A/N: I've been working, eating, and sleeping. Not time for much else, but I kept myself up to get this out. It's over 8,000 words.
Thank you Othaeryn (Thank you! Here it is! I hope you like it.), Lady Mokki (I'm so glad you like Shii and Essil. I do my best. I hope you'll like this chapter too.), Quinn Aries (I'm happy you like it!), RandomR15 (Haha! Yeah, Ghirahim doesn't acknowledge personal space very well, does he? He is ALL about that Lima Syndrome.), nofilter (He'd definitely be the type to just assume and annouce it! XD) , cheesepotassium (Haha, you're about to see! Sorry to have kept you waiting!), Noble Toes (It probably should've gone up to M sooner, but now it is definitely needed. Sorry for the wait!), Meryllia (Thank you so much for all your kind words! I do my best so I'm glad to hear it's not a flop. Your English is very good, so no need to apologize.), thenumbertwentyseven (I'm happy you liked it so! I will think about writing in Ghirahim's viewpoint, but it would have to come later.), AnonaLee (Oh my! Haha!), Guest (I do have fun writing it. It's just nailing down some time to do so that's difficult.), JustBecause170 (I'm glad this story can bring excitement! Yes, you will eventually find out her original name! I have it planned.), Kyoki no Megami (She's in denial and using stereotypes to put distance between them. She tries not to comprehend too much. But she won't be able to hide much longer. We'll see how it goes.), Charkid17 (XD Me too! If only I had a Switch.), zoeToe (Still working on it, haha!), LovieDovie1414 (:D I'm not alone! I feel like Beedle. Bugs, bugs, bugs.), Ninja Squirrel (Haha! He is a true gentleman then! Thank you for your words. And I will do my best to forewarn of any graphic scenes.), kittycatcacher (Kya was lost too. I'm glad this inspired you!), and QueenOfNiii (The next chapter is here! Hope you like it.) for reviewing last chapter.
The rating has changed to M. I will do my best to give warnings without spoiling anything. That said, the first scene in this chapter isn't too graphic but may be a little iffy. Proceed with caution.
Chapter 33
How can it be so hot when it's snowing?
The white flakes fall gently from a blindingly bright sky, the ground beneath my feet is hard with frost, and a breeze whispers by without warmth. I should be cold.
But I'm so hot. I'm burning.
I tilt my face up and let the snow kiss me, hoping for relief, but I don't feel it. Can't feel the cold pinpricks or the dewdrops they leave behind after melting on my cheeks and forehead. Can't feel the cold, now-buffeting wind. Can't feel… Can't feel…
It's not real…
Terror jolts through my heart. It's not real. I'm not real. Nothing's real.
Abruptly I'm transported back to a time where nothing felt tangible and nothing mattered. This isn't happening. It's just a game. They're just data. And I'm… I'm…
Dead.
I wake up gasping and my shivering has nothing to do with temperature, the sheets clutched tightly in my fists, the dream of snow still fogging the edges of my mind. I'm not quite awake but fear permeates all drowsiness, making my heart beat double-time. I want it to stop. I want to go back to a world where reality isn't a question. But it's so hot, and my heart won't slow down.
I twist and turn in the silken sheets, fighting to find a peace I haven't felt in decades.
I'm burning!
Suddenly an arm tightens around me, one I hadn't noticed in my struggle.
"Shh," hushes a soft voice by my ear. "Shh, my darling."
My bleary brain takes a second to place the voice as Ghirahim's.
Fear ebbs, but a string of confusion tells me it shouldn't. It doesn't matter. His touches are cool against my hot skin and his whispers calming. I relax into him and he pulls me close, wintry lips leaving light trails down my neck and shoulder. His fingertips give life to the dream snow I couldn't feel, leaving shivering tingles in their wake as he slides them over my arm, down my side, across my hip, and then to drift along my thigh.
I moan and lean into him.
His kisses grow from light and feathery to fervent and insistent.
As he pulls me even closer, so close to his naked body that the secret part of him presses against my hip, I feel his smooth skin, feel the glide of his legs as they tangle with mine, and my palm comes up to feel the slopes and swells of his strong chest.
Stop, says a distant voice in the back of my mind. Stop, you're not supposed to want this.
That voice is silenced when Ghirahim captures my lips with his. The kiss is somehow both gentle and demanding, ardent yet coaxing. All the while his fingers drawn aimless patterns across my inner thigh, moving closer and closer to the juncture between my legs. The tingling sensations of his touches send shivers all throughout my body, bringing me to life, grounding me in reality.
Don't stop, I want to whisper, but can't find my voice.
You're not supposed to want this…
I pull away from his kiss, but he doesn't seem to notice my hesitation, instead redirecting his attention to my neck again, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin, his cool lips contrasting a suddenly hot and wet tongue that licks along my vein. I sigh, melting into his touch. I like this… I… I don't not want this. I mean, I… I like being held. I like being touched. I like that he's the one doing it. I…
Stop.
I…can't. I don't…want to.
I run my hand over his bicep, return his kiss when he revisits my mouth. I snuggle close as I can, my sleep-addled mind putting up none of its usual resistance.
"Master…" I whisper between kisses.
Stop, the she-wolf growls loud as she can.
The ewe sighs, let it be.
His hand that has been tracing patterns on my inner thigh lifts higher, grazing a part of me that no one has ever touched before.
Suddenly something clicks in my head. I inhale sharply, pulling back, brow furrowing in consternation. Indecision freezes me.
He seems to sense my hesitation this time around, because he returns his hand to a lower elevation on my thigh, thumb caressing softly.
"It's all right, my darling," he murmurs, "you don't need to be afraid. There's no need to be afraid."
At his soothing tone, I relax back into him. Slowly I blink, trying in vain to clear my sight from the darkness encasing us. The candles have all burnt low, leaving behind sparks that glitter in the walls like stars. I can't see him.
Oh, but how I can feel him.
I reach out and trace along his jaw with my fingertips. When I find his lips with them, he doesn't let them get away without kissing them. I feel his smile. I feel his silken hair and his inhumanly smooth skin.
And it's that last thought, inhuman, that has me lowering my hand. I…
My mind wakes up a tad. Senses start turning on.
He's pulling me close again. He's sliding the strap of my nightgown off my shoulder. He's pulling my leg over his hip, hooking his thumb into my underwear, like he's about to rip the thing off.
There's a she-wolf howling in my head.
There's a ewe baaing sweet lullabies to put me to bed.
I open my mouth, but neither protest or acceptance is uttered.
My underwear is pulled down, and then—
A loud rapping comes from the door, halting everything. Ghirahim becomes as unmoving as a statue. Then, slowly, as the dim of the candle sparks come back to life so I can barely make out the outlining of him, he tilts his head, like he thinks he hasn't heard right. Someone knocking at this hour? Surely not.
But it happens again. Louder, more persistent.
Ghirahim hisses in a breath and lunges out of the bed. His usually quiet footsteps thunder across the room and when he reaches the door he yanks it open in a mad rush. "What is it?" he snaps. "This had better be important, you wretch! I'll mount your head on the wall if it isn't!"
"An uprising in the East, my lord!" Shii speaks quickly, sounding out of breath. "The report just came in."
Ghirahim glances over his shoulder to find me with my head raised, messy hair sticking in all directions, watching groggily, before he steps out and closes the door behind him. More words are said, but I can't make them out. All I hear from the darkness of my room is Ghirahim's sharp tone and Shii's urgent responses.
When Ghirahim reenters the room, he is calmer. I can tell by the way his footsteps are once again silent.
He sits on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and he leans over to push my hair from my face before landing a kiss on my forehead. "Rest, my darling. All will be well."
I take his words in like water and go limp against the pillows.
He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. "I'll be back before you know it. Sleep."
It's easy for me to obey him. Easy to let the tinges of sleep that never really left take hold again. This time fear is gone and I'm not burning anymore. His touches have left me cool and serene.
There's a she-wolf howling in my head.
There's a ewe baaing sweet lullabies to put me to bed.
I sleep, and am no longer plagued by what is real.
Floating.
I feel like I'm floating.
An inky blackness surrounds me and no matter where I look it's all I can see. My hair languidly swirls around my head as if I'm underwater or something, but I can breathe just fine.
I wait in this space, not sure for what, but…waiting. I'm dreaming again. I think it, but I don't focus on it, because that means I'll wake up. I usually do once I realize I'm caught up in my own head. And I don't wanna wake yet. There's…something here. Something I need to find. I don't know how I know it. I just do.
As I wait, images flash in the distance of the darkness, like lightning in far off thunderclouds. Glimpses of what was and what could be. Most of it goes by too quick for me to really see, and the fact that I look only straight ahead doesn't help. But I can't move my eyes or my head, can't seem to control myself fully, like part of me is chained up and off-limits.
Out of nowhere I start walking forward, feeling so lightweight I almost think I could fly, and I move without thinking about it. Apparently I'm done waiting.
As I put one foot in front of the other, voices and sounds start reverberating through the darkness—the thunder to pair with the lightning. I hear noise from my first life, chatter of people both known and unknown.
They drown out.
Then I hear the melodic hum of Ave Maria. My mother's favorite song. The tinkling of my father's piano accompanies it. I wonder…I wonder if she had it played at my funeral, situated in that little church we used to go to together.
I march on, past the images, past the sounds, my eyes focused only forward, to some far point in this vast and empty expanse.
Something appears out of the dark, materializing as if from a fog. A person. Her hair is swishing and twirling about her head just like mine, but hers is much darker—the color of swamp mud in comparison to my dried dirt. Her face is pale as death and is marked with reddish blemishes. Her eyes are small and seem to be made smaller by the black frames resting on the bridge of her too-wide nose. I don't think she's very pretty. But then, maybe I'm being harsh.
After all, I'm my own worst critic.
We stand before each other, the same person, but separated by bodies and lifetimes. Her eyes are closed and she doesn't so much as twitch, even with the blackness of this place undulating around her form.
I stare at her, willing her to open her eyes.
As I stand there, feeling like I could float away at any second, the melancholy notes of Ave Maria continue on, far away and muffled as if trying to breach panes of glass. For a moment I think I can hear my mother singing along with my father's playing. She used to do that now and then, when things were warmer and brighter. The sounds warble, stuttering weakly.
Please open your eyes.
The thought is both mine and not mine. It appears in my head from blanketing shadows, and it is mine only because something or someone uncovered it.
…you're still…connected…
…these human ears…and not the pointed ones of those strangers…
…is not all you've retained…
I don't dare to blink. I just keep staring at my former body with an intensity I can't describe.
…still…connected…
She finally opens her eyes—does it so excruciatingly slowly—and they are much darker than the ones I have now.
Our stares connect.
But her eyes—they're…dead.
Everything stops. The music, the voices, the images flashing in the distance. It all stops.
So does my heart.
"Wake—up!"
Everything turns to pure black.
I vanish.
"I said wake up! Human! Wake up!"
I roll over in bed, fighting to find footing in the waking realm. "What"—my voice is hoarse and thick with lingering fatigue—"what is it? Shii? That—that you?"
Shii's narrow face and feathered crest come into focus. "Of course it's me, stupid. You were whining in your sleep like a wounded dog! What's going on with you?"
I grab onto the plush comforter, turning my head to and fro. "What's…going on?"
"I just asked that. Are you still sleeping?"
I squint into the hazy gray light of predawn. The candles are all burned out, their sparks and smoking wisps long gone. I keep turning my head. It feels…so light. "Some—something's wrong."
Shii steps nearer to the bedside. "What?"
"I'm…" I sit up in a bolt of surprising movement. "What the heck? I—I was trying to go slow."
Light. I feel so light.
In a surge I throw the covers off and stand on the cold stone floor. I bounce once, twice on my feet. Floating. That same feeling. "Am I still dreaming?"
Shii snorts. "No." Then her shrewd eyes widen and she clamps a scaly hand on my shoulder. "What's happening to your hair?"
"Uh?" I say with upmost intelligence. Pulling my hair over my shoulder, I notice a thick strand of it is…it's darkening.
To a very familiar color.
Fear of the unknown flares through me and my first instinct is to call out: "Where's Ghirahim?!" right before I trip over my own damn ankles and—shooting out my arm to catch myself—I knock over the bedside table. And when I say 'knock over,' I really mean push the frickin' thing into the far wall with a resounding boom. And it felt like nothing. So light. Like I was pushing a cloud.
Shii and I gawk at the table. The green Lizalfos then looks to me. "Did you mean to do that? I mean to say: how?"
I shake my head, wide eyes glancing from palm to palm like they aren't mine.
Shii hums thoughtfully and her eyes narrow. "Let's test something. Look, here." She stalks to the wall opposing the bed. "Come and try to lift this armoire."
I blanch. "I can't—!"
"Try, human!" Her expression softens. "Try, Kya."
I stand there and think about it. Meanwhile I'm bobbling my head around wondering why I feel so floaty. An impatient 'humph!' from Shii has me scrambling over fast—too fast. I bump into her and she has to shove me to keep us both upright.
She hisses. "Are you drunk?"
"I don't drink."
"Get ahold of yourself and lift it!"
I squat down and grip the underside of the bulky armoire. When I stand up, I don't expect the thing, with its scent of heavy wood and fresh clothes tucked within, to go anywhere.
And when the hulking thing goes up like a breeze and hits the ceiling?
My jaw drops. So does Shii's.
Gingerly, I place the furniture piece back on the floor. "The fuck is going on, man?"
Shii looks up to where the armoire hit the ceiling like she's going to find the answers there. "I have no idea." Her stare hardens on me. "And I'm not a man."
"Figure of speech."
Shii grunts. And then silence stretches as we stand there, puzzling.
"Where's Ghirahim?" I ask again, voice small, like a child seeking comfort. I mentally slap myself for it and stand straighter.
"He went to quell a rebellion in the Eastern Provinces."
"Ah. He coming back anytime soon?"
"Hard to say," Shii answers. "But knowing our lord, it will not take him more than a couple days. He could take on an army alone if he had to. He has done so before."
I visibly deflate upon hearing the timeframe. A couple days? I ignore the way my heart twinges. I attribute it to worry over my current state and the fact that if anyone will know what's wrong with me, it'll be him, and now I'll have to wait. Not because I already miss him, nope, nope, nope. I'll just have to figure things out myself, I don't need him, I…
What the…?
"Shii…?"
"Yes?" Her clipped tone changes to concern when she sees my eyes stretched wide. "What is it?"
"I can't see."
"What."
"I—I mean, I can see, but it's blurry as all hell! What's going on?!"
"All right, stay calm," Shii barks. "Let's figure this out." She puts out another hand to steady me. "Did you eat anything strange or go messing with any of Lord Ghirahim's spell books? We all know how you love to get into trouble when no one's looking."
"What the f—" I'm about to go off on her and ask what the frick she means by that, but I'm way too busy darting my stare across the room, taking in all the blurry visages of things once clear. "It's just—it's just a blur of color. Man, my vision hasn't been this bad since…"
The realization hits me like a rock to the head, stunning me into silence.
An image of my former self, with thick glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, comes back to me.
Shii points at my face. "Kya, one of your eyes…! It's changed color."
I rush to the mirror, pushing my nose right up to the glass so I can see clearly, and she's right. My left eye is darker than the right. I step back slowly, in a daze. My reflection goes blurry. Colors from two different worlds merging together.
…still…connected…
I sit on a stool in the corner of the kitchen while Essil bustles about, preparing what looks to be a hearty stew. I offered help, but the purple Lizalfos declined, saying this was a recipe she wanted to try on her own.
I asked if I could stay anyway.
Essil's amber eyes shined with warmth, her webbed orange crest perking up. "Of c-course! I'd be glad for the company."
Me too, but I didn't say it. I was too stuck in my own head. Still am.
I watch Essil chop veggies absently, thinking about my dream over and over.
And about the 'powers' I had afterward.
The state I was in didn't last long, and I reverted back to normal. No more heavy lifting like it's nothing, vision clear as a bell.
Though I'm sitting quietly, I'm freaking out on the inside. I don't want to be alone and I'm so thankful for Essil. So is Shii, because she didn't want me left alone either, and she seemed relieved when I told her I was heading to the kitchen. Shii then went to 'prepare for my lord's eventual return,' as she put it. Whatever that entails. Must have something to do with the patrols.
Thinking of Ghirahim tightens my chest with yearning, and there's a dread attached to it. I don't want to feel the way I do, and it panics me that I can't help it. He's no longer just an insane demon lord from my favorite game. And you know what? He never was just that. Not in this life, anyway. Soon as I fell down from the clouds and he found me, he's been a huge and constant presence. A looming shadow to block out the burning sun and scare away other monsters. Steady and always around, though crazy and unpredictable. He's become a rock to me in more ways than one. And I'm having more and more trouble mustering up any aversion when he's around.
Like right now.
When he appears in the kitchen's secret entryway, with Shii right behind him, relief floods through me. I perk up on the stool. "You're early! Shii said it'd take a couple days…"
Shii says, "It seems I exaggerated," before going to stand near Essil.
Ghirahim doesn't waste any time coming over to me. He carefully grasps my chin and turns my head this way and that, his stare raking me over. After smoothing back my hair and examining it as well, he steps back and asks, "How are you, darling?"
"Fine." I shrug. It's then I notice errant strands from his otherwise perfect curtain of hair, a scorch mark on his cloak, maybe some not-so dried blood on his foot, and… "Are you okay? You're shaking."
"Only from an all-consuming rage, I assure you. Not because of you," he quickly adds on when I go ramrod straight. "Not because of you."
"What happened out there?" I ask hesitantly, not sure if I want to know, but too curious not to ask.
He must sense where my stare lingers because he snaps his fingers and in a diamond's flash the scorch mark, blood, and errant strands are gone, leaving him with his usual immaculate appearance. "Oh, just what usually happens every now and then. Some ambitious fools declare their greed for the throne, they gather a following, and make their bid for it. And as it is my duty to guard my master's throne until he returns, I…" He smiles darkly. "Well, let's just say I 'take care of things,' shall we?"
I try not to think on what that involves, try to keep my brain from conjuring scenes of violence and mayhem. I swallow a lump in my throat. "Does it happen often? The uprisings?"
"No. The majority of them are smart enough to be too fearful to try." His smile turns wry. "But once in a while you will get an individual or a group whose judgment becomes clouded by a lust for power and they forget where they stand in regards to my master. I remind them." He claps his hands together once and tosses his head, his hair and blue diamond earring swinging. "But enough of all that. I want to hear about what I missed this morning with you."
He gazes at me expectantly.
So I tell him. First of the dream where I came face to face with my former body. And…it actually felt good, like uncorking a bottle and letting its contents flow freely. Since he knows of my life in the Knowing Realm, there's no need to be secretive. Not entirely, anyway. Next, I tell him everything I can about the change in me after the dream.
"It just came and went," I finish.
Ghirahim stays silent for quite some time, arms crossed and expression focused. He looks at me as if he can see inside me and the intense stare makes me fidget.
Makes me think of how he touched me between dreams.
My hands clench on my knees, and I force my thoughts to go elsewhere.
"Hmm," he finally breaks his silence, "it's just as Shii reported. But what does it mean? How could such a change occur? And for what reason?"
Now silence hangs from my end and I let it; my mind churns.
…still…connected…
Those words. I didn't speak of them to Ghirahim. Didn't know how. But it's in them that I maybe find an answer.
I reach up and trace one of my rounded ears. "…I might have a theory."
Ghirahim's brows rise. "Do tell."
I mull over my words. "These round ears aren't the only aspect of my previous life that I've retained," I say, remembering the phrase that came from somewhere in my head. "I'm not…I mean, I wasn't strong in the Knowing Realm. I was average, same as many other women. But here… This world and the Knowing Realm are so different. No magic, for one. Which means no floating slabs of land in the sky. And even if it were possible, no people could survive up there. Atmosphere's too thin, too cold. And getting close to molten lava? I've seen how close Link got and if he were in the Knowing Realm he'd have burst into flames."
"If only," Ghirahim mutters sourly.
"But, anyway, I digress. Biggest point is gravity."
He tilts his head. "How so?"
"I've seen people walk away unscathed from falls that would've broken bones in the Knowing Realm, if not outright killed them. That leads me to believe gravity is stronger in my old world. A lot stronger." I bring my hands up to look at them with both wonder and suspicion. "If my current body is taking on aspects of my former body—a body that's accustomed to higher gravity, then…"
"Then it stands to reason you would be much stronger due to the lack of resistance from this world's gravitational force," he finishes for me, far more eloquently than I could have.
I nod. "Yeah."
He puts a hand to his chin. "…It seems plausible enough."
"I hope so," I say, "'cause that's the only explanation I've got."
"Have," he corrects. "The only explanation you have."
I repeat his correction, if only to make him happy.
"I swear, little bird," he says a little too cheerfully, "one of these days I'll have you speaking and acting as a lady."
"Oh fuck me," I groan in English.
He leans forward. "What was that?" he replies in kind.
"I said 'Oh great,'" I lie, not wanting to tell him. I haven't taught him every English word. Some I've kept secret.
Ghirahim puts his hands on his hips like he's about to argue.
"Dinner's ready!" Essil interrupts, holding a bowl of soup above her head like it's a frickin' Olympic trophy or something.
Shii stands close, smiling at her friend fondly.
"Oh, would you look at that!" I hop up from the stool. "Dinner time. Let's continue this later," I say, hoping he'd forget.
He doesn't forget.
I thought he had. After all a few days had passed. We waited for the change that granted me great strength to occur again. It didn't. The dream that preceded it didn't happen again either. No matter how hard I concentrated or schooled my thoughts or tensed my body, there was no change.
Now we've ended up in the castle's vast library, the towering columns and shelves and vaulted ceiling with its skylights still taking my breath away. Ghirahim teleports here for a book, there for a book, everywhere for books that he stacks on various side tables surrounding the dark green settee I've taken residence on. He hums a jovial tune while he works, one that's familiar to me, and I think it might be one of the songs I sang to him once. I let myself rest against the cushions, smiling contentedly.
Until he reveals we'll be reviewing his English.
Then I sit up like a broomstick's been shove up my butt. "But—but what're all these books for then?"
"We will get to them, rest assured, and, in fact,"—He grabs a particularly thick volume—"we'll start with this one. It is written in Ancient Hylian. Perfect. We'll kill two birds with one stone, as they say, and review your Ancient Hylian as well. I'll help you translate it to English." His smile turns devilish. "And you'll be sure, of course, to fill in the gaps of any words you forgot to teach me."
I smile nervously and hope he doesn't take it as an admission of guilt. But he already knows. Yeah, there are a few words I didn't teach you. No, I don't want to release those few curses I could say without you knowing. But you're gonna try your damnedest to get them out of me, aren't you. No question.
We're at it for hours.
As we get through a good portion of the book without coming across the word he wants, he becomes irate. I didn't know you could turn pages violently, but hey, this guy manages it with every flick of his wrist. He sighs, he huffs, he tuts. Me? I'm a cucumber; cool as can be. I'm so used to his crap. Mostly.
Memory figments of his touches, sweet murmurings, and him spooning me at night jump to the forefront of my mind.
Okay. Maybe not mostly.
Eventually different books fall into our use, and along the way his favorites come into the spotlight. Scripts by playwrights bound in sturdy leather casings are cradled reverently in his hands and just like that his mood flips to joy.
"I'm sure you shall enjoy translating these. I've read them many times; we'll go through them like a breeze." His tone turns wistful. "Ah, it's been ages since I've gone to see a show at the theatre. Absolutely ages. What about you, darling? Do you like theatre?"
My brain frizzes for a sec until I realize he'd not talking about movies but something akin to Shakespearian plays.
"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I've seen a couple," I fib, for some reason feeling an urge to seem more cultured.
He runs a hand down a weathered page. "This one was my favorite to see performed. They slaughtered the Bokoblins on stage during the war scene."
"Oh." Dear God, goes unsaid. "Sounds…intense."
He sneers. "I'm sure your human plays are dull in comparison." He plops the pages in my lap. "Now, let's begin."
The script turns out to be written in the demon dialect with Ancient Hylian inked in under the original lines. And, hoo boy, is it a ride. Love. War. Sabotage. It's all in there and Ghirahim gets really into reading it. Dramatic gestures follow fluctuating tones; clutching at his heart (Does the demon have one?) and at one point nearly lurching off the settee as if he were about to act the scene out in front of me. His enthusiasm sweeps me up and I'm dramatizing right there with him.
He still doesn't find the word he wants. And bless his love of theatre, because it throws him off the trail for a while.
Essil comes in delivering tea, biscuits, scones, and little sandwiches.
When we finish and the dishes are carted away, he sits with his arm draped behind me on the sofa's backrest, fingers drumming, expression contemplative. Then his eyes light up and a sly smirk lifts the corner of his mouth.
"What are you thinking?" I ask warily.
He disappears in a spray of fractal diamonds and reappears just as quickly without answering. He holds a new book. "I think you will appreciate this one, little bird."
I don't appreciate it.
Because it's an erotica.
I splutter. "What—he did—he did what with his what?! No! No, don't explain!"
Ghirahim grips my shoulder to keep my jittery ass seated. "He pleasures himself as she watches, stroking his arousal—"
"Oh dear God!"
"Her supple breasts—"
"No! I don't need to hear about supple breasts! No, no, no!"
I leap up, intent on running from the library, but Ghirahim quickly yanks me back so I'm sprawled on the sofa. Then he sits on me—right on my frickin' gut. I try to buck him off, but the heavy sonofabitch doesn't budge. With laughter in his voice, he continues to read aloud, quite pleased to torture me in this way, and my squawking and squalling only makes him laugh more.
It's not that I haven't read a dirty novel before. I have. Some good, some bad. None of them disturbed me much and a couple I even enjoyed. Not that I'd ever admit that out loud. So it's not the book. It's who's reading it to me. It's his silky voice speaking forbidden words. It's the wild flutter I have in my stomach.
Soon I cease my struggles and just lie there quietly, listening, letting the flutters spin round and round, staring up at the raindrops tapping on the skylight. Gradually mirth leaves Ghirahim's tone and something else replaces it. Something dark and wanting and I have to wonder if he's imagining doing those things he's describing to me.
I can't want it… I can't let myself…
There's a strange tension building in my abdomen.
"I have to pee," I loudly announce.
Ghirahim stops mid-sentence and cocks a brow at me.
"Oh, come on. We've been at it all day. Give me a break."
He closes the book, smiling as if I just told a joke.
And he's still without that elusive word. I think I've won this round.
But then he's leaning over me, breath whispering over my lips. "Another time then."
And the flutters continue.
It's not often I'm left alone to wander the castle. But it's late and I've slipped out of bed, wondering why I was alone in it. Have I gotten so used to Ghirahim beside me that I can't sleep without him there? He's nowhere to be seen. I check his room, I check the main chamber, na-da.
I find myself sneaking through the servant passageways, getting myself lost and freaked out, before I rediscover the secret walkways. I call them the catwalks. The ones that intersect above and over many rooms, and at times tunnel through from one to another. They're easy to traverse. I'm in the dark stone ceiling, looking down on room after room.
I spend a good deal of time in those walkways, familiarizing myself with their twists and turns.
It's pure chance I find him.
Or should I say them.
I hear their voices first, faint, and I follow them. I'm soon peering down into a stone room with a large gothic window that reminds me a little of the tower I was kept in.
Ghirahim leans on one side of the window frame, looking out into the parting clouds.
On the other side of the window, sitting on the edge of the sill, is a familiar nymph with long light green hair and milky eyes.
Indua.
"He has spread word," she says with flat inflection, "all across the land. I wanted you to know it was not I who spoke of her. I kept my promise."
Ghirahim doesn't respond, but by the tight set of his shoulders I'd say he's angry. He's not wearing his cape, hadn't worn it all day, and usually doesn't unless he's going out. A rare slice of moonlight shines on him, emphasizing the planes and angles of his muscles, tensing, untensing. He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, and I get a sense he's trying to contain himself. He breathes deeply.
Suddenly he beats the stone windowsill with a fist. "Damn him!"
"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, my lord."
A span of quiet flows between them, filled only by Ghirahim's controlled breaths.
Indua breaks the silence. "If I may ask, my lord… What is the human's significance?"
"You may not ask. You may never ask."
Indua frowns.
Ghirahim rubs his temples. "Where is the mongrel now?"
"It is hard to say." She bows her head apologetically. "He is on the move, always. He fears your wrath."
"Yet he incurs it near constantly!" Ghirahim turns and begins pacing.
I jerk back from the little opening in the tunnel, afraid he'll see me, calming when I realize he can't. I'm too high up, cloaked in the darkness of the tall ceiling. I also remember to think sad thoughts to keep my aura dead, or else he could sense me that way.
Indua watches Ghirahim march back and forth with a confused pout. She pushes her long hair behind her, baring her breasts. "My lord…"
Ghirahim stops pacing to regard her.
She arches her spine ever so slightly, pushing out her chest. "Perhaps I could help you…relax." In a deliberately slow movement, she opens and repositions her legs, flashing pink flesh.
My mouth drops open.
This. Bitch.
I grit my teeth, reigning in my temper before it sparks my aura.
Ghirahim stands there for a moment. Two moments. As if he's considering something.
My heart beats hard in my chest and I hold my breath.
"No, thank you." He turns away from her.
She cocks her head. "No…?"
"I'm afraid those days are long gone, my dear," he says. "Best to forget about them. Our liaisons will no longer include…certain activities."
My lungs are close to bursting so I exhale long and quiet. Why does it feel like my heart's in a vice?
Indua's confusion gradually converts to alarm. "My lord, you…you are not…" Her pale eyes are big and round. "You are not swiving the human, are you?"
I blink.
The hell does swiving mean?
"Indua…" Ghirahim starts warningly.
"Forgive me, my lord, it is not my place—"
"You are correct. It is not your place."
"—but, I—"
"No 'buts' about it. I have had enough of this subject. Back to the matter at hand."
Indua lowers her head, her yellow frond-like antennae flattening against her hair. "Yes, my lord." She goes on, "I fear the secret is no longer a secret. There is no stopping it. Word has spread…and will continue to spread. There is not much that can be done in terms of damage control."
Ghirahim says nothing at first. Then, "Fine. So be it. Let them talk. Let them whisper rumors that spread like wildfire. As long as they know nothing about her aura, they won't get any ideas. Of course I can count on your silence in regards to that."
"Of course."
"It would be such a bother if anyone tried to steal her. But then," he says with a wicked smile, "I could always use some blood sport." The smile falls. "Regardless, let's keep this on the downlow."
Abruptly Indua says something in another language—sounds like the demon dialect. They've been using Hylian and I guess it must've been force of habit for Ghirahim. But now…
Ghirahim is deathly still. "What."
The nymph's rosy mouth moves quickly. "She is just a plaything. Is she not? A toy."
Ghirahim stares at her for a long time. "You are going to leave Indua. Now. Our discussion is over."
At first it appears she's going to protest, but then wisely retreats. "Yes, my lord."
Before she goes, she does that weird bowing thing again with her arms crossed over her chest—an indication of absolute respect. Then she disappears the same way she did the first time I saw her: green moth wings mysteriously materializing and unfurling, spores of light gathering to her in a large ball. When it dissipates, she's gone.
And Ghirahim makes his exit as well. He's probably heading for our rooms.
Wait.
Oh crap.
I take off down the tunnel at a dead run, panickily retracing my steps, or trying to.
Despite my best efforts, I get back to the rooms way after him.
He's there waiting for me when I arrive, hands planted on his hips. "Where were you?"
I panic. I blurt the first thing that pops in my mind: "In the shitter."
His eyes flare in surprise. "Kya!"
"Oops, I mean," my tone shifts into that of a sophisticated lady's, "I was indisposed…in the bathing room."
He glares in exasperation, but says nothing further. Asks no more questions.
After all, a gentleman never inquires to what a lady does in the bathing room.
I bet he's wishing he was still in the nymph's company.
I want to snap at him when he follows me to bed. I'm stiff as he puts an arm around me and pulls me close.
Our liaisons will no longer include…certain activities.
My heart burns with rage.
And I pretend not to know why.
The rage festers into the next morning.
We're in that circular stone tiled chamber with weapons of all kinds lining the walls. We started training early, before even the birds wake. It doesn't help my mood. My eyes sting from lack of sleep.
"Again," Ghirahim commands, brandishing his black sabre.
I don't hold back. I clutch my silver sword and lunge, stabbing. He parries and redirects my momentum, causing me to stumble. I catch myself and slash at him. He blocks. But I'm right back at him for more.
Using the advice I got from Shii, I'm able to hold my ground when he attacks. I duck under slashes, hop to the side to avoid a stab, and dash in openings to counterattack. I feint in one direction and strike from the other. One hit connects, diamond fractals spraying from where blade meets unpierceable skin. I roll forward and spin around, and land another one.
"You're improving," he relents. "Very good, darling. Now let's see more about your hand-eye coordination. How is your aim?"
He snaps his fingers and in pops his daggers, hovering menacingly in glowing red magic.
As I throw them at a target, I imagine Indua's face as the bullseye. That stupid serene face with its big pale eyes and little rose-tinted mouth. And her stupid bare breasts. And her stupid pink core that she so brazenly flashed.
But he's seen it before, hasn't he.
Up close and personal.
A tremor goes up my arm and the next dagger thrown bounces off the stone wall just above the target.
"You didn't even hit it that time. Concentrate."
I clench my jaw.
The next throw isn't much better, striking close to where the pervious one hit.
The difference?
This dagger has sunk into the stone with a resounding crack.
Ghirahim and I stare in disbelieving silence.
And for me everything gets blurrier and blurrier.
I feel like I'm light as air.
Ghirahim observes my appearance from top to bottom. "Kya, is this…?"
Energy shoots through me and a dark urge has me whirling on Ghirahim with an old and familiar manic smile. "Come at me," I say roughly, and without waiting for his response I lunge, slamming my palms against his chest. He skids back a good ten feet and he almost doesn't catch himself due to his obvious surprise. At least I think that's surprise on his face. I squint, his visage coming in the tiniest bit clearer.
Ghirahim rubs at his chest, a slow smile spreading his lips.
He charges at me.
I meet him head on.
We trade blow after blow, swift and hard and holy crap does it hurt each time I slam my palm against his strong skin but the fun outweighs the pain. It's like we're back in the tower playing those violent games I secretly enjoyed, even if they did hurt. But this time it's better. Oh, it's so much better.
Because this time I'm on equal footing.
Suddenly we're in a deadlock, hands clasped together, fingers intertwined. We push against each other, feet braced to prevent sliding, arms straining, and neither of us gains ground. Then he grins wide and a fountain of black diamond fractals engulf him and when they disperse, he's standing there in all his black and silver metallic glory. Though I try to hold him, he gives a great shove and I slide back a few feet. His fanged smile is triumphant. He thinks he's won.
Not yet, growls an excited she-wolf with a fanged smile of her own.
Putting my entire being into it, I plunge forward. I gain one step. Two. Three.
His shock is palpable, white eyes wide with wonder and…something else.
The deadlock ends when he eases his stance and, not prepared for the lack of resistance, I crash into him. His arms close around me. I fight him, twisting and turning, and somehow with a great pull I have him staggering, his metallic feet clinking on the stone tiles. Another pull from me has him crashing to the ground on his back. I leap on him, straddling his waist, and grab his wrists, pinning them above his head.
Now it's my turn to grin triumphantly.
But it fades when I notice how he's looking at me.
His gaze is hooded and white hot, burning with want. He's panting, so am I, but I don't think his is entirely from exertion.
A part of me wants to shrink away. Another doesn't.
My grip on his wrists tightens, but I don't think he's even trying to break free. I know he could if he wanted to.
"How beautiful you are," he says breathlessly.
My heart thuds, feels like it's being filled. And suddenly, under his burning gaze, I…I feel beautiful. For the first time in either of my lives I feel beautiful—with wild hair steaked with darker shades and mismatched eyes and rumpled dress and all my imperfections. All thoughts of the nymph evaporate, and all that left is him and me. Powerful. Beautiful. I am a diamond in his eye.
"How is your sight?" he asks, still breathing heavily.
"Blurry," I answer. "Can't really see you too well." I inch my face close to his. "Still blurry." Closer. "Still blurry." Then closer until the tips of our noses touch. "…Now you're clear."
The grin that surfaces on his face is all about desire.
Blinking, I pull myself down from my shining high, and hop off him fast as lightning. "O-okay," I say, trying to cover up my fluster. "Let's go with swords again."
When our blades clash, sparks fly, and the sound rivals the thunder rumbling outside.
It doesn't last.
My vision gradually clears, the dark streaks in my hair fade like they're being washed out, and my strength depletes to its normal level.
"We should have timed it," Ghirahim says. "Do you remember how long it persisted the first time? No? I wonder what brought it on. How fascinating!" He sighs. "That was exhilarating, my darling."
I nod, burying my disappointment at it being over.
Oh well.
At least I can see.
I'm finding that Ghirahim usually gets what he wants.
And what he wants is to know the mystery English word.
I should have been more careful. I should've watched my mouth. But I hate papercuts and while we spend an evening going over maps, I get one right on my pinky finger, and my knee-jerk reaction was to say it.
"Oh fuck me," I snap in English.
Ghirahim slams his geographical volume shut. "There it is again. I want to know what that word means, Kya. No more games. You're going to tell me. Now."
I press my lips together in a thin line, wishing I'd thought to glue them shut.
"Kya," he says, voice a warning.
My brain scrambles for something, anything, to tell him except for the truth. But, looking into his steely dark eyes, I realize I won't be able to come up with anything in time to satisfy him.
For a split second I want to bite back and demand to know what swiving means, but then he'd figure out I'd been eavesdropping.
So the truth is all I have.
I tell him.
He leans forward in his fancy gold trimmed wing chair. "What was that? Don't mumble, darling, it's most unbecoming."
I glare.
"Well?"
I smack my own book closed, toss it and my Ancient Hylian parchment paper onto the nearby tea table. Then I let him have it. "It means fuck. It means to fuck. It means fuck you. It means fuck this."
The ensuing silence is punctuated by a log in the hearth crackling and falling as the fire consumes it. The clock on the mantle chimes, announcing bedtime. It is ignored.
I'm surprised to find no shock or outrage on his face. "I see," he says steadily.
That isn't the end of it—I can tell. It's the calm before the storm. I brace myself for an angry outburst.
But anger isn't what I get.
"You seem to like that word. Very much so." He rises from his chair and saunters towards me. There's a dark look in his eyes, and it makes my nerves stand on end. "Yes," he goes on, "you've been using it a lot lately. I wonder…"
He leans over me, placing his hands on either side of my shoulders, trapping me. I press my back into the sofa far as I can.
He brings his lips close to my ear, whispering, "Is it because you would like to be fucked?"
I inhale sharply. Heat suffuses my entire body.
He lightly nips my earlobe. "Is that why you say it?" he continues to whisper. "Are you crying out for attention? I wouldn't mind giving it to you…quite thoroughly."
My heart beats like crazy, trying its hardest to escape my ribcage, and I start stammering. "Uh, um—I—I, um—!"
He pulls back, smiling wide, his eyes shining with a teasing light. "Oh, darling!" He laughs. "Your bashfulness is positively adorable!"
I regard him with wide eyes and an open mouth.
He sits next to me on the sofa and puts an arm around me. "Never you worry, my darling. I may always seem to be busy and in a rush but truly I am the picture of patience." He kisses my temple and pulls me into an embrace, my head resting on his chest.
I stay with him in that position quietly, heart thudding, stomach fluttering, mind scrambling.
And I wonder how long his patience will hold out once he realizes he may not get what he wants.
In any case, I'll definitely be watching my mouth from now on.
A/N: Thank you for reading.
The last scene was an idea of Lady Mokki's. Thank you Mokki! And thank you again for the picture you drew!
I hope this chapter came across okay. I tried to foreshadow some of this but I didn't do too well. That's something I may go back to earlier chapters and edit later.
I always take your words into consideration!