A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay. Life has been hectic and I got stuck in a rut.

Thank you Mokki Takashi (Stay calm, indeed! Ha, that was one of my favorite episodes.), AnonaLee (Yay!), Othaeryn (Thank you for all your kind words. I'm so glad you hold this story so highly. I must be doing something right, haha!), cheesepotassium (And she'll be having more inner conflicts. We'll have to wait and see.), Lunammoon (I'm glad you take it as so!), RandomR15 (And more to come!), Noble Toes (Glad you liked it!), Voidlash (Thank you!), Ninja Squirrel (I agree on your comparisons about Hylia. Kya isn't having it.), SerenityWest (I'm happy you like it!), Midna the Pokemon (I hope it was worth the wait, haha!), Meta-Akira (We'll see more of Ghirahim in a variety of situations.), Hyrulian Narwhal (And will get spicier!), Branded Lunacy (Yes, indeed!), Kyoki no Megami (I may or may not have made velociraptor noises while writing it, haha! Don't stress about the drawing. You don't have to do it. I'm flattered you even thought of doing it.), Etta (I'm glad this story did not disappoint you! Thank you for sharing your thoughts and for your kind words!), Aries (Thank you!), nofilter (And I did it again! I'm sorry!), NewCanvas (I'm glad it's made things a little better.), JustBecause170 (Wow! I'm glad I could inspire you to play the games! They're great, aren't they? Thank you so much for all your words!), Guest (I'm glad!) , thenumbertwentyseven (Yay! I'm happy you found it worth it!), and AriReo (No, not abandoned. I'm just slow. ^_^' I'm sorry!) for your reviews last chapter!

Please take note of the warning at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 32

I didn't know what to do, those moments caught in Ghirahim's kiss. Why? is the first thought my addled brain makes. Does he know what he's doing? Does he know what a kiss means to humans? What is he thinking? His lips are cool and soft, gentle, moving with little caresses. I'm too shocked to even think about returning the gesture. I'm frozen, waiting in suspended time for who knows what.

It stops as abruptly as it started.

He pulls away, glare returning, a black glare that is heightened by the purple shadow drawn around his eyes. "I'll kill that boy the next time I see him. And you," he rumbles, "you will not get in the way." He tilts my chin up further, speaking in a menacing whisper. "Do you understand? Never do that again."

My lips quiver, mind fritzing from what just occurred. When I finally manage to find my voice, it is shaky. "It—it wasn't fair, Master. It just wasn't fair. You're so far out of his league," I say, playing to his pride, hoping it will be enough to garner mercy.

Because there's another reason I came back to Ghirahim: To save Link. Avoid Ghirahim as he might, eventually the demon lord would have caught him. And Link would have returned to Skyloft beaten and bloody, bruised and broken. Alive only because he'd be needed to bring me back.

"What could he do against you?" I continue. "Nothing. Isn't it more fair if I fight him? That's why I did it. Besides, he's just a gadfly, right? Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Ghirahim repeats slowly, expression turning to one of disgust as if the words themselves have a foul taste, his blackfire glare snapping. "He stopped being nothing to worry about the moment he made you bleed."

I gawk at him, still feeling the tingle he left behind on my mouth. It takes another moment for my mind to gather itself.

"But—but, I mean, he's just a human. It just isn't fair. Look, I know I messed up. Tackling him into the water? Bad idea. Turns out he had one of the Water Dragon's scales and could swim like a frickin' fish. And then when we got out of the water, he bashed me with his shield, which I should've seen coming since he tried to knock me out with a punch earlier, but…um…"

I take in Ghirahim's darkening expression, decide I should probably shut up about Link's knock-out attempts.

"Um… Anyway, I would've been able to fight him better if I had a weapon. But I lost it, so, yeah. My fault. Tackling him into the water. Bad idea. Won't do it again," I finish.

"You mean this weapon?" Ghirahim pulls out the dark green hilted dagger from his belt. "That you dropped in the cistern. Your weapon is your lifeline, Kya, and you must always keep ahold of it. Didn't I tell you that?"

I take the dagger gingerly. "Th-thank you. You probably said something about it." When I wasn't paying attention, went unspoken. Then, hesitantly, "Did you…jump in after me?"

"Of course I did, you twit."

My eyes widen. "You swam?"

"No," he grumbles reluctantly. "I sunk to the bottom. That's where I found the dagger."

"Oh." I blink, realizing he is a being of metal, isn't human and doesn't float like one.

He sighs. "Enough. Let's get you home now, where you belong. And by the way, Kya…" He leans in, breath ghosting over my lips, gaze searching my face. "I look forward to you telling me all about your prior life in the Knowing Realm. I'm just dying to know the details."

I hesitate, heart clenching painfully. In the end "Yes, Master," is all I can say.

Then, in the golden light of the setting sun that stretches forest shadows long and dark, he pulls me close and snaps his fingers. We disappear in an array of diamond fractals and metal chimes. I feel yanked and contorted by the magic, but it's worth it when we reappear at the castle, in the main chamber off our bedrooms. I've never been so happy to see the couches, the tomes and scrolls, the hearth with its crackling fire.

Ghirahim holds me for the longest time, it seems. We stand there, amidst the clutter, bathed in the warm flickering light of candles' and hearth's fire. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathes lulls me into a state of tranquility.

A tranquility that is shattered when he grips me by the hair and pulls me back so he can press his lips to mine once again. It proves the first kiss was no fluke, as I was trying to convince myself, and the very notion is swept away. His mouth is tender on mine, and his fingers thread through my hair to lightly scratch at my scalp. My heart bangs against my ribcage, besieged by a hurricane of emotions.

Strangely, anger streaks through them all like cracks of lightning across a storm cloud. It pushes me to return the kiss, and none too gently, as if it were a battle we're engaged in and not…not…an act of intimacy. It can't be that.

But he defies me.

Ghirahim tilts his head, forces a languid caress of flesh, and when he pulls away it is a gentle parting, the soft sound of lips separating creating a dull roar in my head.

It's not supposed to be like this, he can't possibly feel this way about me. But there he is with that slow smile and those heavy-lidded eyes simmering with a heat I refuse to understand. Can't be for me. Can't be…

But those dark eyes draw me in. They draw me in and make me want to—

"Little bird," he whispers, moving so the tips of our noses touch. Then sweetly, oh so sweetly, he says, "You're absolutely terrible at this."

My mouth drops open. "W-well!" I attempt to pull away but his hand keeps me in place. "Well, excuse me for not being prepared! Not like you give any warning!"

His deep laughter melts away my huffing and puffing. He rubs our noses together before disentangling himself from me. "Not to worry, my sweet. After all, doesn't practice make perfect?" His hand comes away from my hair with another piece of leaf on it. His smile turns wry. "Go and get cleaned up, little bird. We'll eat afterward."

I can do nothing but what he says, my brain tripping on the word 'practice' over and over, knowing his meaning, but not willing to understand.

Can't be.

It just can't be.

I sit a long while in the bath that's big enough to be called a pool, tornadoes of thoughts swirling. The heated water feels good, engulfs my body and eases my aches, but does little to distract me as I hoped it would. I stare absently at the veined marble beneath my feet, the sight wavering with the water.

I think about where I am, and what I've come back to.

Home, where you belong, echoes Ghirahim's voice in my head.

Home. I mull over the word. This dark castle with its ever-present thunder clouds. This place of stone and iron and stained glass and silk. It started off as a cold prison and came to be a place of liberation and warmth.

I exit the bath on autopilot, mundane actions like wringing out my hair and toweling off not taking up any precedence in my mind. I wrap a large towel around me, head to my room.

Ghirahim catches me out in the hall.

"I was just coming to check on you," he says with admonishment. "You take a dreadfully long time to get clean."

I shrug. "I guess that just means I get super clean." I eye him warily, step aside to put distance between us…but then like a flare there is a part of me that rises, that wants to be closer, that wants to be held, that wants— No! I have to stay in control.

"Darling, you're shivering."

Once he gave me nothing more than one scratchy wool blanket.

Now he gives me a lush blanket softer than feather down.

He snaps his fingers and pulls it from fractals flaring into thin air, drapes the thick white and gray rhombus-patterned cloth over my shoulders, tells me to go get dressed.

After shutting myself in my room and changing into a nightgown, I sit on my bed with the blanket, stroking it as if it were a cat in my lap. My thoughts still tumble through my head, recounting events, trying to figure out how I ended up here.

My sailcloth lays folded atop my dresser. My little wooden whistle, one of the multiples I had because I kept losing them, rests over on the vanity. Trinkets from my time in the sky. I'll have them to remember Skyloft by, because I won't be going back. Not if I have anything to say about it.

I am home, I think, then marvel over the phrase. I've never said it, never thought it, in this world. Not until now. But is it safe to think it? How can it be with the future looming so dark and foreboding? Impa's words keep coming back to hit me like a punch to the gut.

I squeeze the plush blanket close.

What am I going to do?

A quick knock sounds from the closed door before it is opened, and there Ghirahim stands. "Essil has brought us our meal. Well?" He gestures impatiently. "Come along, come along! I'm famished; it's been days!"

I hear his earlier words repeat in the back of my mind. He hasn't slept. He hasn't eaten. Not since I was taken.

I get up, leaving the blanket on the bed, and follow him hurriedly. In the main chamber, two trays of mahogany wood topped with silver and crystal dishes wait for us on the tea table. Essil scurries up, bright-eyed and smiling, and removes the silver dome lids, revealing the food underneath that looks suspiciously like pizza. And it totally is. I return Essil's smile before she disappears into the outer halls.

Ghirahim and I take our seats on the nearby sofa, and I wait for him to start eating before I do. Incredulously, I watch him take a knife and fork to his slice of pizza like an overtight gentleman who's never eaten casually before.

"Uh…" I start, and then shrug, deciding he can eat it how he likes.

Ghirahim has no such reservations for me. "What are you doing?" he asks sharply.

I pause, tip of my pizza slice resting between my teeth. I carefully extract it. "Um, eating?"

"Not like that you're not."

"Master, it's pizza. You're supposed to eat it with your hands."

He throws me a skeptical look.

"I would know," I insist. "I'm the one who introduced Essil to it, like I did with the spaghetti."

"…I see," he says slowly. But still, he refuses to give up his silverware and continues to cut his pizza into little cubes. "Shall I assume this recipe came from the Knowing Realm then?"

"…Yeah." I sigh. Surrendering, I take up my own knife and fork and begin cutting little slices.

He eyes my actions, a pleased smile quirking at corner of his mouth. "Interesting. You'll have to share more of them if they're half as good as this." He adds, "And more, of course. Everything. You can start now."

I swallow, feeling like the food has gotten stuck halfway down my throat. I cough. "Can—can I eat first?"

"I don't see why you can't do both."

I make a show of stuffing food into my mouth and mumbling through it.

He winces. "Mmm, on second thought, very well. Eat first. But let's not dally over the meal too long. My heart is overflowing with rainbows of excitement!"

I chew thoughtfully and swallow before saying, "That sounds like a medical condition. You sure it's not heartburn?"

He smirks, flicking my ear in retaliation.

We eat in companionable silence, broken only when Ghirahim snaps at me to sit up straight and grumbles at me about my lack of refinement. I mimic his poise, and soon he sweeps a tender touch down my spine, murmuring his pleasure at my corrected posture. I wonder where in the heck this is all coming from.

He goes from giddy to stern in the span of seconds, from sharp speech to warm whispers, from firm hands to gentle passing caresses. It's like he wants to be mad at me for getting taken, yet is so pleased by my return he can't stay mad…

I'm sipping tea when I notice the maps. The tomes. The scrolls. They aren't the ones associated with his master. I peer more closely at them. They're… Holy crap. Drawings of what looks to be like islands in the sky! Measurements and circumferences of a demon-imagined Skyloft in comparison to Faron Woods. Graphs of heights and widths scattered with scribbled theories and hypothesizes. This must be the stuff he used when trying to get Zelda from the sky. And now…

"What's with all this?" I gesture to the mess of papers, both aged and new.

"What do you think it is? Don't ask such obvious questions, darling."

I squint at the books written in languages I can't read. "…What about these tomes?"

"Spells," he says shortly. "To get you from the sky without injury."

"No black tornado for me?"

"No. Too risky. But then you never gave the chance for it—you never flew. Your aura stayed on that damnable rock the entire time."

"They…" I stutter. "They took my Loftwing."

A muscle in his jaw flexes and he brings his teacup to his mouth just in time to hide his curling lip. He glares off at the far wall while taking a drink.

I better change the subject, I think. I don't want him angry at the Skyloftians. Not any more than he already is.

I struggle for words, and then something occurs to me. "You need Zelda—the spirit maiden—alive, don't you? Weren't you worried the black tornado would have—"

"The goddess," he spits the word, "wouldn't allow her vessel to be killed. You, on the other hand, have no such protection." Then he mutters, "If only the boy had been torn to pieces…"

"I see," I say, ignoring his last utterance. I drag my gaze once more over the mess of maps and tomes. Some of the stacks are larger. It looks like he just piled everything on top of his research for his master.

Then it hits me.

He…put his search for me overtop his master's.

My heart beats faster, the implications running amok in my thoughts, so fast I have trouble tracking them.

Me…over his master…?

I shake my head to clear the thought away. No. There's no way. Don't give me that kind of hope, don't even think it.

"Is something wrong, Kya?" Ghirahim studies me.

"No, no. It's just…a headache," I lie. "Nothing to worry about."

He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, lingers on the rounded tips. "Drink more. You're most likely dehydrated from your journey today."

I nod, doing as he says.

All too soon dinner comes to an end, and apprehension tumbles through me.

It's time to start talking.

Ghirahim leans back into the sofa, angling towards me, and lounging an arm over the backrest just behind me. It feels like an embrace without touch. An embrace and a confinement; no escaping this. I steel my frazzled nerves, start sorting in my head what can be told and what must remain forever unsaid.

The quiet spans on, interrupted only by crackling fire and softly tinkling silver as Essil slips in and swiftly clears away the trays.

Ghirahim's expectant stare bores into me, and as time drags on, he raises a brow as if saying, "Well?"

So, I do what I must. I tell him.

I tell him of towers of steel and glass so high they scrape the sky, go on a tangent about what concrete is and how the cities were built with that too. I tell him of black roads that never end and the vehicles that travel them. Of the lights that span high and long. Millions and millions of them, from windows that go on and on, and strings of them on the black roads forever moving along, to the satellites and airplanes blinking above like stars.

He asks me to explain better, especially the cars and planes. I try, going into as much detail as I can, struggling for words that have no translative equivalent.

Huffing, I look around for paper and pen. I flip and shuffle pages and maps and, understanding, he summons what I need with a snap.

"Show me," he demands earnestly, shoving the materials into my hands.

"All right, just keep in mind I'm not exactly an artist." I do my best, stroke by stroke, and the drawings actually don't turn out half bad.

He drinks them up with his eyes.

Something new. Something he's never seen. The wonders and miracles of another world. What else is he thinking of now?

I tell him all I can until eventually I get to the subject requiring the most care…

"We…we could see into other worlds. At will. Through silver screens like windows that we could summon and unsummon. I"—I swallow trepidation and speak carefully—"I can't do it at will anymore. I'm no longer part of the Knowing Realm. But, being from there, that's where I get my visions from. They're random and sometimes not that helpful…as you know."

I weave truth and lies together, present them as one.

We talk on, and I'm mindful of what I say. I tell Ghirahim all I've told Batreaux and more. More because, unlike Batreaux, Ghirahim does not shy away from unpleasant topics like war and violence. He listens with rapt attention, his eyes glittering with awe and excitement. He learns of the destructive powers of the Knowing Realm. Guns and tanks and bombs—bombs that could decimate an entire world, I tell him, and leave nothing but ashes behind.

I wonder what goes though his mind when I speak of all the things Batreaux didn't want to hear, wonder if flashes of wars from this world's past whirl though his head. Of swords clashing, of blood spraying. Far more personal ways of killing than simply dropping a bomb.

I go quiet, thinking of all the silence death leaves behind, no matter what weapons are used.

"You look exhausted, my darling. Go on to bed. I'll catch up with you in due time."

I return to my room, thinking, Catch up with me? Don't tell me you plan on…

A light scratching and rapping sounds from the door leading to both Ghirahim's room and the servant's tunnel. I answer it with an uncertain, "Come in?"

Shii and Essil walk in, relief and exuberance apparent in both their strides and faces.

"What a joyous day!" Essil cries in her wispy voice. She blinks watery eyes. "We feared you were lost to us."

A smile tugs at Shii's ever-frowning snout. "Always getting into trouble, aren't you, human?" In a rare moment, her eyes soften. "It's good to have you back."

I open and close my mouth, embarrassment taking root in me. "I—I didn't mean to make you worry."

Shii's eyes roll. "You never mean to."

Essil's watery gaze fills to the brim. "I'm so happy you're back. So happy!" Her claws come up to her mouth as if she's going to start biting them, but stops just shy. "It's been so awful with you gone."

My attention hones in on that immediately. "Did he hurt you?"

Who the 'he' was wasn't in question.

"N-not really, no. But he's been so, so…"

"Explosive," Shii finishes for her, arms folded over her chest and smile gone. "We've been walking on eggshells. His shouts of rage filled this castle 'til it was bursting at the seams. And the despairing silences…those were just as bad. Anyone with any smarts knew to stay out of his way."

Essil nods. "We were just waiting for him to snap…"

"Thankfully," Shii continues, "he didn't give himself time for it. He was too busy trying to find a way to get to you. Had us busy too." Her face goes grim. "He sent an army out for you, Kya. Day and night, we were made to march, scouring any and all places he thought you might drop. Meanwhile he was tearing through spells that might bring you back down—safely at that. I've never seen him in such a state."

I blink. Blink some more. I don't know what to say. Until finally, "I'm sorry," comes out on a whisper. "I didn't mean to get taken."

"Oh!" Essil reaches out like she wants to hold me. She catches herself and clasps her hands to her chest instead.

Shii grunts. "I suppose that means we need to work on your fighting skills."

I couldn't argue with that. Neither could I tell them I hadn't wanted to hurt the person who took me. It would be too much to explain and I don't think they'd understand.

As Shii and Essil exchange remarks about the land their troops had to search over and over, I can't help thinking back to the maps of the surface and sketches of what demon's thought the islands in the skies looked like. All spread out atop the research for freeing his master…

Had he…had he really stopped completely, just to find me?

Then, catching the tail end of their conversation, I hear Shii grumble, "The Lizalfos did a more efficient job at searching the ground than any of those bumbling Bokoblins," and it reminds me of something.

"Oh yeah," I say, the memory dawning on me, "I was attacked by some Lizalfos."

The room goes dead silent.

"What?" Shii snaps. "What did you say?"

"S-she said—"

"I know what she said! I meant explain. And quickly!"

I do so. I recount the Lizalfos attack that happened in Faron Woods, about the lead female and her cohorts, and how they dismissed my mollifying words, what they said in kind, and how a group of Bokoblins came to my rescue.

"So, hurray for Bob," I finish explaining, laughing lightly. Laughter which putters out fast.

If a Lizalfos could go pale, then Shii had done so. She stands stiffly, yellow eyes wide, jaw clenching.

"Shii…" Essil says gently, putting a hand on the green Lizalfos' shoulder. "This can't go on anymore. I—I know you wanted to deal with this yourself, but…it's become too dangerous. We must tell Lord Ghirahim. S-she could have been killed!"

"I know," Shii growls, and I can practically hear her teeth grinding. "I know. I will inform his lordship tonight about the turncoats. I will tell him…" Shii lowers her head in shame. "…events have exceeded beyond my control."

"Hey," I say. "Don't be hard on yourself. It's not your fault."

Essil nods enthusiastically in agreement.

Shii doesn't look convinced. "Isn't it? They are under my command." Her no-nonsense expression comes back to flood out the shame. "But never mind that. What matters now is that we catch the traitors. Tell me, what did they look like? Leave nothing out."

"Uh…" I give pause, thinking. "Well, the leader was dark scaled, her crest was spikey, her snout was wide… As for the other two… Didn't get a good look at 'em. They were Lizalfos," I say, as if that explains them entirely.

Shii gives me a flat look. "…Exemplary descriptions, human. That doesn't narrow it down much at all."

I grimace. "Well, what else can I say? She looked like a velociraptor in the face."

Shii blinks repeatedly. "What in the hell is a velociraptor?"

A beat of silence falls between us.

"You gonna tell Ghirahim or what," I say.

"I am."

"I'm going with you." My tone lends no room for argument.

Essil pipes up. "A-as am I."

With it all settled, the three of us march out to line up, Shii in center, before Ghirahim in the main chamber.

The fire roars in the hearth, the blaze casting shadows, making the demon lord look both ethereal and sinister all at once. As Shii resolutely explains the situation, her apprehension apparent only in the slight tremor in her hand which she hides clasped behind her back, Ghirahim's eyes darken and darken until they are like two black holes in his head. A violent gleam enters those eyes, enhanced by the fire's hot glow, promising pain to come.

I step closer to Shii. To protect her. To support her. Both.

"And how did this situation come to be, Shii?" Ghirahim grinds out every word. "And why is it being reported to me only now? Did a Remlit catch your tongue and run away with it?"

Shii's mouth trembles before she answers, "I believed I could contain the situation."

"Of which you couldn't," he retorts.

"…No, my lord. It…has spiraled out of my control."

His black glower is powerful and almost makes me shudder, and I'm not even the recipient of it.

"I put you in charge because I thought you the most competent of your kind. Are you intent on proving me wrong?"

"Wait," I cut in. "Turncoats are a difficult thing to deal with. Anyone would have trouble. They're hard to weed out and—how many does Shii have under her command anyway?—it's not like she can delegate this shi—I mean, crap—if she doesn't know who to trust."

"You could have been killed today," he says, eyes boring into me and in the blink of an instant I glimpse fear flashing in their dark depths. It is gone quick as it came, replaced by festering rage.

His stare cuts back to Shii. "I want them dead."

"Yes, my lord. I have been gathering teams of Lizalfos that I trust, but…"

"Slow going?" he guesses. "No. No, that won't do." He paces before the hearth, shadows dancing with each passing movement. "We'll need something more immediate."

"What can we do, my lord?" Shii asks.

Essil's nervous breathing can be faintly heard in the quiet that follows.

I break the silence. "I'm the dirty little human they want. Why don't I just, I don't know, go out and see if any of them try to stab me?"

Essil looks panicked, and Shii sends me an exasperated sidelong glance. Ghirahim stops his pacing to pin me with a withering glare.

Then his expression suddenly brightens.

"Of course," he says. "We'll lure them out. We'll lure them like moths to flame and watch as they burn themselves to a crisp. Until then…"

A plan is formed there in the night. It would take cunning, patience, and in the end a brutal hand. The ewe in me balks. Must they die? But the she-wolf stands firm. There's no other choice.

There was nothing that could be done; the rebel Lizalfos had sealed their fate.

I don't sleep alone that night. Or the nights that follow.

When sunlight dims and candles glow, he comes to me. I barely hear him enter the room; his footsteps make almost no sound, and then I feel the covers move, feel the mattress dip as he stretches out beside me. I act as if I'm already asleep, still and serene on the surface, and underneath hoping beyond hope he doesn't hear the thudding of my heart or the rush of blood in my veins.

His arm drapes over my waist. His face nuzzles into my neck. He breathes deeply of me, letting the final breath out on a sigh that softly fans my neck. Then it all evens out, and I pray he's fallen asleep. But I dare not move. I don't know—I don't know what he'd do to me if he found me awake. Maybe…maybe we'd just talk? Maybe if I act like the kisses never happened, they won't happen again?

There's a pang in my chest. A part of me doesn't want to forget.

He mumbles something unintelligible, shifts closer, if that's even possible. He's flush against me.

I've never been held like this before.

I open my eyes, little as slits, and stare into the dark. I sigh quietly through my nose, careful not to disturb him.

Holy crap, I thought this guy was gay. Curse the stereotypes that lead me to believe that. I should have known he'd never adhere to any. He's an unpredictable enigma.

When mornings come, he's usually up before me, and when he isn't, I lay still and wait for him to go. He'll stretch and moan, moan and stretch before slipping out from the silken sheets and feather down comforter. Sometimes I'll snap glimpses of him, but I try not to…

Because he's buck-ass naked every time.

Honestly, has he never heard of nightclothes?

He'll be up and I'll slowly peel open my eyes, slam them shut, creak them open again. Rinse and repeat.

What's wrong with me? I shouldn't look. I shouldn't. But those corded, fanning muscles on his long and slender body, and the way they move and ripple just beneath his smooth skin takes my breath away. Not even the slightest bit of fat on him. Ugh. I should hate him for it. I wasn't exactly a slim person back in the Knowing Realm, and I sometimes found myself begrudging those with higher metabolisms. Why should I feel any differently about Ghirahim?

He catches me peeking once. Oh, and it pleases him greatly. He glances over his shoulder and sees me gawking and I snap my eyes shut, but not before I get a glimpse of his satisfied smirk. The smug bastard.

He comes to me late at first, when all is quiet except for the thunder rumbling its distant lullaby, but it seems to get earlier and earlier. He's long since packed away the research allotted for me and has once again taken up the torch to find a way to free his master. I pretend to help, as usual, sitting there before the crinkling sounds of the hearth, reading letter by letter with my ancient Hylian alphabet parchment. But I hardly see the letters. What's really going through my head is: How can I stop this? How can I stop fate?

Earlier and earlier, he comes to me…and in the end I find myself grateful for it, despite my uneasiness. The more time he spends with me, the less time he's spending on his master.

And spend more time on me he does.

I stand in front of the stained-glass window in my room. Its shapes and colors come together to form the image of flowers with their petals blowing in the wind. A treasured moment of sunlight, piercing through the gray clouds, immerses my window with its radiance. I put a hand up, touch the smooth surface, imagine I can feel the sun's warmth in it.

He kissed me awake this morning.

I was pulled out of a dream when he did, the dream of me standing amidst the skyscrapers, the street empty, with snow falling all around me. I lifted my face to the sky, and the snowflakes gave me their cold kisses. But when I opened my eyes in the waking world it was Ghirahim, his wintery lips pressing on my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, and then finally—when he saw me awake—my mouth.

I tentatively returned his kiss, wanting to, not wanting to. I don't know.

And now I have to go meet him out in the main chamber, to help him in his damn quest to save his stupid master. I stall by the window, wishing I could make him stop.

Distract him, half of me says. Use this. Keep him preoccupied.

The other half shivers, fear and exhilaration flowing together as one. But not with that, it says. You'll get far more than you've bargained for if you do.

We're sitting in the main chamber as usual when I realize I don't even have to try. It puts both the ewe and she-wolf in an upheaval. The ewe shoves her head in the grass, while she she-wolf is left wide-eyed, hackles raised.

He's staring at me. And he's supposed to be staring at the tome he has propped in his lap. But it's me he looks at. Lids low, lips parted, he's gazing at my mouth, stare flicking down lower to my breasts, up again to my eyes. I try to make like I don't notice, lean over my own tome, pulling my translating parchment close.

"Come here." The demand is low, husky, like he's breathless.

My heart gives a twist as I oblige, slide down the sofa until our thighs are touching.

"Turn around. Let me see your back."

I suppress the sigh of relief that tries to woosh out, and do so.

He pushes my hair aside, traces the crescent-shaped scar Link's sword left behind, curving from the back of my left shoulder to my waist. The wound that was once a wrathful red with black stitching is now white, the stiches long since removed. His fingers run along the scar, leaving little shivering sensations behind on my skin.

Suddenly he pulls me back against him, his mouth finding the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

"M-Master…!" I cry, panicked. "I—I have to use the bathroom."

I tear myself from his grasp, book it for the other room. After the door slams shut, I lean against it, breathing erratic.

I don't come out for at least a half hour.

When I do, creaking the door open slowly, and just as slowly emerging and reentering the main chamber, Ghirahim's gaze is one of shifting emotions, flickering in his eyes like swift currents in an icy river. Bemusement turns to concern. Concern turns to amusement. It all settles with a knowing look.

"There's no need to be bashful, darling." He smiles to himself, turns a page of his present tome. "Come back here. I promise I won't be too forward."

I say nothing. I just retake my position next to him. All the while confusion ravages my mind and I can't stop it, not knowing what to feel.

There are other things that pull his attention from his master quest. Still to do with me.

Another morning in front of my stained-glass window, he sneaks up behind me. White fingers spill through my hair.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Let me brush your hair."

"No."

"I'm going to."

"No!" I leap away from the window, make a run for the door but am tackled to the bed in mid-flight.

"Now, darling," he says as he grabs for my flailing arms, "we can do this the easy way"—he pins my wrists above my head, voice roughening—"or we can do it the hard way."

I freeze, eyes going wide. "…Why do you have to make it sound like some freaky innuendo?!"

He smiles unassumingly, eyelids lowering over a suddenly smoky gaze. He leans into me, making a little moaning noise in the back of his throat for good measure.

"Gah! Geez, just—just brush my hair then! Knock it off!"

His deep chuckle is all amusement, and he lets me up.

He sits me in the vanity desk's chair, picks up the silver backed brush, and sets to work. His strokes are sure but gentle, smoothing errant strands, picking out knots, and all the while I'm wondering why he wants to do this.

It's not the only weird thing he does.

You ever wake up in the middle of the night to someone painting your toenails?

Yeah, me neither.

Until now.

"What in the living hell, Master?!"

"Hush darling, and hold still! I'm not finished yet." He holds my ankle; the covers having been pulled away. The polish he's brushing onto my toes shimmers in the firelight, and I wonder why in the heck he has nail polish in the first place—pink at that!

"You fruitcake," I mumble in sleepy English. "Crap like this is why I thought you were gay."

He ignores my foreign tongue, and maybe that's because I haven't taught him certain words, and paints the last toenail in glittery pink, an expression of strange contentedness softening his face.

The oddities pile up. I can't figure out why he does what he does.

He's tied me to a chair at the dining table.

The room is massive, the ceiling high and dark, and the table so long I can barely see the end of it. Ghirahim and I are seated across from each other. An arrayment of silverware spans out from the fine china plates that hold our steaming food of delectable meats and colorful vegetables.

"It's going to get cold, my darling. Just accept the restrictions. You must learn proper decorum."

"Frickin' unbelievable! Do you usually imprison people at the dinner table with…" I glare at my binding. "…pink silky scarves?"

"Only those who can't behave themselves," he replies sweetly.

I snort and reach for my glass. Thanks to the scarf my back is kept tight to the chair and my arm just isn't quite long enough. I reach and reach, wiggling my fingers, just barely touching the rim of the glass.

Curtesy of Ghirahim, my chair takes on a halo of gold as he uses a spell to scoot me closer to the table, and I am at last able to reach my glass.

"You'll keep eating with the scarf until you learn to keep proper posture."

"Tch," I scoff, tilting my glass back for a drink. "Like I'm a princess or something."

He leans forward, chin resting in the palm of his hand, smile showing gleaming white teeth. "You're my princess," he coos.

I choke. Tea spills back into my glass and droplets splash out onto the table.

Ghirahim raises a brow, nose scrunched in his disdain as he regards the spilt tea.

"Heh, lawl." I say it lamely, awkwardly sponging up my mess with a cloth napkin.

"What does that mean?"

"What? Lawl? It's a derivative of L-O-L, which means laugh out loud and…yeah. It's from the Knowing Realm. It's just an expression of amusement. Don't mind it."

He stares at me. "I wish you'd tell me more of that world."

"I've already told you."

"There has to be more to it. What was your life like?"

I stay silent, gazing deeply into my tea like it's there's something super interesting happening in the liquid, hoping the questions will go away.

He leans back in his chair and sighs. He's quiet for a long time. Then, "Little bird, I have the feeling…you're going to be wearing that scarf for a very long time."

"Probably."

There's more of these 'sessions,' as I start calling them. He insists on teaching me how to walk, talk, and act with grace and dignity.

"Why am I doing this? Who the heck am I trying to impress?"

He smooths my hair back, tilts my chin up, lures me into the dark depths of his eyes, where I get lost, mesmerized. "Impress me," he says.

And despite myself, I try. I can't help it. Something in me just sings happiness when he gets that proud gleam in his eye when I've done well.

I'm left with Essil or Shii when Ghirahim goes out to search forests and prairies. I beg him to let me come, try to wheedle my place out in the open world. He doesn't budge. His face is stern, mouth a firm slash.

"I wont risk you. Not again."

And he goes.

Without me.

I take my frustration out on Shii one day in the sparring room. We leap and charge and sidestep and dash, twisting and turning, jabbing and slicing with our daggers. With a quick circling pull, Shii rips the dagger from my hand, disarming me.

"You're distracted," she says.

I pace, rub my wrist where she hit me. "Why is he doing all this? What the crap is going through that head of his? If he's not kissing me, he's barking at me to stand straight, or sprucing me up like I'm a doll, or—or—"

"He's taken you under his wing, Kya. He's preparing you for the future."

"What future?"

"I think it should be obvious." Shii smirks. "…My Lady."

"Tell me more about the Knowing Realm."

He asks more and more of it every day. He has a curiosity that can't be satiated, and my attempts to divert his attention only serve to make his focus stronger.

I turn a page of the book I'm going through and avoid looking at him. "What else is there to know?"

"Anything. Everything. Tell me. Whatever is going through your head, tell me."

"Heh. Not much goes on in my head."

He glares. "Come now, be serious."

"I wish I could summon one of those silver screens for you, Master. You'd see everything then. But I can't. That power's lost to me." I sit back, staring off into nothing.

My reticence visibly bothers him. He asks, and I only tell the bare minimum.

But, after all is said and done, he gets what he wants, in ways that I could never have seen coming…

It happens after I go to sleep, late into the night, and deep into the realm of dreams.

I don't realize I'm dreaming, of course. All feels normal and rational even though it's not. Suddenly I'm just standing in the middle of a pitch-black road, stars shining overhead. The city is a beacon of distant light on the horizon.

I need to get there. I need to see my family again.

All of a sudden, Ghirahim is next to me. "What is that thing?" he asks in awe. "Is it…?"

"A car," I deadpan, going over to the driver's side door. "And it's going to take me places."

"Is that so?" Ghirahim stands taller, looks over the sleek sheen of the vehicle like he's sizing up an opponent. "Not without me it's not."

"Whatever~" my voice drawls lazily. I throw myself into the driver's seat, start up the engine and the machine comes to life with a growl.

Ghirahim is quick to figure out the passenger door and shuts himself in beside me, dragging a discerning eye over the dark interior.

I let my brain's autopilot take over, pulling out onto the long black road, and before I know it that road is flying by, the lights of the glittering city beckoning me closer. The hum of the car and the outside drone of the wind lulls me into a familiar reverie.

And then Ghirahim starts fiddling with everything.

"Can—can you not—? Okay, yeah, that's the sun visor. That's—that's the glove compartment. Do you even have your seatbelt on? Look, I know a collision probably wouldn't kill you, but we could get pulled over—"

Without looking at me, he brings his hand up to silence me. And then starts playing with the seat controls.

I almost laugh—a snort gets through—as the seat falls back with a wide-eyed demon in tow. The controls buzz as he rights himself.

He turns his interest to the dashboard. Lights and buttons and knobs are prodded and poked.

"What the f—!" I scream as the radio blares to life. Not a second later is there a black blade protruding from it, sparks and crackling fizzing coming from the device. "Oh, come on!" I whine. "I'm trying to drive!"

"You screamed! What was I supposed to do?" He straightens his cape with a huff. "This mechanism… How peculiar…"

"You're going to get shocked if you mess with it now." At least that's what my dreamland reasoning told me, whether it was true or not.

He ignores me, extracts his sword, disperses it into diamond fractals, and starts pulling wires. Glancing between him and the road, I nervously clear my throat.

"Hush, darling," he says, eyeing the shiny wires. "This is…fascinating."

"Uh, okay, well just don't break…" I sigh. "Too late for that, isn't it?"

He hums noncommittedly, dark eyes glittering, mind figuring. He digs in a finger, pulls more wires and widgets, touches frayed metallic edges together, doesn't even blink as a zap! resounds, and probably travels through him.

I sigh again. Just focus on driving, I tell myself. Just focus—

The radio blares back to life with a song about taking the road less traveled.

We drive along with different songs warbling in and out, static commercials, and white noise switching through it all.

I'm more concerned with Ghirahim's antics, and so I don't pay attention to how heavy my foot lays on the accelerator.

Red and blue lights flash in the rearview mirror.

"Oh, geez! Oh, geez! Okay. Look, you need to stay calm."

Ghirahim turns a sharp eye on me, and then to the flashing lights over his shoulder. "Are you telling me or yourself?"

For a brief moment I think of hitting the gas, but immediately trash it. Last thing we need is the authorities swarming down on us like a pack of orcas.

"This is a routine traffic stop. Do not say anything and look straight ahead. I will do the talking."

"Is that right?"

"Do not. Kill. Anyone."

The demon hums on eerie tune in the back of his throat. Smiles.

I wake up with a gasp to find Ghirahim hovering over me, a white crystal pressed between my eyes. He draws back from me, the same smile as in the dream playing at his lips.

"What is that?" I ask in a panic, my stare glued to the white crystal.

"Just a little trinket to let me see into dreams, nothing big."

"Nothing big?" I repeat disbelievingly. "Nothing big?! Stay out of my head! What if—!" I scramble for something to say that isn't related to video games of a specific nature. Or of the darkest dreams where he bares himself to me on the battlefield. "What if I was having that dream where I'm running around naked, trying to find clothes, but I never can—and—and—I have embarrassing moments from my past I'd rather you not see!"

Ghirahim puts a finger to my lips. "Hush now. It's not so invasive. Memories cannot be accessed. Just dreams."

"Can you manipulate my dreams?"

"No. Your dreams are of your own making. My presence simply influences things."

I scramble away from him, my back hitting the headboard. "But still! Don't—don't do that again. That's just freaky." I wrap my arms around myself, eyes wide.

"…Forgive me, little bird. It's just that I often wonder what goes on in that head of yours. The things you see. The words you don't say." He looks at me for what seems like the longest time, with an expression I can't read. "And all the mysteries that make you what you are. You've bewitched me. And I find myself not minding in the slightest."

"I…" I start, not knowing what to say. "I didn't mean to?"

He smiles ruefully. "Ah, and that makes it all the more extraordinary, doesn't it?"

A/N: Thank you for reading.

!The rating goes up to M next chapter!