[ The corner of the garden where the ghost has brought them is as beautiful as it is haunting. Iron spires rise up from the elegantly twisted roof of the gazebo, their points clawing at the blood red moon like so many sharp talons. The rose bushes that must have once neatly circled the gazebo are wildly overgrown from centuries of neglect, tangled tightly around every iron rod, as if they mean to shackle the structure in place. Roses, red as blood and black as pitch, are in full bloom under the eerie moonlight.
Just as the ghost feared, the structure stands empty and silent.
But Zelda is not convinced. They only just got here; they haven't even taken a proper look around. ]
You are too quick to give up. [ She chides as she withdraws her hand from Darin's grip. ] She has waited for you for centuries; surely you can spend more than a minute searching for her.
[ Zelda lifts her dress and makes her way over to the gazebo. Despite its obvious age, it looks remarkably sturdy, so she climbs the steps and walks inside. The red moonlight streams down through the gazebo's open roof, broken into jagged shapes by the overgrown vines, shining fragments of crimson glass slicing across the princess's form.
Her presence in the gazebo stirs a slumbering spirit. All of the sudden, the roses erupt with ear-splitting screeching as the spectre's whispy form strikes as a bolt down from the rafters into Zelda's back.
Zelda cries out-- at the same time that the roses go silent-- and stumbles forward. She throws out her hands to shield herself, but instead of falling, she freezes in place. She slumps forward, sagging at the waist like a marionette on loose strings.
Then, the spirit manages to gain control, awkwardly attempting to straighten and stand Zelda upright. ]
Young lovers...
[ The snarl that comes from Zelda's lips is in her voice, but sounds all wrong, dry and raspy as if from disuse. Her face, strangely, displays no emotion; her eyes are vacant, almost lifeless. ]
...Turn 'round and leave whence you came. This alcove is spoken for.
And if you don't...
[ The puppeteer raises Zelda's right arm by the wrist and presses the hand against her throat. Fumbling as the gesture seems, there's no mistaking the threat.
Given the scene, it would be an easy thing to overlook, but Zelda's left hand, still hanging at her side, has tightened into a fist. And on her face, the pupils of her empty eyes are ringed in gold, as though her green irises are changing color. ]
no subject
Just as the ghost feared, the structure stands empty and silent.
But Zelda is not convinced. They only just got here; they haven't even taken a proper look around. ]
You are too quick to give up. [ She chides as she withdraws her hand from Darin's grip. ] She has waited for you for centuries; surely you can spend more than a minute searching for her.
[ Zelda lifts her dress and makes her way over to the gazebo. Despite its obvious age, it looks remarkably sturdy, so she climbs the steps and walks inside. The red moonlight streams down through the gazebo's open roof, broken into jagged shapes by the overgrown vines, shining fragments of crimson glass slicing across the princess's form.
Her presence in the gazebo stirs a slumbering spirit. All of the sudden, the roses erupt with ear-splitting screeching as the spectre's whispy form strikes as a bolt down from the rafters into Zelda's back.
Zelda cries out-- at the same time that the roses go silent-- and stumbles forward. She throws out her hands to shield herself, but instead of falling, she freezes in place. She slumps forward, sagging at the waist like a marionette on loose strings.
Then, the spirit manages to gain control, awkwardly attempting to straighten and stand Zelda upright. ]
Young lovers...
[ The snarl that comes from Zelda's lips is in her voice, but sounds all wrong, dry and raspy as if from disuse. Her face, strangely, displays no emotion; her eyes are vacant, almost lifeless. ]
...Turn 'round and leave whence you came. This alcove is spoken for.
And if you don't...
[ The puppeteer raises Zelda's right arm by the wrist and presses the hand against her throat. Fumbling as the gesture seems, there's no mistaking the threat.
Given the scene, it would be an easy thing to overlook, but Zelda's left hand, still hanging at her side, has tightened into a fist. And on her face, the pupils of her empty eyes are ringed in gold, as though her green irises are changing color. ]