I don't write witty titles.

drabble: "to the end"

impa — Wed, 12 Dec 2012 02:52:47 GMT

Title: To the End
Rating: K
Genre: General
Word Count: 241
Pairings: None
Summary: The tides are the same as they have always been, from the dawn of his fall to the inevitable end.
Notes: Also known as "lol i r inspired by fanart". No, I'm not dead. ...Okay, I was dead. I have the absolute worst muse ever. Also, Ganon POV.
Warnings: Spoilers for Wind Waker and Ocarina of Time.

The tides are the same as they have always been. Shifting, but never gentle — furious, but always forgiving to the very few that flow with its waters. Ganon sees the ebb and flow of the tides — how it extinguishes old fires so that brighter ones may burn in their place. And he looks down upon the stirring waters beneath his high-up perch, and feels an impending sense of dread and giddiness and something of a thrill.

Ganon is determined to let the wind and the flow carry him to the highest point.

There is no other way Hyrule can be restored. Because the tides are the same as they have always been, and all water must return eventually — waves must crash against the rocks and the shore.

And as those waves crash down upon the rocks and stones that make up the drowned Hyrule — Ganon looks to the princess and the hero, shining beneath the light of the victorious sun. And beneath the taste of steely defeat and salt, he can hear birds chirping and see bright green hedges and see two children — bright-eyed and grim-faced — staring at him from a garden window.

Ganon looks to the sea-sky and sees the deluge that will swallow him and all of precious Hyrule, sweeping away the castles and his home-desert and the memories of those bright-eyed, grim-faced children.

And he bitterly thinks, yes, the tides are the same as they have always been.

Author's Note: I read too much into nonexistent symbolism behind game text. I wrote this kind of quickly, and I feel I could have done more with it (i.e. SS references or this leaves metaphor I had set up), but I also feel that it's okay the way it is. It's been so long since I've written, so I'm all rusty.
Anyway, thanks for reading.

fan tribute: "phoenix-lady"

impa — Thu, 31 May 2012 04:28:44 GMT

Title: Phoenix-lady
Rating: T
Genre: Romance-ish
Word Count: 280
Pairings: Ghirahim/Zelda, Ghirahim/Hylia
Summary: She was his very own Goddess of fire and brimstone.
Notes: A fan tribute to unwritten_icons's Who By Fire.
Warnings: SPOILERS for chapter 7 of Who By Fire as well Skyward Sword.

A private indulgence of his — nothing more. In the void of darkness she is born, a flicker of false life. Skin as pale as ash, flaming hands placed softly against smokecloud skirts. A fierce divine face framed by ribbon-flame hair, a thunderous breeze swirling through the smoke-tresses.

He has seen this image before in a time that seems like eons ago: but the lady was brilliant and pristine, like fresh sunlight and bright stars molded perfectly into the marble figure of a Goddess. He looks at the smoky beckoning eyes and remembers ones that burned sapphire. He looks at the billowing smoke-skirts and remembers a snowdrift dress stained crimson. He sees the coy look on her face — he remembers sculpted features set in determination.

She is a phoenix-lady, rising from the ashes again and again. The false Goddess throws her head and hair back, letting it fly in wind that is not there, and for a second — a very brief, very vivid second — he sees the sky girl, soft and lovely, there.

Ghirahim watches the false Goddess dance before him, body sensuously moving with the smooth lazy motion of the smoke. He thinks of burning sapphire eyes and hair that would dull gold — of full perfect lips frozen with steely resolution. And the soft girl, dressed in a silken black dress.

He raises his sword and slices through the false Goddess, hearing her scream whisper on the edge of his blade, watching the swirling hair and skirts furl around it and fizzle out altogether.

He likes her much better this way, he concludes — as his phoenix-lady, sweet, his Goddess.

Author's Note: My only hope is that it's faithful enough to the derivative fic and that it's not TOO telling.

If you haven't, go read (and review!) Who By Fire. Seriously. Do it.

footnote: "fallen stars"

impa — Sat, 05 May 2012 01:57:38 GMT

Title: Fallen Stars
Rating: T
Genre: Angst, drama, romance
Word Count: 1595
Pairings: light Shirley/Schneizel and Schneizel/C.C.
Summary: AU. They'd fallen, all of them.
Notes: An epilogue to the epilogue of Lady of the Sun. Are you confused yet?
Warnings: OOC, spoilers for R2, mentions of violence.

A death-orb of sun, swallowing everything it touches. And that's her out there, seizing the world in her foul divine grasp, blotting everything dark and cloudy with her searing brilliance. C.C. knows it is her. There is a bit of her in every FLEIJA created.

Lelouch making a remark on how he should have watched Schneizel closer, bemoaning how long this little project of his brother's had gone on right under his nose. C.C. listens, only hearing the dull ticking of clocks. Tick tick. Eleven years. And still her phantom claws hold onto his heart, still her spectral radiance blinds him.

She remembers Schneizel drunk, in mourning, his mother's face stained dark puce as she shoved her son into his room and told him never to come out unless he would behave. And ripping out the tapestry in the weaving machine just as he walked in. How wide his mouth opened, how loud his voice rang down the hallways. She waited for a slap. One never came.

Looking at the wind-whips left behind by the sun. They look like the threadlike strands of her hair, weaving themselves into the dark cloudy fabric of the smoke-stained sky. Like the half-finished tapestry she ripped out in her anger. The disheveled locks of Schneizel's hair as he yelled at her, holding frail blue rose blooms to his heart.

She wants to know why. She has always wanted to know for these eleven years — now she'd dare to say she needs to know. So many questions. How many will have answers?

Lelouch stands up, eyes steel-amethyst and mouth a grim flat line.

Cool gray fire flecks raining down from the sky like dull snow. It's time. Lelouch leaving, C.C. trailing behind him down the dark narrow hallway.

"We have an incredibly minute window of opportunity to counter the FLEIJA." Lelouch's voice rings against the dull steel, as if to prepare himself for what lay ahead. "It's all we could afford to make in the time provided, but it's better than nothing. It must be done. For the sake of the Zero Requiem." Turning to her, and a small soft smile that makes her heart flutter anew — I think I could love you. "C.C., I... hope you make it back safe and sound."

She thinks of the sun out there, swallowing everything, the impossible odds — goddesses aren't easy things to kill. She chuckles and feels the sound sink down to her stomach, heavy and foreboding.

"Just make sure you come back. That'll make me smile, okay?"

She thought sincerity, true sincerity, was long lost to her old snowy heart. Lelouch has made her think otherwise.

And, she thinks to herself grimly as she ushers herself into the Knightmare's cockpit, so has Schneizel.

He witnesses the death of his Goddess in a blindingly slow march of seconds.

The Shinkiro and Lancelot — Lelouch and Suzaku — throwing a long lance at her. Schneizel smiles at first: No weapon can hope to stop a Goddess, he thinks to himself as he watches her glowing radiance expand.

And then the light halts. Contracting. Faltering desperately, as if on the edge of life. And then she's like an eclipsed sun, and she's swallowed into herself until she disappears in a shower of death-light.

A numbing shock passing over his features and fragile ice-glass heart. Reports of damage and infiltration whispering in the back of his mind, causing a slight tingle of irritation overwhelmed by strange emptiness. She's gone, just like that, in a flash of light.

The wail of alarms. A soldier reports damage to communications and control rooms. The irritation turns to fury, fury that seeps through the cracks of his composed mask. Again. Lelouch has killed his Goddess again, before his very eyes.

The fury turns cold. He smiles and lets it slide off his back like ice. Kudos to you, my little brother. To think you could actually back me in a corner like this. "I'm going to implement my final plan," he announces, and the coldness becomes a wicked sense of giddy justice.

"You're really going to do that?" Something resembling shock passes over Kanon's face.

"Yes," he says with finality, thinking of the Toromo Agency, the FLEIJAs, his Goddess. "Turn the Damocles into a prison for Lelouch and the others."

He smiles to himself, barely perceptible. Yes, Lelouch will at least die with the highest of honors, smitten by a Goddess's vengeful light. He'll be with dear Nunnally, too. Lost in the dim clouds of the universe.

But, he realizes with dim brilliance, his Lady will never die. Even if he loses the Damocles and the FLEIJAs, he can always build more. He'll always have her. His smile grows. She's always been with him, faint and dying with each passing year, but growing and morphing alongside him. If he focuses, he can feel her warm slender arm linked with his, her soft summery breath on his skin, see her melancholy melting into bliss.

Geass or no — death be damned — what reason had he to doubt her immortality when she rises like a phoenix? — for the Lady of the Sun will live on forever.

He sits alone in the dark room, surrounded by the heavy odor of roses. Wilting, neglected, blue petals falling on the floor from the dusty vases they sat in. He must have ordered the gardeners to plant them, plucked their thorny stems off the bush and arranged such a nice careful bouquet for her.

C.C. quietly closes the door behind her, holding the red spider lilies she picked. She walks across the plush carpet and hands them to him. Watching his fingers ghost over it threateningly, slight flare of the eyes as he half-contemplates crushing them.

After a heavy pause, he decides against it, reluctantly half-cradling them. C.C. watching his face carefully for any glimmer of emotion as she seats herself on the edge of a table.

There is bitterness and longing lying beneath the surface of loose indifference. She has seen it before, plain and shocking on a wan lonely face reflected in a mirror eleven years ago.

Schneizel caresses the thin ribbonlike petals with a hint of fondness. A faraway smile on his lips as he dreams of hair like nebula-flares, and of a withering stardust memory.

There is a frightening desperation in his eyes, denial in every stroke of the petals. C.C. knows now — she's lost. She's lost to her, but she finds that she doesn't mind a bit. She slides off the table, wiping the dust off her skirt with deliberate conclusiveness. "Well... good-bye, Schneizel."

She glides toward the door and Schneizel says nothing, looking at the flowers in his arms.

She hesitates beside him and considers telling him... telling him what? She looks down at the lonely face, the lost daydream eyes. There's not enough time in her life to tell him everything she wants to say.

So she instead lets the door close behind her, its loud clap ringing down the halls like a string snapped in half.

finale

He is dead. Schneizel died alone in his dark secluded study. C.C. reads the tabloids, the tender words of praise — handsome genius, pride of the Old Empire and the New Empire, one of the Empress's most trusted intimates, affable and charming. And what a shame he never married — O, he had a long line of girlfriends and mistresses, but he always left them in the end, no matter how long it had lasted or how serious the relationship.

All of them had hair like flames and pale jade eyes.

She hears the whispers of the gossips: Schneizel died clutching a red spider lily and a blue rose to his heart.

An old woman on the side of the street stopping her with a playful twinkle in her eye. Telling her the rumors about the prince having an unrequited true love. And nobody knows who she is, or where she is, or what her name is.

And because she feels particularly daring, C.C. says, "I know her name."

All eyes upon her, young and old. She realizes, with a hint of melancholy, that Lelouch was right about his brother. He really couldn't move forward. C.C. wants to smile but she can't bring herself to do it when she declares:

"The Lady of the Sun."

footnote: "lady of the sun" epilogue

impa — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 03:06:15 GMT

Title: Lady of the Sun, Epilogue
Rating: T
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 593
Pairings: one-sided Shirley/Schneizel
Summary: AU. He had the option. He never took it.
Notes: Same as Lady of the Sun.
Warnings: OOC, spoilers for R2.

Kanon hands him the files on Lelouch's victims. Schneizel flips through them nonchalantly: nobles, knights, teachers, comrades, and—

He freezes when he sees her.

The face is more girlish and innocent, the lashes not nearly as long, the hair bright but not brilliant, and her eyes — don't make him laugh! The picture of the schoolgirl before him is a cheap mockery of her, but he would be lying if he pretended it didn't make his heart ache happily and his skin crawl.

He draws the paper nearer to him with his fingertips, breathing suddenly labored — he feels her sun flare up in him again, beneath the layers of false purity and self-imposed ice, scorching his mind and heart until the smoke blinds him. The elegant curvature of her name dances at the edge of his vision — he smells the summery perfume, feels the long fingers like melted ivory.

The paper is before him, and he hears windchimes singing old ballads, echoing faintly in his memory. Her empyrean image before him once more.

He skims the paper. Father: J— Skip that. Faith— No, she was a Goddess in her own right. Age: 18. And how could that be, I knew her when I was that age. Status: Deceased.

Schneizel has to pause and read it again, to make sure he is not dreaming. Status: Deceased.

Nearly eleven years after she has left him, he feels his world freeze over once more. She is dead. His Lady of the Sun, his Goddess, is dead.

Almost desperately, he lets his eyes skim to her name at the top, in large, elegant print: S— F—

And he stops himself just in time, jerking the paper to the side with the barest of dignities. Kanon looks at him oddly, but he doesn't care. S.F. — for sun-fire, the color of her hair. A lively color on a dead body.

"Sir?" Kanon's gloved fingers delicately touch the paper, as if it were poisoned. "Would you care for me to read this information aloud to you?"

"No." Schneizel's voice is quivering, but unnaturally firm and cruel in tone. "Don't ever show, mention, or speak of that person in my presence. Do you understand? Do not even dare, or I will..."

He looks up, and he doesn't think he's ever seen Kanon so frightened in his life. He decides he doesn't care, and he dismisses his aide with a flippant wave of his hand.

Alone in the room. Schneizel listens to the low hum of the air conditioning — sometimes she hummed songs, voice a low melodic murmur on the wind. He feels his face collapse into the palms of his hands, all the light blotted out. Her warm sun leaks out of his eyes in soft silent drops.

He doesn't need to read the report — it was Lelouch who was responsible for her death. Lelouch, his wayward little brother — he killed her. She couldn't even save Lelouch.

But, he thinks to himself, the sun slowly leaving him — I can save him.

An iciness washes over his soul and settles there like new snowdrift. A single pearly drop of her sun travels down his face, leaving behind a cold river before falling on the table. He stands up, glowing like a glacier-white star, smiling brilliantly, eyes like blazing comets.

He will save Lelouch, no matter what the cost. With the FLEIJAs. With her, born anew.

And to the silent room, he intones a chilling invocation:

To the fair! to the immortal! to the only Goddess in my world—

The Lady of the Sun.

Author's Note: Yay epilogue. The real Lady isn't dead (if you couldn't already tell, she's clearly not of this universe/timeline/dimension), but Shirley is.

short story: "lady of the sun"

impa — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 06:28:54 GMT

Title: Lady of the Sun
Rating: M
Genre: Drama, fantasy
Word Count: 3143
Pairings: Schneizel/C.C., one-sided Shirley/Schneizel friendship-romance hybrid
Summary: AU. The lady of the sun would surely burn him to a crisp.
Notes: I try to write in stream of consciousness, in the style of The Ginger Man, Schneizel POV. Be afraid of my experimentation and intentional sentence fragments.
Warnings: OOC, sexual themes.

The sly grey witch with eyes like molten amber. Her skeletal fingers, more like ivory chopsticks, bended and cracked and beckoned — come hither. Her icy breath burning cold on his skin, and death-frost touches searing. She wanders the marble halls in white spectral gowns, a phantom, eyes falsely welcoming. He sees her in Lady Marianne's shadow, sees her standing behind his father's throne.

Sometimes, she approaches him, melted eyes glistening with barely perceptible interest, hands carelessly stroking him. And his mouth presses itself into a thin line before he kisses her, and she feels soft beneath him, icy hands traveling across warm skin. Into his bedroom. That sense of iciness and mystique never leaving the air, and she coyly smiles at him before nonchalantly stripping out of her clothes.

Beside him, she lies like a corpse, limbs strewn haphazardly, hair clumped together in sweat-drenched strands. She lies quietly beside him. Even as he presses himself against her, she is not there. And soon her thin cool body is replaced with colder silk sheets.

She slips through his fingers like ice. Every time, with the coy bored glances, the wan lips sweetly singing mindless affections, the ice-hot hands burning his skin — every time she wanders into his bed and slips out like ice.

But ice must melt eventually, Schneizel convinces himself, lying naked in bed, hand against the slightly damp wrinkled sheets. It is merely a matter of how thick the ice is.

"I will make you want me."

The grey witch looks at him bemusedly from where she sits. "O really. And how will you do that?"

Schneizel does not crack his face into a grin. "It will happen. All walls must be broken down eventually."

"A man ambitious in passion, like your father," she comments dryly, lying down and not bothering to cover herself with the sheets. Her back to him, springleaf hair strewn out behind her, and he plays with it. "Do what you like. I assure you that I will not break."

Schneizel looks at her hair, polished and gleaming like glass, and wonders how many other men have played with such hair, fallen under the spell of molten eyes and airs of mystery — and failed.

He refuses to join their ranks.

Tender kisses and touches have no effect on the grey witch. And she laughs at him from the sheets, legs spread wide, a dark blotch of flush on her pallid skin, hair laid across the pillows like the branches of a tree. "Is this the best you can do?" she pants. He thrusts into her harder, and her laughter mingles with her ragged breaths.

A boy, a boy, she choruses. A mere boy like you cannot break my walls.

When she leaves, he feels as thick-coated and icy as her.

(He remembers when he first met her.)

Schneizel entering the Aries Villa. The maids bow: Your Highness, Lady Marianne has left on official business.

"I know that," he replies curtly — for the grey witch disappeared alongside Marianne. "Where is Lelouch."

"Master Lelouch, Lady Nunnally, and Lady Euphemia are in the first floor recreational room with their caretaker," one of the maids answers carefully. Schneizel walks past her and down warm topaz hallways until he reaches the wide dark double doors. There is warm children's laughter on the other side. He opens the door without warning, without announcement—

And it is not the surprised joy on Lelouch's face, nor the bright glimmering eyes of Nunnally and Euphemia that grabs his attention — it is the lady at the spool, with sun-fire hair and jade eyes like supernovas. She catches his glance and stands up to bow, entangled in her weaving-threads.

Catching her glance again. Her eyes, entrancing and lonely — like staring into a fantastic dream rather than the void of the witch's molten eyes. And skin so warm and glowing that it is like fey sunlight. She is not of this world, he thinks.

"And you are the caretaker?" he asks. She only nods. "What is your name?"

Euphemia answers before she can: "The Lady of the Sun."

The Lady of the Sun shuts her full lips tight and smiles.

She has half-melted the ice of his heart, he concludes. O Lady of the Sun, your hair is so rich and you are brilliant like a dying star. Such long lashes you have, I don't think I've ever seen them so long. Their darkness bringing out the lonely shine of her eyes.

He walks up to her at the edge of the pond, sitting down behind her. Taking a lock of her hair in his hand — it seems to pulsate and glow like a ribbon of flame, warm and beautiful in his palm.

"May I?" he asks her. She only nods. Playing with her hair, twisting and braiding, watching smooth locks furl and unfurl. And their warmth is familiar in his hands, deja vu, like loose threads flying at the edges of his windy memory's grasp. "I feel as if though I've met you before, in a dream, maybe."

The Lady of the Sun says nothing and smiles.

He hears her singing, a ballad of lost love and ancient romantic kingdoms. Her voice is like a chorus of windchimes. She shines in the light of the arched window, and he realizes she is a different kind of phantom. The image of her hair glowing in the glare of the sunlight, the shine of the harp as she gently strums it, her musical voice rising beyond the walls and ceilings and sky — her radiance is forever burned into his memory.

They call a holy ghost an angel — and brilliant angels are called seraphims — but her eyes are too lonely and her radiance too searing for her to be an angel.

An angel? A goddess? he wonders. But angels don't wear dresses the color of mourning and become entangled in their own tapestry.

Silence and respectful clapping replace her voice and harp. Then she is before him, with her arm extended and a small gentle smile.

He daren't touch her. No, it is not meant to be; even now, as she stands mere inches away from him, her soft lips a mere stretch and crane of the neck away from a kiss — even now, he feels the heaviness of her presence. That invisible burden on her back, the melancholic void of her eyes, the light that illuminates it all.

She will surely burn him to a crisp if he touches her.

And so he kisses his brother and sisters goodbye, pats them on the head, and wishes for their good health — and not once does he look at her, for fear that he might be blinded forever if he should do so.

As he returns home, he sees her empyrean image in his mind again and again — that of the Lady of the Sun's.

"Did you find my performance unsatisfactory?"

Sweet windchime words spoken to him. "No, that's not it at all."

"Then why did you avoid me?" She steps closer. Smell of her perfume, and she smells like sweet rich summer flowers. The void in her eyes swallowing his heart. "Have I displeased you in some way?"

"No, not at all."

"Forgive me, it may be rude to demand such things of royalty, but I want to know what it is. It's just, Lady Nunnally and Lady Euphemia were a little worried, and Master Lelouch thought you acted oddly."

Her radiance clouding his vision, rich summer perfume closing in around his senses. How can you not see it? he wants to cry. It is wrong, a prince should not pine for a goddess, but my heart is a fickle thing. Reach. I will reach and reach until I am worthy to desire you.

"..."

"Your Highness?" Her hand, with all the warmth of a glowing fireplace, pressing against his forehead. "Are you alright?"

He grasps her hand in his — it burns him to his very core. "It is nothing," he says. "A little feverish, that's all."

And his heart never did leap as joyfully as it did when the Lady of the Sun gazed upon him with concern — with caring.

He sits next to her on the cool steel garden bench, smiling, speaking, soaking in her sunlight and feeling it scald him. She asked if he was happy with his life.

"...I am quite content most of the time. I have my brothers and sisters, the respect of the court and my father." Clasping her hand, craning his neck to get a better look at the face he loves so. "I have a few good friends. What about you?"

Her radiance dulled, solemn. "I find I am often lost."

"O? I would think you would be accustomed to the layout of the villa by now."

She shakes her shining head. "I didn't mean it like that." A small, false smile. "Really, it's nothing."

Realization hitting him like a sharp blow. "But if you feel that way, you should—"

"It is nothing. Pardon me for interrupting, but it is really nothing." She turns away from him, hair like autumn leaves.

And it is a small sliver of spirituality, a small sliver of belief, that keeps Schneizel's mouth shut — for what right has he to meddle in the divine affairs of his Goddess, the Lady of the Sun?

The grey witch and Marianne return unexpectedly early. The witch begins to haunt the marble corridors again, every now and then catching his eye, winking, smiling crooked coy smiles. And every time he sees her, he allows brilliant light to flood his vision temporarily — hair that burns like the sun and sweet windchimes and vibrating harp strings — and then the icy witch is no more.

Lady Marianne stops him in the hall one day, face unreadable. Her hand on his arm is too much like a lioness's death-grip. "She's waiting for you in the guest room down the corridor." She lets go and proceeds down the moonlit hallway, gliding gracefully over marble, raven tresses trailing out behind her like a reaper-cloak.

His mind and body numb, empty, frozen over with ice. He walks down the dark marble halls, not looking at anyone or anything, save for one.

She stands over the bed, pulling the blanket over the drowsy body beneath the sheets, glowing like soft lamplight. And her windchime voice sings a soothing lullaby all the while, pale glowing hands caressing hair as her own ghosts over their faces, warm trickles of fire.

He looks from the open door, meeting her eyes, and smiles at her.

And down the hall, peering from a crack in the door, the molten eyes of the grey witch burn with fury.

"Do you love her?"

Schneizel stares at the grey witch, her long thin body outlined by the sheets that stuck to her dewy skin. "Who?"

Her lips quivering. "Don't play dumb; don't make me say it. You love her, don't you?"

Schneizel's silence is enough of an answer for both of them.

The grey witch lunges forward, nails clawing at his skin, eyes wild. "Why? Wasn't it you that said you would make me want you?"

"I'd say I've already accomplished that," he replies, shrugging her off and pulling the covers over him. Her pride will make her back down, he thinks.

But it is the snarl in the witch's voice when she says, "I wonder what she'd think of you if she saw you like this," and the barely audible whimper in the stillness of the room that makes him think otherwise.

From afar, he sees them meet in the hallways, two specters in the sunlight.

The grey witch, words like knives, hands clenched into fists. The Lady of the Sun opening her mouth and silver words pouring forth.

The grey witch spits in her face and storms off, cheeks burning. The Lady watches her go, taking a small handkerchief out to wipe off the phlegm.

Schneizel approaches her worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"That was rude of her. I'm sorry."

"What a poor child she is," the Lady remarks, turning toward him, and he sees what made the witch's cheeks flush red:

His Goddess pitied the grey witch.

'She only wishes to be loved.'

The Lady of the Sun's words play again and again in his mind, an ominous refrain — and yet still, his skin, kissed and scorched by fey brilliance, crawls and tingles beneath the witch's icy cold touches. Yet still, he thinks of her jade-void eyes when he meets wild desperate amber ones.

He thinks only of the sun even as the witch clings to his body, skin and tears arctic, soft silent pleas to never be left alone muffled against his chest.

"You must have a name."

The Lady of the Sun smiles. "It wouldn't matter if I told you what it was." Looking up to meet the cold face. "Besides, yours is barely human."

The grey witch's lips drawing into a thin line. "Nobody is named Lady of the Sun."

"Of course not." A thoughtful pause. "Euphie gave the name to me."

The grey witch looks down at her, the melancholy smile on her glowing face, long fingers and legs woven in between thick threads as she sits before the weaver. A sinister smell of metal on the edge of her perfume, and the grey witch doesn't want to think about it—

"What I don't understand," she says, "is how he can love someone with no name."

And the Lady of the Sun, for the first time since she has known her, stops smiling and falls deathly silent.

The grey witch rests on his arm now, her dark icy presence always beside him. She shoots false proud smiles at all of the women, digs her nails into his skin and lets her frigid lips pass over his ear. He knows she will cry later that night, asking for affections she will never receive.

He searches and searches for the sun in the gardens and the halls — he chases her, calls her name and runs through bushes and flowers, reaching for her.

But so long as the grey witch clings to his arm, the Lady of the Sun flees.

His mother arranges a ball, shooting knowing coquettish looks at the grey witch perched on his arm. She's pretty, my son, she remarks. Won't you take her to the ball?

Schneizel doesn't reply. His arm has grown numb from her weight, from her ice. He thinks of the Lady, avoiding him — What did I do wrong? he wonders. I did not ask for the grey witch to cling to me.

His mother takes the grey witch aside and to the dressing room, speaking of arrangements and engagements and public debuts. He wishes and hopes he meets the Lady — then he vows to meet her, to pursue her and reach until he is there with her. Surely he can do something right. The witch's road is too bitter and lonely and cold, and she is too much like the devil at his heels. Let me be scorched again. Let me drown in her fire.

His mother and the grey witch emerge from the dressing room, and the witch looks shockingly pale in a white ball gown. His mother smiles widely, revealing rows of false perfect teeth.

"Doesn't she look nice? I know you like white, and I think she should match."

Schneizel looks at the witch's desperate smile and pleading eyes. She is thin and skeletal in the dress, as bright and pearly as the moon itself.

"Perfect. She'll wear that to the ball," he says, smiling a warm genuine smile.

Yes! Put black-hearted witches in white! Liars dress themselves in purity, he thinks to himself. And only the honest and pure-hearted wear the black of mourning cloth.

(He selects a black tuxedo to wear to the ball — it will match her dress perfectly.)

She is putting on her makeup when the Lady quietly slips into her room, face solemn, lips pulled down at the edges. The grey witch puts her lipstick down. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to say good-bye." The Lady approaches her, insufferably warm, hair giving off an unnatural glow that she hates. "...I am giving him to you."

The grey witch glares at her venomously through the mirror. "Don't mock me. From all the glowing praise he's bestowed upon you, I'd think you better than that."

"I'm not mocking you. I really am leaving, and I really am giving him to you." The Lady's soft serious face, almost dream-like in the mirror. "Please take care of him for me."

"O, so you do love him."

"'Love' isn't the right word," the Lady of the Sun says quietly, eyes haunting.

When the grey witch struts up to him, chin held contemptuously high, confident smirk gracing her pale lips, he feels a chill run down his spine. "You seem chipper," he remarks blandly.

"O, I am." Taking his hand, leading him across the crowded floor. "Humor me; ask me why."

"Why then, you wicked witch."

"Ha. You're a comedian. Your precious little Lady is gone. She gave you to me." The grey witch grabs a glass of champagne — she barely looks old enough to drink — and guzzles it down. "And when I asked, she said she didn't love you."

The music seems to fade around him, his whole world becomes icy-black. "You lie."

"Then look for her," the grey witch replies triumphantly. "You won't find her. All mine...! She gave you to me like a used toy! And then she called you her dear friend! Some friend she is."

Schneizel falls back into the crowd — he realizes he probably looks horrified, shocked, betrayed — So she didn't love me after all? He can still smell her summery perfume, see her long sun-fire hair, hear her voice whispering in his mind's ear. She cannot be gone, he thinks to himself. Not when she's still here. So clearly, I can see her so clearly in my memory.

The party picks up and the grey witch takes him out onto the floor, smirking all the while, twirling and waltzing to soundless music. He goes through the motions, feels the brilliance within him die down, the scorched sensation turn into dull chill. He watches the witch before him parade in a wedding-white dress.

I have been claimed by the darkness, he thinks plaintively. He tries to reason with himself: it might not be half-bad. I need it for this life I lead. She is experienced in bed. Coldly beautiful.

And yet her sun always remains within him — faint and dying. He sometimes thinks of her brilliance, the golden harp and the long dark lashes and the glow of her skin. Burned into his memory forever. Her sun continues to fade.

Dying suns burn the brightest, he thinks to himself as he slips a white coat on.

drabble: "in thrall"

impa — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 07:23:00 GMT

Title: In Thrall
Rating: M
Pairing: GhiraFi
Word Count: hahahahahha. ha.
Summary: Even when they are one, she eludes him.
Notes: The title seriously needs some work. Inspired by conversations with unwritten_icons.
Warnings: Implicit sex.

She glows softly against the starless expanse of sky in their realm, shining amongst the clouds. Slim waist. Long legs. Enticing curve of the neck. Her hips aren't very pronounced, and her breasts are not large, but he doesn't mind. Her full soft lips haven't moved an inch in spite of her nakedness.

O lovely fey Fi. That slight girlish curve of yours is so alluring.

Circling around her slowly, taking in the arch of her back, the cool aura coming off of her. Her body shines with all the slick grace of melted sapphire. His long tongue licking his dry lips. How do you taste. I want to know. I want you entirely.

Tackling Fi to the floor, tongue and hands exploring. He can feel the ancient magic pulsating within her, giving her life. He kisses her with a rough passion, trying to taste that magic, trying to find the way to her heart. She makes no sounds, and it's infuriating. Even when they are one, her face is that pretty mask of dollish neutrality. He taunts and coos and grunts and groans and whispers — he shows her everything, and she shows him nothing.

Lying on his side, feeling empty and frustrated. Fi presses her chilled body against his own. Her breath is cooling against his ear. So tangible, so within his grasp. Mocking him in her own little way — she is always mocking him without knowing it. The ghostly breeze of her breath baiting him with a cold hand, and he knows he will fall for it and chase after a prize that will slip out of his grasp at the last second. He always does.

Before he can even move, Fi's wintry, half-curved body is gone. She lies a ways from him, just out of his reach.

If he stretches and pulls, he can touch her. All he has to do is reach, because she's that close. His fingers curl in determination. He will attain her. All he has to do is reach out and seize her, and then she would be his. His fingertips ghosting over her arm — I will win. Someday, I will win your love — someday you will need me.

(Reaching is as far as he will ever go.)

Author's Note: This is still in progress. Check out the word count filler.
I just now realized I have no GhiraFi icons. ):

quote drabbles: take one

impa — Sat, 31 Mar 2012 23:42:41 GMT

These were all taken from unwritten_icons's quote post here. Fandoms will vary. And by "vary," I mean Geass and Zelda.

No. 1: Geass, K+, spoilers and blood. 234 words.

Nunnally can only remember her mother's shining face and her brother's bright deep eyes. And her mother smells very sweet, her perfume like rich wildflowers, and Lelouch playing with her and trying to teach her chess in his gently bossy way. Her father is imposing but there is kindness in the way he plays with her hair and watches her as she dances with Lelouch.

Then there is the blood of her mother, dripping down her arms and into her dress. Vivid and frightening. Pain everywhere, in her legs and in her heart. Her world goes black after that.

And years later, with Suzaku kneeling by her side with tired green eyes, their brilliance dulled by tears. She thinks of her mother and that metallic taste of blood on her tongue, and the smell of death on raven tresses. Sword in hand and wicked mind whirring as she plotted the destruction of the human race alongside her husband — my father, the man who watched me dance and abandoned us, she thinks. The smell of death on them, on all of them, is too appropriate. And I should not doubt him — she says with a quivering voice — but is that bright little boy the true face of my brother?

There is nothing but blackness between her childhood and the present. And she is left with nothing but questions even after receiving all of the answers.

No. 2: Geass, K+, spoilers. 309 words. (Not quite a drabble, but close enough.)

Everyone has always fallen back on Schneizel.

He has silenced rebellions and ended wars with mere words — wars his father started the same way a child picks fights. He binds people to his side with smiles and charm — and Cornelia grants him a rare soft smile and says, I'm glad you're here, Schneizel; everything is so much easier with you around. He is the only one who has beaten Lelouch at chess — years later, he will still have that honor.

It is Lady Marianne's assassination and Lelouch and Nunnally's subsequent exile to Japan that begins it. Lady Marianne, bullet holes hidden beneath a veil of heavenly white, her blood washed away — the wide traumatized eyes of her children and Nunnally's crippled legs, Lelouch's eyes on fire — these memories ring in his mind again and again, like a deafening gong.

It is one of the few problems he cannot solve, and he feels he could have — they are dead, he thinks plaintively to himself, and I could have done something. I should have done something.

He convinces himself that he will solve the world's problems.

He will solve them no matter the cost.

If anyone can solve them, it is him.

(He is the only one who can solve everything — he has no reason to doubt otherwise.)

Lelouch smiles at him triumphantly on the monitor: Emperor Charles sought the past. You seek the present. But what I seek is the future.

A hand is on his shoulder. Lelouch with Geass glowing in his eyes. Fear tingling down Schneizel's spine — for now he sees beyond the mask of tyrant and victor, and beneath them is a mask he cannot see the edges of.

You shall serve Zero, Lelouch commands.

(And as his world goes scarlet, Schneizel realizes, with gray resignation, that he cannot even see the edges of his own mask.)

No. 3. Zelda. K+, spoilers, character death (and angst). 198 words.

Daphnes had always known her as proud and tall, hair shining like sunlight, eyes like blazing sapphires. A gentle and fair ruler, warm and calming when she hugged him, and he took comfort in her scent. Untouchable. Nothing could shatter her wisdom or her confidence. He loved his mother as much as he admired her.

Zelda on her deathbed was surreal. Her glowing skin was pale and sickly, her hair like dull sunbeams, eyes hollow. Looking at the plans for the statue of the Hero of Time to be built, clutching the Ocarina of Time to her chest. And rivulets of tears staining her sick-gray skin. She is dying of sadness, they all said. So young and so tragic. And they all mourned and wore black for months on end.

After the statue of the Hero was built, before the Queen could grace the statue herself, Zelda died with eyes full of sorrow.

It had to be a disease they didn't bother to cure, Daphnes thought indignantly at the time. They let my mother succumb! Surely it is impossible to die of sadness and regret alone!

Years later, as the ocean swallows him and Ganondorf, he thinks differently.

drabble: "land of immortal sunlight"

impa — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 23:31:05 GMT

Title: Land of Immortal Sunlight
Rating: K
Pairing: None
Word Count: 100
Summary: Dreams sometimes carry heavy prices.
Notes: From the 100wordstories prompt, "a dream". (Also, I wrote something that's exactly 100 words.)
Warnings: Spoilers for R2.

He dreams only of peace. Nunnally slumbering beneath an azure blanket of sky, surrounded by loved ones, golden light streaming down and caressing her face. And all of the blood and sin has been washed from their bodies and souls. She's in her own land of immortal sunlight. He sees the dream until it permeates his being — he will fight for his dream. He will sin to create virtue. For this, he will don the mask of Zero. And for this, they all think glumly at his funeral, he will enter a land of immortal sunlight to give Nunnally hers.

short story: "and there was fire"

impa — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 02:55:50 GMT

Title: And There Was Fire
Rating: T
Pairing: Very light Charles/Marianne
Word Count: 320
Summary: This empire was built upon fire, and it would end in fire.
Notes: Takes place in two separate time periods, pre-series and just after Lelouch becomes Emperor.
Warnings: Spoilers for Code Geass, blood, implied violence.

Springtime, a wide grassy plain, and the fragrant night is punctuated by heavy clouds of smoke and the smell of death. Charles, frightening against the ominous glow of the fire, smiling at Marianne who is kneeling before him with uniform and sword splattered with blood. She smells of burnt wood and death, her cheek scratched and hair tangled.

She stands up and they link hands. Charles imperceptibly squeezes her hand and she squeezes back. Their faces masks of love and affection, the gears in their mind turning with their next big scheme.

On this plain, the same one where he first formed his oath with his brother, he had seized the right to the throne. All the pieces falling into place. The gods would fall — lives that were taken in the process were meaningless in the end.

Marianne smiling at him — won't she make a fine consort and accomplice with her raven tresses and sharp mind. He raises their hands in oath and salute.

To a new world, they chorus. All hail Britannia!

Years later, on a wide grassy plain, with waves of smoke crashing against the sky, Lelouch watches as flags and statues of his father burn. A smile on his face, the flames casting an ominous glow over his features. His outfit deceivingly impeccable and white, he smells of rich cologne and fire.

He will burn the past his father worked for, absorb all of its sin through the smoke and rubble, and become a Demon King for all to hate. He will silence those who stand in his way — those who stand in the way of the future.

Everything coldly familiar, hazy like a dream. Three words resounding in his head. Lelouch looks at the burning symbols of his father's reign, the birdlike flames engulfing this scorched empire of ash he now rules.

To a new world and to the Zero Requiem, he mutters. All hail Britannia.

Author's Note: My muse hates me and works at inopportune times. Like before I go to bed. Anyway, I should really have a tag for "running with an idea" because this is exactly it.

drabble: "broken portions"

impa — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 00:31:08 GMT

Title: Broken Portions
Rating: K
Pairing: Ghirahim/Fi
Word Count: 230
Summary: He'd played her game and lost.
Notes: Takes place post-Skyward Sword.
Warnings: MAJOR spoilers for Skyward Sword.

He told himself long ago that he'd win no matter what. The Goddess and her knowing radiant smiles, speaking of his downfall with such casual tragedy. He hated that smile, gentle and omniscient, tacked with such natural grace on a face it had no business being on.

You can't win, Ghirahim, she whispers, words haunting him in ages to come, ringing in his ears, drilling into his mind like a foreboding drum.

Centuries passed. Ghirahim, now a defeated shadow in the expanse of the Master Sword. The sky child's blade has slashed his pride to ribbons; the little goddess with her glowing hair and victorious eyes is a mockery of his failure. His master withering away, a formless cloud of smoke. With every defeat he has suffered, he can hear the Goddess laughing at him as he struggles and scrambles to play her game.

And now Fi, more radiant than a swirl of stars, floating before him. A clenching, painful sensation in his chest — I must have you, he utters.

Fi's lips curving into a small smile. The same smile he hates so much, and she makes it more dazzling than a dying sun. His rage and frustration is caught in his throat as he grabs her slender form and kisses her — You win, he admits, kissing the unresponsive lips again and again. I played your game and I lost.

Author's Note: Not much of a comment here. I wanted to write Ghirahim, and I wanted to write GhiraFi, so here you go.

drabble: "fire and brimstone"

impa — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 02:21:47 GMT

Title: Fire and Brimstone
Rating: T
Pairing: None
Word Count: 240
Summary: And if one should choose fire and brimstone, what would become of them?
Notes: This is not even a story. Okay. It's just me getting a random idea while I was in the middle of writing PWP. I pretty much wrote it in like 30 minutes or so.
Warnings: SPOILERS for Code Geass, violent imagery, genderbent Lelouch, weird AU and POV. My poor, poor attempt at emulating Donleavy because that's all I've read and all I can write right now. (In other words, sentence fragments GALORE. And gratuitous liberties with grammar and brackets. Whoo.)

Sometimes, she dreams of herself, a demoness. Those horrible, flashing eyes! Those long blood-tipped fingers! Her voice, soundless in its hate. Dead bodies gathered at her feet, burning in the fire, a horrible smell, embers illuminating her lonely, gaunt face.

And how long shall I go on like this? — thoughts that weren't hers, echoing in her mind harshly, like thunder in her ears. She knows the answer to this question. The path of blood is forever. Looking down at the corpses, slain kin and close friends lying in piles, piles she stood upon.

The horrible smell again, the flash of regret and desperation in wild eyes, everything engulfed in flames. She succumbs, alone.

Leloucia wakes up screaming — What's wrong, did you have a nightmare? a male voice asks her. Yes, yes, a nightmare, she replies. I will go back to sleep in a little bit, don't worry. Shift of the mattress, small sigh in the darkness. She sits up in bed and thinks — Was it all a dream? The fire, the bodies, the demoness? But haven't I been good, haven't I chosen this life over one of blood and vengeance? Oh, demoness, from what part of my heart did you come from? Are you the darkness within me?

Shuffling back to a troubled half-sleep, thinking hazily of the demoness. For every soul that chooses the cloudy path to heaven, there is one that walks the path of fire and brimstone.

Author's Note: This was a case of me getting an idea and running with it. I'm just glad it's 240 words. That's a milestone for me.

musing: "thread of fate"

impa — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 01:39:15 GMT

Title: Thread of Fate
Rating: K+
Genre: General (I guess?)
Pairing: Mild Zelink and some Fi/Link, if you want to look at it that way
Summary: None of them knew it, but they'd been doing this for more times than any of them could remember.
Warnings: SPOILERS for Skyward Sword. Some violence. Also, theory and slight AU.
Disclaimer: Don't own Zelda. That's a good thing.

Link lets his finger lightly trace a spiraling path downward on his map until the path finally terminates right on the spot where The Imprisoned currently lies.

The map of the Sealed Grounds is almost the perfect metaphor, he thinks. He lets his finger glide over the last semicircular stretch of pathway just before the pit. That's where he is right now. The beginning of the end, with the goal in sight and just within his grasp. He can finally save Zelda from her fate. He can finally go home.

Link looks down at the sealed spike embedded in the center of the pit, feeling oddly apprehensive. Will sealing away Demise really be the end?

Just out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees, for a brief second, a tornado flinging an unconscious Zelda up in the sky. Without even thinking, Link snaps his head in the direction of the tornado and runs as fast as he can to save Zelda from a potentially fatal fall... only to find that there is no tornado, no Zelda. Link looks around in confusion — he could have sworn he saw — was he dreaming?

Link casts a wary glance in the direction of the sealed spike again, remembering the monstrous behemoth that would emerge from the ground. For some odd reason, he seems to recall seeing The Imprisoned without a spike in its head, completely unstoppable, with the earth shaking beneath its thunderous footsteps as the skies overhead clouded over.

Link involuntarily shudders and turns around, not only to escape the suddenly dark aura that seems to permeate the air, but the flashes of memories he hasn't even experienced.

Ghirahim looks up and sneers at the tired hero. "You're far too late, boy. Do you really think you can win?"

Even with sweat running down the sides of his face and his eyes wide as adrenaline courses through his veins, Link continues to look entirely too defiant and hopeful in his current situation. He even raises his sword and points it at Ghirahim, his pants becoming more and more like snarls with every breath.

Ghirahim doesn't think it's possible to be angry and amused at the same time, but he manages to laugh even when his blood is boiling. "You're such a pest," he remarks, glaring at Link — he's going to go all out on him, no holding back. Ghirahim throws Zelda up in the air, watching as Link's eyes follow her. "You've been a persistent little bug up until now, buzzing around in my ear, foiling all of my plans. Well I've had just about enough. I think I'll just squash the life out of you, right here and now."

Link doesn't look any less deterred, not even when he sees Ghirahim transform. This is one of Link's more annoying qualities. He just never runs away, not even when he's about to die, and it's stupid. Ghirahim could beat him until he was blind and Link would still manage to stumble back just to try and save his precious Zelda again. And again. And again.

Link is always there. It seems that every time Ghirahim tries to put his plans into action, Link is always there to mess them up. It seems that whenever Ghirahim tries to capture the little goddess, Link is standing there, guarding her. Every time he's made an effort to revive his master, Link is right there to interrupt him.

Ghirahim's fingers unconsciously wring at the air before curling into a fist, Link eying it with something resembling caution. They are bound by a thread of fate, albeit a very annoying one, and, well... Ghirahim is very eager to cut that thread.

Because he can't remember a time when Link hasn't been there to mess everything up, neither in the past, present, or future.

Ghirahim feels his fist collide with Link's stomach.

Fi flies out to inform Link of the massive pillar of light that they are currently heading toward — her analysis indicates that her master is currently experiencing an emotion known as nervousness. Under the circumstances, this is expected: Master Link is, after all, heading to a land he didn't think existed until recently, a land he has never seen that is said to be populated by monsters. She conjectures that sharing some information with him beforehand will help ease his anxiety.

Fi searches her memory banks for something that would be appropriately reassuring. As she does so, she stumbles across a memory that has no clear point of chronological occurrence, as well as a rather startling lack of circumstantial background. The memory itself is hazy; it's dark and eerily quiet, but she can see Link there.

Understood, Master Link. Know that even in the place that lies beyond this portal, I will be with you...

Curious. There is a memory in her memory banks that has no practical purpose, and yet Fi cannot help but give it some precedence over other, more relevant memories. Later on, Fi will have to investigate the origin of this memory, but for now, the task is of low priority.

She looks down at Link's bright face, and she feels something well up in her, something she can't properly identify.

"Master Link," she begins slowly. "Please know that despite your anxiety, I will be there with you, and that I will not let you go unprepared."

Her words seem to have a comforting effect on Link, and he smiles at her. Fi can now confirm that most of his anxiety has been alleviated, and she retreats to the blade.

When they have the time, she will have to examine this particular occurrence. That strange, precious memory and that feeling inside of her...

Fi believes that this is something that humans call "déjà vu."

Ghirahim catches the Goddess Sword, marveling at how familiar the blade feels when it's lodged in between his fingers. He's aware of the lore behind this blade — but he's never actually touched it, no. He can't help but laugh at the shocked and frantic look on the sky child's face as he attempts to wrench it out of Ghirahim's grip. Stupid little boy, thinking that he could take on the Demon Lord. Ghirahim toys with him for a while before deciding to let go, gracefully dodging the subsequent, haphazard swipe.

He readies himself to catch the next swing. Oh, this would be too easy. It would be over in a matter of—

Ghirahim feels the sword's sharp edge smack him in the side, and even though his magic protects him from sustaining any major damage, he hates the sensation of that blade actually hurting him.

Ghirahim hates the fact that this mild, stinging pain compounded by mounting irritation is something he has already dealt with — and something he will deal with in the future. He glares at the sky child who is poised to stab him. Ghirahim easily dodges his attack by leaping backwards again, but as he falls, he suddenly feels as if there is no ground below him; he'll just fall and fall unless he does something, and quick. Before the boy leaps down and sinks that blasted blade into his chest again, before the boy slashes his sword to bits, before he loses again.

For only a brief second, Ghirahim almost feels helpless and frustrated, because he cannot shake off the feeling that he just can't prevail.

And then he feels his feet hit solid ground. Ghirahim stands straight and tall, trying to laugh off those faint, flickering experiences that could be called memories. This is child's play. If he wants, this 'hero' would be dead in a matter of minutes. And yet Ghirahim lets the sword hit his body. He lets the the boy walk away with his life. He lets the girl slip out of his grasp.

Ghirahim isn't afraid of a series of unclear sensations and experiences. He'll show that goddess and her servant. He can play her game and still come out on top.

He snickers to himself as he departs. Next time, definitely next time, he will kill that boy if he gets in his way.

Zelda nearly wrenches herself out of Impa's grip before the Gate of Time. "I'll see you again! This isn't good-bye, Link! I promise!"

Link cannot even turn around to acknowledge her remark, and Zelda has a sinking feeling in her stomach that this isn't the first time Link has gone off and she's never seen him again.

Demise smiles as he lies defeated on the shallow pool of water, admiring the fatal blow on Link's chest. The boy's breaths are heaving as he struggles to stay alive just long enough to see his fated enemy sealed away. Maybe he knows Demise can't be sealed away, not with the way things are now. Maybe he doesn't.

Either way, pity is not in Demise's dictionary, and his smile grows wider.

"This is not the end," he rumbles, letting out a hearty laugh at the expression on the human's face. "My hate... never perishes. It is born anew in a cycle with no end! I will rise again!"

And then Demise throws his sword to the side and allows himself to be sucked back into that spike as Link collapses on the ground and dies.

Now is the moment of calm before the storm. Impa acknowledges the renewed presence of the crystal at the back of the temple. She knows this has happened a dozen or so times before, and that she has witnessed every single time, yet she can't remember seeing any of those times. Strangely enough, she remembers doing things she has yet to do: guiding the hero, helping him seal away that abomination, opening the Gate of Time.

It is truly jarring to remember things one hasn't done yet, but forget everything that has happened.

Impa looks down at her map of the Sealed Grounds, looking at the spiral that Her Grace had deliberately carved into the earth after she'd sealed away Demise.

"Please tell me," Impa quietly begs — she's not much of a beggar, and she's not one to question the Goddess, but she can't understand why Her Grace would do this to her chosen ones. "Where are we?" Her fingers wander around the map, trying to pinpoint a location that's unclear to all of them.

A soft, golden light leaks out of the door where Her Grace currently rests. Impa closes her eyes as the golden light washes over her, her head getting light and her memories hazy.

"Please," she says quietly, "Let this time be different."

Link looks much better with a sword on his back, Zelda concludes. She lands near the waterfall, walking up to him. "Hey, Link, I was hoping I'd find you here. I heard you'd gone searching for your bird around the waterfall, so I thought I'd fly around and help you look." She pauses to tilt her head slightly to the side. "How's your search going? Any sign of your Loftwing?"

Link shakes his head no, looking horribly discouraged.

"Oh no..." Zelda says, eyes sympathetic. "Well, let's not lose hope yet. There's a place up ahead that Groose and his gang are always hanging around. Maybe we'll find something there!"

Link nodds, his face brightening immediately. Zelda walks closer to him to help aid his search until she hears a kind and desperate voice whisper in her ear:

Please... make this world peaceful again.

Zelda pauses, turning towards the clouds. "Huh...?"

Take my place. Let me be with him again.

Zelda feels uneasiness form in the pit of her stomach, and she shudders. "Who... who's that? Who's calling for me?" When there is no reply, she suddenly realizes that Link is sitting there, watching her with a look of concern on his face. "Oh, sorry, Link. I got distracted for a moment. Let's go!"

They rush ahead, only to find Link's Loftwing boarded up, poor thing. Link immediately sprints forward, grabbing his sword and slashing at the ropes that held the planks together. Zelda couldn't help but notice how right it seems for Link to be carrying a sword, almost as if he's destined for it.

Within seconds, his Crimson Loftwing is free, ready to soar the skies again. It joins her blue Loftwing as she and Link walk up to the nearby platform, watching the two birds fly around happily.

"We should hurry, Link. Now that your Loftwing is free, you should fly to the ceremony..." Zelda says, still staring at the sea of clouds.

Please... come down to the land below...

Zelda frowns, Link angling his head to see what's wrong. "But before you go, I have to ask you something. I... I heard this voice a few moments ago. Did you hear it too? It's been happening a lot lately." Her frown deepened. "It's the strangest feeling... almost like someone is calling out to me."

She gazes out at the vast expanse of clouds. "Have you ever wondered what's beneath the clouds? Some say that it's an empty, barren place, or even that there's nothing at all down below, but I just have this feeling that they're wrong.

"Some of Father's old texts talk about a place called the surface. The old tales describe a whole world under there, far more vast than Skyloft!" Zelda's eyes light up with excitement at the thought of another world to explore and see. "The thing is, no one's ever been down there to see it, and our Loftwings won't fly through the cloud barrier. ...But I can't help imagining the wild things that might be waiting below. Someday, I want to see for myself."

Link listens quietly, trying to imagine another land entirely, where people can't fall through clouds or watch water drop down into places unknown. Zelda lets the silence hang in the air before she nervously laughs — how ridiculous she just sounded! Link is her best friend, but still... who would give thoughts like hers any credibility?

"Oh, sorry, Link. We don't have time to talk! Let's get going. Look, your bird's waiting for you!" she gestures to the Crimson Loftwing slowly circling around the island they're standing on. Link just smiles and nods before jumping off the edge, Zelda quickly following suit.

As her Loftwing soars through the air, she hears the voice whisper again, sweetly this time:

I know you'll do better than I ever could. I have absolute faith in you.

Groose watches as Link flies off after a particularly quick visit to town before running off the nearby platform himself and mounting his Loftwing. Ever since Zelda disappeared, Link was popping in and out of town in a hurry, with a look on his face that Groose hasn't seen in years. Even his eyes, normally lost in another world entirely, seem different from afar.

Groose isn't about to let that slacker take all the glory for finding Zelda. Just because Link somehow managed to grab a fancy-looking sword somewhere after he graduated to the senior class didn't mean that he would be the one to find her. That lollygagger's bravery alone won't find a missing girl in a sea of clouds. He probably sleeps in too late to even try and find her before dusk settled.

And yet despite Link's general incompetence at virtually everything he does, Groose must admit that he has a better lead on Zelda's whereabouts than anyone else — and that is precisely why he's following him today.

Link flies toward a massive green pillar of light that appeared in the skies recently, and Groose stares down at the base of the pillar. An opening in the clouds, as wide as the whole of Skyloft, greets his eyes.

And Link jumps off his Loftwing and skydives down there.

Groose gapes at the sight, at least until he remembers to close his mouth before something flies in there. No way. Absolutely not. What, was Link trying to kill himself? Is that where Zelda was, below the clouds? Groose considers turning around and going back home, but then again... something about the place below the clouds kind of calls to him.

Maybe it's Zelda desperately pleading for her big, burly Groose to come and save her. You know, with telepathy or something.

Groose's face breaks into a grin, and he charges his Loftwing forward before even considering the implications of what he's doing. It's only after he's jumped off his Loftwing, fallen at least a hundred feet below the clouds, and caught sight of Link that he realizes, oh crap. How is he going to land without killing himself?!

Groose starts screaming and, well, Link looks more than a little surprised to see someone falling toward him.

Groose grabs Link, pumping his legs in an effort to stay airborne. "Link! HEEELP!"

Link deploys the sailcloth he received from Zelda and allows it to slow their descent. Er, somewhat. They land with an unceremonious thud against the hard ground.

It's a pretty promising start to an epic adventure that he would later call... The Legend of Groose.

When Zelda arrives in the Temple of Hylia, she thinks she hears a faint sigh of relief coming from the back room.

She turns to Impa. "Did you hear that?"

Impa looks baffled. "Hear what, Your Grace?"

Zelda suddenly feels as if she is a phoenix fledgling, like some old part of her has died and this new, uncertain Zelda was rising from the ashes, feeble and afraid but still hopeful.

"It's nothing," she finally says. "I guess I'm just a little apprehensive, that's all." She walks up the steps and opens the heavy stone doors, looking at the empty spot where her resting spot would soon lie. She swallows her nervousness and anxiety.

She and Link had been born to do this, born to correct the mistakes of their predecessors. And in doing so, they can only hope they will do better.

Link allows himself to rest for a while after retrieving the Water Dragon's part of the song. He retreats back to the Sealed Grounds, staring down at the pit where The Imprisoned lies from the rails the Groosenator ran on.

Bringing out his map, Link looks at the impressive downward spiral that comprises the Sealed Grounds. It's a nice metaphor for his journey, for the repeated visits to this place. Each time he's sealed away the behemoth, he's grown closer and closer to his goal — the pit of darkness in the center. When Link reaches that endpoint, when he destroys that darkness, he and Zelda can finally be together again.

And this time, he doesn't feel the least bit doubtful that he can't pull it off.

A memory resurfaces in Ghirahim's mind, and for once, it's not a memory of him getting beaten with that infernal sword.

Ghirahim remembers a rotting old temple that smells like earth, beams of light shining down as the little hero and his goddess walk forward. But more importantly, Ghirahim remembers a giant portal — the second Gate of Time.

Ghirahim chuckles in spite of himself. This memory of his, perhaps the only useful memory he possesses, combined with his brilliant intellect... Ghirahim knows now. The second Gate of Time is in that debilitated old temple in the Faron Woods, the one he conveniently can't enter because of the seal on it — until now. Ghirahim is almost entirely sure that the seal is broken now, probably by that stupid boy, and he can enter willy-nilly and get away with it.

He hums to himself as he begins to make his way to the forest, his heart full of rainbows. Soon, very soon, this world would belong to his master.

Everything crashes around Demise in his final minutes. His sword is gone, literally vanishing into thin air. The Goddess's hero stands before him, with no gaping wound in his chest, with no burnt skin, with no face tinted blue from drowning in water, but with eyes that shine with victory. In the present, he lies destroyed under an entire island brought down by the very power he sought for these many eons. And here in the past, he has no chance of winning.

"Extraordinary. You stand as a paragon of your kind, human. You fight like no man or demon I have ever known," he tells the boy before him. Link doesn't look flattered. Demise's face breaks into a small grin. "Though this is not the end."

He may not be able to win right now, and he may never get the chance to wreak havoc on the world after this is over. But the fact of the matter is that he is still the Demon King, fated to lust after the Triforce and lock blades with the Goddess, and he's not about to let her or her chosen ones forget that.

"My hate... never perishes. It is born anew in a cycle with no end! I will rise again!" Demise points at Link, who doesn't look the least bit intimidated. "Those like you... those who share the blood of the goddess and the spirit of the hero... they are eternally bound to this curse."

Demise's smile grows wider — if she can reincarnate herself, then so can he. "An incarnation of my hatred shall ever follow your kind, dooming them to wander a blood-soaked sea of darkness for all time!"

Demise laughs as he feels his body and soul dissipate into black smoke, the dark clouds parting. Link raises the Master Sword as it glows, the blade absorbing all of the darkness.

"I have confirmed the eradication of the demon king," Fi reports. "His residual consciousness has been absorbed into the Master Sword... and is now sealed away."

Something about standing on top of the Goddess Statue on the surface feels... right. Complete, if you will. As if a great and long puzzle had finally been finished with the last piece.

Zelda doesn't remember the details, even with the Goddess's memories. She remembers she built the spiraling pathway in the Sealed Grounds for another reason, and it's right there on the tip of her tongue, but she just can't seem to grasp it no matter how hard she tries.

All she knows is that she finally feels at peace with herself and the others, almost whole in a sense. The Statue of the Goddess sits on top of the pit where Demise had originally been sealed, and in a sense, she guesses they've reached the end of the pathway.

Zelda takes Link's hand in her own and smiles at him, and she can tell that he's thinking the same thing, too.

It's over...it's finally over.

NOTES.

Thanks to ryttu3k for betaing (beta-ing?) the story. You rock for reading my weirdness, seriously.

This came about when I tried to rationalize the events of the game. What it basically came out to was, "the whole thing is circular, except not at the end." I thought it would be interesting if, in reality, Link and Zelda had attempted the cycle of defeating Demise numerous times, each time getting closer to their goal but never succeeding... until Skyward Sword. I don't think of this as a plausible theory; I just thought it would make a good story.

The spiraling pathway is a metaphor for the cycle: it seems to go around in a circle and repeat itself, but each time will have something a little different that brings them closer and closer to their goal before it finally terminates at the pit, where Demise is. (I hope that explanation is coherent, because I don't know how to say it otherwise.)

So yeah. Comments, criticism, and whatever are welcome. Hope you enjoyed reading.

fic: "strangers in an elevator"

impa — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 00:21:32 GMT

Title: Strangers in an Elevator
Series: Code Geass
Rating: R
Genre: Supernatural/Psychological
Pairing(s): Leloucia/Schneizel, implied Leloucia/Suzaku & Leloucia/Gino
Summary: AU. She wondered if this was some kind of sick joke.
Warnings: Genderbending, namely with Lelouch. SPOILERS. Incest, promiscuity, language, alcohol use, OOC, some blood and (implied) gore, CONFUSION, weirdness.

Pre-Story Notes: This will be really confusing. You have been warned. Also has some triggery and gross content.

There are two Leloucias: the 17-year-old, still-in-Britannia princess and the former princess-turned-student-turned-revolutionary. The latter is post-R2. Again, this is pretty confusing, and... really cynical.

I'd also like to make it clear that I'm not big into the incest pairings and hate Lelouch (or Leloucia)/Schneizel with a flaming passion. If you're wondering why I wrote them in, it's because I'm spiteful.

Leloucia really hated going to these parties. Her mother often told her they were for public appearances, and that as a princess, she was obligated to attend such gatherings. That didn't make them any more enjoyable. She wondered if her father would appear for once: he was always away from the throne, always busy, never really around, not even Leloucia was young.

She fiddled with the tight pearl necklace around her neck, a large diamond planted in the center of it. It was disgustingly large and ostentatious. She'd always been a little uncomfortable in the color white, but everyone else thought otherwise: Schneizel said it fit her very well, Suzaku always blushed and said that all colors looked nice on her, and Gino would just smile and laugh before wrapping his arms around her.

The party in question was being held on top of a skyscraper in downtown Pendragon. Officials and dignitaries from around the world would be attending, so it was only reasonable, her mother said, that the prodigious Eleventh Princess attend.

'It's not fair,' Leloucia thought to herself angrily as the limousine pulled up to the skyscraper. 'Euphie and Nunnally don't have to go... so why me?' Maybe there would be some good champagne there.

One of the valets respectfully opened the door for her, briefly eying her with interest. She shot him a gaze that she knew was tempting and flirtatious, but just withdrawn enough to escape the attention of any wandering eyes or leave room for invitation. Her heels clacked against the concrete as she walked toward the glass doors, two doormen sparing her the effort of even opening the door.

When she walked into the marble-floored lobby, a snappily-dressed man and a horde of restrained paparazzi greeted her. She slapped on a carefully practiced, artificial smile and tried not to blink too much in spite of the flashing camera bulbs.

"Ah, Your Highness!" the man greeted her. "The party is on the top floor. Would you like to be escorted up there?"

Ack, not more guards. She hated guards. "I'm fine, thank you," she said politely, that ridiculous smile of hers never wavering. She heard the press around her mumbling — a princess, going without a guard?

"Are you sure, Your Highness?" the man persisted. She was sure that he was more afraid of losing his job than risking her life.

"I'm fine," she said again, firmly this time. She made her way over to the elevator, a security guard even going to the trouble to press the up button for her. They really didn't let her lift a pinky, did they? The elevator doors slid open, revealing a nicely-sized, glass paneled elevator for her to get in. Alone.

She smiled, genuinely this time. Leloucia walked into the elevator without another comment and pressed the button for the top floor, watching as the doors slid shut. As soon as she began to rise, she let out a sigh of relief. She was finally alone, with just enough time to think, breathe, and relax.

She wondered if Schneizel would be there. He liked these sorts of things, right? Even if he didn't, he was good at acting like he did, waltzing around the room with a champagne glass in his hand and always laughing appropriately, always seeming to know what to say and when to say it.

Ugh. On second thought, she hoped Suzaku would be there. He was just as awkward as she was with these social events. She'd have someone to relate to, and at least someone to talk to when she slipped away for a moment of peace.

Then again, she was being watched. Maybe Gino could force her out of her comfort zone. He was so loud, great at parties. She felt more confident around him; he could laugh away any blunder or social faux pas. He could say the most ridiculous things and nobody would think anything of it. She wished she could be like that.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she nearly failed to notice that the elevator had stopped ascending. Leloucia only realized it when the elevator jerked slightly, prompting her to look up at the screen displaying the floor levels. She was on Floor 11.

'Is there some kind of emergency?' she wondered to herself — to her knowledge, nobody was in the building, and if they were, they weren't supposed to use the elevator because she — royals — were using them. Perhaps a guard was stopping her?

The doors slid open, giving her an answer. Leloucia nearly doubled over in shock when she saw who had stopped the elevator. No... this couldn't be real. Was she dreaming? She did sleep a little heavily last night, and her dinner did taste a little strange... oh god, was this real? She was tempted to pinch herself.

It was... her. Or at least, someone who looked like her. She was a little taller, and she looked a little older, too. Her hair wasn't as long as Leloucia's; she'd pulled it back in a neat bun. She was dressed nicely enough, with a tailored blouse and black pants, but the entire effect was ruined by the jarring amount of blood on her being. There was a streak of it across her face, several stains on her clothes, and quite a bit of it on her hands.

"It's rude to gape like a fish," the doppelganger said, stepping inside. As soon as she walked inside, Leloucia's nostrils were hit with a putrid smell: the smell of rotting flesh. The doppelganger carelessly pressed a floor button, leaving behind a smeared, bloody fingerprint as she did. The doors slid shut and they continued to ascend.

Leloucia would be lying right now if she said she wasn't scared. It was jarring enough that the woman looked like her — but to be covered in blood and smell of dead bodies? She considered berating her for speaking to her so casually ("It's rude to gape like a fish..." who did she think she was?), but she had no guarantee that this woman wasn't a homicidal maniac.

Okay. Take a deep breath, Leloucia. Wait, don't, you'll gag. Just take it easy.

"Um... hi," she said meekly, lifting her satin-covered hand in a small wave. The woman's sharp amethyst eyes briefly flicked over to her.

"...Hi," she replied, her voice a shade deeper than Leloucia's.

"Sooo... how are you today?" Leloucia asked uncomfortably. She now realized how soft and gentle she looked compared to the woman, whose visible arms were lined with muscles, her body not quite angular but not even close to a soft hourglass figure.

"I'm fine, I guess," the woman replied, probably wondering why this girl was talking to her. "What are you all dressed up for?"

"Oh, there's a, uh, party on the top floor," Leloucia replied awkwardly. The woman's gaze was piercing; it practically made Schneizel's death glare look mild in comparison. "Ummm, are you going?"

The woman actually laughed at that, a quick, cruel laugh. "Me? A party? No. I mean, once upon a time, but now? No."

"Oh. Okay," Leloucia said, nodding. She had no clue what the woman was talking about, honestly, but figured it would be better if she just smiled and—

"You have no clue what I'm even talking about, do you?" the woman interrupted her thoughts, her eerily identical eyes boring into Leloucia's. The princess froze. "It doesn't matter anyway. What's your name?"

"Leloucia," she replied warily. "Leloucia vi Britannia."

"Oh, so you're a princess," the woman said with the slightest of sneers. The only thing preventing Leloucia from expressing her sentiments on that comment and its tone was the faint, frightening glimmer in the woman's eyes. "That must be nice." Again, a slight sneer at the end.

The smell was starting to nauseate Leloucia. "Is your name Leloucia vi Britannia, too?"

"By birth, yes," the woman shrugged. "I am a princess by birth." She made no further comment on the matter, even though Leloucia had a million burning questions for her: why did she look like that if she was a princess? Did she have the same siblings as her? What happened to her?

"I don't really like parties like this," she remarked, trying to continue the conversation — even if there was a possibility that she was a homicidal maniac, the other Leloucia was interesting, somehow. "I've been told it's my duty to attend them, to keep up public appearances. I know Suzaku, my knight, doesn't like them, but my brother Schneizel and Gino seem to have fun."

The other Leloucia didn't say anything in reply.

"I often drink champagne at these kinds of events," she continued. "It makes them more bearable. What about you?"

The other Leloucia looked at her with a frighteningly serious expression on her pretty face. "Is that all you're worried about? Living every teenager's dream, drinking, partying, sleeping with those three men you just mentioned?"

Leloucia's face became a little pallid. "W-What?"

"That's all you ever do," the other Leloucia sneered yet again, but now she sounded malicious. "You eat, sleep, play chess, play with your sisters, and then you fuck the lights out of three very eligible bachelors. How terrible your life is."

"H-How dare you!" Leloucia retorted, blushing. "You have no idea— I have my country to consider, too!"

"Oh, your country," the other Leloucia said mockingly, shooting her a very bitter smile. "And what have you done to serve your country, per se?"

Leloucia didn't even have to rack her mind to know the answer: nothing. But she wouldn't give the suddenly antagonistic doppelganger the satisfaction of that answer. She just glared at her, her lips forming a thin line.

"If you think I'm judging you, you're correct," the other Leloucia said carelessly. "I know your life isn't all rainbows and unicorns, like in the fairy tales. You think I have no idea what it's like to be trapped in a gilded cage? No freedom, limited choices, familial obligations and duties, being treated like a pawn on a chess board rather than an actual person..."

And Leloucia really hated her at that moment, and it wasn't because she didn't understand, but because she did understand. She understood too well.

"And not only that, you really haven't done anything for your country," the other Leloucia said, and the way she acted so careless about the whole matter irritated Leloucia for some reason. "Face it, what little problems you have, you've completely avoided. You're a hedonistic socialite that lives off of her father's name. And don't even try to tell me that fucking three different men is your 'duty to the throne'."

Leloucia couldn't take it anymore. She walked over to the other Leloucia and slapped her as hard as she could, her eyes burning with fury.

The other Leloucia didn't even give much of a reaction, the bitch. She just turned to Leloucia with the smuggest smirk on her face and queried, "Was that supposed to hurt?"

Leloucia slapped her again.

"Oh, let me guess: 'How dare you insult a member of the Imperial Family!' That's what you want to say, right?" the other Leloucia asked, still unfazed by the princess' slaps, even though both of her cheeks were red. "Well why don't you go ahead and say it, Your Highness?"

Because you don't give a damn, Leloucia wanted to say, but she didn't want to give the other Leloucia the satisfaction of an answer. It seemed that insults had long since ceased to work against her.

"I suppose I can't begrudge you the circumstances of your life," the other Leloucia said after a while, her tone almost apologetic. "Once upon a time, it was my life, too. Of course, I was much younger than you... but shouldn't you be doing something productive other than this?"

"Are you done yet?" Leloucia asked impatiently, not wanting the doppelganger to criticize her life any further.

"Hmph. One last hurrah," the other Leloucia resumed her sneering. "I just think it's disgusting that you leave behind Nunnally while you get hammered and get laid for your own amusement."

At this, Leloucia frowned. "Leave behind Nunnally? What are you talking about? She's perfectly fine. She's probably dancing with Mother right now."

For the first time since she had stepped in the elevator, blood-covered and carrying the all-too-appropriate smell of rot, the other Leloucia looked shocked, shocked enough for Leloucia to almost forget that she had ever antagonized her. "Oh," she said softly, realization passing over her features — and something much deeper and more potent flashing in her eyes. "I... I think I understand now. Mother and Nunnally..."

She shifted a little, and Leloucia could see a powerful longing in her eyes, as if she were yearning for the impossible. She would have felt sorry for her, if only the other Leloucia had apologized for antagonizing her.

"Well, my stop is coming up," the other Leloucia said listlessly, glancing at the LED screen. As if on cue, the elevator halted to a stop.

"Wait. One last question," Leloucia stopped her before she could leave, the elevator doors sliding open. "What about your family?"

The other Leloucia turned away so that she couldn't see her face. "They're dead. Charles, Marianne, Clovis, Euphemia. And Nunnally. They're all DEAD." Before Leloucia could say anything more, she ran out of the elevator. "Enjoy your party." The elevator doors slid shut as they always did, as if nothing ever happened.

Leloucia leaned against the back railing, feeling strangely empty inside. Dead. Like any other human out there, she understood what it meant, but at the same time, couldn't wrap her head around the idea that those people — her father, her mother, her half-brother, her half-sister, Nunnally — could ever die.

She shook her head. No, it was just that smell. That awful smell. It was getting to her head and causing her to think that her family was dead; that it wasn't just the smell of dead bodies she was smelling, it was her own family. The other Leloucia wasn't real. She was just a nightmare. That's right. A nightmare. Because there were no other Leloucias. It was just her; she was the only Leloucia vi Britannia in the world, and her parents weren't lying in coffins next to her half-siblings and she wasn't alone. She didn't have to feel sorry for or apologize to a nightmare.

The elevator dinged to signal that she had reached the top. Leloucia took a deep breath and was surprised to find that the rotting smell had disappeared, replaced with the usual stale air commonly found in elevators. The doors slid open, and a cheery-looking man dressed in a tuxedo — the host, perhaps — greeted her. "Ah, Your Highness! How nice to see you!"

She glanced at the clock. It had only been a little over five minutes since she had arrived.

'How can that be? Wasn't I in that elevator with her for over 20 minutes?' she thought to herself, but shook it off quickly. She'd already confirmed that the other Leloucia was just a nightmare. A very, very bad hallucination brought about by last night's dinner or something.

She saw her father speaking with Schneizel in the corner of the room, Clovis chatting amiably with a group of scantily-clad noblewomen elsewhere. They were alive, real. Leloucia sighed in relief in spite of herself.

"It's very nice to see you, too," she said to no one in particular. She immediately walked over to the champagne table and took a glass, wandering over to Clovis and listening in on his ridiculous conversation — something about bathing suits and designing or some artsy nonsense. She even put a gloved hand on him, as if to assert that he was real.

That's right. Everything about her was real, just as much as everything about the other Leloucia was false. She downed her glass of champagne quickly and began to search out her male companions.

She drank too much champagne that night, and much as she didn't want to admit it, the reason was that she wanted to forget the other Leloucia. Even though she had tried to convince herself that she wasn't real, she... couldn't. She couldn't really forget her or her dead family. Her brain conjured up images like Clovis getting shot in the face and Euphie lying down on a bed, disturbingly still, her eyes closed, never to open again. Her mother was lying on the ground, her body ridden with bullets, her eyes lifeless. Worst of all, Nunnally just disappearing, just dying and fading away, leaving no body behind, so that all Leloucia could mourn over was a memory.

She was so sick of it. She cursed the other Leloucia for this, cursed her for burdening her with this nightmare. The princess decided on grabbing the nearest of her three male companions and going straight home to remedy this problem — maybe she could forget. Maybe she could drown so much in her own pleasure that she would just forget that those 5 minutes of her life ever happened.

Schneizel looked pleasantly surprised when his little sister dragged him into the elevator and roughly pressed him against the wall when the doors slid shut, kissing him fiercely. Schneizel was so real, and just being against his warm body was a reminder that everything was as it should be. There were no dead siblings, no blood, no dead bodies, no other Leloucia. They had never existed.

"I love you," she breathed in the heat of the moment, just glad to finally be grounded in her own reality and her own life, not in someone else's. Schneizel moaned in response, as if to reciprocate her comment.

"You forgot to push the button for the lobby," he murmured, his large hands exploring the expanse of her slender back. "We've just been sitting here."

"Oh. Right," she said, blushing a little out of embarrassment. She withdrew from him and turned around to press the button for the lobby, her mind pleasantly buzzing.

Her finger never quite made it to the button.

A smeared, bloody fingerprint, still looking as fresh as it did hours ago, was imprinted on one of the buttons — the 60th floor, specifically. The smear covered the 6, leaving the 0 untouched.

Leloucia drew back, horrified. No... this wasn't supposed to happen. Not when she was with her brother, safe and secure, so certain of her own reality. The other Leloucia wasn't real. She didn't want her to be real.

She felt like vomiting.

A strong hand rested itself on her shoulder. "Leloucia?" She nearly jumped at the sound of her brother's voice, turning around to meet his concerned violet irises. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied, swallowing. He did not look convinced. She sighed; her brother always could see through her. "D-Don't look at me like that. Look, I'll make a deal with you. If you wipe off that blood right there," she pointed at the smeared fingerprint, "I'll do whatever you want tonight, okay?"

Schneizel was, by nature, quite fond of dominance and seeing people groveling at his feet, but even he was taken aback by the desperation in Leloucia's voice. "Does it bother you that badly?" he asked, incredulous. "You do realize that this promise encompasses anything and everything, correct?"

"Yes, whatever!" Leloucia said impatient. "Anything and everything! Now will you just clean it up and pretend this never happened? That it was never there, that we shall never speak of this again?"

Schneizel sighed and took out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiping off the blood. It came off cleanly, as if it had never been there in the first place. "There. Now..." he pocketed the handkerchief, turning around to give her a familiar, suggestive look. "About our deal..."

The next morning was bright and sunny. Leloucia got up before Schneizel and went down to get her breakfast. Marianne and Nunnally sat at the table, eating some pancakes.

"Oh, Leloucia," Marianne greeted her daughter brightly, seemingly oblivious to the bathrobe her daughter was wearing, the way she smelled and looked, or the fact that Schneizel was sleeping in her bed upstairs naked. "How was the party last night?"

Leloucia smiled radiantly, ignorantly. "Wonderful, Mother. Just wonderful."

A/N: Other!Leloucia did kill Clovis and Euphie, but I figured that mentioning that would screw the story up. If that made no sense, uh, that's okay. I think.

Comments make me happy.

fic: "dreams and legends"

impa — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 04:24:12 GMT

Title: Dreams and Legends
Rating: G
Pairing: Mild Link x Zelda
Summary: Even though it was a boat, it seemed proud and noble, like a lion.
Notes: Takes place after the events of Spirit Tracks. Sequel to Once Upon a Time.
Warnings: SPOILERS for Spirit Tracks' ending and Wind Waker's ending.

NOTE: Just pretend Link chose to become a soldier at the end of the game.

The breeze from the ocean sent Zelda's hair flying back. It was a refreshing break from the sun beating down on their heads, and she almost regretted wearing her royal regalia for this kind of occasion.

"No time for you to change, Princess!" Teacher had said hurriedly an hour or two ago, running around her room frantically. "We made an appointment, and we MUST get there on time! It would look very bad if the Princess herself didn't keep an appointment!"

Alfonzo ferried the train over from Aboda Village and handed it off to Link, who was still clad in his soldier uniform (similarly having been given no time to change by a flustered Teacher) when he took the wheel and carefully escorted the four of them over to Papuchia Village. (Teacher constantly yelling at him to obey the rail signs the whole trip, of course.)

Now they stood there on the docks of Papuchia Village, dealing with the uncomfortable combination of record-breaking heat and humidity from the ocean. Link looked especially uncomfortable, fanning himself even when the ocean breeze hit him full-on.

One of the fishermen they had rescued from the pirates walked up to them. "So you want to sail on a boat, you say?" he asked them, his furrowed brow barely visible against his tanned, leathery skin.

"Show some respect to Her Highness!" Teacher barked almost immediately. He'd been more paranoid and uptight ever since Zelda's brief absence from the throne. The fisherman looked taken aback.

"Ummm... well you can start sailing right now, Your Highness." He bowed slightly at the end of his sentence. "Uh... are you sure you want to sail in those clothes?"

Zelda was fine; she was used to this outfit and she didn't feel like changing. To be on the safe side, she cast a glance in Link's direction. "Link?"

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. She assumed that was a 'yes.' She turned to the fisherman and nodded.

"Okay then," he said, clapping his hands together. "If you'll follow me down the docks, you can choose whichever boat you want."

As they were walking down the crickety old wooden boards, Alfonzo began making small talk. "You know, I heard my grandfather was a real sailor back in his day. I wonder if I inherited any of his skill."

"Well, we'll certainly see soon enough, won't we?" Zelda said optimistically. "Teacher, why don't you ride with Alfonzo?"

Teacher nearly tripped over himself. He stared at Zelda, mouth opening and closing like a fish, flabbergasted. "Wh-What?" he sputtered. "Y-Your Highness, as your mentor, I think I should be the one to—"

"I have confidence in Alfonzo's ability," Zelda interrupted him. "He did say that his grandfather was a skilled sailor, did he not?"

"Your Highness, with all due respect, I'm not quite sure if Alfonzo's, er... ever steered a boat," Teacher said, adjusting his glasses. Alfonzo shot him a probing look. "N-Not that I doubt his latent abilities! I'm sure it's not too different from driving a train!"

"Then it's settled! You will ride with Alfonzo, and I will ride with Link!" Zelda said cheerfully, ending the argument. Teacher looked terrified to be in a boat with a greenhorn without a princess to look after, but he said nothing more.

"Well, here they are!" the fisherman declared, gesturing to several boats anchored by the dock. "Just choose the one you want, and I'll show you the ropes."

"So... these are all females, right?" Alfonzo asked slowly. The fisherman looked at him oddly. "We call 'em 'she...' right?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah! They're all ladies of the sea," the fisherman nodded enthusiastically. "Well... except for that red one over at the end of the dock." He pointed to a small sailboat that looked as if it could hold no more than two passengers. The red paint on its hull was slightly faded.

"What's so special about that one?" Zelda immediately asked, curious.

"He's old," the fisherman said. "Old as the hills. He's as reliable as they come, and he's never lost a race. Steers like he was just made yesterday, too. He's the village relic, next to the Wise One. We call him King."

Link walked over to King, almost as if in a trance, and stared at the dutifully preserved boat. His paint was faded, but his parts were still very intact. His bow had a curved extension, like a neck, that ended in a proud head with a regal-looking beard flanking a strong chin. Two gold-colored horns rested on top of his head, like a crown. He reached out and laid a hand on the smooth wood.

It felt... familiar. Right, somehow.

Zelda soon followed. She broke into a grin when she saw King up close. "Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed, running around to look at his face. "It's as if the boat itself is alive! He has a face and a beard!"

"Yup, that's what makes King so special," the fisherman said sagely. "He's different from the other boats. He's got a personality. He's proud — like a lion."

Zelda turned around excitedly. "Teacher! You have to come and see this!"

"Hrm? Oh, maybe later, Your Highness," Teacher said dismissively. "No, no, that one's far too unstable! We'll flip over and land in the water for sure!" he berated Alfonzo, who looked a little strained from dealing with the persnickety old man.

"Well, Link?" Zelda turned around to face her sailing partner. "Do you want to ride in King?"

The hero's face broke into a wide grin. He nodded vigorously, hand firmly planted on the boat. Zelda smiled back, and she secretly wondered if Link had also felt the magnetic pull that the boat seemed to possess. It was almost as if it beckoned them.

"We'd like to ride in King!" Zelda told the fisherman. Teacher overheard her and looked startled at her choice.

"Ruh-Really?" he sputtered. "But Your Highness, it's so... old. And small! Aren't you worried you'll tip over?"

"I won't ride in any other boat," Zelda shot back, suddenly adamant. "I will either sail the seas on King or not sail at all."

Teacher sighed in defeat. "If you say so, Your Majesty." He turned around and mumbled something that caused Alfonzo to nudge him.

"So! You're riding in ol' King?" the fisherman asked. "Excellent! Lemme get your sail." He ran away and returned with a beige-colored canvas. He stepped onto the boat and tied the sail against the mast tightly, until he was sure it would stay. He then walked over to Link and Zelda. "Okay, so who's steering the boat?"

Link's hand shot up before Zelda could even say anything.

"Alright, little man! I'll show you how it works." The fisherman proceeded to demonstrate how to properly sail a boat, and although Link and Zelda both paid careful attention, a part of them felt as if this was all very familiar. When Link stepped inside the boat to prove that he had been listening, he almost immediately assumed a natural position.

"Whoa, you look like a true sailor!" the fisherman said in awe. "Not bad for your first time, little man, not bad at all! And you, Your Highness," he turned to her, "will hold this rope tight — but not too tight — to make sure that the sail doesn't get too loose."

"Okay," Zelda said, stepping into the boat and grabbing the rope, pulling on it and causing the sail to straighten out. The wind immediately filled the sail, the boat shifting a little.

The fisherman let out a low whistle. "You guys are naturals at this!" he exclaimed. "Looks like King's ready for some action, too." He eyed the boat rocking on the waves, tugging against its anchor, as if it itself was ready to sail on the seas. "Okay, just wait a sec while I get your buddies set up."

As he went to go help the (still arguing) Teacher and Alfonzo, Zelda turned to Link, eyes alight with excitement. "Can you believe it? We're about to go sailing!" she nearly squealed. Link looked as if he could have jumped for joy, but jumping in a boat was probably a bad idea. Probably. "To be honest... I thought it would be scarier than this. Didn't you?"

Link nodded. He thought that being in a boat would be a nightmarish combination of violently rocking hulls, sea sickness, and tipping over. But in King, these fears seemed to disappear and were replaced with a warm familiarity. Even though the red boat was rocking in time with the waves, it didn't seem... uncomfortable, somehow. Looking at Zelda, he could tell that she thought the same, too.

Teacher and Alfonzo finally decided on a large, bulky sailboat that had apparently met Teacher's safety criteria. The fisherman gave them a tutorial (Teacher frequently interjecting as Alfonzo nodded with sagely determination) before raising their anchor and shoving them off. He then went over to where they sat in King.

"Good luck... to both of you," he said before lifting their anchor and shoving them off. Zelda held the ropes tight as Link steered with the rudder, King zipping off into the ocean. His speed combined with the ocean's breeze sent their hair and hats backwards.

Zelda let out a scream of delight as Link failed to suppress a boyish smile. So this was what it was like to sail in a boat... the ocean spreading off in all directions, the wind in your face, the rails above you...

The rails. It suddenly hit Link that there were no rails for him to follow. He and Zelda were completely free to go wherever they pleased — and in a way, that frightened him, because he was steering something with no destination and no boundaries.

Zelda, as if sensing his uncertainty, turned toward him with a bright and confident smile on her face. "The wind will guide us!" she roared over the breeze. "Just trust it!" And she shot him a wink accompanied by a small grin.

Link nodded and steered King toward Alfonzo and Teacher, who were effectively having a meltdown despite having been instructed to remain calm under all circumstances. Zelda waved at them as they drew near.

"Teacher! This is so much fun! We have to do this more often!" she yelled. Teacher's face went pale and he nearly fainted. "Alfonzo! How are you doing?"

"Um... okay!" he shouted in reply, quickly pushing the rudder. "Man, this sailing stuff is hard! How does Link make it look so easy?" He cast an envious glance in Link's direction. Zelda laughed as the hero steered them away, King zipping off into the horizon.

"Look, there's the Ocean Temple!" Zelda said, pointing at the stone colossus rising up from the sea. "And to think, that's where we first got this idea..." She smiled fondly and looked up at the sky. "Look at the clouds, Link! They're so beautiful! Have you ever seen the sky so blue?"

Link looked up. She was right. The sky was a deep cerulean, cotton-ball clouds sailing swiftly across its expanse — much like they were. Something about looking up at the sky from a sailboat was refreshing. It wasn't the same as looking up at the sky from a village or a train.

They sailed along in silence for a while, reveling in their freedom and the smell of the salty air against their faces. King sliced through the waves effortlessly, never once deterred. He really did look like a proud, red lion on the sea.

When Teacher and Alfonzo were no more than dots behind them, Zelda suddenly became pensive.

"I like it out here," she said, looking about them. "You can't see the rails... there's no sound except for the seagulls and the sound of the waves." She closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the sun. "I can imagine that there are no rails or trains... just an endless ocean and the islands on it."

Link also closed his eyes and tried to imagine the endless ocean without any rails on it. He was sailing on King, and he could see the shadows of the islands in the distance. No rails were around to mar the sight of a vast ocean.

The image granted him a brief sense of romantic deja vu, a sort of joyful ecstasy that swelled up in his stomach and threatened to burst. He thought for a moment that a rail-less ocean was a reality within his grasp. But it disappeared as soon as it appeared, and the dream soon became something of a fairy tale.

He hid his slight disappointment and opened his eyes to look at Zelda. She was looking at him.

"You saw it too, didn't you?" she asked him. He nodded. He saw it, if only for a second. "It's strange, but I... think this is what they call destiny."

Link's eyes showed that he agreed.

"Grandma always did love the sea," Zelda reminisced. "I bet she would be really proud of me right now."

Link smiled and nodded understandingly, suddenly feeling as if someone else — he didn't know who — was also proud of him at that moment.

"PRINCESSSSSS!!"

They both turned around to see Teacher and Alfonzo's ship approaching them. Teacher had managed to get over his maritime fears by whipping out his Deluxe PictoBox and snapping photos of everything in sight. Alfonzo sat by the rudder, gripping it as if it were the hilt of a sword to him. He waved at Link and Zelda.

"Hooooy!" he yelled. "Wanna race back to the docks?"

A competitive gleam came to Zelda's eye. "You're on!" she shouted in response, Link steering King so that he faced the direction the docks were in. The wind, almost in response to the challenge, blew at their backs, King's sail rippling in the breeze.

Alfonzo turned the rudder so that they were adjacent to each other. His boat dwarfed theirs, but they had the advantage of King's more aerodynamic build. Teacher snapped a few photos of them enthusiastically.

"Ready, and... GO!" Alfonzo roared, tightening the sail on his boat. Zelda did the same, and it surprised no one that King zipped ahead, cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter, as if he wanted to win this race as well.

Link and Zelda laughed as they heard Teacher complaining in the background: "Go faster, you ijit, FASTER! Look, they're all the way out there! What about that sailor's touch you said you had?!"

"I'm trying!" Alfonzo shouted in response, tightening and loosening the sails as necessary. "I don't see you helping!"

"Well I... I have pictures to take! National business! It's good publicity for the princess!" Teacher retorted.

"How can you take pictures of them when they're way ahead of us?!"

"That's exactly my point!"

The two children laughed as they raced back to the docks, Teacher and Alfonzo's quarreling slowly being drowned out by the sound of the waves and the rush of the wind in their ears. They were soon alone again, just the two of them and the ocean and the sky.

"I think... I think that sudden wind in the sails was Tetra's way of showing how proud she was of us," Zelda said, looking up at the sky. "She's up there now, with Anjean and the others, watching over us... we can't disappoint them."

Link looked up to the heavens as well and silently thanked Tetra — and for some reason, that nameless presence that he felt was very proud of him at this moment.

The two of them reached the docks first, where the fisherman greeted them with glowing praise on their natural sailing touch. They waited in the boat for Teacher and Alfonzo, who were slowly coming up on the horizon. When they arrived on the docks, Teacher's voice was a little hoarse — no doubt from constantly yelling at Alfonzo. Unsurprisingly, he wanted to take pictures of Link and Zelda in King.

"Alright, now look at me and smile," he said, holding up his PictoBox. Zelda sat on the edge of the King's passenger section while Link sat in the only seat. She took Link's hand in her own and smiled brightly, an infectious smile that spread onto Link's face.

Teacher's PictoBox clicked.

"I really like this one," Zelda said, looking through the pictographs. It was the one that Teacher had taken on the docks. "Here, I'll give a copy to you, Link."

"I'm sure old man Niko would appreciate a picture of your sailing adventure," Alfonzo remarked from behind the young soldier. "He was into the sailing thing when he was your age, too."

Of course! Niko. Link nodded and stuffed the pictograph into his pocket, eager to return to Aboda Village and give Niko the pictograph. He didn't have any of the princess, and Link was willing to bet anything that Niko would be honored to have a pictograph like this in their home. He'd probably put it right there on the table for everyone to admire.

He said his farewells and rushed back to the station, anticipating the old man's response.

conclusion

"Oh, Link," Niko greeted him when he walked into their house. "How was your trip?"

Link pulled out the pictograph and handed it to Niko, a big grin on his face. Curious, the old man took it from him to get a better look.

He nearly froze on the spot when he saw it.

"Did you see it, old man?" Alfonzo said from their doorway. "Yeah, can you believe it? Link was on a boat with Princess Zelda! He was great. A real natural. It was like he'd been in a boat all his life!"

Niko said nothing. He continued staring at the pictograph.

"I wish you could have been there. You would have loved it," Alfonzo continued, walking inside. "...You okay, old man?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, just fine," Niko said, snapping out of his reverie. "I'm just amazed you could get a picture of Princess Zelda like this. I will frame it and place it right here on the table, for all to see. Thank you, Link."

Link grinned in response.

"Well, we have some work to do on the train," Alfonzo said, stretching his arms. "Let's go, Link!" The boy nodded and followed him out of the house.

When Niko was sure they were gone, he hobbled over to the old treasure chest he kept and opened it with a key he kept in his pocket. The chest opened without a single squeal, the old man reaching inside and grabbing a framed portrait, holding it next to the pictograph Link had just given him.

The portrait in the frame was that of a young boy virtually identical in appearance to Link, smiling as he held the hand of a girl with sun-kissed skin and bright blond hair. She sat on the edge of the bright red boat they were in, her smile infectious. In most aspects, it was nearly identical to the pictograph Link had just given him: but there were no docks, no boats, no rails and cliffs crudely jutting out of the ocean's surface. There was just the vast expanse of the ocean and a small island in the background.

Niko smiled and clutched them both to his heart.

fin

Author's Note: I love Teacher. He's hilarious. I went to a sailing camp once, a long time ago, but I've completely forgotten everything they told me... all I remember is that, if you're a greenhorn, one person handles the rudder while the other person pulls a rope to make sure the sail is tight. I guess that when KoRL was ~magical~ he kept the sail tight enough on his own. So I apologize if I got all of the terminology wrong or if things don't connect.
I think I took too many liberties with this. lol.

fic: "once upon a time"

impa — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 03:18:17 GMT

Title: Once Upon a Time
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Summary: Neither of them could explain why, but the ocean felt very familiar to them.
Notes: Takes place during the events of Spirit Tracks. Inspired by this piece by musogato.

Link shielded his eyes from the harsh sun as he looked out at the seemingly endless expanse of the sea. Deep sapphire water stretched out in every direction imaginable, and he could barely see the Spirit Tracks, even when he stood at the very top of the Ocean Temple.

Zelda also came out to stare the ocean as well. She floated beyond the edge of the platform, marveling at its size.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, also shielding her eyes. "Look at how big the sea is, Link! I've never seen it like this!"

Link nodded in agreement. There was an ocean by Aboda Village, but it was nothing compared to the Ocean Realm. Maybe it was the saltiness of the air, or the hue of the ocean, or the large clouds in the sky that marked where the ocean ended and the sky began. Link couldn't quite place this feeling — he just knew it was different.

Zelda floated around the rim of the Ocean Temple, gazing out at the sea. "I can't believe we crossed that," she remarked, trying to find the Spirit Tracks. "It seems too big for one train to cross."

From up here, it certainly looked too big. It almost seemed impossible that anyone would be able to cross it.

"Hey, Link," Zelda said, floating down toward him again. "Do you think people used to travel on the ocean? With boats? Not just pirates, but people, and all the time."

The wind seemed to suddenly pick up, and Link's floppy guard hat was blown back slightly. He inhaled the scent of the ocean. It smelled... familiar. It didn't smell the same as Aboda's ocean. Something inside of him just knew it was different, yet familiar, a kind of nagging deja vu. He racked his memory for all the times he played on the beaches of Aboda, wondering if that was where the familiarity was coming from.

Nothing came up. He shrugged in response to Zelda's question.

"I think it would be fun to cross the ocean on a boat," Zelda continued. "Feeling the wind in your face, tasting the salt in the air, listening to the waves..." She floated up as she dreamed about crossing the sea on a boat.

Link wasn't much of a swimmer, but something about being in a boat appealed to him.

"Of course, we'll have to do that after I get my body back," Zelda said, descending until she was floating just above him. "So let's hurry up and restore the Spirit Tracks! Then we can sail on the ocean!"

Link grinned and nodded before heading for the portal that would lead them out of the temple, Zelda accompanying him.

If they had stayed just a second longer, they would have noticed a small red sailboat on the horizon.

Author's Note: I've always seen Spirit Tracks Zelda as being more happy-go-lucky and optimistic. I also couldn't bring myself to make Link talk. I sort of made an assumption with the boats: trains seem to be the primary mode of transportation in ST's Hyrule, and boats are usually used by pirates and/or fishermen. Therefore, I just assumed that neither Link nor Zelda had ever been in a boat. (It actually seems like trains have been around since before they were born...)

Hope you enjoyed!