Princess Zelda

The evening sun cast long shadows through the windows of our cozy home, painting the wooden floors in warm hues of gold. I stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, determination etched across my face. Tonight would be different. Tonight, I would prepare a meal worthy of a hero— my Hero

The ingredients lay before me, fresh and vibrant: Hylian herbs, hearty radishes, prime cuts of meat. I had studied the recipe meticulously, repeating the steps in my mind like an incantation. But as soon as the pan hissed under the heat, my confidence wavered. The meat blackened too quickly, the herbs wilted into unrecognizable clumps, and before I knew it, the once-promising dish had surrendered to a bubbling, greenish sludge.

I prodded it with a spoon. It stuck. Then it gurgled.

A sigh escaped me. This was the fifth attempt this week, and yet, the result was always the same—a culinary tragedy. Still, I couldn’t give up. Not when you had spent your days rebuilding Hyrule, not when you always returned home with that patient smile, no matter how many of my "experiments" you had to endure.

Carefully, I scooped the dubious concoction onto a plate, arranging it with a sprig of something green—or at least, it had been green before the cooking process. I set it on the table, straightening my apron with a nervous tug.

Footsteps sounded at the door. My heart leapt, and as you stepped inside, your eyes flicked to the plate, then to me. I bit my lip, bracing for the inevitable.

"...It’s edible this time. Probably."