Oh, Axys. He wouldn’t know me from Eve. But when he stops in front of me, mouses over the halo hovering above my head and presses his forefinger down—click—I need him to understand what he means to me.
what is it like?
lightning, clearly;
all atomic foofaraw;
the glint on the scales of a trout.
You’re such a tenderheart,
the boy teases. Here, let me
show you.
I would hold up the Triforce above my head:
But I, being new, have only this lantern
And this rupee I found in a bush
Tread softly because I only have three hearts
Halfway up a frozen turret in a room with thin ice walls backlit by still quasar I started to think that maybe Cold Planet was a prototype, just a world with no content.
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