Categories > Games > Zelda > The World in Brief

Bed of Roses, Bed of Thorns

by Chaotic_Serenity 0 reviews

Category: Zelda - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Romance - Characters: Zelda - Published: 2008-02-10 - Updated: 2008-02-11 - 430 words

Title: Bed of Roses, Bed of Thorns
Game: Twilight Princess - one-sided Zelda/Ilia, implied Ilia/Link
Rating: PG-13, adult references
Theme: Pissed

At first it was letters, and she scribbled the Hylian alphabet in feverish circles around the ink well, blotted out furiously all the 'L' and 'I' and "YOU"s that made a heart and a home and put a meaning to the sterility of linguistics. She wanted a living tongue, a working play of histrionics, shrieking and accusations and all those desperate pieces that make things fall apart, but at first, all she had was her study and her parchment and the too quiet of a world without voice.

Soon the walls quivered with emotion, the air crackled with the words she couldn't say, the words the world wouldn't bear said, and she stormed every chamber and ransacked every good she had to their name long after there was no longer a name to be had for them. The flowers, neglected and despairing, wilted in her absence, and later she threw the vase over the balcony to crash somewhere in the garden below and thought viciously that it was better in the common dirt where it belonged, and went to make war upon the bed, too big and too open for a world writ in singular and past tense, and out the window it went too, frame upon pillows upon every living intimacy alive in the wrinkle of its sheets. Out, she wished it - OUT OUT! she screamed, and let all of their letters fly down in a tumult of white parchment rain, all of her hopes in discrete, unfinished pieces at the bottom of a ruined castle that no longer had a place for her.

Anger follows like a crow, irritable and peckish, constantly drilling in her ear; grief lowers like a shroud, but she will not see its triumph. Sometimes, she is fierce and hot and almost explosive -

"Do you remember the garden we tended?" she asks.

"What of the books you left behind?" she wonders.

"The bed in which I fucked you senseless?" she is honestly curious.

"Does he love you so much better?" she sneers and scorns and wishes otherwise.

She sits on a throne like a true queen, stiff and stunning and completely unattainable by any lesser hand (as to if you say, "mercy have the lady that turns her face aside!"), and tries not to think of how she has taken to burning books and tearing coverlets and all of the unseemly things a queen in love might do.
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