Majora's Mask: Link
Theme: Word was "drugs." Yes, those kind.
The stars were playing symphonies and sounding off horns when he first ascended; he strummed his fingers along the thin, striated harp of clouds and imagined him part of that choir as the clock began to wind down, its hands moving strained and stubbornly against the world he'd made sluggish.
In town of endless ticking, they had called him "child," and bar owners had tossed him to the streets, but the soldiers at the bridge had laughed to see his sword and told him that any boy who tried the blade was a man in their eyes, and they had shown him the way to paradise in the bottom of a tin cup.
He closed one eye and made a temporary kaleidoscope of the world, which spun under his feet with the rapid flair of a top, and fell to his back so he could watch the world fall apart. In his mind's eye, he could imagine the Skull Kid at the helm of his time-ender and fancied him a composer - how does one play to the apocalypse proper? - and the stars glittered dangerously and the moon smiled like a Chesire Cat, heavy and hot above him.
And tomorrow (tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow) the world is going to end and he will have to save it (again - but what does it matter, if everybody dies anyway?), but for now he is alone and the sky is firing off its ten gun salute at the fall of the curtain, and for one night, Link is as dizzy and empty and weightless as Alice in Wonderland, laid to rest in her valley of flowers.