Notes: This is my first story. I speak five languages, English being my fourth, so please don't be harsh on me for the badness of it. I'm only fifteen and learning the language is difficult. I know Link doesn't speak yet in his mind he is thinking therefore speaking.
He knows where he is. Stumbling through the crumbling remains of what he knows to be a castle; beautiful, magnificent yet cold; frightening at the same time. The mind of Link, clouded with the monsters of his nightmares that at that moment in time he swears to be true and his only focus lingers in his mind – to save the figure at the top of the tower he knows so well – who he has dreamt of for his entire lifetime. This time he knows that he will get to her. He knew her name. Her face. Yet nothing that he had seen in reality though walking in the slowly turning to night area, he felt as if it were his reality. And clouded by this, the old teenager carried on going; alluded that if he can reach her then she will wake with him.
The walk to him through the castle to the small tower was long – winded and drawn though thanks to his previous training as a child he is not out of breath or aching from the side – he feels the fresh air through his lungs despite the coldness of it – tastes it on his tongue like ice. But at the top of the spiralled tower his eyes meet with a spectacle so frightful that he is unable to taste the crisp air or even inhale it through his lungs. A cage, with bars rusted copper along the metal, is held from devastatingly at the top of the tower yet just inches from the ground – swinging ever so slightly despite the solid weight within that he knew did not move. Spikes jutted from the sides – an attempt to strike fear into those around to prevent anyone from drawing close to the cage or a reminder to whoever lay within what a danger she truly was – a monster of sorts. Though with his serene gems he could see no monster; only the shrouded figure of a girl that he knew instantly – Céleste. Her skin so pale it glowed a white light the innocence within her had exploded onto the outside – her hair cut at her pointed shoulders and shaded mousey brown like coffee with too much cream while her garments were ones he did recall despite their simplicity – a dress, darker than her skin yet whiter than snow. She is huddled upon herself, keeping away from the breeze that had swept through the tower though her dress and hair both magically dance separately. He unmistakably takes a moment to stare in awe at her figure that is so light compared to their surroundings that he wonders how vulnerable she truly is – even to shadows that could instantly eat her up. Over the rasping of the wind along with the small flutters of doves wings he can hear her sigh slightly to herself, which reminds him of how to breathe. She is like the stars in the night sky – glittering up the world with mystery and wonder and he is in love with her.
"Céleste," his voice is strong for the first time of speaking for what has felt like years of silence– familiar to her ears, causing her to look up from where her head rested upon her boned knees. Her face is tired – bewildered almost as she stares distantly at him but eventually she breaks through the spell upon her granted from the dream he believes they are sharing – he questions not how he can see her or why – never questions a thing - that could have played tricks upon her mind. She contemplates whether to move or not – her hand sliding down her silk dress before she parts her lips that are so pale in their shade he wonders whether they were painted upon using watercolours. His gems travel across her familiar features and it is then he realises that her eyes are not the same as they once were – they are grey, like a liquid – colourless almost.
Through their silence, she whispers a reply though her voice is softer than the noise of the dove's feathers moving with one another; "Link," the word is small – foreign almost to his ears though her voice is just as he recalled, yet perhaps weaker than before. No, it is weaker – far more than he last heard of it in his other dream he had – another with her being the star yet he was not teased with her being locked in such a dismal cage.
He takes a few moments of time, which is nonexistent in their world yet somehow everything, to check his surroundings before he looks back to her in the cage – he wonders what is left of her save for her figure that seems nothing but a silhouette. "What are you doing in there?" he asks her lightly as if talking is diffcult though she grants him with no reply though her face becomes perplexed with confusion; his words not making sense at all to her though he cannot tell such a thing – to him he is speaking English though to her he is babbling; the language he believes she once knew having fallen out of her mind. "Hold on," he tells her encouragingly though she can do nothing but rest as she has been. "I will get you out," he wants to add in the word promise though he cannot let the word leave his lips. He doesn't need to promise for he knows that he will.
He takes a step foreword, but just as he does the cage itself clicks open; the door creaking like an inevitable ache as it pushes itself wide. He takes a step foreword in awe; closer to his dream; the girl he never had yet the girl he is about to receive; his princess.
She seems spun out of dawn light, too delicate to exist, less real than the cage she was trapped in-he draws back as her hand reaches out, half afraid that at the touch of his rough human skin, she will bleed silver and vanish. She is a beauty; a gem that he has never seen her be before - it is then he realises he is not staring at the body of a human but at the form of her angelic heart. But when she speaks, her voice tickling his ears like silk itself, he cannot understand her fragile words emitting from her throat; as if the human language is too rough for her to speak - too rough for her to understand when he too talks. They are still so close, yet so far apart - the barrier of speech blocking most of their communication but he knows as soon as he musters the courage to wrap his hand around her own that is all they will need to escape this nightmare together. Speech is meaningless to their hearts. When the fear breaks delicately – a transition even he cannot feel – he reaches out to take her hand like he is cradling a dove yet to his surprise she is as cold as the shadows about them but to his joy she does not bleed silver and perish from his human touch. She feels as frail as spider silk yet he can feel her fingers webbing their way around his own in a fluid movement like water running from the edge of a smooth stone. He whispers as quietly as possible though his voice is bellowing compared to her own; "It's not safe for us to be here. I'll get you out," though she cannot understand his words they are assurances for himself rather than for her; a promise to himself made in reality that he will protect the figure that is so beautifully fragile he is scared she will be taken by the wind let alone the creatures that roam his mind endlessly. His fingers tighten around her hand; she is firm; bones and flesh unlike her appearance that seems to be made of silk and fibres. Human; as she was in reality; a body that can hurt though he wonders how much she can feel in the state that she is in.
Link stands to his feet, which are light beneath his weight while his back aches from the throw to the floor by a shadow earlier in his dream. For a moment he questions the almost numb ache – wondering whether he feels it or not but then pushes that thought from his mind, like questioning reality will cause her to disappear. Her grey eyes, liquid in the centre, follow his figure to its full height before she lowers her hand to the cobbled floor, which he knows is far warmer than her own skin. He does not allow her to push her weight up and instead pulls at her arm, softly, softly, until he realises she is solid; she is not the faint outline, as he realised before. Her hand retracts from the floor; dust collecting on the tips of her snow white fingertips – she straightens her back and unbends her knees only to stand far lower than him; her dress tickling her calves from the constant breeze about them; the breathing of the shadows watching and waiting forebodingly. She stumbles ever so slightly as he pulls her a little too hard to his heated body, though she cannot feel the warmth but only the cold about them; the bitter hidden from the outsider – only living within such a mind for so many years can drive a person to stone like herself though he fails to understand or contemplate such a thing. He knows his mind is not joyful –, yet he believes she cannot touch or go near such horrible scenes. Her legs ache like old clockwork being forced to move after years of slumber; Link being the lightning; the energy to force her to awaken. She has never seen colour, save for the fake sunsets rising along the horizon she saw through the cracks of the walls – through the gaps of her monstrous cage – shades of oranges, reds and pinks – colours of the heart though with him she can feel the colour; feel the life pumping through his veins. He cannot understand the affect he has and instead looks to her with promising eyes, unsure of what she can understand. Carefully he takes a step foreword, dragging her bare feet along with him without a moment's hesitation. Her eyes stay upon his as he tries their movements out for a little while – her eyes never once breaking from his and though he cannot hear, or even feel with his mind with her he can tell that there is a bond between them – something formed not from words or from controlling her emotions – a newly found, unbreakable trust. If she is to die then he will perish – if he is to die then she will be lost for eternity.
He pulls her with; her slim legs stumbling awkward in surprise as she forces her body to catch up with his movement – she cannot fall or stop for they are together, be it by just their hands, but she will never let go.
His world becomes darkness and the touch of the pure white woman is lost from the tips of his fingers; the cold slipped from his skin and in an instant his eyes are wide open in a room that he wasn't in before – a room he had forgotten about yet one he knows like the back of his hand – the simple bedroom in the depths of the woods and he is instantly pulled back into a groggy true reality; knowing that he had dreamt what he had done. Dreamt of the fragile girl locked in the depths of his mind; of the horrific creatures and little bits of cold and pain. For a moment he sinks his half naked body deep beneath the sheets; further into the darkness; shutting his eyes tightly to – in vein attempt – worm his way back into his dreams; to pray that his mind will engulf his reality into what he needs – what he wants – what he has dreamt of since he was just a child.
But then the birds cry at his side and he is again reminded of reality; of what everything is supposed to be. And he sighs, wondering when he will next see the woman he is sure he loves at one point when reality is mixed – Céleste.