Writings of a Scandal
By,
Victoire Faye
The pages of her life had turned until the recent minutes like errant papers wafting in the breeze, without much meaning, exuberance, or passion, but now the heat of summer was cut by the force of the parchment leaves pounding down upon themselves in frenzy, the young Princess breaking without pause to all the heavy clauses, hanging upon the bars of lettering telling the tale of what would be the bane of a monarchy and a polished gem to her own crown. She couldn't mark away the days that came and went, or the councils, or the King himself. Life was no longer written in iambic pentameter nor an arid verse, but in a heated turmoil of a soft and truthful love, and a passion surrounded by lies.
Humid air rose from the gardens and into her open windows, while loose curtains of the purest form danced in a peace to bring hatred to her very eyes. A quiet sound of the feet and calls of a passerby sounded from afar, a musical essence came to the trite and sickly syrupy calls of birds perched in winded trees. The heat was getting to her, the damn and cursed heat, as well as other things. She repositioned herself on a suddenly rigid arm chair, and tried to commit her swaying eyes to the marching letters dotting the page of a certain prestigious romance novel. She cursed this as well. Idiot writers who sit in some nook of the world penning away must know little of the truth of love and the world, for the verbose pictures she once saw herself painted in did little to appease her now, lies no longer satisfying. In sudden fury she threw the book aside with force and watched it land in a corner, flipping open to expose a fan of white washed layers of writing. She turned away bracing her arms together and angering herself further.
It was so damn hot. She craned her neck back, lifting a hand to her flaccid hair. Beads of moisture gathered upon her breast and neck and trickled and traversed down her back. She strode over to a porcelain bowl of water positioned in her room, and lifted a sponge and soaked it in the liquid. She raised the drenched sponge to her chest, attempting to cool herself. The water had risen to meet the temperature of the air, and the lukewarm liquid did little to soothe her. She cast it aside, and pinned herself against the castle wall. She sank down, falling like a withered plant in the summer's unforgiving sun, and collapsed amongst her body and dress like a fallen cloud of silk. How little soothed her now. She gazed with the bluest eyes at the reddest sky, and she urged the sun down to the horizon, she urged the heat away, yet she dreaded the night to come.
There was a time, not but months prior to the dawning night. It was a time where she danced as if nothing would ever hold her back, a time where she sipped wine and by a single glance through thick eyelashes could make any man fall in love, even though she dropped her walls to the same charming smile every time. It was a time where the water could cool her.
She'd spent the day being toted place to place, sitting amongst the courts and dining with the nobles. The heat was like her present evening's, her plot not yet begun. She hid her face with a fan at her father's table, a rich and settling music streaming on behind her. She shuffled her feet, and her father broke his conversation with a sultry sight for just enough to excuse his daughter. She chastely curtsied and tip-toed away, before freely dancing off into the darkened sky. She sauntered into her courtyard, pushing open a thick door with her body. She slipped only a word to Impa, her governess, before entering and she submerged herself into the world of high hedges and the scent of roses. Marble fountains dotted the greenest grass, and she followed a stony path to the largest of them. Rivers of water met the summer air and plunged down back into the deep wide pool. Cut out from all but the pallor of the moonlight, she stripped of her gown and managed to pull off her corset, basking in a simple liberty. She stood only in a gossamer slip, and she placed one foot in the pristine water. She gasped at the sudden coolness, but then became entranced by it. She sat at the edge, covered in water to her thighs. She placed one hand into the crystal surface, and wove it through the water. She turned, prepared to plunge, but she stopped as she locked her arms against the ledge. He had stopped her.
She saw him, standing with his arms folded near the door, a wide smile dancing on his face. He was still dressed in a tunic suited for travel and his appearance still told of adventure from beyond these stone and mortar walls. She saw him and she knew he had been entranced with the starlight caught in her flaxen hair, struck by her glowing skin. She played back to him letting her eyes glide over him. Two weeks was far too long for young love to be separated. She raised her drenched body over the ledge, and traipsed toward him, shamelessly aware of her svelte body, covered only by a sheer lace plastered to her and the intoxicating effects of the nighttime glow of the full moon.
"I thought I'd find you here." He shuffled forward, straining to commit his eyes to hers.
"And I didn't expect you back from your business until the new moon."
"It would take much more than an idle task to keep me from you."
In the desperate break of the night the air between them disappeared, there lips meeting in a reverie that was so marvelous she knew she would die if it never happened again. Under the stars with out any sense of judgment or scorn, he charged to her, connecting in a kiss to strike a flame to burn the entire Kingdom. He wrapped his arms around her, clasping his fingers around her ribs and her hair swept by the breeze. She shut her eyes, denying all senses and thoughts but feeling. She dropped her hands down suddenly, surprised by a sudden rift in propriety she'd only conjured before in thought.
She didn't protest, nor draw an extra breath as he moved his hands to other regions of her body, a small tremble ignited within her. She said naught a word and nor did he as he laid her down upon the soft and new green grass that became the bed for her weaving destiny. That night of sudden passion repeated again, hidden from eyes of critics and and the eyes of her father, all perhaps but the eyes of the goddess. As they bound themselves in a horizontal dance of lovers, the silence seemed as lyrical as a thousand melodies. It was such a pity this simplicity could not last.
The control slipped from her own grasp as a pen tumbles quickly yet aimlessly from a slanted writing desk. The weeks wore on and she grew ill by the stomach and sore by the body. As summer prepared to end she was sure of her condition. Her body was not her own, and her secret was not to be kept. She had placed one pale hand upon her heart that day, shaking but refusing to release one single tear. She told Impa of this child to be, and she could near feel the slap she cast upon her curved cheek. Zelda responded with clenched teeth, her rage by her own accord. Impa urged her to see a magic man, and told her of herbs that could cure this illness that had befallen her. She promised to meet with him in seven day's time, if she could keep her pressing secret. Impa agreed.
In three day's time Link was chained in the palace, accused of denying the young girl's pleas to stop that had never existed, creations of Zelda's angry father's mind. Action presented itself, the climax of her story. She waited now upon her floor, watching the trees seal the light from the living world. Remnants of the rays shone on, and even though she could not be fully cloaked in night she slipped of to the dungeon. The outcast princess found her way, and in the dark cellar of the Hylian public she slipped past criminals she could only assume had committed a crime, and with key in hand she released him. His kiss met her lips again, and she indulged for a fleeting moment, but then separated from him.
"Go now, your horse is by the river. Meet me near the forest when everything is dark." She spoke, rushing him on as he nodded.
That night, she would slip out, undetected, dressed as a servant. She met him, and sat with him atop his horse. She would glance back at the castle not with nostalgia but contempt and find a more favorable sight in the wilderness that lay before her. She escaped with him, away from life and sin itself. She would mar the history books, a creature more of mystery and love than propriety. She etched the final chapter into what would live as the finest scandal Hyrule ever breathed. Summer sun rising be damned.
A/N: Complete! Quite a different idea from some of my prior works. Expect more of this dark romance from me.
Reviews appreciated!
Thanks,
Victoire