"I wonder when our Hero will propose. The Queen has been alone for so long."
"She seems so distant these days. Maybe she has found someone different to lie with at night?"
"No way."
You hear all of this as you pass, but pretend not to notice. You can still remember the days when ignorance was bliss. However, that time is long gone. Years, decades, centuries have passed, yet all of your memories stay intact.
You can still remember each adventure, each capture, each end. You know that the Hero does not remember, nor does your old enemy. You wonder if the Wisdom you posses is the reason. But Nayru gives no answers, so you head onto your destination.
Your room has dark tiles. The drapes, and the bedding represent the Twilight of this life. Another part of another life.
Your movements are mechanical, your routine so comfortable that it should scare you. The familiarity of this only makes it easier.
The blade is clean, with a sharp edge. It is your best one yet. You take few moments to admire it's beauty, before taking you place on the ground.
You sit by the window, so the light of the moon reflects off the blade, making your sight clearer. You lower it slowly, until it rests against your snowy skin.
The feel is amazing. You can hear old songs of love filtering through your head, and you must love this act to keep it going, time after time.
The first cut is always the deepest as you adjust. You gasp at the sharp pain, but do not jerk away. The cuts must be orderly, and straight, so they can be hidden my your long gloves.
This didn't start until after that time. When you died, and entered the next life, you couldn't stop the memories.
You move on, being more careful this time. The cut is not as deep, but will leave a prominent scar, a new you to add to the collection lining your arms and hips.
You watch as the blood pools at your feet. It reminds you of her eyes. As soon as the thought enters your head, you shake it away. This is to forget her, forget then.
But the reminders sink in. The shadows taunt you, and you wish that she was hiding within them. Her eyes in the blood chills you to the bone. The wind that touches your hair feels too much like her fingers.
The cuts increase in amount, as she plagues your mind. Her voice rings in your head, her form haunting you with every slice of the blade.
After seven cuts, you pause, letting the pain drown out all coherence. Rushing water and heartbeats fill your ears, before you are taken back to the present time.
By now, the blood has sunken into the tiles. You wipe the knife off on your skirt, before standing and placing it back away from sight. You feel dirty now, but a certain peace has settled over you. No longer is the fear choking you.
You strip down to a simple nightdress, and climb under hard covers. They offer no warmth, but you use them anyway, as a force of habit.
You drift off, feeling her lips on yours, rough and gentle and sweet and sour all at the same time. The blood smears on your face, as her last words send you off. Her frame, so strong, is crumpled in your weak embrace.
"I love you."
As your eyes close, you know what is to come. He will propose to you, and you will say yes. You will sleep with him, hating every moment, and have his children. And when you die, he will be the persons name you whisper.
"Impa."
However, in the darkness of your room, it is the Sheikah's name that rolls off your tongue.