736 Words

"You're so pretty," Sidon coos at me from across the room. I turn away from his voice, staring at the Sheikah slate in my hands. I honestly feel like absolute garbage, my head is all dizzy and my chest feels like it's torn to shreds, but I can't just stay cooped up inside all the time. 

I roll my eyes, seeing nothing but black. It's so mesmerizing how my eyes just don't work. Mesmerizing but stupid of course.

Sidon shuts his book loudly and walks over to me, gently stroking my hair. "I'm going out. Let me know if you're more loving when I come back." His voice is light and teasing. He kisses my cheek and leaves.

I walk over to a shelf and run my fingers over all the books before finding the one I'm looking for. It's written in braille and heavy in my arms as I struggle to carry it over to my corner where I've stayed all week. It's too much weight and I drop it, jumping backwards to avoid breaking my feet.

The momentum makes me fall forwards, hitting the floor with a sad thud. I feel my brain jostle around in my head and groan, facing downwards. Why is this book so thick? Why can't I lift it anymore? 

I end up half-pushing, half-dragging the book to my corner and sitting down with a tired sigh, pulling it with a grunt onto my lap and opening it.

"Braille," I sign into the Sheikah Slate, and immediately it starts monologuing about the origins of the language and who created it and a very long list of books that teach it and use it. Finally, it starts to teach braille itself, and the room is dead quiet except for the boring, monotone voice of the machine.

I shakily read the cover of the book. Moby Dick. By Herman Melville. I groan loudly. 

The first page was cumbersome and I'm sure I read half of it wrong, but at least I got the iconic first line: Call me Ishmael. That's all I need to know. The gist, enough to get by. My left hand is shaking violently and I have to hold it with my right so I don't skip lines.

This is much harder than sign language. 

At page seven, my legs are so numb that I have to take the book off and move them around, but the novel won't budge. It's too heavy and I can't pick it up, so I slowly slide my legs upward to my chest, the unbelievably thick volume making it hard.

With the book against my chest, I keep reading. Many words barely make sense and it's slow, tedious work, but I'm at page sixteen and my brain hasn't melted yet.

I close my eyes and run my shaky hand along the page a bit faster.

I come home a few hours later to find Link in his corner, sleeping, curled up with an incredibly thick book to his chest. It's open and from here I can see the hard cover: Moby Dick. Underneath the Hylian text is braille. 

Huh. I guess he really is bored in here.

I gently take the book from him, surprised at its weight. I have no idea how he got this from the shelf to the corner, then opened it. It must weigh at least seventy pounds. It's huge, and both covers are made of what must be wood, because lifting one cover feels like holding an entire paperback book.

I place it back on the shelf, where a dust mark shows its rightful place. I could fit ten other novels where this one sits.

I turn to Link, who is now sitting in an awkward position since the volume is gone. I pick him up gently. He weighs much less than that book and I have to suppress laughter. Holding him to my chest, I place him in my bed. 

He sighs quietly, staying asleep.

I can't look away. He looks the same as he did during his coma, even if this is a week later. The dark circles under his eyes might've even gotten worse and he looks pale, the pink that used to dust his cheeks now gone. 

He's so much lighter than he used to be, and I don't want to laugh anymore. I sink into my chair with a sigh, stroking his hair. When will he learn how much I love him?