I am doing this thing where I'm going to try to write one thing everyday and I so this came out. Maybe I'll make it into a full-fledged fic someday...
I HAVE SOME THINGS TO EXPLAIN ABOUT IT.
This is AU. Emphasis on the A. Twilight Princess is a figment of Midna's imagination, because angst tickles my cerebrum and sends it into a delicious fit of despair. (I haven't slept in a while, sue me.) Midna is a writer, and she slowly looses her grasp on reality while writing the story that is 'Twilight Princess'. Her partner, Link, is the basis for the Link in the story, thus blah blah and blah.
Enjoy.
Midna was the kind of woman that was too classy for a strip club and too sassy to fit between the crowds of rich people at the estate.
Her regal features offered little argument, reminded one of a time when kings ruled and queens demand. She looked like the type to order 'Off with their heads!' on a regular basis, but the quirk of her lips gave away the aura of mischievousness. As if she knew something you didn't. As if you both shared a dirty little secret. Her lanky way of walking held about an air of grace, like an Arabian dancer, the curve of her hips making his eyes trail and his composure depart from the scene.
But she was mad.
She had gone mad long ago.
Between the folds of blank pages and the smell of ink, Midna lost her reason. Her interests changed wildly, going from wolves to green to blue eyes. She had talked of horses and trees and the growling of a fierce beast, recounted stories and invented new ones of cracking and breaking and shards of glass that would never be found. That she didn't want them to be found, that he didn't want them to be found. They had dreams and laughter and bonds that stretched between dimensions. There was bloodshed and lost childhoods and an underlying sense of despair to it all; that, even though the world was saved, these characters would remain just as broken as the mirror.
But something about Midna's fierce storytelling made it seem real.
She talked of a hero and a princess, of a kingdom enveloped in twilight and darkness, filled with creatures who lived as spirits yet didn't know they had lost their substantial bodies. She would despise swords and blades yet the tips of her fingers were scarred with the wounds she'd accidentally cause herself while admiring one.
At least, he hoped it had been an accident.
And soon enough, the maiden had started living in a surreal world, crafted from faded red strings and false memories. She stopped working, stopped eating, stopped living and started imagining. She started clinging to him, calling him by the name of another. Her eyes wouldn't allow her to see him, instead they saw a her fake hero, the boy who rode a horse across the fields of Hyrule and whatever other country or town she envisioned.
Sometimes they would argue about it, and he'd yell and she'd throw comebacks like an pitcher with something to prove. She would grow harsh and cold, her insults biting away at a non-existent man's pride, confusing him, and making the argument escalate, until she locked herself in their room and he angrily left the apartment for a place to clear his mind.
He wasn't the Link she wanted. He wasn't the character from her made up story.
But he loved her too much to tell her the truth.