Chapter published on September 3, 2014.
Chapter II
Her first waking thoughts were of terror.
She shot bolt upright in bed, hands clutching at her throat, her chest heaving with heavy, panicked breathing. Cold sweat plastered her long auburn hair to her forehead and neck and her bed covers were tangled around her legs, trapping her. She kicked wildly to get them away, tiny whimpers of fear escaping her as she writhed desperately to free herself. With one last, powerful kick she sent the sheets to the floor and curled up with her knees pressed against her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. She pressed her forehead against her knees, let the tears come.
Sobs racked her lithe frame, agonised cries muffled by a hastily seized pillow. She squeezed her pillow as hard as she could with both hands, her knuckles turning ghostly white as she clenched and relaxed her fingers. Her throat throbbed in time with her rapid heartbeat and she cried harder because of it, body shaking uncontrollably. Time passed, eventually she could not cry if her life depended on it.
But then again, she had already done that.
Rational thought soon took over; she slowly loosened her hold on her pillow and raised her head, the view of her spacious room warped and distorted through the wetness in her eyes. Sniffling, she wiped away the tears and blinked until she could see properly, taking a shallow, shuddering, breath. Much better.
She swallowed hard and slowly unfurled from her fetal position, her hands absentmindedly smoothing out the wrinkles in her bed sheets. Her dark eyes flicked left and right, scrutinising the shadows in the corners of her room, searching for movement, signs of life. She found none.
She closed her eyes and let out a breath she was not aware she had held, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to forget the hellish scenarios that sleep had brought her. Forgetting was impossible, so she pushed them deep down inside herself, condensing her nightmares and hiding them away in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind.
Soft carpet met her feet as she swung her legs off her bed and stood, adjusting her dishevelled sleepwear; checkered lounge pants and a white tank top. She ran her hands through her hair as she crossed the room to the wide, east-facing window and threw it open, letting the cool gust of air envelop her, caress her skin, fill the room. Dawn crept over the horizon, sending lances of light into the sky, slowly washing away the stain that night had left behind. Stars gradually blinked out of existence at the coming of the sun, slinking back to their homes in the cosmos.
As the steadily approaching line of light finally broke into her room and shone into her eyes, she closed them and let the warmth of the golden orb wash over her and quell the goosebumps on her skin. Birds chirped and sang to each other, cars passed by and parted the air with a soft whoosh, and the wind rang wind chimes, rustled trees; she lost herself in the quiet sounds of the neighbourhood around her, let herself relax, took time to compose herself.
All too familiar with the saying all good things come to end, she slowly turned away from the window and padded towards the connected bathroom, flicking on the light as she did. It sprang into life, illuminating the windowless and unnecessarily large space. A long granite counter top ran the length of the back wall, two sparkling white sinks set into its polished surface. Upon the wall behind it was a mirror as long as the counter and the mere sight of her appearance made her want to cry all over again.
Her hair, tangled and twisted, stuck out in various places, her eyes were puffy and red, a dull sheen on her cheeks visible in the light from her tears, and her skin held a ghostly pallor, making her look as if she had not seen the sun in years. She turned away and tried not to think about the nightmares that just kept getting worse.
Her tank and lounge pants dropped to the floor next to the shower and she stepped inside to briefly fiddle with the knobs until she had a hot shower going, the sudden warmth making her shiver. She soon grew used to it and loosened her tense muscles to allow her own personal waterfall to wash away the stiffness of night. She slowly ran her delicate hands down her neck and chest as she leaned closer towards the shower head, letting it soak her long hair, a soft sigh of relief escaping her lips.
As the steam rose around her, she lost track of time, simply letting the world shrink down to the boundaries of her bathroom, herself being the only inhabitant.
She began working out the kinks and knots in her hair and with the water's help she made short work of it, running her long fingers through it once more to check for any she may have missed. Those gentle fingers then lathered shampoo into her long auburn tresses, letting the water slowly rinse it away. She continued her cleansing without a thought running through her mind, early mornings and late nights being the only times she was not running a social gauntlet; these were the peace hours.
Time passed, steam rose, water circled the drain, and soap dripped away from her body; only the Goddesses knew how long she was showering for.
She slowly opened her eyes at last, deciding it was time, and reached down to turn off the water, the thick, fuzzy mat outside the shower cushioning and drying her feet. A soft white towel hung next to the shower and she dried herself off, using it to cover herself as she exited the bathroom and moved into her room, shivering slightly at the bracing chill in the air.
A large mahogany dresser stood at the foot of her bed, burnished brass knobs and varnished wood gleaming proudly in the early morning light. She dressed methodically, deciding upon a long-sleeved, dark green shirt, faded skinny jeans, and one of her many scarves. Long and striped with grey and white, its material was still extremely soft despite being worn for so many years. It felt like water against the exposed skin of her neck and with tender care she wrapped it around and around until her slender neck was completely concealed in its wavy folds.
Her eyes flicked upwards to her tall vanity mirror and she looked at herself with a blank stare. Half-lidded, dark blue eyes stared back and she wondered if they were her own, wondered where the bright colour that used to be there had gone. For a moment, intense dark green eyes were staring back and she blinked once to rid herself of the image.
"Zelda... It's a beautiful n-name."
Mahogany creaked under the pressure exerted from her grip, her knuckles turned white, and her mouth pressed down into a deep frown. Her thin brow furrowed and she leaned down until her head was parallel with the dresser, eyes screwed shut. She tried to force him out of her thoughts, shaking her head slowly, finding it impossible.
She finds him in the same place as yesterday, his book propped open on his lap and so engrossed by its pages that he does not notice her approach. Surrounded by young maples garbed in green and the soft grass that creates a natural cushion, she can not help but find the image picturesque; he looks at home.
The air is still for once, allowing light to splash through the leaves and keep the shade stationary. Water laps rhythmically at the grassy shore behind him, birds sing to each other in the trees, and in the distance behind her she can hear the usual din of youth swimming. In the centre of all of it he sits reading, a nearly unnoticeable smile on his face. Long black bangs hang down in front of his face as he stares down, casting a small shadow on his features.
She takes a small step forward, resuming her gait, and she clears her throat softly. He looks up slowly, like he is tearing his attention away, and regards her with a blank stare for a fraction of a second, but the corners of his mouth soon turn up in a joyous grin at recognising her. His dark green eyes light up at the sight of her and dog-ears his page with tender care. He is silent for a moment, simply staring, and she feels her cheeks burn.
"Hi," she ventures quietly, clasping her book close to her chest, "can I sit down?" Wordlessly, he gestures to ground beside him.
She takes those last few steps towards him, crosses her legs, and sits down in one fluid motion, brushing aside a few errant strands of hair. "It's a beautiful day isn't it, Link?"
Link picks at his book and looks at her from the corner of his eye, like he is mustering his courage. "I didn't think you'd come back, Zelda," he says, turning to meet her gaze. "No one ever sticks around for long."
Zelda smiles that small, radiant smile and shakes her head slightly. "And why wouldn't I?"
Zelda's phone had found its way into her hand and her thumbs moved on their own, entering the number he had given her on their last day together. She watched as her body took over and typed out a message, like it was someone different doing it for her. Before she could stop herself the message was sent and at that moment she dropped her phone, wincing at the blaring sound of it hitting mahogany in the silence of her room.
A breath Zelda was not aware she had been holding was exhaled, her body slumping in realisation of what she had done. There was a reason she had not contacted him, but in that moment she had forgotten it; he made her feel so much pain. Pain in her mind, her heart, her soul. Pain because he wore the same suffocating mask as she did, although his was blank, cold, unfeeling, while her's was the happy princess that was not dying inside.
She felt something hot rolling down her cheeks, saw it fall and splash on to her dresser; tears. She wiped them away with practised precision, and breathed deep.
She started towards the bathroom once again. Time to paint on the princess.
Twisted nightmares haunt, loneliness pervades the coming of dawn.
