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It’s numbing to see him.
He’s by no means the same, golden hair replacing dirty blonde, a softer face and brighter eyes that look at her like she’s not there, telling her all she needs to know in that he does not know her and this is not her Hero. Her Hero was a silent storm, a wolf in a man skin, with a façade of ice, his true demeanour shone through when with animals, familiar and friendly faces but, most importantly, with her.
This Hero has none of that.
For such an expressive Twili, she manages to keep her face composed, staring at this new hero and ignoring the bitter tang of jealously that stirs in her when he looks at the Queen, hiding it better than the sorceress does but she still finds the bug girl looking at her, Midna moving uncomfortably before calling out the sorceress on the information she had neglected to tell the group.
A distraction is a distraction, relieved as attention goes from herself and to the blue haired woman, trying to regain composure in in the moments she had. It was a fools hope that he would know her, remember her somehow, remembering how star struck he had been at her true form and wondering if this Hero would be the same, if she would tease him over how he reacts and get the same response as he realised who she was.
But then, wouldn’t this accursed form be the thing he would remember most?
Confusion twists and contorts around her mind, the feeling of homesickness not for her home but for a person seemingly crushing down upon her and she debates between growing close with him as she had her own Hero and screaming at him to leave her alone, wanting him to leave her how she had left her own Hero and be done with this madness that had consumed her.
It’s only when he regains his blade, when he becomes battle cocky and his ego blossoms does he finally approach her, that god forsaken fairy seemingly missing, leaving him to just silently stare at her, that gleam in his eyes so familiar that for a moment, she mistakes him for someone else.
His eyes ask why she avoids him, implore her to spill her secrets she’d held close since she’s arrived in the unfamiliar land with strangers she knew nothing and yet everything of in a different life. Words catch in her throat, a strange thing for her as she can’t hold them back when that witch or the usurper got to her, threats spewing from lips and she’d be damned if she didn’t fulfil them once spoken.
However this is not the time for idle threats and words spoken without thought behind them, she couldn’t rush into words, the fear of saying something she would regret later holding her back for a moment before the Imp finally speaks.
She does not shout. She does not hiss. Her voice spills from blue tinged lips the softest it’s been since she told her Hero goodbye after refraining from speaking her confession, looking up at the Hylian, wondering how it would be to tower over him too in her true form, cracking a small smile.
“I knew you once before in another life,” she mumbles turning away from him and looking back to her small hands, an uncharacteristic sigh escaping her lips as the antipathy began to choke her, in a bid to prevent her from finishing what she had to say.
“You could say we were almost lovers for a moment.”
Midna hears the footsteps more than sees him go, unsurprised by his reaction to her coming clean to him about her, about her Hero and, without addressing the issue entirely, why she had been so hostile to him.
For wouldn’t you want space after a confession such as that?