Disclaimer: Midna and The Legend of Zelda are the intellectual property of Nintendo.

The Twilit Priestess' Lament

An Instant In Time

It was raining.

Again.

Not heavily. Just enough to form beads of moisture on a light sweatshirt that waited for the moment your attention lapsed and you sat down to soak in, and left a big uncomfortable wet spot. Alec Balkojec was sick of it, but his companion seemed to have no such complaints. He snuck a glance at her out of the corner of his eye and swore he spotted the ghost of a contented smile on her face. It was difficult to tell around the hood she wore.

The hood was more for protection from other people than the elements. If lowered, it would reveal a grayish-blue skinned face with an angular—nearly elfin—cast to its features, offset by slanted eyes the color of blazing flames and a head of hair the same color.

Certainly not the visage of the average city-dweller. Or the average human, for that matter. Obviously, this was because the woman was not. Rather, she was a Twili; a race that Alec had previously thought nothing more than a figment of some writer's imagination, a plot device for a video game. Disproving this notion was flesh and blood proof, walking alongside him. Between the two of them, they had decided that in public, she should remain hooded, to conceal her unusual features.

Suddenly, she stopped, staring through the black wrought iron fence to their right. Alec stopped as well. "Midna? What is it?"

She turned to him. "This is a graveyard, correct?" Alec hadn't been paying attention, but turned to look. Carefully manicured green lawn, row after row of white headstones, a respectful hush…definitely a graveyard. Disquieted, Alec nodded. "And would it be safe to assume that this is some kind of burial ceremony?" Midna asked, pointing.

Alec followed her finger and saw a man dressed in black robes and a white collar with a cross hung around his neck was reading from a book over an open grave. "Yeah. Except…" He frowned. "There are no mourners…that's weird…"

If he hadn't turned to look at her, Alec would not have noticed the subtle tensing of Midna's shoulders. "No mourners?" she said. "That's not usual, is it?" she asked, a hint of challenge entering her voice.

"No," said Alec, frowning. Both Midna's reaction and the burial were unusual, and he wasn't sure which unsettled him more.

"Let's go," said Midna, striding briskly toward the cemetery's entrance. Alec had to jog to catch up.

"What? Where are you going?" Alec asked.

"No one should pass alone," Midna replied cryptically.

Alec simply shrugged. At this point, his curiosity overrode his caution—and besides, he didn't have anything else to do.

Midna strode up to the priest and listened for a moment as he recited a prayer, and sprinkled water into the grave. When it became clear that she was not going to be noticed, she spoke up. "Excuse me." Alec grinned inwardly. Convincing the Twilight Princess herself to use even that small courtesy had been a hard-won battle.

The priest jumped, and looked up. "Can I help you, miss?"

"Why is it that there are no mourners for this person?" Midna asked. Alec had yet to convince her of the values of subtlety.

Blinking for a moment, the priest visibly repressed an urge to reprimand Midna's rudeness. 'Smart man,' thought Alec.

"Her name was Eleanor Strattley," the priest answered quietly. "She was a member of my congregation. When it came to my attention that she had passed, I offered to perform the last rites. It turned out that she had no friends or family remaining."

Midna's eyes softened, and her posture shifted subtly. "I see. When you're finished, with your permission, I'd like to honor her passing."

Midna stepped back and let the priest resume.

"Grant this mercy, O Lord, we beseech Thee, to Thy servant departed, that he may not receive in punishment the requital of his deeds…" As Alec and Midna stood in the rain, tongues of fire blossomed in the air as the twilight sun broke through a gap in the clouds, and the priest continued. "…who in desire did keep Thy will, and as the true faith here united him to the company of the faithful…" The golden-orange twilight transformed the misty rain into a storm of sparks, orange embers darting to and fro as they drifted and danced downward, while the priest continued his prayer. "…so may Thy mercy unite him above to the choirs of angels. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." As the prayer faded away into silence, the cemetery was transformed by the dusky light into the ethereal heart of a sunset.

The priest looked at Midna. "You wanted so say a few words, miss…?"

Midna nodded and stepped forward. "Something like that," she said, and lowered her hood.

The priest started, and looked like he was about to say something when Alec laid his hand on the priest's shoulder. Alec looked at the holy man, shook his head slightly, and held up his hand before turning to watch Midna. Wait.

Midna moved so that she was at the foot of the open grave with sun situated directly behind her. The rain continued to fall, an endless microscopic pattering drumbeat. The water had gathered on the edges of Midna's black robes and red-orange hair, and was illuminated by the fading sunlight.

Her outline glowed in the dying light. She raised her hands in front of her, palms facing each other, closed her eyes…and began to sing.

Normally when Midna spoke, her voice had a dual harmonic quality to it, as though two people were speaking with the same voice. The effect was amplified when she spoke her native language. When she sang…the two voices separated entirely.

She began with a low, wordless humming combined with a soaring soprano that climbed the distant peaks of pitch effortlessly. She sang in her native language, the language of the Twili. The language of a people who had touched the power of the gods, and been struck down for their arrogance. A people who had been banished to a land of eternal shadow—a people who knew loneliness inside and out. And who knew about loneliness better than their royal family's princess? Respected or feared by her people, she wasn't a person to them. Just another piece in their political game.

Of this she sang, and more. She sang of loss and of pain and of fear. Loss of the light, loss of power, loss of their very gods. Her personal losses: her throne, her people, her form, and finally, a true friend.

The traditional Twili song of mourning was sang not just for the departed, but as a cleansing of the soul for the singer; a catharsis. As the singer cried out their loss and pain, she joined the mourners in their grief, and added her own grievances to the chorus to create an empathic symphony of sorrow

Alec watched, enraptured as the song washed over him, and buried him in a tide of loss. While he didn't understand the words, he understood the meaning; here was a song that spoke of pain.

Something drew Alec's eye downward. As he followed his gaze, he discovered that glowing green lines were tracing their way across the grass near Midna's feet. 'It's not just a song,' he realized, 'It's a spell…'

Her song faded into silence and Midna raised her hands and the runic circle about her feet flared green, bathing her in bluish-green light. The shafts of molten fire from the heavens flared as if in response and contrasted with the darker green organic sigils of the twili inscription.

Orange fire at her back and green magic at her front, Midna was for a brief moment a living duality. Unrestrained fiery beams on one side and cool green calculated magic runes on the other. Of both light and dark, life and death, yet neither truly one nor the other.

Twilight.

Then, two pressure waves emanated from the twili sorceress in rapid succession, the first tinted greenish-blue, the second, orange. The grass rippled in the twin waves' wake and the trio's clothes swirled violently in the brief gale.

Then Midna lowered her hands and it was over. Alec was overcome by a feeling of immense calm, calm as the waters of a deep, still well. To his left, the priest kneeled and crossed himself. Alec took a deep breath, let it out slowly and exhaled not just spent air, but all his worries and troubles. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the feeling of utter peace. His shoulders relaxed, letting out a tension he hadn't even known he was carrying, and as he drew breath time stretched into infinity. These long moments of silence were broken by the soft crunching of grass as Midna walked over to them. Alec blinked and nudged the priest.

The priest looked up at Alec, confused for a moment, then nodded and rose with his cross held forward. "May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace," he intoned and motioned a pair of dazed-looking men bearing shovels over to the grave. Alec thanked the priest, and Midna nodded at him, and donned her hood again. The duo turned to leave, and ignored the priest's stare boring into their retreating backs.

"That was a good thing you did," Alec said. "Almost magical, in fact," he added, smiling.

Midna turned to face him and a rare smile graced her face. "It's like I said; no one should pass alone."

As the two walked out of the cemetery, the sun dipped back behind the cloud cover and the city was once again lost to the gray.

Apologies for the long absence of anything at all. If you're wondering, this story is meant to take place some time during Entwilightened, but doesn't exactly fit well into the main plotline. As for Entwilightened itself, Chapter 7 is finally almost complete. I just need to give it an edit pass or two, and hopefully get a second pair of eyes to look it over, and it'll be ready for posting.

As for the burial ceremony, it's modeled after a Catholic burial, and very possible I got some part of it wrong. If anybody has a correction to make, feel free to let me know in a PM or a review.

Thanks for reading.