped into the darkness of unconsciousness, her life falling away from her as that familiar wave of sleep washed over her mind for the last time. She was eighty-six years old and she had lived what she considered to be a full life. She had fulfilled life goals, married a handsome paramedic and watched her family grow before her eyes with children and grandchildren. It was a good life that was propelled into action through a terrifying fall from a roof, six months after the death of Will Traynor. Never, through all the years of her life, had she forgotten the bitter, melancholy quadraplegic that had stolen her heart, only to be taken away from her so soon afterwards. He had told her to live well and, after a long time stagnating in grief and stubborn defiance, she had followed his advice. It was by no means easy but the quirky small-town girl had endured with the help of friends and family and had built a life she could be proud of and that she could be sure Will would be proud of, also.
As quickly as the darkness had enveloped her, it faded from the stifling blackness to a concrete grey and then finally to a blinding white. It was then that her eyes opened and she was met with bright sunlight pouring in from a bay window opposite her. She could feel the soft matress beneath her and the feather down comforter draped over her body. In a moment of confusion, she took a look around the room, only moving her head from one side to the other in a slow sweep. It was then that she caught sight of her cascading curls, now restored from the ashen grey they had been before she had awoken back to the mahogany brown locks that she had many years ago. Bringing up a hand to touch her soft curls, she noticed the smooth, milky skin that had once been adorned with violent purple veins and wrinkles. The former cafe girl had no clue whether or not this was a dream or a reality but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. Rising from her place on the bed, she shifted herself into a sitting position, squinting in the light as her eyes tried to adjust to the bright rays of sun flooding the room from the window. Once things came into focus, she could make out more and more of the skyline beyond the glass. It was obvious to her immediately where she was. There wasn't another view like that in the whole world. The artisan buildings, the bright blue skies and the sound of bells; Paris was as beautiful as ever.
Now more aware of her surroundings, she took in a more detailed scan of the beautifully decorated room around her, only stopping to focus on one particular thing as her eyes landed on an ornate chair, a pile of what appeared to be clothes laid upon it. The top item of dress was unmistakeable and a wistful smile appeared on her face as she took in the black and yellow stripes that stood out against the other materials on the pile. Her bumblebee tights were there, neatly stacked atop other clothes, clear as day. Pulling the comforter to one side, she slipped out of the bed and let her feet gently find the soft, carpeted floor of the room. Pushing herself up to her feet, she slowly stepped away from the bed and approached the pile of clothes, leaning down to stroke her fingertips against the fabric, just to make sure it was indeed there. When her hands connected with the soft stripes, she smiled and proceeded to dress herself in the clothes provided for her. She had no idea how they had come to be there but they were things she recognised as her own clothes and so she wasn't surprised in the least that they fit her just as they always had. Everything around her felt as though it should be wrong, yet her mind was eased. It was both logical and illogical in equal measure. Once dressed, Louisa finally noticed the floor length mirror on the opposite side of the room to the chair and she slowly turned to peer curiously at her reflection. After uncounted moments of silent contemplation, her eyes finally widened as she noticed the face staring back at her was one she had not seen in a mirror for sixty years. Taking in the clothes, the surroundings and the faint scent of Papillons Extreme by L`Artisan Parfumeur hanging around her, she was taken back to her first encounter with Parisian life, sitting on a small chair outside a cafe with a warm croissant on a mild yet sunny day with a beautiful handwritten letter from a man she hadn't been given the chance to love.
The urge to leave the room was tugging at her chest like an impatient dog on the end of a leash and so, without another glance back at the room, she exited through the door and made her way down the grand staircase to the foyer. There were no people around her but Lou didn't notice. Even if she had, she wouldn't have been alarmed by the fact. Nothing about her surroundings made sense but, in her mind, they made all the sense in the world. Quietly, she walked along the deserted yet pristine French street as she made her way along the pavement. In front of her was a familiar sight. The square that she had sat across from in the bright sunshine, the perfumery beyond that and the small cafe with the table just as she had left it, aside from one small detail. The seat was taken by a man who's frame seemed familiar to her, even without a face to tie that silhouette to a particular person. With slow, confident strides, Louisa let her feet lead her over to the table and, on arrival, she lowered herself down into the seat opposite the familiar male, only then allowing herself to look up at him. She knew him immediately and after a few moments of studying each other's faces with neutral expressions, the man's lips stretched upwards into a grin.
"Hello Clark." Will greeted, the grin on his face holding just the right amount of mischief that was enveloped in the soft warmth of joy. The brunette girl smiled in return, never taking her eyes off of the man she had been parted from for so long. "Hello Will." she replied, her tone soft and even. Just like that, Louisa Fielding had found peace. It wasn't in a castle on a cloud or beyond a pair of pearly gates. It was just a table, two chairs, a Parisian street and Will Traynor. Inwardly, Louisa contemplated her idea of peace and, unsurprisingly, only four words came into her mind as she gazed upon the face of the man she had lived her life in honour of. 'Paris, Will and me.'