Princess Hilda does not pray; would scoff at even the suggestion. Her people have been praying for divine intervention for generations now and their cries have continually fallen on deaf ears. With no gods to turn to, more and more among them have chosen to don the faces of monsters, to gather in town squares and shout at the top of their lungs that salvation lies by way of worshiping the beasts that have taken so many of their lives.
Truthfully, she cannot fault those who, in their fear, have turned to worship; cannot fault them for abandoning the gods, not when the gods abandoned them first. The message was sent long ago after all: there are to be no miracles, not for Lorule, and so Hilda devises one of her own making, a result of all her cunning and power rather than supernatural meddling.
Princess Hilda does not pray but she hopes that it will prove to be enough.
x
For all it took to make her plans a reality all that's left is to wait, really – wait for Hyrule's hero to finish up his quest and to return bearing the Triforce of Courage. Naive hero that he is, he has no idea that her kingdom will be restored at the cost of his own and Hilda couldn't feel sorry for him even if she wanted to. Like everything she's ever done her sorrow is all for Lorule and there just isn't room left for anything else, not for foolishly brave boy heroes and certainly not for another princess and her kingdom.
She has never been one to sit idly by, not when she can hear the seconds ticking away in her ears as loudly as the castigations of her people. Time is running out and has been since before she was even born. Restless, Hilda stalks the halls of a castle that in another lifetime could have been called great and thinks about how the legends of old are true, that those who possess the Triforce really bear the mark of it on the back of their hand.
All's the easier to take then, she decides, and her smile is one of grim satisfaction at the thought.
x
She spends countless hours staring at the painting of Princess Zelda, trying to find points of similarity as well as difference, but Hilda is forced to conclude that their resemblance only goes skin deep. Even then they are not exact replicas of each other: the Goddesses' favor manifests itself even physically it seems, and Hilda remembers choking back a laugh upon seeing Zelda's Triforce yellow hair for the first time. The people of Lorule have never possessed such a color and Hilda thinks that they are as forsaken in this as in everything else.
Zelda is fair-haired to Hilda's dark, light to Hilda's shadow, chosen to Hilda's cursed, and Hilda alternates between hating this princess she has never truly met and being fascinated despite herself, because even as a painting Zelda manages to radiate kindness and purity, to have a sort of age-old wisdom in her wide blue eyes.
Hilda has taken to speaking aloud to her, "Lovely Zelda," rolling off her tongue so easily that it is as if the words have always taken shape in her mouth. She does not feel half as foolish as she would expect – in a castle that is home to mostly cobwebs the painting imprisoning her Hyrulian counterpart is her only company and she can almost fool herself into thinking she's having an extremely one-sided conversation. She doesn't know if her words can reach Zelda, nor does Hilda know if she even wants them to, but still she speaks: speaks of Lorule, of its people and all the lands that make up its borders, of legends passed down in the Royal Family and even the history of how Lorule fell into its current condition, but never once does she ask for forgiveness or understanding.
Hilda tells herself, over and over, that she has no need of such things. That all she needs is to see her beloved kingdom restored and she doesn't care who or what gets hurt along the way so long as it's not Lorule, Lorule who has suffered so much already. And Zelda couldn't possibly hope to extend the latter anyway, not when Hyrule still has its Triforce and the gods clearly smile upon her people, when the sun shines brightly and things grow, grass and flowers and people, they all flourish while everyone and everything in Lorule is wasting away.
She and Zelda may be counterparts from parallel worlds but that does not make them the same.
(Later Hilda will be glad for this, weeping in joy while Lorule's Triforce glimmers overhead for the first time in an age, but now all she can feel is angry and bitter.)
x
"We aren't so different, you and I," Zelda tells her. Hilda does not pause in her brush strokes because it has been three nights since looking into her vanity mirror and seeing Princess Zelda staring back at her and Hilda has long since gotten over the shock.
It is not as if she is not grateful. Certainly there is no end to her gratitude or to her remorse for her actions, but the truth of the matter is that Hilda is growing weary of having this conversation, of Zelda repeatedly trying to convince her of something that won't ever be true.
"So you keep telling me," Hilda murmurs, but Zelda does not look abashed, only slightly sad and more than a little determined.
"Because it's true," Zelda says, before sighing, "I will keep telling you until you believe me."
"Stubborn," Hilda says, voice dark.
Zelda's smile at that is radiant and Hilda's breath catches. Truly, Zelda is lovelier now than she ever was hanging on a wall in Hilda's royal chamber.
"We have that in common too."
X
"You are kinder than I will ever be, Princess Zelda. If our situations were reversed, if you were as selfish and foolish as myself and willing to see your kingdom restored at no cost, even if it meant another's ruin and more people suffering...I do not think I would have been nearly as kind."
"And I cannot say, Princess Hilda, that if Hyrule had fallen into devastation the likes of Lorule that I would not have acted just as you had."
X
They do not speak every night. They are princesses and as such have a duty to their kingdom first and after long days working on Lorule's reconstruction Hilda is so exhausted that sleep claims her the moment she slips into bed.
Some nights she sits down to brush out her hair and the only face staring back at her is her own; Hilda chastises herself for the pang of disappointment she feels, firmly tells herself that it is a relief to be spared Zelda's insistence that they are not as different as Hilda thinks for another night.
(She would never admit it but it worries her how quickly Zelda has become a part of her nightly routine, as familiar as the bristles of her brushes and as welcome as the feel of pillow underneath her cheek.)
X
Princess Zelda is standing in the middle of Hilda's study, looking what could almost pass for sheepish. The papers Hilda was looking through have long since fluttered to the ground and she stares blankly at Zelda, who appears for once not as Hilda's not-reflection but in the flesh here in Lorule, unspeakably lovely in the light pouring through the open window.
"This is presumptuous of me, I know," Zelda says, smiling somewhat awkwardly, "but I wanted so very badly to see how you and your kingdom were faring. Still, that is no excuse for intruding or interrupting your work. I know you are very busy."
She cannot deny that it is presumptuous, but it's not as if there is an established protocol for travel between their two worlds and if there were, well, Hilda has done much worse than show up unannounced.
Hilda clears her throat of its sudden dryness and manages to ask Zelda if she would like some tea without her voice wavering once.
X
Hilda and Zelda talk until the sky darkens into night, their cups long since emptied and sitting abandoned on the tea tray.
For once their topic of conversation is not limited to their perceived similarities or differences and Hilda laughs harder than is necessary when Zelda tells her of the daring of some of her advisers, pulling marvelous faces and doing silly impressions that Hilda has no way of knowing are true but makes her laugh all the harder anyway. None of this is proper Princess behavior but Hilda for once doesn't care about appearing dignified, not when laughing feels so good and she has a front row seat to Princess Zelda's smiling face.
Zelda is telling another story now; eyes bright, smile incandescent, she leans forward and touches her fingers to Hilda's wrist and Hilda doesn't have to think twice about letting them stay.
X
Zelda never does stop telling her that the differences between them are not as vast as Hilda believes, that Hilda is a good ruler but more importantly person, that she is every bit as wise and kind as herself.
Hilda still can't bring herself to believe it, not when there is so much evidence to the contrary, but when Zelda murmurs against Hilda's lips, "So say I, Zelda of Hyrule," she cannot help but press her smile to Zelda's willing mouth.