AN: This sorta follows that new timeline theory (You know, the triple split one rumored to be in the new book Nintendo's releasing if it's legit, which it sounds so), so yeah. I dunno, this is a drabble, I don't want to reveal much. Just keep that in mind if you think this is referencing other games. …I dunno, it's painfully obvious in this, but I just like to ramble…
Just take this as thinking in an unnecessarily complicated and vague way about reincarnation's implications and what happens when the soul is split and brought back together.
On a random note, I'm proud of myself. I came back to trying to write fanfiction after three years. ; v ; It's still overwhelmingly purple, though, for which I apologize. And unbeta'd.
Link hated mirrors. And Link didn't hate easily.
His father stopped putting one in the bathroom after the fifth one "accidentally" shattered while his son sat in stony silence, knuckles bleeding freely. The fourth had fallen out the window. The third had been slashed and smashed by a sword. The second's demise was the result of a panic attack.
He didn't like remembering what happened to their original mirror all those years ago when he was little. What he'd seen haunted him to this day.
It was the day after he'd met Princess Zelda, when they'd snuck away from some pompous party being held by the King for a new knight, leaving the lavish castle and delicious party favors, instead running around the forests and fields and playing around like the children they were, not the knight and ruler their parents expected them to be. No, they hid and sought and tussled and giggled with giddy smiles and wide eyes of brilliant blue. They wrestled and talked and imagined as they traced whales in the clouds. It was worth the scolding they got later and they ripped clothes they had to repair. To have a friend, a confident, even if society deemed them unfit of each other. They could live with it as long as they held hands in spirit.
But coming home, exhausted and worn out by an overdose of fun, Link had gone in the bathroom to wash up for bed. Grabbing blue linens to replace his fanciest green tunic now ruined, he smiled bashfully at his still irate father who huffed before patting him on the head and the boy opened the door.
He screamed when he saw the mirror.
Her eyes were bright, bloody red on yellow, a mournful sunset illuminating a pasty blue face framed by fiery hair. She'd smiled at him, as if comforted by the sight of him but slightly ashamed of the boy now a trembling Hylian coward, and blood and shadows and cold laughter consumed her and sand and acceptance and no don't leave me-
His father came in a moment later at the sounds to see the mirror thrown against the wall and his child weeping deeply.
Link always scowled at the memories. His father knew better than to bring up their existence.
But there was so much more in the mirrors.
They never reflected what he wanted them to. No, instead he'd be forced to reflect upon himself. Why else would he keep seeing not-Links in the mirror? Older, stronger, brighter, darker, brunet, blond, wearing false smiles as tension warped their faces. They were all so strong, had suffered so much, and every time their blue eyes would look into his, asking, "Have you truly done enough"?
To taunt and rub in how so many had helped and he couldn't do anything on his lonesome. That he couldn't take strength and comfort in the fact he had companionship – that was weakness. He'd glare weakly, but at times their copycat moves and mocking stare grated him to the point of shameful violence.
And they weren't the only tormentors alongside the fire witch.
He thought he'd gotten past the last of them. It had been years. He'd never liked him.
But one fourth of him would never forget red eyes and purple, wispy hair, and a smirk that spoke of playful mischief-
That promptly shattered and floated away as dark mists on the wind and screamed in horrible martyrdom. And one pair of grey-blue eyes had welled up in infinite sorrow before it no longer mattered. After all, he wasn't the majority.
He wanted to strangle that part of him almost as much as he wished mirrors didn't exist.
He was so confused.
Link hated mirrors. Because he had nothing to reflect but too much.