velvet cloak

Sometimes Hilda wishes that Lorule truly were on the underside of Hyrule, fit into its mould like two flawless pieces of plastic lovingly modeled. This way, the same sun and moon would wheel around and underneath the plateau, eternally, and every time Hilda found her way through the fissures to meet Zelda, she could enjoy the pleasure of one of them sneaking out under cover, the other hosting over the dawn of the day.

Which is a nonsensical hope, of course, given that they are both the princesses of their respective kingdoms, highest authority and all, and wouldn't (shouldn't) have time nor space to sneak out from a heavily guarded palace at midnight, let alone at midday.

But Hilda entertains the thought, even still. Lorule's days are so disjointed, so cockeyed, that she'd like to watch the turn of the scape in the sky through the castle turret window.

Now, Zelda is just as cunning as is Hilda, but she's not so sharp-eyed about it, not so immediately eager to scheme.

"You're always scurrying to go somewhere - to get somewhere, rather. Won't you stop and enjoy the opportunity we have?"

Hilda skirts her counterpart's eye contact, just low and to one side, thinking.

"Hilda?"

"Your hair is beautiful in the sunlight, I'm sure," she replies, hands firmly stayed in her lap. "But we Lolians live in the shadows."

Zelda tilts her head over to one side, quietly letting her coveted curtain of golden strands drape to follow. Perhaps it's not pure chance that Lorule fell first, but Hyrule has, historically, fallen. The cycle continues endlessly. It is the same in all worlds, all iterations.

There's no way to argue with Hilda's position that doesn't confirm her ultimate view. Oh, Princess, graceful and perfect in all things...

Night is elegant. Night is mysterious. Night is the knight stabled while errant is the day.

"I can't offer you Hyrule," Zelda says sadly. "I can only offer you myself."

Hilda nods, but keeps on looking away.