"Did you know that people have died in the Paris catacombs, as well as getting lost in there?" Rory asks merrily as we stroll to the metro station. "Also, guillotine victims from the French revolution, if I'm remembering correctly, were buried there."

"That's... creepy."

"Yeah. I did a bit of reading before we left, and apparently people go swimming in the catacombs! They must be a whole new level of crazy."

"I'm sorry, but what the actual f*ck. Why on Earth would you willingly swim in a dark place underground, surrounded by dead bodies?!

"I have no idea. Though, if it makes you feel better, the dead bodies were arranged in shapes and patterns to make it more entertaining and lighten the whole mood of the place." She cackles at my disgusted expression.

We board the metro, taking two seats in the back.

"Did you know that police found a bar and cinema in the catacombs?"

"How much did you read?!" I ask, amused. She blushes and smirks.

"Not that much. Oh, and there was a camera found in the tunnels that had footage of a man lost and going insane in the catacombs, and suddenly the footage shows the camera dropping. No one knows if he made it out or not."

"What a lovely thing to hear as we are soon to be touring the very same passageways."

Not that I would ever show it, but I am terrified of the very idea of the catacombs. This fear started in my eighth- grade social studies class when we learned about the Black Death and my history teacher decided to do a lesson on the catacombs. He turned off the lights and put a video of harrowing catacomb-related images on the projector, all while creeping around the classroom, reading stories about terrible things that happened in the tunnels. I will admit, I learned a lot from that lesson, and it has stuck with me, even to this day. But it always unsettled me how they just dumped the diseased corpses into these tunnels, not to mention digging up already buried bodies to move them underground. It never sat right with me, and I cannot help but shake the feeling that if I was a spirit, ghost, or whatever I might become when I pass on, I would be pretty damn mad if someone un-buried my resting body.

---

"Oh gosh," Rory sighs, "this'll be a long wait." The line is a lot longer than I thought it would be. Tons of people wait to be allowed entrance, scrolling on their phones, talking, even reading to pass the time. "Better get comfy then."

We sit for a few minutes, watching all of the people. Most of them seem like tourists, constantly taking photos and loud English giving them away.

My mind drifts and I'm staring idly into space, when a soft hand slides uncertainty into mine. I look down in surprise. The hand is fairly small, with light golden brown skin, blue nails and a tiny silver band on the middle finger.

I meet Rory's eyes and she looks unsure about her decision. I grip her hand tightly to show it's welcome. I rub her thumb with mine, almost out of instinct. She shuffles closer to me, and it feels like one of those awkward first dates where you really like the person but both of you are completely unsure about what to do and how to act.

I nervously clear my throat. "So how are you liking Paris so far?"

"It's... a lot smellier than I thought it would be, and the people are not as nice as books and movies make it seem, but it is amazing. The architecture, the food, the culture, everything. I love it here. What about you?" Her eyes flutter delicately.

"Pretty much the same. Though I look forward to seeing the lavender and poppy fields in Provence. I'll bet it would make for stunning pictures."

"Oh my gosh! I saw photos from a while ago of this lady doing a lingerie photo shoot in a poppy field, and I could have sworn it was in Provence!"

And just like that, she makes my heart beat rapidly. Imagining her in lingerie is lovely, though not what I want to be doing in the middle of a busy Paris line. She must know what she is doing to me because she shifts her body closer to me so her back is pressed partially against my front. I nervously wrap my arms around her.

"So, tomorrow?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow do you want to go to Provence?" Her voice is shy yet flirtatious.

"I would love nothing more."

I have a feeling sleep will be difficult tonight.