The Twilight Princess sat silently in her castle, overlooking her gloomy kingdom. They were rebuilding after the atrocities committed by the Usurper Zant and his master, Ganondorf. She lounged in a lavish yet dark bedroom, replete with black silk and blue markings adorning the walls. She wore only a thin cloth attached to a cord around her waist, with the cloth covering her front and back. She wore nothing but for a shadowy substance natural to the Twili as a top. They could maintain it effortlessly and remove it at will. Her hair was done in it's usual style; beginning yellow at the roots, and progressing to deep orange at it's length. It was held in a stone clasp near her collarbone. Her beauty was radiant, yet subdued; such is the way of Twilight.
The Twili workers bodies moved sinuously in the shadows below, toiling endlessly for the reclamation of their lost glory. She wished to join them, but knew she possessed neither the skill nor the physical strength to do so, Princess or not. She may have aided with her magic, but such displays were not for the general public, and should only be employed for emergencies.
Atypical of a Princess, she was not waiting in line for a throne of any sort. She was the final ruler of all, only made Princess under the Queen of the Dawn and Lord of the Dusk, the legendary creators of the realm of Twilight in the ages before Light and Shadow. She was also not subject to the ramblings of countless advisers; she made nearly all of her decisions on her own. Her people followed her diligently, and took her word to mean the best for the Twilight Realm's Future. She was careful to make good decisions, for she wouldn't have so much influence if she found herself out of favor with her people.
Midna was in a relatively cheery mood as of late; the reconstruction had been going as planned, and nearly everyone was accounted for.
A small smile graced her lips.
She tensed as she heard rapid footsteps up her bedroom hallway, and prepared herself for whomever may enter.
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