579 Words

The moment I step into the room, I know something is very off. The whole place has a tangy smell and an unsettling ambiance to it. I really try not to jump to conclusions as I inhale deeply and place my books down on a side table.

And then I see it.

The blood. A pool of blood in a streak, as if whoever was bleeding had been dragged across the floor to the bathroom. The crimson streak blurs with sudden tears assaulting my vision. He got himself hurt again. This time it looks bad.

I step into the washroom and I see Link crumpled up on the floor, barely sitting up against the wall. Eyelids fluttering, he clutches a roll of bandages to his chest, which is so red I can't even tell where he's bleeding from. Quickly I grab a med kit from the cupboard and kneel next to him.

"What happened?" I say, trying to remain calm or at least looking calm.

"S-stabbed..." he whines aloud, looking tiredly up at me. "I'm sorry."

"Shh. Don't talk, you're losing—there's blood everywhere."

"N-no, no, listen," he whispers, cupping my face. His hand is warm and wet with blood. "I'm so sorry. I need you t-to understand... I love you. So much."

I blink back more tears. "Dammit, Link. You're bleeding out." I have no bandages left, I've counted at least three stab wounds amid all the blood everywhere and his breathing is harsh, quick and ragged, so much so I can barely hear it.

"Dammit!" If only I could heal like Mipha could, then he'd be fine. He'd be okay, alive and well, although probably weak from blood loss. How does his small body have so much of it? It's seeped right though his shirt, undoubtedly staining it permanently, and pooled in a puddle beneath him on the floor. How long was he there before I arrived?

He closes his eyes, breathing slower. His pulse is nonexistent. If only there was a way that I could somehow put more blood in his body, but even the Sheikah haven't invented something like that yet.

"No, you can't close your eyes," I say. "Keep them open. Please..." He simply shakes his head slightly, exhaling.

He didn't inhale again.

"You can't die!" I yell, burying my face in his neck. "You can't just leave like that!" There's no pulse and he isn't breathing anymore.

I come to the grim realization with horror. That's it.

Link is dead.

He won't come back like he's done so many times before. I stare at his face, still a bit pink with blush. His eyes are closed and for once, I'm thankful. The dead, glazed over look is too much to think of.

It hits me — he knew. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his vision fade away like the life that left him. His injuries had never felt this permanent before. Not when he first arrived here, stabbed through the back with a sword; not when he slit his wrists that night; not even when he returned, dripping in his own blood and realizing he'd never speak again.

No. This—this is permanent.

Death is the most permanent thing out there.

Why must it take him?