Disclaimer: I don't own The Legend of Zelda.
Pairing(s): Ghirahim/Zelda, Ghirahim/Hylia
Warnings: Spoilers for chapter 7 of Who By Fire and for Skyward Sword, and some violence.
Notes: The writing is intentionally weird. A fan tribute to one of my favorite Zelda fanfics, Who By Fire – which you, if you already haven't done so, should read. It's amazing. It's right under my favorite stories, so go check it out. Seriously.
A private indulgence of his — nothing more. In the void of darkness she is born, a flicker of false life. Skin as pale as ash, flaming hands placed softly against smokecloud skirts. A fierce divine face framed by ribbon-flame hair, a thunderous breeze swirling through the smoke-tresses.
He has seen this image before in a time that seems like eons ago: but the lady was brilliant and pristine, like fresh sunlight and bright stars molded perfectly into the marble figure of a Goddess. He looks at the smoky beckoning eyes and remembers ones that burned sapphire. He looks at the billowing smoke-skirts and remembers a snowdrift dress stained crimson. He sees the coy look on her face — he remembers sculpted features set in determination.
She is a phoenix-lady, rising from the ashes again and again. The false Goddess throws her head and hair back, letting it fly in wind that is not there, and for a second — a very brief, very vivid second — he sees the sky girl, soft and lovely, there.
Ghirahim watches the false Goddess dance before him, body sensuously moving with the smooth lazy motion of the smoke. He thinks of burning sapphire eyes and hair that would dull gold — of full perfect lips frozen with steely resolution. And the soft girl, dressed in a silken black dress.
He raises his sword and slices through the false Goddess, hearing her scream whisper on the edge of his blade, watching the swirling hair and skirts furl around it and fizzle out altogether.
He likes her much better this way, he concludes — as his phoenix-lady, sweet, his Goddess.
