Ghirahim couldn't help but let out a small moan as the hot shower water cascaded down his back, alleviating tension in his muscles he didn't realize had been there until it was gone. He was in the restroom of the Knight Academy, finally able to get freshened up after the chaos of the day, and reacquaint himself with his body.

The first order of business was to get the dried blood out of his hair. Link had been kind enough to allow him to borrow some shampoo, which he was now meticulously scrubbing into the silvery strands section by section, as well as a few other toiletries. The boy didn't have any clothes that would fit him, but Ghirahim didn't really mind. He didn't much care for the color green anyway.

He still wasn't sure if he was allowed to be here, as he wasn't a student nor staff of the school. Link had given a few short non-answers when he had acquired about it, so eventually he had just given up. Link was being kind enough to offer him a place to stay while he found himself; he would be a fool to turn it down.

As ghirahim washed himself under the running water, he took the opportunity to examine every inch of his beautiful form. His skin was flawless, not a single blemish in sight. With the startling exception of a gruesome looking wound on his chest. It looked to be a stab wound of some sort, though it thankfully wasn't open nor bleeding. "I suppose that would explain the chest pain," Ghirahim muttered to himself as he traced the circumference of the injury. It wasn't hurting like before, but there was an ever present dull ache that seemed to originate from his chest and throb dully through his extremities. Luckily, it was easily ignorable.

Trying to recall when and how he procured such a grisly wound was giving him a headache, so he proceeded to rinse out his hair, only to discover yet another abnormality: he had two differently shaped ears. His right ear was pointed, like Link and the Spirit Maiden's. His left one, however, which was usually hidden by his bangs, was round. How odd. But it didn't seem to affect his hearing in any meaningful way, nor was it an easy thing to notice. One would have to really be paying attention to spot it. So he didn't let it bother him. (Nor did he linger too long on the uninterrupted smoothness between his legs. It was just smooth skin, like any other part of his body, nothing of note.)

Unfortunately, ghirahim knew he couldn't remain here, admiring himself for too much longer. His eyelids were beginning to droop, and the water was slowly becoming cooler, causing a shiver to run down his spine. So he turned off the shower and carefully stepped out, wrapping his hair neatly up in a towel and drying himself with another. Then, with a weary sigh, he began the arduous task of getting back into his outfit. His pre-amnesia self had an excellent taste in fashion, but a part of Ghirahim wished that he had picked clothes that were a little more practical when it came to getting in and out of them. It took him several minutes to figure out how the clasps on his cape worked. Then his sash got twisted…

Speaking of clothes, the outfit he was struggling to put on (he was glad no one was present to watch) seemed to be of very high quality, and expertly made. It had to have been extraordinarily expensive. That wasn't even considering his jewelry. Was he some sort of noble before his memory wipe? No one really seemed to treat him as such…

"So many questions, with no answers in sight," he grumbled to himself, allowing himself to look in the mirror one last time before being on his way. Staring back at him was a face just as unfamiliar as the last time he'd looked; it may as well have been a stranger, not his reflection.

He was surprised to note that his eyeshadow and lipstick were still there even after he had scrubbed his face thoroughly while taking his shower. "That must be some very durable makeup—" Ghirahim carefully scratches the purple under one eye with a fingernail. The nail comes back clean. "It's not makeup."

Indeed, the markings on his eyes and lips weren't a cosmetic choice at all, but just the way his face looked. He's only just processed that realization when something else about his reflection catches his eye. And for reasons unknown to him, dread begins pooling in his gut when he focuses on it.

A mark, dead center on his left cheek. He hadn't seen it earlier both because it had been concealed under his hair, and he had other things on his mind. He should have liked it. It was a perfect diamond. But something about the mark felt incredibly wrong to Ghirahim, in a primal, visceral way.

Violated. He realizes, giving a name to the wordless voice screaming in his mind. I feel violated! I want it gone!

Flashes of jumbled thought shuffle before Ghirahim's eyes, memories of fear, pain, anger, betrayal. But they're going by at sonic speeds; too fast to make sense of. And all the while, that mark sits there in the mirror, taunting him.

What is happening? This is ridiculous, it's just a little mark!

A series of loud bangs causes ghirahim to jump so hard he nearly falls over. Gasping, he shakes his head, returning to reality. He was in the bathroom. And someone was outside, knocking so hard that the door was shaking in its frame. He wanted to be annoyed someone was interrupting his private time so rudely, but in reality he felt grateful that whoever it was brought him out of that… episode.

"Occupied~" Ghirahim singsonged, and he couldn't help but marvel a bit at his own ability to temper his emotions. There was no way the person outside would know he had been panicking a few moments ago for reasons still unknown to him. Honestly, he should wonder about that a little more, and he would, later. Right now he was tired and just wanted to go to bed. A good night's rest, not having to think about anything for a while sounded positively heavenly.

That thought process was swiftly interrupted by a loud, girlish scream from the other side of the door, followed by rapid footsteps quickly receding into the distance. Ghirahim couldn't help but chuckle as he leaned his ear against the door, straining to hear the person's overdramatic retreat.

But then, he caught something on the air. Two different scents, one of them making him wince. He must have been in the restroom longer than he thought, or whoever that had been foolishly chose to wait until the absolute last minute if that had happened. He was mostly glad that sort of thing would never happen to him; it was physically impossible.

The other smell soon caught Ghirahim's attention once more, and he allowed himself to taste the air, catching the fading traces of fear on it.

That hadn't been a scream of mere humiliation, ghirahim realized now. It was pure terror, but why? Surely it wasn't just because of the bathroom emergency; there had to be something else involved. But what?

Ghirahim found himself wanting to go after the scent. To smell the tang of horror even closer. But wait, he knew what it was like to feel that sort of fear, himself. He'd felt it mere moments before, though he still had no clue why. How could he even think of relishing it when it was someone else?

He closes his eyes and takes a few slow, deep breaths to try to center himself. It felt as though his mind was trying to move in several directions at once, and he was struggling to get it under control. Before opening his eyes again, ghirahim reaches up and undoes the towel, allowing his hair to fall back into place. He instantly felt better now that the mark was covered again, not minding in the least that water was now dripping onto his clothing slightly. With all that said and done, he began on the last thing needed before he called it a night: brushing his slightly sharp teeth.

A few minutes earlier, Groose had been having a hard day and decided to go on a long flight to help process it. He'd stayed out for so long, however, that he was desperately in need of the bathroom by the time he got back to the academy. Only to be greeted by the worst-case scenario: someone was already in the bathroom, and they were taking forever!

Groose tried to wait a few minutes, but he felt as if he was about to explode, dancing from foot to foot. His patience wearing out, he started knocking on the door. Normally at first, but there was no response. Before he knew it, he was punching that stupid door with all his might.

Finally, he got a response. "Occupied~"

That voice. Groose had only heard it once, but he'd recognize it anywhere, and it made his blood run cold. That was the voice of the evil fiend who had kidnapped Zelda, kicked him, and insulted his hair!

He didn't waste time wondering how that demon had gotten here, what he was planning, or even why in the world he was in the bathroom for so damn long. He just ran, screaming all the while. He had to tell someone about this! He was so panicked that the unfortunate boy didn't even notice that it was now too late for a bathroom…

A/N: I've been excited to write this particular chapter since last year, lol! I hoped you all liked the Ghirahim POV. Poor Groose, though. Even though I mostly played it for laughs here, that really would be a terrifying situation to be in.