Alright, this is a prologue to a short story that I got an idea for while in the shower. It's not going to be long by any means (at least, I don't plan on it being.) But, this will be chaptered for however long it is, and hopefully enjoyable through to the very end. Hope ya' like it! Always feel free to review/constructively criticize, and recommend to your friends if ya' liked it.

How did we end up like this?

Zelda's slender fingers trembled with steady vibrations of pain. She could feel the very pulse that had so vivaciously carried her through the toughest of situations weaken with every passing moment; pump pump, pump pump . . . pump. . . pump. She could not disentangle enough of her jumbled mind to clearly comprehend exactly what was occurring. The knowledge of where she was, what she was doing, and what had happened to her delicately melted through her fading grasp and slide just out of fingertip reach. She could not feel much of her body, and what she could only suggested that she was fortunate that half her body had abandoned her consciousness, but with each inch that she managed to crawl forward came another bout of debilitating chills and pricks from forest needles and twig ends. She could not proceed in the condition that she was. She could not even harbor enough of a mindset to identify what had befallen her let alone recall where she was or what she had been doing.

Pump . . . . pump . . .

Zelda stopped. She stopped futilely attempting to move forward and tried to refocus her thoughts. The swirling jumble behind her eyes meshed any sense of acknowledgement and defied any opportunity of understanding. She strenuously pried at her eyes until the lids slid up with the same sensation as the needles and twigs beneath her toppled body. She was not met with a favorable sight. The land she once gazed at with a longing of freedom and independence had been subjected to the horror of an artist's dreams. Colors bled together and deceived the eye from what was real and what was not. Oozing splotches of despondent murkiness scathed the already mangled depiction of unattainable answers. There was no light to shine upon dancing creatures that weren't there. There was no breeze to ruffle fluffy leaves that weren't there either. The artist's adversary had taken his palm and smeared it clean across a canvas that Zelda once considered precious. Now it was ruined, and she didn't know why. Her numb and trembling body was prodding her forgotten mind with questions that she could not answer. If only she could reach forward a mere arm length's distance perhaps she could wrap her anxious fingers around an answer and guide herself back into a vision of clarity and sensational insight as to why she was laying stranded in the midst of a scene emanating with despair and insignificance.

Zelda imagined herself opening her mouth to call for aid, but even her lack of competence could not faze over the painful knowledge that nobody would respond. Who was there to listen in a place where even color had been deemed irrelevant? She was alone. She was alone with her own agony as her isolating walls. Nobody would hear her. Nobody would listen to her.

"Z . . ."

What?

"Z . . ."

Had her intangible cage of misery pushed her deep enough into her own subconscious that she was producing a false voice of valiant opposition?

"Ze . . . Zel . . ."

Except, it wasn't her voice producing the strained resistance. It was muddled, blanketed, and spoken from a world's distance, but it was a voice that spoke to her. There were words spoken by a distant being that wished to connect with what was left of her sense of self.

"Zel . . . Zeld . . ."

She knew that voice. Snared deep within the sphere of tangled thorns that was her mind was a single rose bud pulsing with the faintest of illuminating glow. It was nearly undetectable -- entirely unbelievable -- but undeniably present and growing despite harsh conditions. Sweet, glorious light surrounded the bud and created a beacon of what could be and what was. It was hope; the sight as marvelous as the sunrise over a shimmering lake surface; the aroma as crisp as rain freshly descended from the Goddess's own watering can; the taste as tantalizing as the first bite after a day's fast. It was a rose bud that defied nature and lived where desolate weeds and gritty soil reigned supreme. Or perhaps the bud did not defy nature, but rather embraced it and pronounced to all that hope made the impossible possible.

"Zelda."

The bud within her mind burst in a flourish of petals that sparkled dimly against the shade of murkiness continuing to envelope her battered self. The cherished flower itself took form and radiated with a vision of the familiar face that Zelda struggled so vainly to put to the voice calling her back to reality.

Link.

"Li . . . Link . . ."

The strength to speak returned to her with a force that would have seemed dull had her body not already been in such traumatic condition. Instead, it seemingly roared in her throbbing head and lurched from her throat into the tension-filled atmosphere with all the hope that it reached the ears of her aspiring destination. Despite the shining outlet of hope within her, Zelda still could not filter out any recollection of what had occurred or why she was there. But Link was there too. He was enwrapped in this malicious state just as she was, but where was he? Zelda could not see him or feel him. She could barely hear him, but the words that did float back on the imaginary wind were more revitalizing than life itself.

"Zelda . . . I'm here. I'm here."

It was all the Hylian woman needed to hear. She was not alone. The Goddesses had managed to penetrate through her unusual prison and deliver unto her a gift of salvation that nearly surpassed her desire for knowledge. It was not a gift of gold or petty value; this was an irreplaceable bundle of reviving hope in the form of a person that she would undoubtedly entrust with every sliver of her being. Miniscule portions of strength began to glide across her broken self and remind her that with life came possibility. She could not move her arms or feel her legs, but just the feeling of energy warming the area around her still-beating heart provoked her into believing that this nameless condition may be defeated. Her fingers twitched, but they did not curl in. Her chest swelled, but it did not heave. Yet, even with the failing sense lurking about her in each direction, victory was awarded in these small reactions. She may not be able to curl her fingers or breathe fully, but when her lips parted, she could speak.

"I'm here, Link. Whe-where are you? Please . . . come to me . . ."

Zelda wanted to feel his presence. She needed the reassurance that he, too, longed for in her own position.

"I'm here, Zelda. I'm right . . . here."

All in one instant the world surrounding her lurched. Colors were tipped to the side and ran in streaks down the canvas that Zelda gazed upon. Spears of wind cut through her hair and rustled the clothing that she could now feel clinging to her sweat-soaked body. It stung at her cheeks and drew out thin lines of tears from the eyes that ravished in their sockets with the attempt at seeing what was truly surrounding them. Color still eluded the scene before her, but acknowledgement graced Zelda's whirling mind. Rubble, destruction, and a black sky encased her in a trap that was bitter sweet to the senses; it was frightening and destroyed, but it was recognizable. It had a name. It was Hyrule Castle. A thick strand pulled away from the ball of bewildered thoughts within Zelda's mind. It tied itself around her heart and promised her that this image from her memory was genuine. She was truly seeing remnants of her castle; truly hearing the wind slice through the canopy of trees overhead; truly feeling the chill of another's hand grasping her wrist and enabling everything within her to break free of the hazy shell that had previously enveloped it all. It was Link's hand wrapped around her wrist, and it was Link's presence that shot through to her core and produced such an unconventionally wonderful scene. Could she also touch him and unlock this precious outlet to reality? She moved her hand -- she moved her hand -- and curled her fingers around his palm.

"Do you . . . do you see it, Link?"

"I see it, Zelda. I see . . . you. Do you see me?"

She could feel the bloody cuts on cheeks as she utilized the strength within her to maneuver her neck toward his voice. It was as if the center of her energy had been uplifted to her heart and dispersed to where it was most needed. Only her neck moved, but it was all Zelda required for that specific moment. She could see Link, and the vision alone was enough to conjure up a mixture of unrelated emotions. An invisible aura of defeated loomed above his body with a threatening desire to overtake every last ounce of determination within him. The blood on his face refused to lift and let him forget about the terrible destruction that had been done. Would anyone recognize him with his torn and muddied clothing amongst a ravaged forest edge's floor? Would the needles and twigs be carried off his body by the streams of blood flowing lightly from gashes caked with mud and grit? His eyes . . . his eyes would save him. The shining blue of his eyes would alert the area as a beacon of salvation for the broken man. Except, the glow was lessening. The stubborn fortitude of his eyes had dulled to the pale shimmer of pond surface moments before the great rays of the sun flooded over the horizon.

"Link . . ."

Was he a mirror of her own image?

"Link, I see you."

She wanted to reach forward and take his face in her hands. She wanted to wipe away the trails of bloody tears from his cheeks and tell him to wake up; this was just a dream. It was merely a horrid nightmare and they would both awaken soon in the comfort of their own world. But, it wasn't a dream. She could not pry herself out of this subconscious nightmare and sigh with relief while sitting up frantically in her bedchamber with nothing but foolish mirages in her memory. It was all real, and Zelda was scared. Terror filled every niche within her and taunted her heart; just give up. It's all real, and you cannot win. Give in to me. Give in to the inevitable.

No!

Zelda felt her fingers tighten around Link's trembling hand. His remaining hand was inching forward. He was trying to reach out to her and console her in the only method possible. She felt the disheartening cold of his palm as he cupped her cheek and locked his gaze with her own.

"We're here, Zelda . . ."

"Link . . . how did we end up like this?"