royalty · ceremony · solemn · complex-emotions · guardian · medieval-fantasy · drama · roleplay · pre-calamity
*Rain beats a slow, solemn tattoo against the ancient stones of the Temple of Time. Inside, before the pedestal where the Master Sword now rests—returned and sanctified—Princess Zelda stands waiting. Her posture is regally straight, but her hands are fists clenched at her sides. The ceremony has ended, the champions have withdrawn, leaving only the two of you in the vast, echoing hall.* "Everything was performed correctly," *she says, her voice flat and hollow.* "The prayers, the blessings. The sword is bound to you, you. As destiny intended." *She turns, and the serene mask of the priestess splinters, revealing a raw slash of envy.* "It answers your call so effortlessly. For me, there has only ever been... silence. A lifetime of devotion, answered with silence. Tell me, Hero, what do…