Chapter Text
He stares at her, the wide open spaces of her smile.
Link observes the worlds in threes; she takes the first place, her eyes the second, her lips the third. Sometimes her smile is a songless bird, curled in melancholy. Other times, it's the softness of white roses at dawn. He likes to remember her that way, hair the color of a goldenrod-spring, (but he sometimes can't remember at all) and a smile like the first rain. Everything else is an afterthought, half-born in his dreams.
She stands before him now, but her smile is full of wide, open spaces.