A/N: Thank you Walavouchey, DiscountPineapple, Maybe, and Starburst4106 for sharing your thoughts! :) I was excited to read each of them, and I've taken your words and advice to heart. Thanks so much!

Chapter 5

Once back within the tower, Ghirahim immediately slaps me upside the head for screaming profanity in his ear—and a slap from Ghirahim is equivalent to the punch of a mortal man. Skull throbbing and scalp stinging, I kneel and press my forehead to the floor, desperate to suppress the screams of frustration climbing up my throat.

I am grabbed and pulled up by the shoulders. I fight for all of half a second before sagging, head lolling backwards into the demon's chest. I don't have the energy to lift it; my neck is as useless as a limp noodle. My legs shake, barely hold me. It is the demon, standing like a wall behind me, that keeps me from falling over. His hands feel like vices on my upper arms. He can break me, I realize distantly, through the haze of weariness. He could snap me in half like a twig.

He knows it too. His grip tightens, tightens…then suddenly loosens as his palms slide down, down to my elbows, then in to my waist.

Confusion and alarm make me come back alive, if barely.

His fingers dig into my ribs. They don't have to go far. No, really, all he has to do is touch and there the bones are. No digging needed.

"Perhaps," comes his whisper, as he bends towards my ear, "…I might have neglected you a bit too much, my little bird. You're no use to me like this."

"Then kill me," I hiss.

He laughs, and the deep rumble vibrates in his chest. "You're no use to me dead, either, darling."

Up and down his hands go, fingers bumping over the faint ridges of bone. His breath breezes my hair, then something slick and warm touches the rim of my ear. The electric sensations are too much, and I shiver, try to wriggle away. My attempts are as effective as butterfly wings against steel bars.

Does he really need to be so close—to have the side of his face pressed against my head? I don't like his lips at my ear, let alone his tongue. And does he really need to touch me to know I'm weak? Honestly, just look at me. Anger burrows through my straining composure, bares my teeth and makes me hiss. Get away, get away from me, I think to him as if I'm telepathic. Or at least put your cloak back on. Your bare shoulders and those cut-outs in your outfit are really freaking me out. I don't like your skin brushing against me, it's too smooth with hardly any heat—you're not human, get away from me!

"So fragile," he coos, hands still playing with my ribs. "So small. My poor little bird. It wouldn't take much to crush you at all."

"Do…it…"

"Tell me where the spirit maiden will go next, and I'll think about it."

My teeth lock together.

His arms come around me, and little by little he squeezes. His body is hard, mine is soft, and it isn't long before I feel my bones creaking. I bite down my whimper. It's okay, I tell myself. It's okay. It'll only hurt for a while, and then it'll be over.

For a moment it almost seems like I will go bravely, but then pain spreads like cracks of lightning and a wild fear shrills up my spine.

"Earth—Temple. F-fire—mountain. Mountain!"

My survival instinct pushes out the words, and my hatred towards myself is made complete.

It is at that point I shut down completely. My legs buckle and bend, and then it is truly just Ghirahim that keeps me from the floor. I think of Link. I think of Zelda. I think of all the times I said, "It doesn't matter."

I think of how Link could have died. Of how he could still die.

And then I willingly give myself to the black shroud of unconsciousness.

I wake up to the slamming of the tower door. My eyelids open half-way, beholding the horizontal view of the stone floor…and the scaly three-toed feet that pad towards me.

Before I can lift my head, a quarter loaf of bread is tossed in front of my face.

"My lord commands you eat," hisses Shii, the Lizalfos. "So eat!"

I stare, motionless, at the bread. I can't really feel my stomach anymore. I can't feel much of anything except the hard stones beneath me, pressing my side. I idly wonder how much longer it would take for me to die of starvation. I wonder if it would be for the best.

"Eat!" Shii kicks the loaf. When it bounces off my nose without so much as a twitch from me, Shii kneels, and a rough finger tilts my face up. "…Are you already in the throes of death, human?"

I stare blankly into its yellow eyes.

Shii grumbles. "I do not care for you, human. But my lord has given an order and if I do not see it through, it will be my head. My head! Do you hear me? You will eat, you will eat if I have to shove it down your throat—you will eat!"

A hard edge glints in Shii's eye, a conviction of steel. I don't care to eat, but I see that look and something twinges in my chest. Your head, huh? Just trying to survive? I know what that's like. But even so, there's…there's a side of me that doesn't want to eat.

Then I think of how unpleasant it would be to have my jaw wrenched open, to be choked with food. I heave a sigh and reach out, pull the bread to my mouth. My bite is weak, my chewing sluggish.

"Eat slow, yes." Shii nods approval that I didn't ask for. "My lord needs you well, and it wouldn't do to have your stomach burst."

Stomach burst? I think incredulously. The heck is it talking about? I'm not just a skeleton in a bag of skin. My stare lingers on my small wrist, on the thinness of my arm. I've lost a lot, yes, but there's still muscle; my body hasn't consumed it all. I'm not in a shatter-glass state. Not yet.

So Shii should just shut up and be glad I'm bothering to eat the stupid—!

My first few swallows hit bottom like a ton of rocks, and my stomach clamps down in violent spasms, like there are two wolves inside me fighting for the scraps. The bread is forgotten as I curl in, clutching my middle.

A glass bottle with red liquid sloshing inside is shoved in my face. "Drink it!"

I comply, but only to make it stop. The potion is cold, and it stings on its way down. It feels like a punch to my gut, but it is the punch that makes the spasms slow.

The Lizalfos stands over me with crossed arms, makes sure I eat the rest. It leaves, takes the bottle with it, then comes back at regular intervals with more bread, some water.

I don't know how much time passes. I sleep. Sometimes I wake up and its pitch black, other times it's the dim-lightbulb hour.

Shii starts adding vegetables with my portions. Sometimes I get fruit too.

What I wouldn't give for some bacon. But I never see a scrap a meat anywhere. Not here, and not on Skyloft for that matter. But it's not like they have the land to raise livestock on; there are barely enough distant islands for crops. Eating Loftwings is unthinkable. Eggs are a major source of protein, and sometimes we'd get fish from the pools, but they're rare and have to be carefully cultivated. And that's about it. The rest being diverse fruits and veggies. Granted the Skyloftians are creative with them, making soups of legumes and roots, creamy sauces of mushrooms and vegetable broths, desserts of pureed berries…

I shouldn't have complained; they gave me what I needed. But I couldn't help it. I missed the food from my previous life. I missed chicken more than anything. Although, I remember hunting parties would sometimes go out to catch those birds that sometimes carry rupees in their talons. It's the closest to chicken I've ever gotten in this world, and we only ever had them at important feasts and events.

And now? I get the bare necessities. But I dare not complain, not to these people.

"…Do you really have to watch me?" I ask the Lizalfos at one particular sitting.

"You will eat," it hisses.

"Yeah, yeah. I think that's been established. Can you go? It's hard to chew with you ogling my mouth."

Shii stands with a rod-straight back, arms crossed. Its snout is flatter than that of the other Lizalfos I've seen, and the grim line its mouth is set in makes it look even more flat. Its glinting eyes are shadowed by its furrowed brow.

"Sir," I say with semi-sarcasm, because I can't decide if I should be respectful. "You look constipated."

Its brow comes up. "Sir? I'm female, you nitwit."

I stare. "…Really?"

The frown returns. "Of course. All of my kind are."

I blink. "You're… All Lizalfos are female? How…?" I stop, think. "Oh, wait. So, you're like those desert lizards that reproduce asexually?"

Shii frowns in confusion, maybe because of my mention of otherworldly lizards, but then grunts some kind of affirmation.

"…That's…that's really cool, actually. I never would have guessed that." But, as I think on it now, maybe I should have. Its—I mean, her voice is raspy and low, but definitely still has a feminine quality about it, that slight higher-pitch lilt mixed in.

Shii raises her chin. "So there's something the prophetess does not know?"

I hunch my shoulders. "I don't know everything. Just…some things."

"Important things."

"According to Ghirahim?" I snap, suddenly feeling attacked by her clipped words. "Yes. Apparently so."

Her eyes flash. "That's 'Master' to you, human. I wouldn't be caught calling him anything else in his presence if I were you."

I glare and shove a carrot in my mouth before I start spouting profanities.

And for a moment there, we almost had a pleasant conversation.

The wind has been quiet these past…however long.

It's been quiet, and the stone hasn't been too cold…

Tonight, however, is another matter.

The wind howls and growls, bites into my skin. My tunic is frayed, sleeveless, and I admonish myself for ever ripping those seams during my carefree Skyloft days. My hair is not quite long enough, or thick enough, to offer shelter. Wisps of it flutter at my face, and the longer strands down my back scatter and crawl like a live squid on my head.

My back is pressed against the wall a few feet to the left of the glassless window. I figure if I'm near it, if I'm not right across from it, it won't blast me as bad. Not that it helps much; the wind enters and swirls in the circular chamber like a twister. I bare my teeth as if it's something I can lash out at. I can't, and so I curl over, bury my face in my knees, wrap my arms around my legs.

As I sit there I stew in rage. This wouldn't have happened if I had kept a grip on my bird. This wouldn't have happened if I'd stayed low and stayed with Turk. But, no, I just had to go get more fruit.

At some point, self-blame mutates into the blame of others. I wouldn't be here if anyone had bothered to come rescue me. I was stranded in the forest for ten days before Ghirahim found me. Ten. Frickin'. Days.

My heart boils as I remember Link's face when he saw me. He looked at me like I was a ghost.

No one had been looking for me, I realize. Not really. Doesn't matter what Link claimed. No one had cared. They had left me for dead. Me and my bird.

I should have set fire to their houses before I left that night. I should have punched Pipit right in his stupid face. I should have!

Never mind…never mind the fact Pipit was trying to stop me from going out that night, that if I had just listened, I wouldn't be in this mess.

Shame cools anger, and I curl tighter against it.

No one liked me, I know. I was a strange child. The child that never acted like a child at all. I disturbed the adults. When they thought I wasn't looking, when they thought I wasn't listening, they looked at me, they spoke of me. Their eyes regarded me like I had a disease as they whispered amongst each other. They asked whoever was housing me that year why I never ran with the other children. They asked why I never played hop-scotch, or hide and seek, or kick the pumpkin, or find the seed. Why did I speak gibberish? Why did my eyes hold a weight a child's had no business bearing? Why did I always just sit or lay around, eyes glazed, staring off into the sky?

They never knew my mind rested in a world far, far away. They never knew they spoke to an adult in the guise of a child. They never knew the gibberish was not gibberish at all, but a language from a civilization they couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Lights coming from windows stacked upon windows, from towers stretching up to the sky…

Screens with electric currents flowing through them, showing images. Like flashing windows that showed people and lives and dramas of many other worlds, all condensed into one place for us to see…

We know so many more stories than our own…

Closing my eyes, I still see the lights from that world. The lights spanning the heights of the great skyscrapers. Sometimes, when I daydreamed, I caught myself making translations of words and descriptions that didn't occur in Hylian, just in case anyone asked, in the vain hope I would be able to share my world with someone, anyone…

But they never asked me, never pried. Perhaps they were afraid of what they might find. And maybe a part of me was afraid to show them. No, that's a lie. Not a part of me, but all of me. What would it help? What would they understand? Would it lessen the isolation? Or would my existence grow colder once I saw they couldn't grasp the world that haunted my every waking thought? Better to leave those questions hanging, to have that vain hope, if only a sliver, than to have it all crushed and be left with nothing.

The world I left behind… The people that made up that world… Will I never see them again?

Confusion and rage ran trenches in my heart. I wasn't where I was supposed to be, and there was no one who could answer the thousand questions racing through my head. I didn't want to be bothered with the little kid games. The games I did want to play, however, were not appreciated. I swung sticks like swords, kicked and bit and clawed like my life depended on it. I played like the little Remlings play, roughhousing in a way that prepared for future conflict.

Angry, scared, and desperate for an outlet.

No one played with me for long. Maybe Link would have, if we had been friends back then. But he and Zelda stayed in their own little group. It was a group I might have been a part of, if I had ever taken the hand Zelda offered to me. I never did, and she wouldn't run me down until much later.

I couldn't stand the children's whining, couldn't bear the time-outs, or the adult's psychoanalyzing questions. Leave me alone. I want to go home. Leave me alone!

They never wanted you there anymore than you wanted to be there…

My hands press over my ears, fingers tangle in my hair, trying to blot out the yowling wind and the voice in my head that says, Scream, scream, go ahead and scream. No one will hear you. Scream.

Boom! goes the thunder, and with it there is a loud banging of the door being thrown open, and my head jerks up. The white specter with the blood red cape stands in the doorway. The wind blows his hair back, revealing the black diamond mark under his left eye, and the blue diamond earring on his right ear glints as it swings. With a snap of his fingers golden panes of diamonds flash to life in the window and the wind ceases. His black eyes bore into me in the sudden quiet.

"Your aura is loud, little bird." The stone chamber gives his sharp voice an echoic quality.

"…So sorry to disturb you." I glare straight ahead, daring him to come closer.

If only I had a dagger.

My bravery falters as Ghirahim strides towards me, as if hearing my silent challenge, and I immediately lower my head in deference. His feet come into my vision and I watch them, waiting to be kicked.

There is another snap, a metallic whisper of magic.

Suddenly something soft plops on top of my head. A thick blanket drapes down, covering me in a shroud of dark. I freeze, confused, still waiting for that kick. But those white-covered feet remain on the floor.

There is a sigh. "Can you do nothing for yourself?"

My brain grinds to a halt when he kneels. The blanket is unfolded, adjusted around my head and down my shoulders like a cape.

I slowly lift my head, stare blankly into dark eyes. "Why aren't you kicking me?" I blurt.

He stops what he is doing, smirks. "Did you want to be kicked, little bird?"

I don't answer. He'll kick me if I say yes, he'll kick me if I say no.

He chuckles lightly, like there was some slightly amusing joke, and continues to adjust the blanket, framing my face. I do nothing but gawk like a wondering owl as he reaches in the hood to push flyaway hair behind my ears. My mind cannot process it. What is this? What happened to the demon who threatened to crush me? Who is this person? I thought I knew.

When his fingertips glide over the round rims of my ears, my brain sharpens back to attention. "Go ahead," I snap, "Poke fun at them. Everyone does. I don't care."

He regards me, cocks his head to the side. "…And why would I do that? They're lovely."

I jerk back as if I've been slapped.

"After all," he continues, pulling away the hair that drapes over the left side of his face, "I have one just like them."

My eyes widen as I take in the sight of a pale rounded ear, completely mismatched from the pointed one on his right. My stare darts between the two, mind stuttering: Hylian, elf-like and Earthling, human-like—as if all other descriptors have ceased to exist. Is he neither or is he both? My heart gives a ping towards the latter, a sense of nostalgia and belonging welling, trickling into the parched holes littering the tender surface of my heart. But my mind reawakens, stems the flow, and reasserts its defenses: a barricade that allows no trust to form. This is not an Earthling, I remind. Not one of your realm. But why does he have that ear then, I wonder. I scour my knowledge but find no answer.

His hair slides between his fingers, and the white curtain falls back into place. "Granted yours aren't as lovely as mine, but then you couldn't begin to hope they would be."

A laugh bubbles in my chest and a toothy smile takes a shaky place on my face. "Now there's something you'd say," I whisper, mostly to myself, relieved by the familiar. Even so, I am disturbed and confused by the unfamiliar. "Now, why're you really here? I doubt it was because you thought I might be cold."

He leans back, and a hand covers where his heart would be if he had one. "You wound me, little bird. Do you think me incapable of consideration?"

I clamp my mouth, but the laugh escapes through my nose in a snort. I panic, and words slip. "Demon, the only thing you care about is your master." I shrink into the blanket, as if the scratchy wool is protective chainmail, whispering, "…Or should I call you 'Weapon'?"

I am prepared for a hit, a slash, or even a cutting remark. But what I get is reverberating laughter, bouncing off the stone walls, and it scares me more than a glare ever could. Careful, I tell myself. Careful.

"You're well informed," he says once he calms. "Which is why I have to wonder…"

I am yanked forward by the throat and I snarl, bare weak human fangs.

"Why the spirit maiden isn't where you said she'd be!" His snarl is so much fiercer, his fangs so much larger.

I hiss as his iron grip hardens. My mind spins out of control, searching, grasping for a reason that will seem forthcoming, but still leave him in the dark. "It's—it's where she'll go."

My heart quickens at his dark, unblinking gaze. "Why isn't she there yet?"

Anger swells, combats fear, and I puff up. "I don't know everything, you know! My—" Think, think, quick, quick. "My visions, my dreams, come in fragments. And they only show key elements. The mountain is where she'll go. It's where she has to go."

"Where on the mountain?"

"…She'll go up. That's all I know!" I bark as his fingers dig into my windpipe. "Up!"

He releases me as he stands, smoothing his hair as well as his composure. "Very well. I've already sent troops there anyway. They'll report to me at the first sign of her. And if she doesn't show…"

I scoff so loud it almost sounds like a forced cough.

Steel glints in Ghirahim's eyes. "Don't get complacent with me, sky child. I promise you won't like the results."

Energy from the food and the warmth from the blanket ignite the fire burning in my gut. A frenzied smile spreads slowly, revealing a wall of teeth, and eyes widen with a wild spark. "Give me a dagger, 'Master,' and I'll show you how complacent I can be."

I keep my joyless smile in the resounding silence that spills between us. I do not look away, I do not blink. Neither does Ghirahim.

And then that arrogant smile of his slits his lips upwards, and his amused chuckle fills the room. "Ah, yes. I've missed our little game. And I see you're feeling better. Don't worry, darling. We'll play again very soon." He leans forward on his hips, his shadow stretching over me. "And this time, I won't forget about you…Kya."

A/N: Only in my headcanon are all Lizalfos female, but only certain strains of the species. Dinolfos and others I consider to have the usual male/female ratio.

So how was it? I hope you enjoyed reading! See you next time. ^_^