Impa slams the door of the tower-top bedroom and furiously snatches Imogen by the collar of her pinafore.

"Who told you?!" she roars.

"Told me what?!" Imogen yelps as she is thrust against the wall.

"Who told you about my mission?"

"I don't understand!" Imogen wails despairingly.

"You claim to have received the exact same instructions that I received from Elder Gin in Kakariko." Impa hisses. "That is no coincidence. Now either Gin dispatched the two of us on the same mission - which seems highly inefficient considering neither of us knew of the other's existence until now – or you were sent to sabotage me!"

"I was only obeying orders!" the maid sobs. "Please let me go!"

Impa's fury eventually subsides. She drops her doppelganger to the floor and regains her composure by the window.

"None of this makes any sense…" she grumbles as she observes the endless storm outside. "Somebody shows up to the Castle on the night of the Wintertime Ball to kill the King…why isn't he dead already?"

"It's part of the prophecy…" Imogen croaks as she rubs the sores on her neck. "Speak to the Elders…they have the answers you seek…"

Of course! Impa shoots towards her bedside table and slides the drawer open at speed. She retrieves the eerie stone from within and strokes its smooth surface with her fingers. The Gossip Stone glows a mystical blue that envelops the whole room.

"I wish to speak with Elder Gin." Impa declares to nobody but herself.

A prolonged pause.

"Perhaps she is sleeping?" Imogen suggests.

"Hello?" a child's voice calls from within the enchanted obelisk.

"Hello?" Impa responds uncertainly. "This is Impa. With whom am I speaking?"

"Impa?" the child replies with an air of curiosity. "The girl from the Castle?"

"Identify yourself!" Impa orders impatiently.

"So, the night has come…" the girl babbles. "Thunder trembles the frail hearts of the dignified diners…their pleasantries become perplexities…their conversations turn to accusations…pawns in the game…checkmate!"

The light dies from the Gossip Stone. The darkness casts disquiet over the two women as they struggle to actualise any intelligence from the nonsense.

"We should return to the Banquet Hall," Imogen advises. "Lest they grow suspicious."

"Don't think we're done yet!" Impa warns with a pointed finger. "Somehow your confession has rendered you even less trustworthy…"

The door slams shut with the crack of thunder. Imogen quietly clutches the collar of her pinafore and treads anxiously after her accomplice.