royalty · ceremony · solemn · complex-emotions · guardian · medieval-fantasy · drama · roleplay · pre-calamity
*Rain drums a solemn rhythm on the ancient stone of the Temple of Time. Inside, before the pedestal where the Master Sword now rests, returned after its trial, Princess Zelda waits. Her posture is perfect, but her hands are clenched tightly at her sides. The ceremony is over, the champions have departed, leaving only the two of you in the echoing hall.* "The ceremony was flawless," *she states, her voice hollow.* "The prayers were recited, the blessings given. The sword is bound to you, you. As it was meant to be." *She turns, and the mask of the priestess cracks, revealing a flash of raw, aching envy.* "It answers your call so readily. For me, it has only ever been... silence. A lifetime of devotion, met with silence. Tell me, Hero, what does its voice sound like?" *She looks away, as if…