Twilight Princess: Link/Midna
Theme: Word was "scent."
His days are stratified into sections of sight and smell: the brisk, anticipatory swell of morning, the sharp pummel of the noonday sun, the cold, anxious musk of night, with its pitfalls and mystery.
Somewhere she has a place, veiled in her shadows and her shame, huddled beneath all those intangible layers of that world that wasn't. He thinks of her only when the day is nearing its end, reclining to its rustic sfumato of twilight, and she is steady in his thoughts then, like the stream that pushes relentlessly to a dissipate point beyond the horizon.
And it not necessarily that the world is so old or so dark or so cold without her, but sometimes...
He wonders who casts shadows for her now.