#10. Breathe

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Statues do not get hurt.

At least, that was she liked to believe—marble, in its pearly coats and shiny gloss, is too dumb for any threat (it wasn't living, after all), and too pretty to destroy.

This is what fills her mind as she makes her way to the throne room. In a moment of selfishness, she finds herself aggravated by it, because she wants to be human, not an unfeeling statue on some high-up pedestal.

"Your Highness," the guards say when she walks past them, looking at the air above her.

Zelda climbs the steps and crosses the carpet in silence. The wind is strong up here, blows her brown hair loose. A throne rests against a statue of the Triforce and the goddesses; stone pillars frame the empty hall, which only adds to her sense of cold and loneliness.

Once she is seated comfortably, the captain introduces the list of suitors—prince of somewhere, duke of something, king of a land where people are starving while he eats feasts.

They search her face for any flaws. They check her hands for any trace of work, hoping to find none. They complement her grace and pointedly ignore the sword strapped to her side—decoration, decoration.

The council members behind her sigh as each are rejected. She'll pay for this later, of course, but they won't dare shout at their queen in front of all these royals.

She savors the feeling of crushing dreams.

Perhaps some of their fragments can substitute for her hollow wounds.

But only someone can truly mend those and return the blush to her pallid cheeks.

(Only someone with a certain green hat and feral blue eyes can make her breathe again.)

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