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Summary
A work exploring Hateno and a makeshift sanctuary.
Her basket's on the table, palms on either side of it. The house dark. Dim.
The door hasn’t closed behind her. Zelda turns her head, peering through windswept hair. Light pours in behind him: his silhouette standing there on the threshold of his own home like a vampire awaiting an invitation. She almost laughs at the sight. The man who cut the Devil to pieces is scared to follow after a woman with a chip on her shoulder? How far they’ve both fallen.
“It’s your house,” she points out.
Permission to enter. He does even though it’s not hers to give. It’s only a few steps, of course. Can’t break the rule. Five feet. Always five feet apart. The door closes.
She wants to break something. An old habit’s under heavy consideration.