Fortune Favors the Courageous

Chapter 21: Contrition

contrition
n. sorrow or remorse for one's objectionable actions; repentance
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"I'm going to get you!"

Zelda squealed in delight as Papa chased her around the gardens. The pink and purple flowers danced with the skirts of her sundress as it passed by. The bees laughed as their petal peninsulas undulated beneath them. Bushy-tailed squirrels scurried in large circles, some deigning to join the chase and others just happy for a chance to stretch their legs in the summer sun.

"You can't catch meee!"

Large hands swept closer but snatched the air just behind the young princess, and she let out another exhilarated shriek. From the comfortable shade of the gazebo, Mama giggled behind a delicate hand, the other alighted on her belly. Beside her, peach tea and finger sandwiches patiently waited to be enjoyed by the princess when came time to refuel little legs.

Zelda didn't dare a glance behind her as she ran. For she'd learned, every time she did, she always got—

CAUGHT.

Giant hands latched on like frostbite. Darkness exploded as though the sun had been blown out like a candle. Mama, hand clutching her swollen stomach, collapsed on her knees, vomiting a pool of malice that eventually swallowed her in return. The bees and squirrels— Had they been there at all? Enormous fingers wrapped entirely around the little princess's arms and gripped so firmly she felt her bones creaking.

Over her shoulder, her father's eyes were hollow, and the lines on his face were set in firm dissatisfaction. "STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM YOUR DUTY." That's not Papa's voice—

"Papa, y-you're scaring me—" Her voice wasn't her own, either; it was too little.

"Do not call me that!"

The clock reversed, and King Rhoam's face became younger, though his eye sockets remained empty.

"I am not your Papa! No daughter of mine would have such flippant disregard for her responsibility to the kingdom!"

His wild, snow flurry beard receded till it was trim and squared around his jaw. Then the wintry color stained blond, like his daughter's hair, except it kept going. A hint of strawberry, then auburn, finally to rich, bloody red. His rounded features became hardened, weathered hands turning powerful and veiny. His skin turned a sickly sort of green and Zelda realized she didn't recognize her father at all anymore—

"Do you miss him?" the voice—not her Papa's—hissed into her ear. "Maybe you could have saved him if you weren't so pathetic."

His breath on her cheek curdled her stomach, and if she wasn't caught between his iron fingers her knees would've given out on her.

"What's the matter, little princess?" His voice was deep gravel and primordial terror. "Scared?"

Who the hell was this man—?

"The nerves are normal," he then said, voice mutating to something sickeningly familiar. "Especially for your first time."

The blood red hair was doused to ginger, and chartreuse skin paled around further youthful and sharpening features. The fingers, still long, turned knobbier with more pronounced knuckles. Her body grew hot like magma as his one hand left her arm and slid to the base of her ribs. With a pivot above her belly button, the longest finger aimed downward and slithered lower than it'd previously dared.

"You're a good dancer," he murmured against her neck. "That's another thing I like about you."

Her traitorous body rolled instinctively back against his, feeling its effect on him pushing against her backside. She was going to be sick—