Categories > Games > Zelda > The World in Brief
Timeline: Windwaker
Warnings: None
Characters: Link (implied one-sided Link/Tetra)
Theme: lyrics - "phantasmagoric monsters"
He knows that she hates mornings like wind hates water, crashing in mercilessly with a bellow and a shout, and that is why he pesters her mainly in evenings, when the word is settling sleepily against itself, hazy and horizontal. She is softer then, all of her thinking floating aimlessly around her, spread out weighty and lapsed beneath the girth of her conscience.
He likes to think himself a lesser bother, amidst all the heavy things inside her heart, but he knows that time and space frequently serve only to echo and enlarge the smaller concerns in life, and his attempts to wedge himself into the span of her affairs is not so subtle to go without notice. If he is to serve a grievance, he likes to think himself a productive sort, and he has bartered passage into her heart with promise of fortune, though of what kind he is uncertain. He would like to promise something, somewhere between the fumbling of his mouth and spirit, anything to place a value to his presence in her life, though she is short in her return.
Today he has failed to make much of himself; yesterday is a breath goodbye, and he wonders at the future spreading out like some phantasmagoric monster, steady and dreadful and bold before them, whether tomorrow he will be more than a bother that he was today and whether there is wealth in being noticed.
He supposes that will have to wait for evening.
Warnings: None
Characters: Link (implied one-sided Link/Tetra)
Theme: lyrics - "phantasmagoric monsters"
He knows that she hates mornings like wind hates water, crashing in mercilessly with a bellow and a shout, and that is why he pesters her mainly in evenings, when the word is settling sleepily against itself, hazy and horizontal. She is softer then, all of her thinking floating aimlessly around her, spread out weighty and lapsed beneath the girth of her conscience.
He likes to think himself a lesser bother, amidst all the heavy things inside her heart, but he knows that time and space frequently serve only to echo and enlarge the smaller concerns in life, and his attempts to wedge himself into the span of her affairs is not so subtle to go without notice. If he is to serve a grievance, he likes to think himself a productive sort, and he has bartered passage into her heart with promise of fortune, though of what kind he is uncertain. He would like to promise something, somewhere between the fumbling of his mouth and spirit, anything to place a value to his presence in her life, though she is short in her return.
Today he has failed to make much of himself; yesterday is a breath goodbye, and he wonders at the future spreading out like some phantasmagoric monster, steady and dreadful and bold before them, whether tomorrow he will be more than a bother that he was today and whether there is wealth in being noticed.
He supposes that will have to wait for evening.
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