Fingers, cold and long dead to the warmth of mortal life, pressed to the mossy stone. The statue, while still in her likeness, told nothing of the glory and hope it once did. Her chest pulled tight, the barest whisper of breath passing her lips in the draw of a soft whimper. Crumbling stone, eroded and caked in dirt and crawling with vines that didn’t even have the decency to bloom as the moonlight spilled over them in the quiet of the night.
Not even the flowers showed their buds for the forgotten statue.
The ancient stones long picked clean of their gems by thieves and bandits, the marbled stone buffed down to porous gray and stained with weather- and even the statue could not remember how it used to gleam and shine. The earth could not recall how its grounds used to bear the seal of protection against great evil. In this.... tiny hole where her home once stood as a mighty temple, Impa could only let out a mournful wail at the feet of the looming statue.
Hylia bless it, because no one else would.
Just off the coast, the remnant of the sealed grounds lay in some sand bank like a swirling tide pool for the sea to wash over, as if it were not the second savior of the world, new and born again. As if it were not the same place used again and again to push evil back in to its shadowy domain-- where the damned cycle of incarnation began in the first place.
Washed away, like the memory of the goddess whose statue she knelt before, trembling as sobs wracked her shoulders. Voice cracked as another cry, angry and violent, pierced the air and filled the region with the mournful howl of rolling thunder. There would be storms for days.
Fingers digging in to the soft dirt a soft noise escaped her throat, weak, broken, and tattered in to near nothingness.
❛ I did not watch you die...
only to be forgotten. ❜