r3dfive
patreon
Journey's End - Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2018-02-10 10:52:44 +0000 UTCThe rest of your breakfast was hard to swallow as you overthink and overthink Malon’s request.
“Come with me upstairs,” she had said, “I want to show you something.”
You watch her as she enjoys her food across from you. She is chatting away to you about something regarding her father’s past and preposterous ideas for the ranch, her cutlery waving around as she got more and more invested in her storytelling. That was something you had noticed about her actually – she spoke a lot with her hands. Whether it was a simple instruction on how to do something or a good-flowing conversation, she always moved her hands with her speech in an oddly elegant manner. You see that her hands are surprisingly very small and dainty for a farmhand, smooth and soft. You remember as you had still helped the family out in your youth, before you left Hyrule, the hard skin that formed on the palms of your hands and on your fingertips. Some months after your leave, some of it had went back to normal, but your hands were still rather rough, which is typical of a swordsman, you realise. For some unknown and somewhat unsettling reason, you imagine her hand in yours, how fragile her fingers would feel and how gentle her grip would be. Then you feel ashamed, knowing that your own hand would feel probably less pleasant to her. Still… holding her hand would be nice. Her wrist was tiny compared to yours as well, which lead to her pale and just as dainty arm. Her skin looks so velvety and ready to be touched, as if it was asking to have your fingers traced along it. Reaching her bare, warm shoulder would also be so-
“What do you think about that, isn’t that just so silly?” she suddenly asked you, her fork pointing in the direction of the kitchen.
You hesitate, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about or the context of her question. You feel your face flush, as if she had realised what you had been thinking about, and you clear your throat and act as though you still have food in your mouth to buy time. Those four or five seconds were precious to not making an ass of yourself in front of her. Suddenly it hits you, and you blurt out a generic, flexible answer about how you’re so happy to see that the ranch hasn’t changed much since your departure and that yes, it was indeed silly. She smiles at you, her eyes glinting with satisfaction upon your agreement.
“I knew you would think that,” she nodded as pours herself another glass of fresh milk from the pitcher, “You and I always thought along the same road in those terms.”
She brings her glass to her mouth and takes a sip, but in her excitement to continue speaking, she spills some down her chin.
“Oh my gosh,” she holds her hand under her chin to stop the milk from dripping on her dress and licks her lips clean of the thick, white liquid, “May I please have your napkin? Mine is too wet.”
You thrust your napkin into her open hand, your face burning as you try not to look at her cleaning herself up. You have a strange lump in your throat, and you shift in your seat to try and calm down.
“Oh boy,” she giggles, now clean and judging from the colour on her cheeks, embarrassed, “I was just so very eager to tell you more, I slobbered on myself - I’m so sorry! I’m not usually like that.”
You tell her it’s alright, it happens to you too. Which it really didn’t, but it made her feel better all the same. Your biggest concern at this moment was distracting yourself from daydreaming about her, so you tell her that you’re finished with breakfast.
“Great! Come with me then,” Malon stands up, knocking the table a little with her knees, and leads you to the stairs leading up to her bedroom. She motions for you to follow her, and the both of you head up together. The stairs creak a little under your weight, and you look up to say something to Malon, trying not to stare at her behind. She giggles at your comment.
“Don’t worry - they were reinstalled three winters ago. Daddy did it himself so they’re a little more shabby than usual, but they’re sturdy!”
She pauses before a door at the top and turns to you.
“Link,” she says, suddenly quite earnest, “This here is my bedroom. I’ve never let a boy in here before, so…”
She hesitates, and your mind goes wild with the possible endings to that sentence. Some part of you is suggesting things in the back of your mind, but you don’t focus on them. You have no idea what to expect other than what your ego is trying to provoke you with. Malon clears her throat, fiddles nervously with her skirt, then looks into your eyes.
“… so don’t laugh at my dollies, okay?”
You try, no, you need to hold back the laugh that is rising in your throat, and nod. She opens the door and leads you inside. Her room is actually rather adorable, with a consistent pink and light pine wood theme. She has pictures on the walls from her childhood, a couple of which you had already seen before. Her closet was different, probably to accommodate more clothing, and her bed was also bigger. A double bed, in fact. And as she had warned, there were dollies. Quite a few. One of them even looked like Epona.
“As I already said,” Malon interrupts your observations as she rummages through her closet, “I have something to show you. Here, this is for you. I actually… made this for you. I hope you like it.”
She holds a red checked shirt before you, which looks pretty well made considering it is handwork.
“This is what folks wear during festival time,” she continues, her gaze focused on the floor, “I also have something. I was hoping we could try them on and see how they fit.”
Although you can see that she was embarrassed and nervous about what you would think, you feel overwhelmingly touched at her gesture. You take the shirt from her, and she then pulls out something blue from her closet.
“This one is mine,” she smiles, admiring the dress in her hands, “Shall we try them on? Let’s turn our backs on each other – no peeking.”
You do as your told, and remove your tunic. Your shirt is made of a thick cotton, and smells unexpectedly nice. Behind you, you hear Malon undoing her buttons, pulling fabric around, huffing and puffing. What on earth is she doing? You button up your shirt, which is a bit tight around the chest. If Malon sees that, she’ll be so disappointed. You suck in and hold yourself unnaturally straight in posture to keep the buttons closed.
“Alright, I’m finished,” you hear her sigh, “Are you ready? Shall we turn around? On three. One… two… three!”
Turning with care so as not to break your stance, you take rigid, stiff steps to turn and face her. Now you see what she was huffing and puffing about. Her dress was rather complicated, boasting a number of layers. The main piece has an elaborate design of blue and white, tied around the middle with a cream satin ribbon. On the front is some kind of decorative lace apron, and the blouse under the dress matched it. From the form alone, it’s obvious that Malon is wearing a petticoat underneath. She blushes and performs a small, awkward curtsey for you.
“What do you think? Is it pretty?” she asks. You look up from her dress, noticing how the ribbon makes a corset-like weave across the bust, the garment pushing everything up to make a prominent cleavage. Your eyes linger for a moment on the soft plenteousness of her bosom, how her breasts seem to almost want to spill out of the dress. You forget yourself and relieve yourself of the strained stance you had, causing a button to pop off your shirt and fly across the room.
“Oh no!” Malon gasps, “I knew I should have made it wider!”
You turn to inspect the damage in the mirror. The sad fact is that, in order to breathe, that button needs to be sacrificed. You see Malon’s reflection behind you.
“I guess I have some modifications to do…”
*****
Art by R3dFiVe
Story by Redeemer and R3dFiVe
Writing by Redeemer
