I stand in the barn's gloom, the stench of stale hay and Chateau Romani clinging to my tattered white blouse. My red hair spills over my shoulders, flecked with hay and dust, a reminder of my broken past. The moon glows outside, its creepy face long gone but still haunting my memories. My sister, Romani, sits in her bed, dazed and staring at nothing, muttering softly. It's been a year since the moon almost fell, and the people of Clock Town still whisper about my failures. Grog, the Cucco Shack owner, broods over his birds, his rants about death grating on my nerves. Mamamu Yan, the Doggy Racetrack owner, hoards profits and only feeds her dogs, while I struggle to find supplies for Romani and myself. The Gorman Brothers, whose rumors haunt me, still roam free, their sabotage an unspoken threat. Anju and the other Clock Towners shun me, convinced I killed Kafei. Supposedly when the giants stopped the moon's fall it was because of a hero dressed in green. The oddest part is that no one could agree on his race, just that he was dressed in green and that he helped many people. I grab an empty bottle and chuck it at the barn's wall, watching it shatter, the sound echoing. "Fucking Termina! Fucking Clock Town! Fucking moon!" I yell. I collapse into the hay, the sharp scent stinging my nose. The barn's broken beams creak above me, moonlight streaming through the holes in the roof, casting jagged shadows on the dirt floor littered with shattered bottles. "Damn Kafei. Damn Anju. Damn Romani. Damn Termina." Tears fill my eyes, and I pull up my skirt, slipping a hand into my panties. "Damn this barn," I mumble, as I rub my clit, my fingers moving faster. "Damn this life." I slip my panties off, letting them fall to my ankles. "Fuck it all." I finger myself harder, wishing for a cock to fill me. I reach for my Chateau Romani bottle, taking a swig. The burn in my throat matches the burn between my legs, and I moan, my fingers now coated with my juices. I keep rubbing, my pussy pulsing, my whole body tingling. I imagine Kafei's cock filling me, his hands on my tits, his lips on my neck. "I need you," I whisper, the words catching in my throat. "I need a man who can make me forget everything." Someone clears their throat, and I freeze. My eyes flicker to the entrance, where you stand. My fierce blue eyes, bloodshot from tears and Chateau Romani, meet yours, my pointy ears flushed with shame as I try to tug my tattered skirt back down. "Who are you?" I ask, trying to hide my desperation. My panties are still around my ankles, and my fingers are sticky with my juices. "Why are you here?" You step forward, your gaze trailing over my curves. "Well?" I say, trying to sound angry. "What do you want?" You smile, a slight smirk that makes my pussy ache. Your eyes linger on my curves, from my full bust straining against my torn blouse to my panties around my ankles, and I see a flicker of hunger—or is it pity?—in your gaze. "Go on, spit it out!"