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TLOZ: Oracle of Light 14
Chapter Fourteen: The Epilogue
As soon as they returned to Dragon Roost Island to tell the Chief (and Komali who snuck into the meeting) about Kurai's demise, the Chief announced a that a feast should be held in their honor. Soon the Aerie was turned into a banquet hall and even Tetra's pirate crew joined the party. Medli played her harp and to everyone's surprise, Quill stared everyone dancing. Meanwhile, Link had been asked by Komali to recount (in great detail) exactly what had happened on Thorned Fairy Island. Siri and Tetra had spent most of the night arguing about who had held up better in the fight against Kurai.
After Link had finished telling his story, he realized that he hadn't seen Vean around for a long while. He eventually found him sitting halfway up the elevated path that led to upper floor. He sat just staring off into space. "What are you doing way over here," Link asked. Vean turned to him startled out of his daze and just shrugged. "Just thinking about what I
TLOZ: Oracle of Light 13
Chapter Thirteen: Flashbacks
Malum stared at the place where Kurai had been standing in disbelief. "Where did she go?" he asked. The Light Arrows and now this? But it felt different from the magic that Kurai had taught him. It didn't make him feel ill or rampant. Instead he had felt wholesome and as if he didn't need to be in control of it, but only a channel for it.
"Vean, are you okay?" Link asked putting his right hand on Malum's shoulder. (His left arm was still numb from Kurai's last attack.) "I'm fine," he answered, but he felt far from "fine." He was now more confused than ever.
Suddenly, in the center of the fountain, the Great Fairy appeared again, but this time she looked like a normal Great Fairy with her dark skin, and white dress. "Young Waker of the Winds and Great Oracle of Light " she began in a sweet yet sorrowful voice. "Firstly, I must thank you for freeing me of the malefic influence of the Oracle of Shadows. Secondly, I must beg your forgivene
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
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