When Ciela had begun her tale, Midna had paid her minimal attention, using the same half-interest that she had treated her to in moments before. From the get-go, Midna could tell that something was off. Though Ciela had wreathed herself in anger, the Twilight Princess could sense something more...was it anguish? The soul-consuming sadness that far outstripped the lonely sorrow of those who lived in an eternal twilight? Despite her contempt for the fairy, Midna found herself listening. It was something that she could not help; the legends always fascinated her, even if she believed that they were nothing more than fables.
And so she straightened up and listened. In her mind she named the individuals that the fairy described. The Interlopers. Yes, she knew the stories. They were an ancient tribe, one who wielded great magic. When their crimes had landed them in the Twilight Realm, they and their children burned with resentment for generations, but with each that passed the soft, mellow, lonely light worked their way into the flesh, making them the Twili. Midna had heard these legends, for her history was not altered, as Ciela said they were. However, she sought no atonement from them. Just as a child could be a stranger to her father, the Twili were not like the Interlopers. They had been changed, over hundreds and thousands of years, by that slow light.
Ganondorf. No legend was complete without the demon king, and Midna was not surprised to hear him mentioned. When Ciela mentioned a 'king', her mind instantly went to her father, and she found quickly that she could not doubt him. Who, then, was this king? She thought next of the one next in line to the thrown—Zant. A day appeared in her memory, the day that Mizorant had appointed his successor. He had wanted to choose Midna, seeing more potential in her than in the wild-tempered Zant, but Midna had insisted that he defer the decision until later.
The trembling of Ciela did not go unnoticed by Midna. She frowned slightly. Either the fairy was a truly exceptional liar, or she spoke a truth so wracking that it hurt her to let it out. Midna found herself further drawn in. Soon after, however, the fairy began to approach. Off-guard and indecisive, she took an instinctive step back that sealed her disadvantage. Though smaller, and more girlish, Ciela had become frightening. Faced with such fury, and without a definite plan of action, Midna could only listen. With every sentence her own tension rose. Surely Ciela was wrong, surely the twilight wasn't capable of this. Surely...her people were not capable of this?! When Ciela flung her own blood across her, Midna flinched, raising and arm and shutting her eyes. The warm, pale fluid nauseated her, but more than that, it painted her with guilt; guilt, she knew, she shouldn't be feeling. Her back hit the wall, and she had no more room to retreat. The only option left was to let the tide of fury break over her.
“I...” she stammered, her tone humiliatingly squeaky. “I...hear it. The pain in your voice...real, surely real, more real than what afflicts my people. What you feel is true, yet...I know nothing. Nothing at all! The history does not match, my people are passive, totally apathetic to the world.” She was starting to babble, trying to cleanse herself of the horrific accusations, but not without good cause. “The only one spontaneous enough to do something like that is, I don't know, Zant, maybe Una, do not know. I know nothing. I did not hurt your people, but I am sorry. So sorry.” While the Twili could not shed tears, the urgency in her voice and in her eyes must surely convince Ciela that she, too, was speaking and feeling the truth.