Well this is my first published story so I implore you to tell me what you think! Please!
Disclaimer: I am clearly not great enough to own Legend of Zelda or any of it's wonderful characters. Just humble enough to own this story!
Most mornings I wake up a few hours before the first crow and just lie still. I go to bed so early every night that I'm never really tired.
I stare at the cracks on the ceiling ritually attempting to make something different of the craggly lines and shapes, but nothing comes to me. They've looked the same to me my whole life; just cracks and divets that need to be plastered. My dad has offered to fix them multiple times, but I say no. Something inside of me says that I need them. It might be sentimentality or familiarity. But all I know is that there is something in those shapes that I'm just not seeing. Something impalpable and important.
It may sound stupid but there it is.
It's all I have to think about, at this god-forsaken ranch.
This awful and post-wonderful place. Home.
When I get sick of scraping my mind, I get up to get dressed and brush my hair, which doesn't take long; it's not like I'm taking any extra time to look good for somebody. Wrapping my shawl around my shoulders I tip-toe out of the house so not to wake Ingo and run out to the coral. It's kind of dark and there's always dew on the grass, and my happiness overwhelms me.
I hum my mother's song to myself as I lie down on the damp ground. This is my solace; the only time I'm content, if it only be for an hour.
After five minutes of watching the sun rise I go in to start my day. I make breakfast for Ingo and leave to eat mine in the loft. After that, I clean the stalls, feed the horses, chickens and cows, milk the cows, bottle the milk, gather the eggs, carton the eggs, and then Ingo takes the goods to town. I envy his job. After I take a (forbidden) ride on Epona, there's nothing else to do, so I go to my room and read.
This is my life.