Masquerade

The mirror casts two reflections.

Both featherweights with penchants for music and responsibility, she saw herself in him. Maybe he saw himself in Sheik. Things blur because she forgets he isn't looking at her, he's looking for her. A village in flames opens a door into her own feelings, strong, deep, and indeed her own. Her heartbeat behind the crying eye, and the bolero reaching such a fast pace she found herself aroused, her muscles tightened and her eyes clinch shut. She was Zelda, and she desperately wanted Link to know. This friendship has grown by proxy. The strength and how it could show itself is a thrill. In this facade she is brave and strong and mysterious. She helps her hero the only way she can. Within this magic she was still herself. There is no Sheik, she admonishes. The shell she hides behind is no more than a wooden mask. If only the soul could break in two. The poor vestige she lives in, the last boy of a dead race, is so noble and proud. These are the trappings of a ghost.

Years later, without her destiny and thus without her meaning, she has never been so sure of the despair she will inevitably face. The despair of finding oneself at the end alone. The premonitions have turned into dreams and desires of the past. You dream of nothing else now. A dream of a fair haired boy swaying in the wind, asking where is his Zelda, Sheik? What have you done?

As you walk you cast two shadows, but you are sure no one notices.

Author's Note: This is the Zelda left behind when she sent Link back. Disregard time lines and the space-time continuum.