Our "Hero" is starting to hallucinate much more than usual, and it's beginning to take a toll on him. At least he has Malon there for him. Yet even then...
I have debated on changing this story's tense to present. I think I may have slipped up in a few parts where that shows... while this is going up, I am just now finishing chapter 5. With that being said, since COVID is coming to play, I might do a double-update on this. Especially since my uni closed its campus for the rest of the semester (stay safe everyone and be respectful and mindful!).
Here's hopin' this chapter leaves you wantin' more!
Thank you for the reviews and kudos 3
THREE - SOMBER
Recommendation: Quiet Resource by Eveyln Stein
By the time the sun had set, Link and Pipit had given up on their investigation. No leads, no clues, no evidence… their search for witnesses, for an answer, had bottomed out. They'd come to the conclusion that Lara's death, although incredibly suspicious, was nothing more than an overdose after their seventh attempt at gaining any ounce of information.
It's why they ended up parking the cruiser by one of Ordona's smaller children's parks for a breather. The dark park was much more inviting, much more relaxing than their small office, and after having nearly been run over by a truck, Link needed a moment to let the chilly night's air settle his mind.
Pipit sighed for the umpteenth time and folded his arms. His breath came out in puff of fog as he leaned against his cruiser. Link rounded the cruiser's front bumper, two coffee cans in-hand. The drinks numbed his fingers more than the breeze that wrestled the night air.
"Well, I guess that's that, huh," Pipit said. Link's turn to sigh then. He joined his red-headed partner against the cruiser and proffered one of the drinks. "Ah, thanks. How much I owe you?"
Link shook his head subtly, blond strands slipping from his black beanie's grasp. For a moment, silence pervaded, but the longer it wedged itself between them, the more Link was reminded of that deafening silence he'd encountered in the office. A silence like that… and the old woman… he glued his eyes to the colorful can's label, Cuccoffee!, to anchor himself. It's just lack of sleep. Even if it all did look, sound, and feel real.
"I'll write a report tomorrow morning." Pipit plucked at the coffee can's tab, but Link's declaration had him pausing.
"Isn't tomorrow your day off?"
"When we don't have a case on our laps."
"I can do the report. You need to take a break." Cheeriness, the usual high note to Pipit's tone, was absent which meant no arguing. Regardless, it urged a roll of the eyes from Link, but he stifled it by focusing his attention on the silver tab of the coffee can. It was when his partner had turned on his back until he was leaning against the cruiser with just a shoulder, his blue eyes boring a hole onto the side of Link's head. Popping his own drink open, Pipit added with drawn solemnity, "especially considering what happened with you earlier today."
Link met his gaze then. "I wasn't-" his partner's jaw hardened as if the retort angered him. If he had something to say, he swallowed along with the sip of his coffee. It didn't discourage Link from arguing, far from it in fact. The nightmares had grown more vivid and only recently had they started bleeding into reality… if he took a day off work, the only place that forced him to work tirelessly and focus his mind on other things, then he'd surely go mad. "I don't think-"
"Link, stop it!" Pipit's shout startled Link, forced him to take a step away from the cruiser. It even riled up the wind, the dead leaves at their feet sliding away from his partner's boots. "You need a day off. You haven't taken one for months. Shit, you don't even take holidays. It's bad enough that you rarely sleep as it is and all you take is 're going to work yourself to death! In fact, you almost did! What if that happens again, huh?"
It's unlike Pipit to get worked up, to raise his voice or get angry. Sure, the man's always been steadfast, but usually when it involved Link's habits of not taking his days off, the matter never ended with a frustrated Pipit. Still, it deterred Link from pressing any further. Although it wasn't from fear, no his partner wasn't the least bit scary when angry, but more or less because the argument would definitely get them nowhere.
"All right, All right. I'll," a relenting sigh, "I'll take tomorrow off." The agreement didn't ease the tension even when Pipit chugged the rest of his coffee and walked way to toss it in the trash can. It was then as Link settled his blue eyes back on the can's metallic tab that his thoughts slithered back to the woman.
Usually his nightmares consisted of scenes from a battlefield, immeasurable loss and bloodshed. There had been a few corpses in those dreams that he'd later seen in real life from a drug overdose, suicide, or murder. Yet the other dreams that focused on the monstrous skeleton with the blade, always pointed at his throat, was never seen when he was awake. And the woman? He'd never dreamed of her. So was she…
The vibration of his cellphone urged him to pull away from his wondering. It was welcomed with open arms because honestly, the more he focused on the dreams, the tired and more stressed he felt. Placing the can on the roof of the cruiser, Link fished out his cell. Malon's name flashed on the screen for the briefest of moments as he accepted the call.
"Hey Mal." Her name, as always, sounded like music to him. Akin to a breath of fresh air. It made his worries, stress and exhaustion, not as heavy.
"Sorry to bother you, Link, but, um… my car won't start again."
His feeling of ease was short lived. Thankfully it wasn't because of the dreams. Her sedan seemed to have more trouble starting lately, and the more times it occurred, the more times Link felt financially strained. They couldn't afford a new car, let alone an overhaul on the hunk of junk's transmission. However, this made the sixth time this week.
"Okay, I'll come pick you up in a few minutes."
The tension from moments before retracted drastically, much to Link's relief. Whether it was because of Malon or the coffee finally kicking in, he didn't dwell on it as he hung up. Pipit seemed to sense the weightlessness too as he returned, clutching a second can of coffee. Ha, and he got after me for only downing coffee…
His partner plucked at the metal tab, once, twice, "was that Mal?" he spoke softly, apologetic.
"Car troubles again. Mind dropping me off at the office?"
"Only if you stay true to your word. You're taking tomorrow off." Pipit's tone is back to what Link would describe as normal, and for once, he doesn't try back talking to his friend.
"I said that I would, jeez."
"No, you said 'all right.'"
"Same thing."
Song Recommendation: Wide Eyed by Billy Lockett
The autumn rain blurs the street lights and the red traffic light overhead. It casts the cruiser in a blanket of red, drowns out all sound except for the fall of icy rain. It's a welcoming sound. A deafening ambiance. Yet it does little to tame the phantom pains that lick their way up Link's arms. His fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel, blue eyes staring a hole into the single, red traffic light.
A glimmer of a burn brushes against his left hand, stirring his anxiety into a frenzy as his gaze drops to both hands. His fingers lace around the wheel tighter until his knuckles bleed white. Dammit, he thinks, I'm so pathetic. "It's just a dream."
Although he was thankful for the out that Malon's request offered, having been freed from his overly worried and unnecessarily observant partner, he found that he wasn't looking forward to the silent drive to the hospital. Mostly because of the woman, again. "Just a dream." Honestly, he needed to stop focusing on it. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. So that was that. But shrugging it off was proving to not be so easy.
Give it time. The dreams are not just dreams.
Link shivered against the heat in his cruiser. Her words kept looping in his head as clear as day. He'd given up relying on loud music within the first few minutes of his drive to Valoo. Still, he kept on with his mantra as the light overhead finally switched to green.
"It's just a dream." Each syllable was spoken angrily as he shook each hand, hoping to wake the tingling nerves that misfired on the back of his hands. Of course, that only seemed to make the phantom pains burn more.
The drive was agonizing from then on. Each traffic light turned red right as he drove up to it, and no matter what he did, he couldn't shake off the day's events, let alone the past few nightmares that had plagued him. So when he finally pulled into the hospital, he nearly leaped out of the cruiser. He needed out of his car's rain-filled silence, needed out of the cramped confinement, needed fresh air. Out, out, he needed to get out. Even if the rain was ice cold, instantly drenching him down to the bone, he stood outside his cruiser with the driver's door wide open.
Link stood there underneath the parking lot's blazing lights, underneath the curtain of rain, until his nerves became numb. It's when the ghosting burns stopped. Only then did he turn to slam the door shut before sloshing toward the front door. A rush of warmth as soon as the hospital's doors slid open, it made him feel sick.
He sloshed across the expanse of the waiting room to the reception desk. The trail of water that followed after him earned him a stern look from the receptionist at the desk. She had stood up before he'd stopped at the counter, a sheepish smile forming on his lips. "Malon is just finishing up with a patient, she'll be here soon." A glance to the puddles behind him, "what did you do, take a shower out there?"
Something like that.
"Do you need a towel or-"
"No, it's fine," Link said, "thanks though." She didn't buy it as she lingered by the counter a moment longer. It made him incredibly self conscious, but as he averted his gaze down, he saw a fresh puddle at his boots. A breathless laugh, "well, maybe?" That seemed to do the trick. She finally left him, moving away from the counter to the maze of hallways that stretched behind the receptionist desk.
Link took the sudden solitude in stride. The waiting room was devoid of any patients. It left only the sound of rain outside and the low hum of the news channel by the front door to accompany him as he leaned against the counter's cold surface. The smooth counter-top reminded him of the chilling raindrops he'd accumulated, and it forced a shiver down his spine as he quickly stepped away from the counter.
Behind him, the double doors opened in an exhale and the torrential downpour overcame the hum of the coming week's weather report. It urged Link to glance behind him curiously. A move that instantly flipped the world, the static of rain and news, into a thick, suffocating silence of monochromatic gray. The temperature that encased him plummeted, reanimating the shiver that had wracked his spine.
He'd never witnessed the man that waltzed in with the stride of a leopard ever in his life. No, he'd remember a man with skin as pale as death, eyes as dark as the shadows that encroached his restless nights, and clunky diamond-shaped earrings as large as his palm. He'd definitely remember someone like that. Especially the white hair, styled into a side sweep that hid the left eye, that clashed so violently with his off-white skin. The man wasn't familiar in the least yet Link could have sworn he knew him as much as he knew Malon. Yet this misplaced nostalgia wasn't as refreshing, relaxing and gentle as it was with Malon. No, this was twisted. A macabre darkness that filled his lungs with icy air. A tingling pressure that put all his hairs on edge.
The man stopped just a few feet from the front entrance and met Link's gaze. Unlike Link, the pale man was a head taller, leaner, and held a sour expression that only hardened the more they looked at one another.
"Link!"
Both men looked away from each other to the short red head that bounded from the back halls. Malon rounded the receptionist desk with a beaming smile that quickly settled Link's nerves as well as distracted him from the strange sensation of nostalgia. She was still in her scrubs, dark purple, and he took notice of her hair. She'd pinned it up into a messy bun, the only sign that she'd had a busy and exhausting day.
Before he could greet her, even move toward her, her vibrant eyes had gravitated toward the white haired man by the double doors. "Oh, Mr. Ghira, good to see you again!" He caught a small change in her smile, a brief wrinkle, but she hid it with a quick bow of her head.
"You as well, my dear." Link couldn't stop the shiver that ricocheted angrily along his nerves. This time, it wasn't from the cold. That voice was definitely familiar. It sounded so clear, sparkling glass, and so musically inclined that it almost made him want to vomit.
Why?
Because it sounds wrong.
His blue eyes slid back to the man only to find that he was nearly standing right between them. It forced Link to step back, yet another move that gained him undesired attention. "Oh, is this your dear-" Skychild "-Link, by chance?" The man, Mr. Ghira, asked with a toothy grin. A grin that Link felt should have showcased a pair of noticeable fangs.
She stopped beside Link then and nodded eagerly before placing a hand on his shoulder. The touch was comforting, something he hadn't realized he'd needed, but as soon as she'd placed her hand there, she'd taken it away. "Yes, the one and only!" He watched as her smile returned with ample wattage. "My car was acting up so he came from work to pick me up, and-oh! Link, this is Mr. Ghira, he's head of security for Valoo."
Malon motion to the white haired man, and much to Link's displeasure, he held out his own hand toward him as if to shake. "She refuses, but please, call me Ghirahim," he supplied. His hand remained, hovering between them, and for an awkward moment Link hesitated. There was an urge to ignore this "Ghirahim," a strong one, but that would be childish. That and he had definitely never seen the guy before so the feeling of nostalgia, it was surely misplaced.
"Nice to meet you, Ghirahim." Link shook his hand, taking note on how cold the brief contact was, before he turned his attention back to Malon. A task that was unnaturally difficult with Valoo's head of security staring at them. That is, until he set his eyes back on hers. As always, her smile eased the tension riding against his discomfort ebbed away. "Did you eat?"
The topic of food brought on a different smile. It was borderline shy, but Link knew better. She always claimed how she knew him like the back of her hand, but he knew her far more. She would tell him that yes, she had eaten, only so that they could go straight home and go to bed for his benefit. It was a common move of hers, to put him before her needs.
"I did, the girls and I ate an hour or so ago. We went to-" the telltale gurgle of her stomach said otherwise. Malon stopped abruptly, and the noise of her stomach lurched an octave higher before dimming back down into silence.
"Hmm, you were saying?" He tilted his head, chuckling at the gradually blush that took to her cheeks. "Come on, it wouldn't hurt to at least go to a drive through. There's no sense in working long hours without eating. You'll get sick if you continue like that." Her blush darkened as he spoke, and it brought forth another chuckle.
"All right… you have a point." Malon's shy smile withered defeatedly as she looked past him to Ghirahim. "We're going to head out. Have a good night, Mr. Ghira. It was good to see you!"
The drive home isn't as silent as Link would have liked it to be. Granted, that's probably for the best considering how out of it he had been on the drive to the hospital. That and apparently Malon had just seen the toxicology report for his case too earlier in the day. Just like Pipit and he, she was baffled.
She was going on about her theories, half of which Link had listened to intently, but the burning sensation had returned. A tickling feeling that almost made him jerk at the steering wheel to stifle out the nonexistent fire that licked up his hands. It felt so real, the phantom pains, just like the hallucination that involved that woman…
"Link?"
He jerked the wheel that time, not from the sound of his name, but more or less from the hand that had suddenly took refuge on his lap. It startled him out of his trance effectively. A trance of which he hadn't realized he'd been under until that moment.
At least the burning sensation was finally gone, for the moment.
"Are you all right? I thought you were listening, but I said your name… five times." Malon said from the passenger seat. He doesn't need to look over to see her worry, it's loud and clear in her voice. "If you didn't-I'm sorry, if you didn't want me to talk about-"
He shakes his head earnestly as he brings the cruiser to a stop at another accursed traffic light. "No, you're fine. I was listening, but I… sorry. I'm just tired. It's been a long day. Your theories all sound promising, but I doubt they will help the case proceed any. I think this will just be signed off as an overdose."
"But the results-"
"I know, I know. Pipit and I agree, it doesn't add up."
"Are you both going to give up on it then?"
"There are more cases that need our attention so probably. I'll see if we can look into it again at a later date and, oh, that's right. Will you be off tomorrow?" Link glanced over then.
The red of the traffic light made her hair look as if it glowed. Her head turned toward her door window, most of her profile obscured by the flickering lights from his console and radio. At his lap, her hand tapped out an unknown rhythm against his leg. "No, same hours tomorrow," a sigh, "Hey, can we stop by Zorby's for food?"
He frowned. Days off were uncommon for him, and with all that had been going on he knew without a doubt that tomorrow would be nothing short of relaxing. However, if she was off too… well, obviously that wasn't going to happen. So now he really would be stuck with his own thoughts tomorrow, no distraction or anchor in sight. Then again, maybe that's for the best? She worries over him enough as it is… but still... "Oh…" the sound of his disappointment had her turning in her seat to peer up at him, "I am."
"Shut up. You, really? You never take days off."
"I know, and normally I wouldn't but Pipit is kind of forcing me."
"Really? Good!"
She caught the roll of his eyes then and giggled. It was a melodic sound, and although he'd tried his best to hide it, he smiled.
The rest of the drive continued on with her endless chatter, not that Link was complaining. As soon as he'd turned into Zorby's drive-thru she had begun to share with him the adventures of her day, most of which were actually repeats she'd mentioned before, but he never made a move to tell her that. Mostly because this, the time that they had together, was a rarity.
It was why, even as he parked the cruiser by the flat, they remained in the car. She ate her cuccoo sandwich and he finished off her fries as the conversation veered from left to right, up and down, spun, just like a roller coaster. Yes, they hadn't shared a time like this where their conversation was riddled with irrelevant topics in a long while.
"Oh, your birthday is coming up!" Malon sat up in her seat, her half-finished sandwich pressed close to her chest as she leaned toward him. Link must have made a face because her eagerness quickly changed course as she said, "and I wanted-oh don't give me that face! I know how you are about birthdays, but I don't care. I want to celebrate the day you were born because without it, you wouldn't be here, with me." Her voice fell an octave, a level of somberness squeezing itself between them as he looked away uncomfortably. Her statement was endearing, yes, but the level of affection, as it often did, caught him off guard. Honestly, how did one react to that?
"Anyways, I want to know what you wanted for your birthday."
Some killer sleeping pills. "I will love anything that's from you, you know that."
"Don't feed me that! Come on, name it."
He shook his head and turned partly toward the door. It was then that she lurched over, sandwich still in hand, and bumped his shoulder with her forehead. It didn't stop him from unlocking the front doors, but it did make him reconsider in opening the driver's door for an escape.
"Pleeeease." Malon whined. The sound of it was unbefitting. It didn't compliment her in the slightest, but like with Pipit earlier, he realized that he wouldn't be getting anywhere with this. She'd only press him further and then get angry.
"All right, all right." The pressure of her forehead against his shoulder pulled away, and he continued, "what about…" but he really didn't know. There wasn't anything he really needed let alone wanted. So what else could… "what about a song?"
"W-What?" Her squeak made him laugh, and he turned back in his seat to face her, grinning widely.
"A song. You used to sing for me a lot before I went to the Academy. I've missed it." He watched, grin ever present, as she morphed from excitement to hesitance in a second. "Come on, your voice is beautiful, Mal. You've sung for me a number of times, and each time I can't help but fall for you all over again." Her gaze left his then, seeming to feel how he'd felt at her affectionate statement over his birth. It was to be expected though because coming from her, it was relatively normal, but from him? It wasn't as common. Especially at the hint of interest. They'd been together long enough to where the adage of "I love you" should have been spoken, but they had yet to even consider it aloud. No, they merely hinted at it, hedged over the strong endearment. It was too heavy, even this far into their relationship, to openly admit.
"Okay, I-for you-I'll do it."
"I look forward to it." It was the last thing he said before he turned the ignition off and opened the door. An instant wave of autumn air flooded the otherwise toasty cruiser, effectively chasing both of them out and into the warmth of their apartment.
Malon ended up tossing her unfinished sandwich in the trash before announcing that she'd be taking a shower which meant Link would have to wait at least an hour in hopes to use the hot water again. That was fine though because by that time she'd be asleep, and he could take a long shower without her growing concerned. It didn't end up like that though as he sat down on the couch, and switched the television to some random news channel. He'd only half-listened to it, his thoughts elsewhere as they often were, and by the time Malon had emerged from the bathroom clad in nothing but a plush, purple towel, he had fallen asleep.
She tiptoed toward him, gently urging him to lie down on the couch rather than having his head loll on the side of the armrest. Then she reached for the blanket on top of the couch and quietly covered him. He'd barely even roused as she turned to face the tv. On any other night she would've turned it off, save on their electric bill, but with a glance back down on the couch, she decided not to. The background noise would likely help him in sleeping, give him something to subconsciously latch onto. At least, that's what she hoped for because even now as he slept, the dark circles under his eyes and the hollowness in his cheeks were painfully evident. Even in the chance of sleep, he still seemed tense, distant.
Malon's frown simmered as she crouched down beside the couch, her face nearly inches from Link's own face. "Please, rest well, my hero." She mused silently before gracing his forehead with the softest of kisses.
My… hero...
The lacerations that riddled his flesh were barbed wire tangled around a tree. They pulled at him, cut deep with every breath as the hilt of the magnificent blade slipped between bloodied fingers. A single cough pushed him down to his knees as the world around him swam like the storming seas beyond the castle walls. He faintly heard his name shouted somewhere across the fog of his mind before his hands fell to the floor alongside his knees.
This can't be happening, not now. He coughed once again, his body shuddering violently as he desperately tried to raise his head. I need-I need to get up. Yet no amount of desperation could grant him the strength to stand.
"Why, I thought you'd be more of a challenge, for a Hero such as yourself."
Unlike the distant voice that repeated his name, he heard the voice of death loud and clear. He felt the cool touch of a blade pressed up against his chin. It forced him to raise his head and meet eyes that were like molten pools of lava.
"No matter. I suppose it was fun while it lasted."
He grit his teeth against the foul taste of blood as the coldness of the blade slid away from his neck. Without its support, his head lowered, and he grunted against the strain. There was definite pain that had wrapped tightly around him, but as he watched the shadow of the blade rise above him, nothing could be compared to the burn that consumed his left hand. It overrode the barbed wire that clung close to him, and filled him with an intense heat that made the tattered clothes on his back almost unbearable to keep on. His gaze slithered to the mark then, a single triangle formed by three smaller triangles, and it seemed to glow brighter at his attention. It was then, as he recognized the burn within him being the collection of power, that he heard and recognized the siren that had been speaking his name across the haze of his mind.
How could he have forgotten her voice? The voice that had, at one time, taken refuge in his dreams. That voice that had been with him, supported him, throughout his journey. She'd sought out his aid for what felt like a millennia ago when it had only been a few weeks at most. Yet he knew her. Even though he'd never seen her true face in his dreams or even when awake, not until today.
Even though he'd only caught a glimpse of her through her crystal prison, she had the exact appearance that he'd imagined her to have. Tall, fair, and blessed with a halo of hair that had been colored by the gaze of the sun. Her eyes had shone blue even through the purple pillar of crystal, and even through the risk of today being her last, she smiled upon seeing him.
So hopeful… so supportive… he'd lost everything, everyone, but she'd been there with him, for him. Every step of the way.
I won't.
There was a grating sound, a scream, and he lurched upward with his blade in-hand. It struck his opponent's own sword, and the mark upon his hand burned even further. A silent encouragement, and he pushed forward. He stood up from off the floor. Ignored the blood that coated his tongue, and he screamed as he forced the vile epitome of darkness, a man who had caused him so much pain, back.
I won't lose you too.
"I'll kill you!" He screamed louder than the thunder that blanketed the castle, louder than the ear piercing rake of metal on metal.
I won't let you die, Zelda.
His body shivered against the agony as he swung his word once more, but the blade met nothing but air. The unexpected lack of flesh or blade connecting with his own sword had him stumbling forward. His scraped boots should have shuffled against the stone of the throne room yet the ground beneath him was gone, clad in darkness. In fact, the castle was nowhere in sight. He looked up, ignored the intense burn in his hand, only to meet darkness head on. It was a shock. So much so that the sword within his grasp fell once again from his grip. The adrenaline fell with it, clattered soundlessly to the darkness below.
Without the caress of adrenaline, his body convulsed, and the pain pushed him back down. Hands pushed desperately against the wounds at his stomach, in his chest, anywhere that blood fell freely. Yet as soon as his hand rested against the bright red, did the jagged flesh vanish. The pain was slower to disperse, but all that was left was the thick coating of blood on his skin. It startled him, confused him, and he frantically lifted his shirt in search of any proof of the sword fight he'd just participated in.
What in Hyrule?
There were no wounds in sight. Nothing but unmarred skin and blood with no source. The only mark he'd took note of was the triangular symbol upon his hand. It was different in the darkness, appeared white instead of black, and at first he'd looked over it. The glow had barely been noticeable, but as his gaze passed over it, it flashed a brilliant white light and drew his eyes in like a moth to the flame.
The burn before had been bearable, but this? This was what he'd imagined the sun to feel like. A pain so deep, so rich and foul, it coiled around him, in him. It pressed up against him, out of him, until all he could feel was that sensation of burning. An unbearable heat, his skin boiling from the inside, out, and before he could muster out a howl of agony, it…
He gasped, his panting loud within the dark place, and grabbed at his offending left hand to see…gone. Everything, gone. Just like the castle, his opponent, the wounds, so was the mark of the gods, gone. He stared, dumbfounded, at the back of his left hand, thoughts fragmented as he tried to make sense of what had just happened when a name came to him.
Zelda.
He stood up, the confusion over the absence of his birthmark having been quickly overtaken by that single name. Right. Zelda, he was here— wherever that may be— for Zelda.
Yet all that greeted him as he turned around endlessly in search of something, anything, was darkness. Darkness, accompanied by a voice. A voice that sounded familiar yet distant. Had it been speaking all along? He couldn't remember, but no, that wasn't important. What was important was…
What was so important?
"Hey Link, do you ever wish for a different destiny?"
What was so…
"Do you think that one day, this cycle will end?"
What was…
"I hope it does, for your sake. I-I've seen you die, so many times, during each life. I don't want to see it happen again. Link I—"
We needed you, but you never came. Where were you when we needed you most?
He stopped turning, searching for whatever it was he'd been searching for, as a new voice usurped the other. This one sounded loud and clear. It bore emotion, it resounded with hate. So much hate.
The voice was behind him then, he was sure of it. He turned then to face it, but as he turned, he was met with the sight of a mangled carcass. The body's skin was whiter than snow, partially obscured by long, obscene claw marks made by its own nails. Claw marks that had been accompanied by a dreadfully familiar looking black ichor. It was the sight of the black ichor, the sickening sense of nostalgia, that compelled him to move forward, to meet the unseeing eyes of death. Eyes of which had glazed over, frozen in a state of undeniable fear.
Yet despite the clear signs of the body's death, from the smell down to the decomposition that settled in on its flesh, the lips moved. "Wake up, Link."
