"Princess!" he yelled after her. "Where are you going?"
"Back to the castle," she replied without stopping.
"Not by yourself you're not!"
"I'm sorry,"-she whipped around-"I didn't realize you were my father?"
"Your father, the king, would execute me...
mourning n. the expression of deep sorrow for someone who has died --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Clop clop, clop clop, went the hooves on midnight grass.
Zelda didn't even have the capacity to marvel at Link's horse, now trotting along as if it were in the prime of its life. The sundelion was a Hylia-given miracle, if Zelda truly believed She cared enough to send them one at all.
The virulent storm in her head had sizzled out her ears and swirled menacingly in the sky above them. The stars were obscured by thick gray clouds and distant lightning. That thunderstorm was coming their way, and Link and Zelda would definitely be caught in it before long.
If Zelda were more superstitious, she might've thought the sky was mourning her. But she was empty of tears now, and she didn't care one way or the other. She'd taken the usual time she needed to numb herself from the tar pit of disgust roiling in her belly. Even with Link readying the horses as fast as he could, the princess was left to languish alone in his room for quite some time. When her stomach and lungs stopped heaving, she'd skulked over to Link's discarded undershirt and removed it from the fairy. She'd observed the magical creature in its blush glow and bleakly wondered if it could heal broken spirits the way it healed broken bones. Then she'd set it back down, leaving the undershirt removed for its light, and moved to the bedside table. It hosted a glass of water, some crumpled napkins and a half eaten bean cake from dinner. And a photograph.
Delicately, Zelda had brought the blurry picture to her nose, swiping the catatonic tears from her cheeks before they leapt onto the sepia toned portrait.
She'd recognized Link first, several years younger, with his same hardly-tamed hair. With one fist on his hip and a confident, close-lipped smile, his face was even more plush and innocent than it was now. Beside him, in stark contrast, was a burly man with a trimmed beard and hardset features. Despite his stout legs, he was a full head taller than Link. Between the two of them was a euphoric little girl with cropped hair and a cucco cradled in her arms.
With that, it clicked.
This was Link's family.
A small laugh had snuck up through the grief. Link certainly didn't get his face from his father! But why wasn't his mother present in the photo? Zelda knew he had one—he'd talked about her.
Tired creases in the photograph ran eerily between each family member, dividing them apart. And she still couldn't remember why Akkala rang like funeral bells in her head.
They made an ironic duo, herself and Link. The girl with a past he wanted to know about but she wouldn't share. The boy with a past he'd willingly share if only she weren't afraid to ask. But she couldn't bear to know. Because if he gave her a drop of himself she'd want the entire ocean. And she was supposed to stay on land.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
