cut from marble
.
.
.
Zelda's frozen.
She pointlessly denies it, but it's clear to everyone. They know. They know that their queen is nothing more than marble cut from stone. She plays the part well; she smiles when necessary, pinches her lips together during conflictions, and even laughs if she needs to display more affection. Every furrow of her brow, every pursing of her delicate lips, every flash in her gentle eyes, and every word spoken, is carefully planned. She is forced to fit the role, and so she will be forced to put on her mask. Every action she takes independently is either calculating or icy, and every smile (no matter how hard she tries) comes off as tiresome or frosty. Hyrule calls Zelda their ice queen, and she gladly molds herself further to fit their expectations. Hyrule wants her snow to thaw, so her lips pull upwards so much that it hurts. Eventually, when she tugs the mask away one night, her skin comes off with it.
She doesn't know who exactly she is other than their perfectly imperfect manifestations, and even when alone, she continues to play the part. She has decided a long time ago that falling apart was unacceptable, crying was childish, and allowing her mask to break (even for mere second) was too tedious.
She does what needs to be done. She does what benefits Hyrule and her kingdom. That is who she is, that is what she is, and that is who she needs to be. An embodiment for Hyrule, a queen that is not warm or rosy cheeked, but rather one that offers her people loyalty and security. There is no room for her selfish wants, her own immature desires, so she gladly pushes them down to do what her parents couldn't.
She is stone.
Impenetrable, unbreakable.
No one can slip past her hardened skin. No one can truly see her on the inside. Which is good, because all they would see is a frightened, shattered girl, trembling in the midst of swirling memories of bloodshed. All they would see is cracked stone, droplets of ice as her heart sizzles. All they would see is fragments of broken memories and forgotten dreams.
She does this for them.
She does this for Hyrule.
She cries no more tears, and if they do shed, she simply hardens her skin even more.
She doesn't tolerate weakness. She can't. She has to prove to Hyrule that she is a capable queen, a force to be reckoned with, an intimidating women rather than a fraught girl. She has to prove to them, to herself, and to her dead parents whose demise was their own unraveling. She will never allow this kingdom to be forced into the havoc during the time of the twilight. Not again. Never again. She won't be backed into another corner. She won't get trapped in another tower. She will be the perfect machine.
But Zelda can see the uncertainty on their faces.
She can hear the crude whispers when she turns her head.
They know that she's breaking on the inside.
Every machine eventually breaks, and she's no exception.
They can tell she's terrified. They can tell she's insignificant. They can see through her skin, no matter how many times she tells herself that they can't.
In response, she turns her skin to porcelain.
(His eyes are blue)
Then to ivory.
(But they harden upon seeing her)
And eventually, one day, to steel.