#aclockworkprincess

anax voice: all riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight

((YOOOOO LINK AND ZELDA AND JON AND DANY YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO))

9/10

The pistol bounced in its holster at Azrael’s hip, concealed beneath his cloak.  He eyed the crowd warily, searching for someone of enough importance to draw the king out of whatever hole he’d climbed into.

Of course, he knew exactly who was the most viable option – but he wanted to ignore the possibility of her being here, after their recent encounter.

There was the most awful sinking feeling in his chest when he caught sight of an all too familiar head of white blonde curls, falling heavily down a young woman’s back as she danced with some other young gentleman.  There was a smile upon her face as he spun her, and suddenly Azrael felt very much like the villain to have to break the two of them apart.

How fitting.

Grimacing as his teeth elongated and a low, guttural growl escaped his throat, Azrael raised the pistol above his head.  There were a few shocked gasps as the dancers around him realized what he was holding, the gasps escalating into screams as he fired one deafening shot to one of the ceiling chandeliers.  Chaos ensued quickly; the party guests ran in every which direction to escape the chandelier, now hanging perilously and simply waiting to fall on some unsuspecting civilian.  Seizing the opportunity, Azrael reached forward to grab the now startled princess, spinning her around and pinning her against him.

No, it’s lovely, thank you. I’ve received endless compliments so far.

The ballroom was a vast and bright space and amongst the cacophony of sound and laughter, Link felt very small.  The music was loud and boisterous, and even after two glasses of whatever fruit cocktail had been provided for the guests on the buffet tables, Link was still feeling very much like an ass.

A couple of dancers swung out from the crowd suddenly, bumping into Link’s arm and causing him to drop what would have been his third glass of whatever the bloody hell had been on the table.  Swearing under his breath, he knelt to carefully pick the shattered pieces of glass from the ballroom floor.  Some royal ball this was so far.

The night air was icy against Azrael’s cheeks as he strode towards Hyrule Castle, his cape billowing behind him where the breeze kicked it up.  There was no room for grief in his heart; there was only a powerful rage that threatened to consume him.  Azrael had grown accustomed to his lower than average body temperature, to an existence spent seeking heat from others.  He was used to the cold and welcomed it as a friend.

He burned now with a rage he had not felt in years, and suddenly he swore there was steam rising from his hands and swirling into oblivion in the night wind.

The guards posted by the doors were off duty tonight, likely placed within the ballroom itself while the castle remained open to the public.  Azrael stormed in, his footsteps echoing on the marble tiles and reverberating through the cold stone walls of the entranceway.  Slipping his mask from his pocket, he applied the cool metal to his face and adhered it as Haeyin had showed him.

Silence permeated by the distant din of laughter and music, Azrael followed to noises towards the ballroom, where the doors were opened wide to reveal the grand spectacle ahead.  The light made him wince, but he kept his pace as he strode smoothly towards the masquerade.

A sea of faces before his eyes, and yet Azrael was able to pinpoint exactly the person he needed to see immediately.  Her curls shone like white gold under the chandelier light, her ornate gown resembling a swan.  How fitting, he thought to himself as he forged a path through the crowd over to where she stood, dancing idly with a red-faced young man.

“Sorry lad,” Azrael snarled, grasping the youth’s elbow and tugging him away from the woman he was eyeing.  “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut in.”  If the young man had been about to protest, the sudden sight of Azrael’s gaze caused him to shrink back into the crowd.  Not missing a beat, Azrael’s hands moved to replace the princess’ dance partner, supporting her waist and grasping her hand - his fingers squeezing hers none too gently.