The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Five ~ 9495 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four]
Summary: The ball is over, but countless new opinions have been formed -- and some not for the better. Ahiru quickly finds herself losing ground, while Mytho struggles with his own problems, all while a new threat emerges unforeseen...
The night was young and so was she. She, with her arms, legs, fingers, toes, with her beautiful body, so light and graceful, still moving with the memory of the music, the colors, the hands clutched to her own. She had lived before, of course, lived so many nights of walking and running and twirling there in the dark depths of the forest, but it had never been quite like that. There had been light. There had been people. There had been dancing, not alone but with the prince, gentle against her cold skin, eyes such a lovely shade of gold. Had she known warmth before such a moment? Had she known laughter before it fled from his lips?
Was this what it felt like, to be human always?
Time ran thin, as it was wont to do. Above her, the sky’s darkness crumpled and gave way to the faintest of light, billowing at the tips of the trees.
Her bare feet trembled against the dirt, but still she ran, desperate to escape, desperate to elude whatever it was that chased her. The night had barely started, hadn’t it? So soon. The day came so soon, and left no time for dreams.
With a sharp cry, her knees dug into the soft earth. A pitiful pond rested before her, water dark and thick in the lines of her palms. Still, she gathered countless handfuls and poured them over her worn skin, desperate for some small touch of relief.
With the slightest of breaths, she bent her head so as to look upon her reflection.
A pair of monstrous eyes looked back, jagged in shape, as red as fresh blood.
Perhaps another time she would have felt fear or anger at his presence, but now, there was only gratitude to be given, and she managed a smile, asking softly, “why did you have me do such a thing?”
The water rippled. A rumbling breath emerged, warm against her face.
“Did you not enjoy yourself?”
“I did,“ she insisted. Her hand arched before her, and she admired it briefly, remembering the gentle touch of the prince’s lips to her skin. “But still, why did you desire it of me? I’ve never been...you’ve never allowed me to...”
“Do not fret,” the voice answered, so strong that the trees rustled, countless birds startled from sleep. “I will tell you, but first there is something you must tell me. Our pitiful princess. What of her?”
She considered it, a smirk forming along the thick lines of her lips. “I did not see her. They gave a pitiful excuse for her absence. An allergy to moonlight.” She managed a laugh at the thought, long nails sinking down into the fresh dirt of the bank. “The curse must remain in effect, despite her distance from you.”
He breathed deeply, easily. “Excellent.”
The curled tips of her hair traced haphazard patterns through the water. She took a breath as well, if only to echo him, but it emerged broken, slight at best.
Only a few moments had passed, but she could not bear such silence, and bent closer still, the weak glint of her wide eyes swallowed up in his own. “I must know,” she pleaded. “Why? What purpose did this serve you?”
His image remained still. Without her consent, both trembling hands slid from the bank and disappeared below the surface of the pond, swallowed in both glowing pools of red.
“Time is drawing thin,” he finally spoke, deafening voice echoing through every crevice of her form. “Action must be taken now, or everything will be lost. Do you not agree, my swan? Do you not wish for me to have freedom at last?”
“Of course I do,” she said at once, desperate to please him, all-too-familiar to the darkness seeping into his tone. “I know your pain so well. My greatest wish is to free you from this burden. What must I do? Anything, anything at all...”
“You remember the stories I have told you.”
“Yes.”
“You know what must be done to achieve eternal life.”
“I could never forget.”
He seemed to laugh, then, a horrible sound that pricked at her ears and carved itself into her bare skin. “To devour a heart of royal blood upon the Depths of Despair. How horribly poetic.”
A memory struck her, almost violent in its vibrancy. “I’ve been there,” she murmured, and remembered such. A lake that rose from bare earth, filled with ghostly luminance; its water as still as glass. “Such a beautiful place. But only on moonless nights, would it even…”
“A moonless night approaches,” he easily overpowered her. “A heart is needed.”
“Of course,” she insisted, shivering as the water grew cold, tight around her arms, like claws, almost, sinking through her skin and pressing to the bone.
“The prince’s heart is needed.”
She stiffened, just barely. Her lips twisted into something of a smirk, if not a grimace. “Wouldn’t the little duck be a simpler choice?” She asked, forcing a twinge of amusement into her words.
Once again, he laughed. Once again, she silently begged he wouldn’t, for it pained her so.
“Perhaps,” he commented, “if it was to be taken by force. You’ve so easily forgotten a particular. The heart must be given freely And this is where you prove your worth to me at last, my swan.”
“H-How so?” She cursed herself a thousand times over for stammering.
“You will return to the castle once more. You will enchant him, lead him away from that worthless girl and convince him to love you. When the moonless night arrives, you will lead him upon the Depths of Despair, ask for his love --”
The pond rumbled, his excitement palpable within it. The water rose up in countless sharp waves, splashing against her trembling knees. Her reflection billowed beneath her, distorted beyond recognition, looking almost horrifying, almost inhuman. No, that was not her face, it couldn’t be --
“-- and rip his heart out.”
It all settled so easily, as if nothing but a waking dream to begin with. The forest fell silent around her. The pond calmed. Her reflection smoothed and revealed her pale face, her wide gaze and pursed lips once more. All that remained were his eyes, still faintly glowing beneath her.
“Simple.”
Her hands fumbled uselessly within the water, fingers and nails clawing for something solid, something tangible to tear into. Would it be simple? The thought formed in the back of her mind, small and careful. Could something so absolute ever be called simple? She cupped both hands close and imagined the prince’s heart held there. Would it hurt him badly, when she ripped it clean away? What would it feel like, to hold such a thing? Warm, she decided. It would be so warm, so delicate. Easily broken, like glass.
Her breath quickened. The words came unbidden, and she knew they were a mistake before they even left her mouth.
“I don’t -- to do such a thing...”
“What!”
The entire pond flashed an angry crimson, and if she screamed, it was not heard over the deafening roar that drowned the forest and sent countless animals fleeing in fits of startled shrieks and caws. Something held her arms in place within the pond, and even as she struggled to pull free, it began to drag her further in, inch by inch.
“So eager to please, and yet, so quick to refuse me,” he bellowed, the most terrifying of presences. “Do you forget your place so easily, you wretched creature? You are mine. You have always been mine. You will be mine until the day you die. Will that day be today?”
“No,” she finally found her voice, hoarse with fear. Both feet dug deep within the ground, but still, her face was yanked beneath the surface, cold water rushing into her mouth, caught open in one last desperate cry. “No!”
She was released.
Her body tore out of the pond and fell back against the earth, useless. The dawn, still faint, flooded her eyes. Her lips parted desperately with one, two, three gasping breaths, water still stinging in her throat.
His voice returned, little more than a dream and gentle once more.
“I am fond of you, and your premature death would be unfortunate. So I will make a deal with you, my swan.”
She barely heard the words, hazy in the air above her. Both hands reached up to clutch against the jewel on her chest; to feel her heartbeat, irrational, deafening in the gentle curve of her breast.
“Bring me the prince’s heart, and I will give you what you desire most.”
The meaning of his words took a long moment to sink in -- but once they had, she was upright at once. Trembling hands dragged her body back to the pond’s edge. Wide eyes searched the gaping shapes of his own, searching for any glint of deception.
“Honestly?”
“I tell you only truth. Your freedom from this curse will serve a suitable reward, would it not?”
Freedom. All other thoughts dissipated, engulfed completely by the beautiful word. To know such a thing, after so many years of empty days, of false humanity so briefly bestowed upon her -- she could scarcely imagine it, the idea always having proved little more than painful whimsy.
And now here it was, so suddenly within her grasp. Both hands rose to fit against the gentle curves of her face, the face that could be hers always, until the end of time. Why, she would do anything for such a gift, anything at all. Even…
She took a deep breath. Her thin legs curled against the bank and dripping strands of hair gathered around her dark gaze as she bent once more to meet his eyes.
“I will do it.”
The pond rippled with an easy sigh.
“Excellent,” her Master said, and though her eyes fluttered close, she could almost feel a pair of monstrous wings draw close around her body, holding her tight. “In the end, you would never fail me, my swan...”
A thought struck, soft, and she could not refrain from speaking it. “I have a name now,”
“Oh?” He sounded amused more than anything else.
The dawn broke, giving way to sunrise, gentle light drifting across every hollowed curve of her body, soaking right through her skin -- which began to disappear as it had a thousand times before, swallowed up in black feathers, sculpted into a familiar, sickening shape.
“I have a name now,” she repeated, voice cracking, just before her arms crumpled into wings, before her lips formed a beak instead and lost all sense of speech.
“Rue.”
- - -
Bang! Bang!
Fakir found himself suddenly roused from sleep, and he shifted in his bed, disoriented. Both eyes slowly opened, revealing only the barest of light and shadows still strong across his ceiling. What time was it?
Bang! Bang!
What the hell was that sound?
With a groan, he sat up, sheets crumpling beneath his elbows as he steadied himself. For a moment, he thought it might have just been his vision, but even after rubbing both eyes, the room before him was riddled with shadow: the table, chair, and corners little more than wavering blurs. Outside his window, the sky was still dark, the barest of glows gathered on the treetops. Dawn had barely broken. No wonder he felt so exhausted.
Bang!
A yellow blur suddenly sprinted across the length of his table, slamming into the window with an anguished “quack!“ The glass trembled, but didn’t budge, and the little form stumbled backwards, dizzy.
The duck, he remembered, memories of the night before slowly seeping in. He could only watch, confused, as it rammed the window a few more frenzied times, then dropped down to the floor and proceeded to throw itself against the door as well. Still, nothing would give way, and eventually the little animal collapsed, gasping for air, both wings quivering in the faint light.
What was it trying to do, kill itself?
After a few seconds of urging, he was able to convince his unwilling legs to slip off the side of the bed and support him as he rose, unsteady. He moved slowly over to the duck, its billowed chest rising and falling dramatically, blue eyes like twin sparks of light amidst all the darkness.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He mumbled, the words barely out of his mouth before he thought them pointless -- it’s a duck, it couldn’t understand what he was saying -- but the little bird turned its head to look up at him then rose up on its webbed feet at once. With a few desperate quacks, it paced in a frantic circle, gestured its good wing towards the door over and over again, almost as if trying to tell him something, something important, something he needed to know...
The door creaked as Fakir yanked it open, revealing the field, heavy with the weight of morning dew and the forest’s edge, little more than a dark shadow in the distance. There was the sun, its bright rim just beginning to emerge at the foot of the groves.
The duck quacked a few more frantic times, nudging at his ankle. Maybe if it saw the sun, it would calm down, he reasoned, and he moved out of the way ---
-- only to watch as the duck sprinted out the opening he created as if it were in a race, traveling the length of the building and hurtling around the edge before he could even think to call after it.
At a loss, he followed, steadying himself against the slumped corner of his home as he scanned the field, straining to see a spot of yellow somewhere before the forests’ edge -- but there were only a few pitiful shrubs, an endless spread of muted green. The duck was gone.
He’d planned to release it anyway, Fakir told himself, offset by the strange sense of loss that washed over him. He shook it away with a frown. The sunlight began to filter between the maze of trees it sat trapped beneath, covering the field at his feet in streaks of light. His door still rested ajar, and he returned to it.
If anything, he reluctantly allowed himself to think just before pulling it shut behind him, he hoped it survived.
- - -
It had barely been a minute since Fakir had disappeared back inside before the shrub nearest to his house began to tremble. At first, the leaves merely shook in brief unison, as if disturbed by a gust of wind. But then the entire plant sagged, dragged down by some unseen weight, until finally it collapsed in a mess of torn vines and strewn leaves and revealed a very human, very naked Ahiru, sprawled beneath it.
She sat up at once, both hands clasped to the curve of her chest, as if meant to smother even the sound of her heartbeat. At once, she crawled on her hands and knees to the edge of the building before daring a look around the edge just to make sure he was gone.
He was, and she collapsed on her back once more, finally allowing herself to take a few deep breaths, warm, euphoric relief seeping in.
That had been so close.
Not sort of close. Not almost, kind of, probably close. Really, really, terrifyingly close. A few seconds longer, and she would have definitely -- and he would have seen that she was --
The thought shook her to the core, and she refused to continue it, instead sitting up with a brazen sigh, her messy braid pooling on her shoulder. Through the haze of early morning, she could glimpse a few dark blurs beside the castle’s gray walls: guards, making their rounds. Both thin legs curled against her chest at once, and she prayed that the faint shadow the building was casting over her would be enough to keep her hidden from them.
Her relief turned out to be fleeting and quickly gave way to fresh anger, frustration at herself for being so stupid. Really, what had she been thinking, getting all comfy like that? Her whole plan had been to find some way to escape the second he’d finished bandaging her wing. It was just, well, she hadn’t counted on the bread being so tasty, or the blanket feeling so soft, or the innocent exhaustion that’d quickly overtaken her. Just ten minutes, she’d sternly told herself before allowing her eyes to droop -- only to have opened them once more to see the sky sprinkled with light.
What if she hadn’t woken up before sunrise? What if he hadn’t opened the door in time? What if --
Ahiru shook the uneasy questions away. She really didn’t need to dwell on such things, anyway. What mattered was that her secret was still safe, perfectly safe, and here she was, outside --
She glanced down.
-- naked.
Reddening, she clutched both arms to the length of her chest. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t perfectly safe. She was still stuck on the edge of the forest without any clothes. In only an hour or so, everyone would be waking up, and she was pretty sure they wouldn’t easily overlook a naked princess huddled in the dirt -- but how was she going to get back into the castle without someone seeing her!?
Determined, she hurried from shrub to shrub, hands and knees dragging through the dirt as she crawled. Up ahead, she could see the patrolling guards more clearly, and it looked like there were a lot of them, she realized with a sigh. She quickly found herself at the last shrub before the expanse of field leading to the castle and wracked her brain for a solution. Maybe she could make a run for the servants’ entrance…but what if it was locked? Or she could climb in one of those low windows! But what if she wasn’t tall enough? Or -- oh, oh! She could create a distraction, throw a rock or something, and then they’d all go running to see and she could --
It quickly turned out that none of her hasty plans were necessary, though. After a few minutes of intense thinking, she noticed the servants’ entrance slowly creak open, revealing a wonderfully familiar caretaker, sunlight catching in her seafoam-colored hair. In her hands, she discreetly carried a folded blanket. Her expression looked pained, eyes half-lidded with obvious exhaustion, and at once, she took to searching the immediate area, no doubt looking for a certain missing duck.
Ahiru cried out in unthinking joy, waving her arms over her head. “Miss Edel!”
All of the knights had probably heard her scream in the fringes of their dreams, and Edel’s darkening expression as she hurried over probably meant another lecture, but as Ahiru giddily wrapped the blanket around her bare shoulders and was led back to her room, she couldn’t really bring herself to care.
- - -
Even though it was still fairly early in the morning, the castle was already filled to the brim with all sorts of pleasant noise, its countless residents seeming eager to greet the day. Servants were hard at work, emptying the ballroom of its ornate decorations, hands red and pruned as they tirelessly scrubbed the marble floor. Exuberant nobles roamed the hallways, chatting with those they met over how wonderful the ball had been, their conversations always lingering over the subject of the prince and his lovely partner.
Ahiru, reluctant to listen, had chosen to steal away into the higher levels of the castle. She was currently wandering down a quiet hallway, legs winding around one another as she stepped between pools of sunlight, the only sound her own muted footsteps.
As it turned out, Miss Edel hadn’t been angry at all. All right, maybe a little at first, but the second they’d reached Ahiru’s room, she’d caught the girl in a soft hug and whispered words of genuine relief into her mane of red hair. She’d then, with a tired smile, asked to know what’d happened, and Ahiru had told her the entire story -- even if she’d left out a few minor details (no one really had to know that she had stupidly hopped up on the roof to see inside the ball, right? A gust of wind blowing her out the open window was almost true, right?)
At the end of it all, Edel had just sighed and taken her leave with one last comment. Well, it was lucky for someone so kind to have found you.
Kind?
Ahiru paused her steps for a moment, the word’s meaning suddenly sinking in.
She would have never thought that word could be used to describe Fakir, of all people.
But as strange as it sounded, it was true. When she’d first come to after her painful fall only to see him hovering over her, she’d panicked, blindly convinced that he meant to drop her or kick her or something equally monstrous -- but instead, his voice had been soft, and his hands had been gentle, warm. He’d even smiled at her once or twice, much to her astonishment.
Fakir had a nice smile.
She lifted her arm, wincing at the soft ache of pain that twitched through it, and absentmindedly tugged at the flash of bandage sticking out from her sleeve.
The bandage he’d so carefully wrapped her hurt wing with.
It was all just a front, she thought. That stupid mean face of his. Sure, she had only been a duck, but if he could act that way to ‘duck‘ her, then...well, that had to mean he wasn’t all bad, right?
Ahiru heaved a sigh, quickening her footsteps into a sort of clumsy skip, but then she stiffened at the sudden sound of unfamiliar voices and clattering heels. Startled, she fell back against the wall, wavering on her tiptoes so as to peer around the corner.
Two chatting women were approaching, regally dressed, faces strained with wide-lipped grins. Both giggled in unison, pale hands folding across their red mouths, shoulders heaving in gentle unison. Finally, the taller one’s head shifted, a mess of curls and jewels, and Ahiru caught the end of her hurried sentence.
“--not until noon, practically,” the woman said. “But I couldn’t bring myself to blame the poor dear. After all, we must have danced until near daybreak last night!”
“It really was lovely,” the other responded, voice half-humming, as if still consumed with a tune from the night before. “Though I must confess, I kept stepping on Henrik’s feet. ”
A friendly laugh from the first. “Surely you weren‘t alone. Everyone could barely focus on their own steps, due to those two.”
The second heaved a romantic sigh. “So lovely -- it was hard to look away, really. I think I would have been content to merely watch them dance all night.”
“As pretty as a painting, they were.”
“Did anyone know what family she was from? Her home?”
“Not a soul. It’s really quite extraordinary. I asked all around the ball, and couldn’t find anyone who even knew her name.”
“How unfortunate.” The second twisted a blonde ringlet around her nail, disappointment mingling with her words. “If only she were the princess. A lovely, graceful girl like her. It would have been as if out of a storybook.”
She paused.
“I don’t like to judge,” she said, much softer than before, “but I can’t accept that pitiful excuse they gave for her highness’s absence. Clearly the girl’s just cowardly. Or inadequate in some way.”
The first woman giggled, casting a half-hearted look around before pursing her lips. “The latter, I‘m sure. I heard from a servant that she dances horribly. Like an animal!”
The two women continued on their way down the hallway, whispering a few more snide comments back and forth (“at least we weren’t forced to watch her make a fool of herself!”, “Could they honestly not come up with anything better than an ‘allergy to moonlight’?”) as they wandered away, not even noticing the girl hidden behind the nearby corner, whose dress ballooned around her as she slumped to the floor, who could only clench her eyes shut in a desperate effort to keep from crying, their words heavy in the air for some time after.
- - -
She eventually came upon her prince, poised before one of the windows overlooking the pond with golden eyes focused, hair blinding as the sunlight swallowed it whole. Her prince, who had forgiven her for being afraid, for stepping on his toes, for being absent from the ball. Her prince, who surely couldn’t think the same things as those horrible women, not at all...right?
Ahiru took a moment to settle her quickening breaths, to smooth out a few ugly wrinkles in her skirt and to wipe her knuckles once more against her reddened eyes.
“G-Good afternoon.”
The words fluttered in the gap of space between them, awkward. Mytho stiffened, then relaxed, casting a brief, warm look in her direction before turning back to the window. “Good afternoon, Ahiru.”
He said nothing else, allowing her a quiet moment to flail internally, panicked. What should she say next? Should she just get right to the point? Would that be inappropriate? No, she should definitely ease into it, maybe ask him how he was feeling, or make a comment about the nice weather, or --
“How was the ball?”
-- or maybe not.
He didn’t look to her again, but she saw his back gently arch, his smile deepen -- sunlight tracing the curve of his lips.
“It was quite the success,” he said, voice soft. “I’m sorry you had to miss it.”
See, she told herself. There was nothing to worry about! The ball was over, and he was sorry she missed it, and everything was fine, just fine, perfectly fine, and --
“Did you dance with anyone?”
Why did she keep doing that!?
The words rang in the air with an unmistakable curtness, and she brought her hand against her mouth, desperate to not say anything else foolish.
“I did,” was his only answer, smile still bright, and Ahiru couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong -- something small, something strange about him. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Struck, she waved a random hand in the air, hoping for a reaction, but Mytho didn’t even blink at the movement. Just what outside the window could he be looking at so intently? Could she really not hold his attention at all any longer?
The thought clung to her, unwelcome.
“I-I was thinking -- maybe we could have another ball!”
The idea had barely sprung up in her head before she was shouting out the words, too excited, too desperate to hold it in.
“I mean, maybe it could be during the day, and that way I could be there, and we could dance where everyone could see, and they’d see that I’m not weird or scared or anything, and I know I’m not very good, but I’ve been practicing, and I could practice even harder until then, every day, and then, and then, maybe…”
She ran out of air, pressing both hands to her skirt as she caught her breath. Surely he would think that was a good idea, wouldn’t he?
She looked to him once more, hoping for a word in return, a smile, even -- but Mytho said nothing. He didn’t even seem to realize she had spoken, his stance unwavering.
She blinked. “Are -- are you okay?”
At a loss, she moved to his side, her careful hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, so still against the slope of the window. Something had to be wrong. He had never been so unresponsive, so silent around her. Even his eyes seemed cold, she noticed, close enough to see them but too afraid to touch his face, to try and guide them towards her instead. She could only turn and follow his gaze herself.
The pond, the one where she had first met him only a few days ago. A few brown-feathered ducks lingered in the grass beside it, plucking at clumps of colored flowers amidst all the green. The water trembled as a familiar shadow traced curling lines across its surface: the black swan.
Was that what he was watching so intently?
It was quite pretty, she had to admit while watching as the elegant bird unfolded both its wings, dark feathers stark against the blue sky and green grass. Its long neck arched, head moving side to side, as though it were looking for something not yet found. Quite suddenly, she found herself focused on its beak, such a startling red amidst all the black, like a splotch of paint, like a jewel...
It hit her.
The woman. The one he had danced with the night before. Her gown had been black, hadn’t it? She’d even worn a red gem on her chest, just as startling in color, as if meaning to take on the appearance of the swan, echoing it in every way.
That was it, wasn’t it? The realization rumbled within her, devastating, and despite how she struggled to fight the feeling down, her face couldn’t help but crumble, hot tears already beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. The swan reminded him of her, his lovely partner from the night before, the elegant girl who had easily taken her place. What had she expected, really? After stepping on his toes and leaving the ball without so much as a decent excuse to offer, all the while looking so foolish that even strangers laughed at her -- how could she still think he would prefer her to someone so perfect?
Her cheeks were wet, and even though he still wasn’t looking to her, she pressed her hands to her face, unwilling to cry openly. “I-I’m so sorry for bothering you,” she managed to say before escaping. In her haste, she stumbled against his shoulder, knocking him off-balance.
She did not see the way Mytho blinked a few frantic times, his expression shifting into something of alarm as he turned after her retreating form. “Wait,” he called, voice strong once more -- but she had already disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone in the sunlit hallway.
- - -
A lapse of sanity.
It was the only suitable answer Mytho could come up with, genuinely at a loss for explanations. How else could he have behaved in such a way? How else could he have thought it right to spend countless silent hours before one window, to ignore Ahiru when she tried so desperately hard to please him with her words -- actions that had felt so impossibly normal before she‘d knocked him off-balance, somehow clearing his mind. How!?
In fact, when he paused to think back on it, the entire day had felt somewhat…strange. He’d woken much earlier than usual, bothered by dreams of dark shadows, twirling bodies, and smears of red. Meals, lessons, compliments from ecstatic nobles: none of it had interested him, and restless, he’d taken to roaming the hallways of the castle, searching for something he could not seem to find, something he knew nothing of, save for the simple, irrational belief that he needed it.
But then he’d come upon the window and glimpsed the pond, a shape of soft blue amidst all the angry color of the forest. The black swan had rested on its surface, as elegant as ever, and somehow, the sight had calmed him, pleased him to the point that his body would no longer move. He could never hope to explain such a feeling, and now, the very idea of it felt foolish, impossible -- but at the time, he’d wanted nothing more than to spend hours upon hours before that very window. Noisy passersby earned his scorn. He had pledged to no longer feed the ducks who dared to stray at the water‘s edge. He’d even been rude to Ahiru, his princess, ignoring her desperate words and hoping she’d leave him be if only for a moment.
He remembered every awful thought perfectly, but could not understand how he’d come to think such things. Was something wrong with him? Was he ill? Could this be something serious, something much more than --
“What of this, your highness? Fancy, yes?”
He looked up, startled by the sudden voice. The shopkeeper’s crooked teeth formed a grin, and he held out yet another necklace. A silver chain weighed down with a gem, large and green.
Mytho offered the eager man a smile, but shook his head all the same. “It’s very nice, but I think I’d prefer to look on my own, if that’s all right with you.” As if to seem genuine, he cast an interested look at a nearby table, adorned with countless gold broaches. All nice, but not what he was looking for. “I plan to purchase something, of course. Don’t worry. After all, yours is clearly the best jewelry shop in town.”
The shopkeeper nearly fell over, his wrinkled hands fumbling with the necklace before finally setting it aside on a nearby table. “Y-You are so kind to say such a thing, your highness! Truly, I’m honored! If there is anything, any trinket at all I can fetch for you, make for you, just ---”
“I will be sure to seek you out,” Mytho gently finished the thought. “Thank you.”
With a few messy bows, the man shuffled into the backroom, obviously meaning to revel in his glee, as well as track down any other pieces of jewelry he thought might please the prince. Mytho, with a soft chuckle, took to perusing the various tables set around the room once more.
So here he was, driven by his desire to make things right with Ahiru. Not merely for his rude behavior, he thought with some reluctance, but to assuage his own guilt as well. It was impossible to pretend that his thoughts hadn’t strayed once or twice towards the girl he’d danced with the night before. Rue, he remembered. He had given her that name. She had been lovely, yes -- but she was a stranger all the same, and looking back on the evening, it felt disrespectful to have spent so long in her arms. He could only be glad that Ahiru hadn’t witnessed his behavior.
He was to be married soon. It was time to start behaving as such.
A present, he’d finally decided. That would help to fix things, wouldn’t it? Only something precious, something unique would do. A piece of jewelry had seemed ideal, and he’d quickly sought out the finest shop in town, but now, as he sifted through countless necklaces, rings, and broaches of all shapes and sizes, he felt overwhelmed. How could he be sure of the perfect gift? Would he know it when he saw it?
He had taken to delving through a box of assorted jeweled rings when footsteps echoed on the wood behind him.
“How long is this going to take?”
With a slight smile, Mytho merely shook his head in response. With the rules still very much in effect, he had considered stealing out of the castle as he’d done in the past, but the day had already been trying enough. He wasn’t exactly eager to add a stern reprimand to the mix as well, so he’d sought out an escort.
“You’d better not be wasting my time with this fool’s errand, Mytho --”
A very reluctant escort, but one nonetheless.
“I haven’t found anything yet, Fakir,” he announced, moving past the box. “I didn’t think this would be so difficult.”
The knight stepped up beside him and pawed half-heartedly at a few tangled necklaces before stepping away once more, frown deepening. “What’s difficult about it? Pick anything. She won’t know the difference.”
Mytho bit back a chuckle, though still couldn’t help but to mutter a comment. “Yes, of course. Clearly you’re the expert on women.”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Convinced he’d combed the entire left side of the room, the prince crossed to the other row of tables, passing Fakir’s stoic form. He took note that the knight kept one hand clasped firmly on the hilt of his sword, continuing to cast constant looks to the windows and to the open door. It was a wonder Mytho had even managed to convince him to come along in the first place. Fakir had probably found it relieving that he’d actually bothered to ask for once. And not just that, but...well, before he assumed anything, maybe it would be better to know for sure.
“How many ravens have you seen?”
Fakir said nothing, instead closing the distance between himself and the entrance in a few quick steps. The sunlight wavered against his outline, and he stood there within the frame, still. After a moment, he turned back and pressed a hand to his forehead in obvious frustration.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Where are they?”
“It does seem strange,” Mytho admitted. In the past when he’d visited the town, the sight of ravens was a common one. They lingered on sloping rooftops and perched on shop signs. The forest always appeared as if smeared with spots of black. Usually, save for a few isolated attacks, they were neither loud nor troublesome -- but they did watch, and watch carefully, bright eyes focused on every face, every movement that took place within their simple town. What had always frightened him the most, though, was the effect his presence seemed to have on them: how they knew him without fail, and were at once possessed by some sort of primal anger to screech from their perches with wings swelled and ruffled. Once, a few had even tried to attack him, arching their arms and aiming for skin, but missing just barely when he found shelter within a shop.
In truth, they’d become such a fixture in their town that it felt strange to not see them, lingering, watching.
Today, as he and Fakir had walked down the path through the town, they had not seen one raven. Every roof proved clear. The treetops remained a perfect green.
What could it mean?
“They’re planning something,” Fakir insisted, refusing to move more than a few feet from the entrance. “Why else would they vanish? It has to be --”
“Maybe they‘ve given up,” Mytho interjected, a more ideal notion coming to mind. “The wedding is only a few months away. Maybe it seems pointless to linger.”
Fakir didn’t seem too convinced, brows knitting together as he shot a quick glare in Mytho’s direction. “That kind of attitude will get you killed, Mytho.”
The prince shot a small smile back in retort. “Well, one has to find a bright side somewhere.” He waved Fakir over to the tables, unwilling to think on ravens any longer, more anxious to solve the dilemma at hand. “Enough worrying. Help me look.”
Though it took him a moment, the knight eventually wandered over to the table nearest the door, all the while grumbling under his breath, muttering “waste of my time,” and other similar phrases. Mytho merely shook his head, focused once more on the object in his hand.
This had to be the hundredth necklace he’d held in the last hour, he’d thought as the gold chain settled against the lines of his palms. It did have a nice shimmer to it, and the ruby hanging from its end was lovely enough, but...it just didn’t feel right. Reluctantly, he set it back in its place.
What would Ahiru like? Would she prefer a ring? A bracelet? Did she even wear jewelry? He couldn’t conjure up one single notion as to her tastes. In fact, he still knew next to nothing about her at all; her likes, dislikes, and hobbies were all utter mysteries. How could he possibly pick a suitable gift this way? Maybe a second opinion would help...
“Fakir?”
A sharp sigh. “Yes?”
“What do you think of Ahiru?”
There was a brief clatter. Mytho turned and watched as Fakir bent to grab a broach from the ground - had he dropped it? - and set it back on the table.
“What kind of stupid question is that?”
“It’s just a question. A simple one.” For a lingering moment, Mytho thought he’d finally found something worthwhile: a jeweled pendant, deep red. Holding it to the dim light, though, he noticed a faint scratch curved along its rim. That wouldn’t do. “Well?”
“I,” he seemed to falter for the briefest of moments -- something Mytho noted with amusement -- before his voice steadied, sharp once more. “I don’t think anything about her -- besides that she’s a nuisance.” He grabbed a silver chain from a nearby table, casting a cold look at it before sneering and throwing it back down. “I certainly don’t know what pointless trinket she’d prefer, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
“Fair enough.” Mytho was beginning to think his search hopeless. Through the smudged windows, he could see the sun settling on the rooftops, eager to disappear all-too quickly. They’d have to be heading back soon if they wanted to reach the castle walls before dark. Steadying himself against a table, he ran a clammy hand through his hair. Why couldn’t he just settle on something? His remorse was too strong, he realized. Nothing seemed good enough to fix the damage he had done.
He found himself so wrapped up in melancholy thoughts that he didn’t even notice Fakir’s constant footsteps had stilled -- not until the knight spoke up once more. “Mytho.”
The prince turned to face him once more. “Yes?”
In the dim light, he watched Fakir approach. His hand unclenched, revealing what rested within, all without saying a word.
A necklace. The chain was thin, pooling in the gaps between each of his fingers. A shimmering trinket dangled at its end, strangely shaped. Mytho wasn’t sure just what to make of it at first, and only after leaning closer did he realize that it was a pair of wings. Both ruffled edges were detailed with countless etchings, every feather a striking silver. Surely they were meant to echo those of an angel.
“This,” Fakir said, and allowed it to slide off his palm onto Mytho’s.
He seemed so sure, and the prince thought to ask why -- but Fakir’s eyes were wide, colored with obvious surprise, and it was clear he did not know the reason himself.
The moment passed, and the knight turned away, heading for the door. “Hurry. We need to go.”
Mytho blinked and threaded his fingers through the chain as he held it up, watching how the faint sunlight glinted off the wings and gathered in every etched line.
Yes, he thought, and with a smile, moved to call for the shopkeeper. Perfect.
- - -
Another candle was lit. Three would be enough, Ahiru assumed, setting the last one beside her mirror with the utmost care. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair and allowed her head to droop forward. Both eyes filled with the swirl of her skirt, and following the bent path of both arms, she giggled at her sleeves, bunched around both shoulders. She’d rolled them up just to make sure one wouldn’t accidentally catch on the flame, but it hadn’t been necessary. She’d lit them all perfectly. Not one burn!
Well, okay, it wasn’t that big of a deal -- but at the moment, any small victory helped her feel a little better.
Her braid pooled in the crook of her arm, and she began undoing it, her fingers pressing into each soft curve, threading through the strands as they were freed. She hummed a familiar lullaby while she worked, thoughts wandering between harmless subjects: the nice weather, what she’d eaten for dinner, how beautiful the setting sun looked from her window -- anything to keep her mind from lingering on what had happened earlier. How she’d ruined everything so easily...
No! Ahiru gripped a handful of hair and yanked just hard enough for it to sting. She refused to dwell on that even one second longer. She’d already cried more than enough; had already spent the day in her room, unmoving and unhappy in every way; had already blubbered to Miss Edel about everything that’d gone wrong, desperate for a kind word or a touch of comfort.
Wallowing wouldn’t help anything, though. She had to be strong! Tomorrow, she could surely find a way make everything right again, with Mytho and all the others who thought badly of her.
But how?
Her fingers caught in a few tangled strands, and she pulled them free with a sigh. It was too much to think about tonight. She would find a way, she would...but tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.
She’d unraveled barely half the braid when there was a knock at the door.
Ahiru jumped at the sound and stood at once, loose hair pooling on her shoulders. Who would that be? A servant, maybe? Or Miss Edel, wanting to know if she was feeling any better...
She hurried over to the door at once, putting on a brave smile as she pulled on the handle. “I’m fine, Miss Edel, I promi-”
Her body stiffened. The words withered away.
Mytho stood there, arms bent behind his back, gaze meeting hers at once. He smiled, and candlelight gathered in his eyes, warm. “Hello, Ahiru.”
Ahiru responded in turn with a very sudden, very loud “QUACK!” Blind with panic, she slammed the door shut at once.
How could she have done that!? Face aflame, she pressed both hands to her mouth in the fear that the sound may leak out once more. She was so sure she’d already overcome that awful habit of quacking when the tiniest thing startled her! Sure, she became a duck at night, and she supposed it made sense that she’d taken on the habit by accident, but that was still no reason to do it right in front of the prince! Now he had to be thinking even more awful things about her, what with her making animal sounds at the drop of a hat, and then...
...slamming the door in his face!?
She opened it once more, nearly crumpling with relief when she saw that Mytho was still there -- looking a tad more bewildered than before, but there all the same.
“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, honestly, I didn’t, I would never slam a door in someone’s face on purpose, that’s just terrible! It’s just, you startled me, and sometimes when I get startled, I make these awful noises, which is just so strange, very strange, the strangest thing ever --”
She trailed off, pausing to take a much-needed breath. Mytho, to her surprise, merely shook his head, his pleasant expression unwavering. “Oh no, the fault is mine. It’s somewhat improper for me to be here so suddenly -- and at such a late hour, too.”
His smile was so friendly that it brought one to her own face as well, her ill feelings already ebbing away. Ahiru budged the door fully open, allowing candlelight to seep all through the hallway, and with a nervous giggle -- she had to look dreadful, her hair unraveled, her sleeves rolled up -- she stepped out to meet her prince, but stiffened at the sight of another person behind him, leaning against the far wall. The light was dim, but she still recognized Fakir at once, his legs casting stark shadows across the stone floor, and his hair a glint of emerald in the faint light.
Mytho followed her questioning gaze, chuckling as he shrugged. “I thought it would be more improper if I came to your bedroom without an escort.”
Ahiru quickly understood what he meant, and flushed a deep red as she nodded. “O-Of course,” she stammered, and offered Fakir a smile, one hand gathering up her skirt in a messy curtsy. “Good evening!”
He barely blinked, looking away with a distinct frown, a response that surprised Ahiru until she remembered. That was right. He’d only been nice to her when she was just a duck...
“I should have just waited until tomorrow,” Mytho’s voice slipped into her thoughts. “But I couldn’t, because…I must apologize to you, Ahiru.”
Ahiru blinked, scarcely able to believe it. “W-What?”
“The way I treated you today was...well, it was horrible, really. I have no idea what possessed me to ignore you like that, to not respond even when you were so upset.” His eyes darkened, his smile faltering. “It’s reprehensible, really.”
“Oh, no, no! You were fine!” He looked so troubled that Ahiru would have said anything at that moment to cheer him up. “You were just distracted. I shouldn’t have bothered you! It’s my fault, really...”
“No, Ahiru, it isn’t,” he interjected, voice firm. “I was wrong. Hopefully, you can forgive me.”
“Of course,” she answered at once, grin wide, barely able to hide her glee. He wasn’t angry with her! She hadn’t ruined everything beyond repair! “Of course!”
He smiled once more, shoulders heaving in obvious relief. “I’m glad. I brought you something, too, just to make sure…”
He reached a hand within the folds of his coat, and Ahiru swayed back and forth in her slippers, hands tangling within one another as she struggled to keep her expression calm. She didn’t want to appear too eager, but...a present? How exciting!
Quite by accident, she glanced to Fakir again -- only to notice, with some trepidation, that he was staring, not at her face, but further down. Was it her dress? Her shoes? Did she look strange?
It wasn’t until Mytho produced a velvet box and looked back to her, expression shifting into one of worry that she realized.
“Your arm,” Mytho said, gesturing his free hand towards it. “What happened?”
Ahiru blinked and glanced down at her bunched sleeve, then to the curve of her arm, terror quickly seizing her as she realized the bandage was uncovered, the worn cloth obvious against her pale skin. She’d completely forgotten it was there, save for a few faint aches throughout the day.
She yanked her sleeve down a little too fast and met the wide gazes of both boys with a nervous laugh and grin. “I -- I fell! Just a few hours ago, here, in my room! It’s nothing to worry about, honestly!”
Fakir didn’t avert his gaze, straightening against the wall as if he meant to say something. Change the subject, Ahiru urged herself, panicking, and desperately focused all her attention on the box in Mytho’s hand. “What is it?”
Mytho blinked. “Oh, yes! It’s a gift,” he said at once, and offered it to her. “Hopefully, this will make up for my horrid behavior.”
“Thank you,“ she squeaked, and took it into both hands, still trembling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fakir look away once more, back settling against the stone. Thank goodness, she thought, relaxing, and when she opened the box, promptly caught her breath.
A necklace. The chain was silver, stark against the black velvet of the box, and at its end...
She ran a careful finger over each etching, the softest of realizations gathering in her head.
Wings.
She looked up at once, searching Mytho’s eyes for some sort of clue, some hint of a deeper understanding -- but all she could see was warmth and innocent happiness. Could this be some sort of sign? Could it mean that since he’d found this necklace and chosen it over a thousand others, that a part of him had known all along? Could it mean that...it was time to tell the truth?
She realized he was waiting for a response, and offered him a smile, fingers threading through the chain and lifting it from the box with the utmost care.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed to choke out.
Mytho seemed overjoyed, and took an eager step closer to her. “May I put it on you?”
“S-Sure!”
He took the necklace from her, and she stood still, arms quivering against the fabric of her dress as he wound his own close to her neck, against her unraveled hair. Another moment, and it was secure. The wings settled in the curve of her chest. Her nails clicked against each groove as she ran a hand across it once more.
Mytho stepped back, eyes bright. “You were born to wear it.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, and meant it: she could not find the strength to say anything else on the matter, too startled, too overcome to consider all the countless possibilities.
“I’m glad,” he answered. “And I also wanted to tell you that...I think your idea for another ball is wonderful.”
She nearly choked on her tongue. “Really?”
“Of course. I’ll talk to the Council about it first thing in the morning.” He took her hand for the briefest of moments and squeezed it as if he meant to pull her closer -- but then he let go, and she brought the hand to her chest, knuckles pressed to the wings. “And then we’ll have our dance at last.”
Ahiru was beginning to feel faint. “Oh, yes, yes! I’ll start practicing right away, tomorrow morning! It’ll be wonderful, you’ll see...”
Mytho chuckled, then nodded. “I look forward to it.”
After a moment, he turned and gestured to Fakir, who moved behind him. “I think we should be going now. The sun’s nearly gone. The later we stay, the sooner someone finds us here...and a very stern scolding is given.” He offered her one last smile before turning away. “Goodnight.”
She traced an anxious hand through her hair, lifting the other to wave them off as the two began down the darkening hallway. “Good night, Mytho,” she called down the corridor. “Good night, Fakir!”
They were gone, and she hurried back into her room, closing the door and falling against it, legs too weak to support her any longer. Both hands gripped the winged pendant just to make sure it was still there, that she hadn’t just dreamed up the last ten minutes out of pure desperation.
It was still there, and at a loss for words, she laughed, too thrilled to care how strange it sounded.
How could everything have changed for the better so quickly? Clearly, someone of a higher power had finally chosen to take pity on her. She’d spent all that time wallowing, angry with herself, hopelessly upset, the curse threatening to ruin her life, her prince infatuated with another -- and in less than ten minutes, every single problem had faded into oblivion. He’d come to apologize, even to bring her a present. And the ball! There would be another ball, and she could surely show everyone, most especially all those who had laughed at her and thought her hopeless, that she could be wonderful too...right?
Her laughter faded away. Her hands disappeared into the folds of her skirt as she slid to the floor, the wooden door cold against her back.
Could she prove such a thing? Even if she practiced every minute until then…could she ever be just as graceful as the woman in black?
Probably not.
Ahiru gripped the winged pendant hard. Somehow, she thought, suddenly empowered and determined not to fail again. There had to be a way to become the princess Mytho deserved. There had to be a way to overcome her curse, no matter how eternal it seemed. Some way...
Oh, but there is!
She stiffened and cried out at a sudden gust of wind, cold against her face. The glass shutters clanged against the stone of her walls, loose. That was strange, she thought, rising to her feet. Hadn’t she closed them not half an hour ago?
She latched both shut once more, glancing outside to the treetops colored with the barest of sunlight. Less than an hour, she thought, and one hand gripped to the stone ledge hard, knuckles gleaming white.
The other meant to do the same but gripped something else entirely. Blinking, she glanced down, and allowed her fingertips to curl around the strange object.
A card, thin and white.
Where had this come from?
Elaborate gold trimming furnished each stiff side, tracing countless spiraling lines down the front. At a loss, Ahiru flipped it over and read the few simple lines scribbled on the other side.
~
A cure for every ailment. An end for every story.
The last house on the left.
H. Drosselmeyer
~
- - -
A/N: Aaaaah, late again~! Sorry. This is actually going to be around the time that I update from now on, I'm pretty sure. XD; Anyway, that's it for this week~! Hope you enjoyed the slightly longer chapter. :D
Next week's installment is going to be a little strange, because my sixth chapter has topped out at 20,000+ words. XD; XD; XD; Yes, it's quite looooooong. Therefore, it's going to be posted in two different installments over two weeks. So, um...look forward to that?
As always, reviews are appreciated~!
~
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Five ~ 9495 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four]
Summary: The ball is over, but countless new opinions have been formed -- and some not for the better. Ahiru quickly finds herself losing ground, while Mytho struggles with his own problems, all while a new threat emerges unforeseen...
The night was young and so was she. She, with her arms, legs, fingers, toes, with her beautiful body, so light and graceful, still moving with the memory of the music, the colors, the hands clutched to her own. She had lived before, of course, lived so many nights of walking and running and twirling there in the dark depths of the forest, but it had never been quite like that. There had been light. There had been people. There had been dancing, not alone but with the prince, gentle against her cold skin, eyes such a lovely shade of gold. Had she known warmth before such a moment? Had she known laughter before it fled from his lips?
Was this what it felt like, to be human always?
Time ran thin, as it was wont to do. Above her, the sky’s darkness crumpled and gave way to the faintest of light, billowing at the tips of the trees.
Her bare feet trembled against the dirt, but still she ran, desperate to escape, desperate to elude whatever it was that chased her. The night had barely started, hadn’t it? So soon. The day came so soon, and left no time for dreams.
With a sharp cry, her knees dug into the soft earth. A pitiful pond rested before her, water dark and thick in the lines of her palms. Still, she gathered countless handfuls and poured them over her worn skin, desperate for some small touch of relief.
With the slightest of breaths, she bent her head so as to look upon her reflection.
A pair of monstrous eyes looked back, jagged in shape, as red as fresh blood.
Perhaps another time she would have felt fear or anger at his presence, but now, there was only gratitude to be given, and she managed a smile, asking softly, “why did you have me do such a thing?”
The water rippled. A rumbling breath emerged, warm against her face.
“Did you not enjoy yourself?”
“I did,“ she insisted. Her hand arched before her, and she admired it briefly, remembering the gentle touch of the prince’s lips to her skin. “But still, why did you desire it of me? I’ve never been...you’ve never allowed me to...”
“Do not fret,” the voice answered, so strong that the trees rustled, countless birds startled from sleep. “I will tell you, but first there is something you must tell me. Our pitiful princess. What of her?”
She considered it, a smirk forming along the thick lines of her lips. “I did not see her. They gave a pitiful excuse for her absence. An allergy to moonlight.” She managed a laugh at the thought, long nails sinking down into the fresh dirt of the bank. “The curse must remain in effect, despite her distance from you.”
He breathed deeply, easily. “Excellent.”
The curled tips of her hair traced haphazard patterns through the water. She took a breath as well, if only to echo him, but it emerged broken, slight at best.
Only a few moments had passed, but she could not bear such silence, and bent closer still, the weak glint of her wide eyes swallowed up in his own. “I must know,” she pleaded. “Why? What purpose did this serve you?”
His image remained still. Without her consent, both trembling hands slid from the bank and disappeared below the surface of the pond, swallowed in both glowing pools of red.
“Time is drawing thin,” he finally spoke, deafening voice echoing through every crevice of her form. “Action must be taken now, or everything will be lost. Do you not agree, my swan? Do you not wish for me to have freedom at last?”
“Of course I do,” she said at once, desperate to please him, all-too-familiar to the darkness seeping into his tone. “I know your pain so well. My greatest wish is to free you from this burden. What must I do? Anything, anything at all...”
“You remember the stories I have told you.”
“Yes.”
“You know what must be done to achieve eternal life.”
“I could never forget.”
He seemed to laugh, then, a horrible sound that pricked at her ears and carved itself into her bare skin. “To devour a heart of royal blood upon the Depths of Despair. How horribly poetic.”
A memory struck her, almost violent in its vibrancy. “I’ve been there,” she murmured, and remembered such. A lake that rose from bare earth, filled with ghostly luminance; its water as still as glass. “Such a beautiful place. But only on moonless nights, would it even…”
“A moonless night approaches,” he easily overpowered her. “A heart is needed.”
“Of course,” she insisted, shivering as the water grew cold, tight around her arms, like claws, almost, sinking through her skin and pressing to the bone.
“The prince’s heart is needed.”
She stiffened, just barely. Her lips twisted into something of a smirk, if not a grimace. “Wouldn’t the little duck be a simpler choice?” She asked, forcing a twinge of amusement into her words.
Once again, he laughed. Once again, she silently begged he wouldn’t, for it pained her so.
“Perhaps,” he commented, “if it was to be taken by force. You’ve so easily forgotten a particular. The heart must be given freely And this is where you prove your worth to me at last, my swan.”
“H-How so?” She cursed herself a thousand times over for stammering.
“You will return to the castle once more. You will enchant him, lead him away from that worthless girl and convince him to love you. When the moonless night arrives, you will lead him upon the Depths of Despair, ask for his love --”
The pond rumbled, his excitement palpable within it. The water rose up in countless sharp waves, splashing against her trembling knees. Her reflection billowed beneath her, distorted beyond recognition, looking almost horrifying, almost inhuman. No, that was not her face, it couldn’t be --
“-- and rip his heart out.”
It all settled so easily, as if nothing but a waking dream to begin with. The forest fell silent around her. The pond calmed. Her reflection smoothed and revealed her pale face, her wide gaze and pursed lips once more. All that remained were his eyes, still faintly glowing beneath her.
“Simple.”
Her hands fumbled uselessly within the water, fingers and nails clawing for something solid, something tangible to tear into. Would it be simple? The thought formed in the back of her mind, small and careful. Could something so absolute ever be called simple? She cupped both hands close and imagined the prince’s heart held there. Would it hurt him badly, when she ripped it clean away? What would it feel like, to hold such a thing? Warm, she decided. It would be so warm, so delicate. Easily broken, like glass.
Her breath quickened. The words came unbidden, and she knew they were a mistake before they even left her mouth.
“I don’t -- to do such a thing...”
“What!”
The entire pond flashed an angry crimson, and if she screamed, it was not heard over the deafening roar that drowned the forest and sent countless animals fleeing in fits of startled shrieks and caws. Something held her arms in place within the pond, and even as she struggled to pull free, it began to drag her further in, inch by inch.
“So eager to please, and yet, so quick to refuse me,” he bellowed, the most terrifying of presences. “Do you forget your place so easily, you wretched creature? You are mine. You have always been mine. You will be mine until the day you die. Will that day be today?”
“No,” she finally found her voice, hoarse with fear. Both feet dug deep within the ground, but still, her face was yanked beneath the surface, cold water rushing into her mouth, caught open in one last desperate cry. “No!”
She was released.
Her body tore out of the pond and fell back against the earth, useless. The dawn, still faint, flooded her eyes. Her lips parted desperately with one, two, three gasping breaths, water still stinging in her throat.
His voice returned, little more than a dream and gentle once more.
“I am fond of you, and your premature death would be unfortunate. So I will make a deal with you, my swan.”
She barely heard the words, hazy in the air above her. Both hands reached up to clutch against the jewel on her chest; to feel her heartbeat, irrational, deafening in the gentle curve of her breast.
“Bring me the prince’s heart, and I will give you what you desire most.”
The meaning of his words took a long moment to sink in -- but once they had, she was upright at once. Trembling hands dragged her body back to the pond’s edge. Wide eyes searched the gaping shapes of his own, searching for any glint of deception.
“Honestly?”
“I tell you only truth. Your freedom from this curse will serve a suitable reward, would it not?”
Freedom. All other thoughts dissipated, engulfed completely by the beautiful word. To know such a thing, after so many years of empty days, of false humanity so briefly bestowed upon her -- she could scarcely imagine it, the idea always having proved little more than painful whimsy.
And now here it was, so suddenly within her grasp. Both hands rose to fit against the gentle curves of her face, the face that could be hers always, until the end of time. Why, she would do anything for such a gift, anything at all. Even…
She took a deep breath. Her thin legs curled against the bank and dripping strands of hair gathered around her dark gaze as she bent once more to meet his eyes.
“I will do it.”
The pond rippled with an easy sigh.
“Excellent,” her Master said, and though her eyes fluttered close, she could almost feel a pair of monstrous wings draw close around her body, holding her tight. “In the end, you would never fail me, my swan...”
A thought struck, soft, and she could not refrain from speaking it. “I have a name now,”
“Oh?” He sounded amused more than anything else.
The dawn broke, giving way to sunrise, gentle light drifting across every hollowed curve of her body, soaking right through her skin -- which began to disappear as it had a thousand times before, swallowed up in black feathers, sculpted into a familiar, sickening shape.
“I have a name now,” she repeated, voice cracking, just before her arms crumpled into wings, before her lips formed a beak instead and lost all sense of speech.
“Rue.”
- - -
Bang! Bang!
Fakir found himself suddenly roused from sleep, and he shifted in his bed, disoriented. Both eyes slowly opened, revealing only the barest of light and shadows still strong across his ceiling. What time was it?
Bang! Bang!
What the hell was that sound?
With a groan, he sat up, sheets crumpling beneath his elbows as he steadied himself. For a moment, he thought it might have just been his vision, but even after rubbing both eyes, the room before him was riddled with shadow: the table, chair, and corners little more than wavering blurs. Outside his window, the sky was still dark, the barest of glows gathered on the treetops. Dawn had barely broken. No wonder he felt so exhausted.
Bang!
A yellow blur suddenly sprinted across the length of his table, slamming into the window with an anguished “quack!“ The glass trembled, but didn’t budge, and the little form stumbled backwards, dizzy.
The duck, he remembered, memories of the night before slowly seeping in. He could only watch, confused, as it rammed the window a few more frenzied times, then dropped down to the floor and proceeded to throw itself against the door as well. Still, nothing would give way, and eventually the little animal collapsed, gasping for air, both wings quivering in the faint light.
What was it trying to do, kill itself?
After a few seconds of urging, he was able to convince his unwilling legs to slip off the side of the bed and support him as he rose, unsteady. He moved slowly over to the duck, its billowed chest rising and falling dramatically, blue eyes like twin sparks of light amidst all the darkness.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He mumbled, the words barely out of his mouth before he thought them pointless -- it’s a duck, it couldn’t understand what he was saying -- but the little bird turned its head to look up at him then rose up on its webbed feet at once. With a few desperate quacks, it paced in a frantic circle, gestured its good wing towards the door over and over again, almost as if trying to tell him something, something important, something he needed to know...
The door creaked as Fakir yanked it open, revealing the field, heavy with the weight of morning dew and the forest’s edge, little more than a dark shadow in the distance. There was the sun, its bright rim just beginning to emerge at the foot of the groves.
The duck quacked a few more frantic times, nudging at his ankle. Maybe if it saw the sun, it would calm down, he reasoned, and he moved out of the way ---
-- only to watch as the duck sprinted out the opening he created as if it were in a race, traveling the length of the building and hurtling around the edge before he could even think to call after it.
At a loss, he followed, steadying himself against the slumped corner of his home as he scanned the field, straining to see a spot of yellow somewhere before the forests’ edge -- but there were only a few pitiful shrubs, an endless spread of muted green. The duck was gone.
He’d planned to release it anyway, Fakir told himself, offset by the strange sense of loss that washed over him. He shook it away with a frown. The sunlight began to filter between the maze of trees it sat trapped beneath, covering the field at his feet in streaks of light. His door still rested ajar, and he returned to it.
If anything, he reluctantly allowed himself to think just before pulling it shut behind him, he hoped it survived.
- - -
It had barely been a minute since Fakir had disappeared back inside before the shrub nearest to his house began to tremble. At first, the leaves merely shook in brief unison, as if disturbed by a gust of wind. But then the entire plant sagged, dragged down by some unseen weight, until finally it collapsed in a mess of torn vines and strewn leaves and revealed a very human, very naked Ahiru, sprawled beneath it.
She sat up at once, both hands clasped to the curve of her chest, as if meant to smother even the sound of her heartbeat. At once, she crawled on her hands and knees to the edge of the building before daring a look around the edge just to make sure he was gone.
He was, and she collapsed on her back once more, finally allowing herself to take a few deep breaths, warm, euphoric relief seeping in.
That had been so close.
Not sort of close. Not almost, kind of, probably close. Really, really, terrifyingly close. A few seconds longer, and she would have definitely -- and he would have seen that she was --
The thought shook her to the core, and she refused to continue it, instead sitting up with a brazen sigh, her messy braid pooling on her shoulder. Through the haze of early morning, she could glimpse a few dark blurs beside the castle’s gray walls: guards, making their rounds. Both thin legs curled against her chest at once, and she prayed that the faint shadow the building was casting over her would be enough to keep her hidden from them.
Her relief turned out to be fleeting and quickly gave way to fresh anger, frustration at herself for being so stupid. Really, what had she been thinking, getting all comfy like that? Her whole plan had been to find some way to escape the second he’d finished bandaging her wing. It was just, well, she hadn’t counted on the bread being so tasty, or the blanket feeling so soft, or the innocent exhaustion that’d quickly overtaken her. Just ten minutes, she’d sternly told herself before allowing her eyes to droop -- only to have opened them once more to see the sky sprinkled with light.
What if she hadn’t woken up before sunrise? What if he hadn’t opened the door in time? What if --
Ahiru shook the uneasy questions away. She really didn’t need to dwell on such things, anyway. What mattered was that her secret was still safe, perfectly safe, and here she was, outside --
She glanced down.
-- naked.
Reddening, she clutched both arms to the length of her chest. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t perfectly safe. She was still stuck on the edge of the forest without any clothes. In only an hour or so, everyone would be waking up, and she was pretty sure they wouldn’t easily overlook a naked princess huddled in the dirt -- but how was she going to get back into the castle without someone seeing her!?
Determined, she hurried from shrub to shrub, hands and knees dragging through the dirt as she crawled. Up ahead, she could see the patrolling guards more clearly, and it looked like there were a lot of them, she realized with a sigh. She quickly found herself at the last shrub before the expanse of field leading to the castle and wracked her brain for a solution. Maybe she could make a run for the servants’ entrance…but what if it was locked? Or she could climb in one of those low windows! But what if she wasn’t tall enough? Or -- oh, oh! She could create a distraction, throw a rock or something, and then they’d all go running to see and she could --
It quickly turned out that none of her hasty plans were necessary, though. After a few minutes of intense thinking, she noticed the servants’ entrance slowly creak open, revealing a wonderfully familiar caretaker, sunlight catching in her seafoam-colored hair. In her hands, she discreetly carried a folded blanket. Her expression looked pained, eyes half-lidded with obvious exhaustion, and at once, she took to searching the immediate area, no doubt looking for a certain missing duck.
Ahiru cried out in unthinking joy, waving her arms over her head. “Miss Edel!”
All of the knights had probably heard her scream in the fringes of their dreams, and Edel’s darkening expression as she hurried over probably meant another lecture, but as Ahiru giddily wrapped the blanket around her bare shoulders and was led back to her room, she couldn’t really bring herself to care.
- - -
Even though it was still fairly early in the morning, the castle was already filled to the brim with all sorts of pleasant noise, its countless residents seeming eager to greet the day. Servants were hard at work, emptying the ballroom of its ornate decorations, hands red and pruned as they tirelessly scrubbed the marble floor. Exuberant nobles roamed the hallways, chatting with those they met over how wonderful the ball had been, their conversations always lingering over the subject of the prince and his lovely partner.
Ahiru, reluctant to listen, had chosen to steal away into the higher levels of the castle. She was currently wandering down a quiet hallway, legs winding around one another as she stepped between pools of sunlight, the only sound her own muted footsteps.
As it turned out, Miss Edel hadn’t been angry at all. All right, maybe a little at first, but the second they’d reached Ahiru’s room, she’d caught the girl in a soft hug and whispered words of genuine relief into her mane of red hair. She’d then, with a tired smile, asked to know what’d happened, and Ahiru had told her the entire story -- even if she’d left out a few minor details (no one really had to know that she had stupidly hopped up on the roof to see inside the ball, right? A gust of wind blowing her out the open window was almost true, right?)
At the end of it all, Edel had just sighed and taken her leave with one last comment. Well, it was lucky for someone so kind to have found you.
Kind?
Ahiru paused her steps for a moment, the word’s meaning suddenly sinking in.
She would have never thought that word could be used to describe Fakir, of all people.
But as strange as it sounded, it was true. When she’d first come to after her painful fall only to see him hovering over her, she’d panicked, blindly convinced that he meant to drop her or kick her or something equally monstrous -- but instead, his voice had been soft, and his hands had been gentle, warm. He’d even smiled at her once or twice, much to her astonishment.
Fakir had a nice smile.
She lifted her arm, wincing at the soft ache of pain that twitched through it, and absentmindedly tugged at the flash of bandage sticking out from her sleeve.
The bandage he’d so carefully wrapped her hurt wing with.
It was all just a front, she thought. That stupid mean face of his. Sure, she had only been a duck, but if he could act that way to ‘duck‘ her, then...well, that had to mean he wasn’t all bad, right?
Ahiru heaved a sigh, quickening her footsteps into a sort of clumsy skip, but then she stiffened at the sudden sound of unfamiliar voices and clattering heels. Startled, she fell back against the wall, wavering on her tiptoes so as to peer around the corner.
Two chatting women were approaching, regally dressed, faces strained with wide-lipped grins. Both giggled in unison, pale hands folding across their red mouths, shoulders heaving in gentle unison. Finally, the taller one’s head shifted, a mess of curls and jewels, and Ahiru caught the end of her hurried sentence.
“--not until noon, practically,” the woman said. “But I couldn’t bring myself to blame the poor dear. After all, we must have danced until near daybreak last night!”
“It really was lovely,” the other responded, voice half-humming, as if still consumed with a tune from the night before. “Though I must confess, I kept stepping on Henrik’s feet. ”
A friendly laugh from the first. “Surely you weren‘t alone. Everyone could barely focus on their own steps, due to those two.”
The second heaved a romantic sigh. “So lovely -- it was hard to look away, really. I think I would have been content to merely watch them dance all night.”
“As pretty as a painting, they were.”
“Did anyone know what family she was from? Her home?”
“Not a soul. It’s really quite extraordinary. I asked all around the ball, and couldn’t find anyone who even knew her name.”
“How unfortunate.” The second twisted a blonde ringlet around her nail, disappointment mingling with her words. “If only she were the princess. A lovely, graceful girl like her. It would have been as if out of a storybook.”
She paused.
“I don’t like to judge,” she said, much softer than before, “but I can’t accept that pitiful excuse they gave for her highness’s absence. Clearly the girl’s just cowardly. Or inadequate in some way.”
The first woman giggled, casting a half-hearted look around before pursing her lips. “The latter, I‘m sure. I heard from a servant that she dances horribly. Like an animal!”
The two women continued on their way down the hallway, whispering a few more snide comments back and forth (“at least we weren’t forced to watch her make a fool of herself!”, “Could they honestly not come up with anything better than an ‘allergy to moonlight’?”) as they wandered away, not even noticing the girl hidden behind the nearby corner, whose dress ballooned around her as she slumped to the floor, who could only clench her eyes shut in a desperate effort to keep from crying, their words heavy in the air for some time after.
- - -
She eventually came upon her prince, poised before one of the windows overlooking the pond with golden eyes focused, hair blinding as the sunlight swallowed it whole. Her prince, who had forgiven her for being afraid, for stepping on his toes, for being absent from the ball. Her prince, who surely couldn’t think the same things as those horrible women, not at all...right?
Ahiru took a moment to settle her quickening breaths, to smooth out a few ugly wrinkles in her skirt and to wipe her knuckles once more against her reddened eyes.
“G-Good afternoon.”
The words fluttered in the gap of space between them, awkward. Mytho stiffened, then relaxed, casting a brief, warm look in her direction before turning back to the window. “Good afternoon, Ahiru.”
He said nothing else, allowing her a quiet moment to flail internally, panicked. What should she say next? Should she just get right to the point? Would that be inappropriate? No, she should definitely ease into it, maybe ask him how he was feeling, or make a comment about the nice weather, or --
“How was the ball?”
-- or maybe not.
He didn’t look to her again, but she saw his back gently arch, his smile deepen -- sunlight tracing the curve of his lips.
“It was quite the success,” he said, voice soft. “I’m sorry you had to miss it.”
See, she told herself. There was nothing to worry about! The ball was over, and he was sorry she missed it, and everything was fine, just fine, perfectly fine, and --
“Did you dance with anyone?”
Why did she keep doing that!?
The words rang in the air with an unmistakable curtness, and she brought her hand against her mouth, desperate to not say anything else foolish.
“I did,” was his only answer, smile still bright, and Ahiru couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong -- something small, something strange about him. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Struck, she waved a random hand in the air, hoping for a reaction, but Mytho didn’t even blink at the movement. Just what outside the window could he be looking at so intently? Could she really not hold his attention at all any longer?
The thought clung to her, unwelcome.
“I-I was thinking -- maybe we could have another ball!”
The idea had barely sprung up in her head before she was shouting out the words, too excited, too desperate to hold it in.
“I mean, maybe it could be during the day, and that way I could be there, and we could dance where everyone could see, and they’d see that I’m not weird or scared or anything, and I know I’m not very good, but I’ve been practicing, and I could practice even harder until then, every day, and then, and then, maybe…”
She ran out of air, pressing both hands to her skirt as she caught her breath. Surely he would think that was a good idea, wouldn’t he?
She looked to him once more, hoping for a word in return, a smile, even -- but Mytho said nothing. He didn’t even seem to realize she had spoken, his stance unwavering.
She blinked. “Are -- are you okay?”
At a loss, she moved to his side, her careful hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, so still against the slope of the window. Something had to be wrong. He had never been so unresponsive, so silent around her. Even his eyes seemed cold, she noticed, close enough to see them but too afraid to touch his face, to try and guide them towards her instead. She could only turn and follow his gaze herself.
The pond, the one where she had first met him only a few days ago. A few brown-feathered ducks lingered in the grass beside it, plucking at clumps of colored flowers amidst all the green. The water trembled as a familiar shadow traced curling lines across its surface: the black swan.
Was that what he was watching so intently?
It was quite pretty, she had to admit while watching as the elegant bird unfolded both its wings, dark feathers stark against the blue sky and green grass. Its long neck arched, head moving side to side, as though it were looking for something not yet found. Quite suddenly, she found herself focused on its beak, such a startling red amidst all the black, like a splotch of paint, like a jewel...
It hit her.
The woman. The one he had danced with the night before. Her gown had been black, hadn’t it? She’d even worn a red gem on her chest, just as startling in color, as if meaning to take on the appearance of the swan, echoing it in every way.
That was it, wasn’t it? The realization rumbled within her, devastating, and despite how she struggled to fight the feeling down, her face couldn’t help but crumble, hot tears already beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. The swan reminded him of her, his lovely partner from the night before, the elegant girl who had easily taken her place. What had she expected, really? After stepping on his toes and leaving the ball without so much as a decent excuse to offer, all the while looking so foolish that even strangers laughed at her -- how could she still think he would prefer her to someone so perfect?
Her cheeks were wet, and even though he still wasn’t looking to her, she pressed her hands to her face, unwilling to cry openly. “I-I’m so sorry for bothering you,” she managed to say before escaping. In her haste, she stumbled against his shoulder, knocking him off-balance.
She did not see the way Mytho blinked a few frantic times, his expression shifting into something of alarm as he turned after her retreating form. “Wait,” he called, voice strong once more -- but she had already disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone in the sunlit hallway.
- - -
A lapse of sanity.
It was the only suitable answer Mytho could come up with, genuinely at a loss for explanations. How else could he have behaved in such a way? How else could he have thought it right to spend countless silent hours before one window, to ignore Ahiru when she tried so desperately hard to please him with her words -- actions that had felt so impossibly normal before she‘d knocked him off-balance, somehow clearing his mind. How!?
In fact, when he paused to think back on it, the entire day had felt somewhat…strange. He’d woken much earlier than usual, bothered by dreams of dark shadows, twirling bodies, and smears of red. Meals, lessons, compliments from ecstatic nobles: none of it had interested him, and restless, he’d taken to roaming the hallways of the castle, searching for something he could not seem to find, something he knew nothing of, save for the simple, irrational belief that he needed it.
But then he’d come upon the window and glimpsed the pond, a shape of soft blue amidst all the angry color of the forest. The black swan had rested on its surface, as elegant as ever, and somehow, the sight had calmed him, pleased him to the point that his body would no longer move. He could never hope to explain such a feeling, and now, the very idea of it felt foolish, impossible -- but at the time, he’d wanted nothing more than to spend hours upon hours before that very window. Noisy passersby earned his scorn. He had pledged to no longer feed the ducks who dared to stray at the water‘s edge. He’d even been rude to Ahiru, his princess, ignoring her desperate words and hoping she’d leave him be if only for a moment.
He remembered every awful thought perfectly, but could not understand how he’d come to think such things. Was something wrong with him? Was he ill? Could this be something serious, something much more than --
“What of this, your highness? Fancy, yes?”
He looked up, startled by the sudden voice. The shopkeeper’s crooked teeth formed a grin, and he held out yet another necklace. A silver chain weighed down with a gem, large and green.
Mytho offered the eager man a smile, but shook his head all the same. “It’s very nice, but I think I’d prefer to look on my own, if that’s all right with you.” As if to seem genuine, he cast an interested look at a nearby table, adorned with countless gold broaches. All nice, but not what he was looking for. “I plan to purchase something, of course. Don’t worry. After all, yours is clearly the best jewelry shop in town.”
The shopkeeper nearly fell over, his wrinkled hands fumbling with the necklace before finally setting it aside on a nearby table. “Y-You are so kind to say such a thing, your highness! Truly, I’m honored! If there is anything, any trinket at all I can fetch for you, make for you, just ---”
“I will be sure to seek you out,” Mytho gently finished the thought. “Thank you.”
With a few messy bows, the man shuffled into the backroom, obviously meaning to revel in his glee, as well as track down any other pieces of jewelry he thought might please the prince. Mytho, with a soft chuckle, took to perusing the various tables set around the room once more.
So here he was, driven by his desire to make things right with Ahiru. Not merely for his rude behavior, he thought with some reluctance, but to assuage his own guilt as well. It was impossible to pretend that his thoughts hadn’t strayed once or twice towards the girl he’d danced with the night before. Rue, he remembered. He had given her that name. She had been lovely, yes -- but she was a stranger all the same, and looking back on the evening, it felt disrespectful to have spent so long in her arms. He could only be glad that Ahiru hadn’t witnessed his behavior.
He was to be married soon. It was time to start behaving as such.
A present, he’d finally decided. That would help to fix things, wouldn’t it? Only something precious, something unique would do. A piece of jewelry had seemed ideal, and he’d quickly sought out the finest shop in town, but now, as he sifted through countless necklaces, rings, and broaches of all shapes and sizes, he felt overwhelmed. How could he be sure of the perfect gift? Would he know it when he saw it?
He had taken to delving through a box of assorted jeweled rings when footsteps echoed on the wood behind him.
“How long is this going to take?”
With a slight smile, Mytho merely shook his head in response. With the rules still very much in effect, he had considered stealing out of the castle as he’d done in the past, but the day had already been trying enough. He wasn’t exactly eager to add a stern reprimand to the mix as well, so he’d sought out an escort.
“You’d better not be wasting my time with this fool’s errand, Mytho --”
A very reluctant escort, but one nonetheless.
“I haven’t found anything yet, Fakir,” he announced, moving past the box. “I didn’t think this would be so difficult.”
The knight stepped up beside him and pawed half-heartedly at a few tangled necklaces before stepping away once more, frown deepening. “What’s difficult about it? Pick anything. She won’t know the difference.”
Mytho bit back a chuckle, though still couldn’t help but to mutter a comment. “Yes, of course. Clearly you’re the expert on women.”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Convinced he’d combed the entire left side of the room, the prince crossed to the other row of tables, passing Fakir’s stoic form. He took note that the knight kept one hand clasped firmly on the hilt of his sword, continuing to cast constant looks to the windows and to the open door. It was a wonder Mytho had even managed to convince him to come along in the first place. Fakir had probably found it relieving that he’d actually bothered to ask for once. And not just that, but...well, before he assumed anything, maybe it would be better to know for sure.
“How many ravens have you seen?”
Fakir said nothing, instead closing the distance between himself and the entrance in a few quick steps. The sunlight wavered against his outline, and he stood there within the frame, still. After a moment, he turned back and pressed a hand to his forehead in obvious frustration.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Where are they?”
“It does seem strange,” Mytho admitted. In the past when he’d visited the town, the sight of ravens was a common one. They lingered on sloping rooftops and perched on shop signs. The forest always appeared as if smeared with spots of black. Usually, save for a few isolated attacks, they were neither loud nor troublesome -- but they did watch, and watch carefully, bright eyes focused on every face, every movement that took place within their simple town. What had always frightened him the most, though, was the effect his presence seemed to have on them: how they knew him without fail, and were at once possessed by some sort of primal anger to screech from their perches with wings swelled and ruffled. Once, a few had even tried to attack him, arching their arms and aiming for skin, but missing just barely when he found shelter within a shop.
In truth, they’d become such a fixture in their town that it felt strange to not see them, lingering, watching.
Today, as he and Fakir had walked down the path through the town, they had not seen one raven. Every roof proved clear. The treetops remained a perfect green.
What could it mean?
“They’re planning something,” Fakir insisted, refusing to move more than a few feet from the entrance. “Why else would they vanish? It has to be --”
“Maybe they‘ve given up,” Mytho interjected, a more ideal notion coming to mind. “The wedding is only a few months away. Maybe it seems pointless to linger.”
Fakir didn’t seem too convinced, brows knitting together as he shot a quick glare in Mytho’s direction. “That kind of attitude will get you killed, Mytho.”
The prince shot a small smile back in retort. “Well, one has to find a bright side somewhere.” He waved Fakir over to the tables, unwilling to think on ravens any longer, more anxious to solve the dilemma at hand. “Enough worrying. Help me look.”
Though it took him a moment, the knight eventually wandered over to the table nearest the door, all the while grumbling under his breath, muttering “waste of my time,” and other similar phrases. Mytho merely shook his head, focused once more on the object in his hand.
This had to be the hundredth necklace he’d held in the last hour, he’d thought as the gold chain settled against the lines of his palms. It did have a nice shimmer to it, and the ruby hanging from its end was lovely enough, but...it just didn’t feel right. Reluctantly, he set it back in its place.
What would Ahiru like? Would she prefer a ring? A bracelet? Did she even wear jewelry? He couldn’t conjure up one single notion as to her tastes. In fact, he still knew next to nothing about her at all; her likes, dislikes, and hobbies were all utter mysteries. How could he possibly pick a suitable gift this way? Maybe a second opinion would help...
“Fakir?”
A sharp sigh. “Yes?”
“What do you think of Ahiru?”
There was a brief clatter. Mytho turned and watched as Fakir bent to grab a broach from the ground - had he dropped it? - and set it back on the table.
“What kind of stupid question is that?”
“It’s just a question. A simple one.” For a lingering moment, Mytho thought he’d finally found something worthwhile: a jeweled pendant, deep red. Holding it to the dim light, though, he noticed a faint scratch curved along its rim. That wouldn’t do. “Well?”
“I,” he seemed to falter for the briefest of moments -- something Mytho noted with amusement -- before his voice steadied, sharp once more. “I don’t think anything about her -- besides that she’s a nuisance.” He grabbed a silver chain from a nearby table, casting a cold look at it before sneering and throwing it back down. “I certainly don’t know what pointless trinket she’d prefer, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
“Fair enough.” Mytho was beginning to think his search hopeless. Through the smudged windows, he could see the sun settling on the rooftops, eager to disappear all-too quickly. They’d have to be heading back soon if they wanted to reach the castle walls before dark. Steadying himself against a table, he ran a clammy hand through his hair. Why couldn’t he just settle on something? His remorse was too strong, he realized. Nothing seemed good enough to fix the damage he had done.
He found himself so wrapped up in melancholy thoughts that he didn’t even notice Fakir’s constant footsteps had stilled -- not until the knight spoke up once more. “Mytho.”
The prince turned to face him once more. “Yes?”
In the dim light, he watched Fakir approach. His hand unclenched, revealing what rested within, all without saying a word.
A necklace. The chain was thin, pooling in the gaps between each of his fingers. A shimmering trinket dangled at its end, strangely shaped. Mytho wasn’t sure just what to make of it at first, and only after leaning closer did he realize that it was a pair of wings. Both ruffled edges were detailed with countless etchings, every feather a striking silver. Surely they were meant to echo those of an angel.
“This,” Fakir said, and allowed it to slide off his palm onto Mytho’s.
He seemed so sure, and the prince thought to ask why -- but Fakir’s eyes were wide, colored with obvious surprise, and it was clear he did not know the reason himself.
The moment passed, and the knight turned away, heading for the door. “Hurry. We need to go.”
Mytho blinked and threaded his fingers through the chain as he held it up, watching how the faint sunlight glinted off the wings and gathered in every etched line.
Yes, he thought, and with a smile, moved to call for the shopkeeper. Perfect.
- - -
Another candle was lit. Three would be enough, Ahiru assumed, setting the last one beside her mirror with the utmost care. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair and allowed her head to droop forward. Both eyes filled with the swirl of her skirt, and following the bent path of both arms, she giggled at her sleeves, bunched around both shoulders. She’d rolled them up just to make sure one wouldn’t accidentally catch on the flame, but it hadn’t been necessary. She’d lit them all perfectly. Not one burn!
Well, okay, it wasn’t that big of a deal -- but at the moment, any small victory helped her feel a little better.
Her braid pooled in the crook of her arm, and she began undoing it, her fingers pressing into each soft curve, threading through the strands as they were freed. She hummed a familiar lullaby while she worked, thoughts wandering between harmless subjects: the nice weather, what she’d eaten for dinner, how beautiful the setting sun looked from her window -- anything to keep her mind from lingering on what had happened earlier. How she’d ruined everything so easily...
No! Ahiru gripped a handful of hair and yanked just hard enough for it to sting. She refused to dwell on that even one second longer. She’d already cried more than enough; had already spent the day in her room, unmoving and unhappy in every way; had already blubbered to Miss Edel about everything that’d gone wrong, desperate for a kind word or a touch of comfort.
Wallowing wouldn’t help anything, though. She had to be strong! Tomorrow, she could surely find a way make everything right again, with Mytho and all the others who thought badly of her.
But how?
Her fingers caught in a few tangled strands, and she pulled them free with a sigh. It was too much to think about tonight. She would find a way, she would...but tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.
She’d unraveled barely half the braid when there was a knock at the door.
Ahiru jumped at the sound and stood at once, loose hair pooling on her shoulders. Who would that be? A servant, maybe? Or Miss Edel, wanting to know if she was feeling any better...
She hurried over to the door at once, putting on a brave smile as she pulled on the handle. “I’m fine, Miss Edel, I promi-”
Her body stiffened. The words withered away.
Mytho stood there, arms bent behind his back, gaze meeting hers at once. He smiled, and candlelight gathered in his eyes, warm. “Hello, Ahiru.”
Ahiru responded in turn with a very sudden, very loud “QUACK!” Blind with panic, she slammed the door shut at once.
How could she have done that!? Face aflame, she pressed both hands to her mouth in the fear that the sound may leak out once more. She was so sure she’d already overcome that awful habit of quacking when the tiniest thing startled her! Sure, she became a duck at night, and she supposed it made sense that she’d taken on the habit by accident, but that was still no reason to do it right in front of the prince! Now he had to be thinking even more awful things about her, what with her making animal sounds at the drop of a hat, and then...
...slamming the door in his face!?
She opened it once more, nearly crumpling with relief when she saw that Mytho was still there -- looking a tad more bewildered than before, but there all the same.
“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, honestly, I didn’t, I would never slam a door in someone’s face on purpose, that’s just terrible! It’s just, you startled me, and sometimes when I get startled, I make these awful noises, which is just so strange, very strange, the strangest thing ever --”
She trailed off, pausing to take a much-needed breath. Mytho, to her surprise, merely shook his head, his pleasant expression unwavering. “Oh no, the fault is mine. It’s somewhat improper for me to be here so suddenly -- and at such a late hour, too.”
His smile was so friendly that it brought one to her own face as well, her ill feelings already ebbing away. Ahiru budged the door fully open, allowing candlelight to seep all through the hallway, and with a nervous giggle -- she had to look dreadful, her hair unraveled, her sleeves rolled up -- she stepped out to meet her prince, but stiffened at the sight of another person behind him, leaning against the far wall. The light was dim, but she still recognized Fakir at once, his legs casting stark shadows across the stone floor, and his hair a glint of emerald in the faint light.
Mytho followed her questioning gaze, chuckling as he shrugged. “I thought it would be more improper if I came to your bedroom without an escort.”
Ahiru quickly understood what he meant, and flushed a deep red as she nodded. “O-Of course,” she stammered, and offered Fakir a smile, one hand gathering up her skirt in a messy curtsy. “Good evening!”
He barely blinked, looking away with a distinct frown, a response that surprised Ahiru until she remembered. That was right. He’d only been nice to her when she was just a duck...
“I should have just waited until tomorrow,” Mytho’s voice slipped into her thoughts. “But I couldn’t, because…I must apologize to you, Ahiru.”
Ahiru blinked, scarcely able to believe it. “W-What?”
“The way I treated you today was...well, it was horrible, really. I have no idea what possessed me to ignore you like that, to not respond even when you were so upset.” His eyes darkened, his smile faltering. “It’s reprehensible, really.”
“Oh, no, no! You were fine!” He looked so troubled that Ahiru would have said anything at that moment to cheer him up. “You were just distracted. I shouldn’t have bothered you! It’s my fault, really...”
“No, Ahiru, it isn’t,” he interjected, voice firm. “I was wrong. Hopefully, you can forgive me.”
“Of course,” she answered at once, grin wide, barely able to hide her glee. He wasn’t angry with her! She hadn’t ruined everything beyond repair! “Of course!”
He smiled once more, shoulders heaving in obvious relief. “I’m glad. I brought you something, too, just to make sure…”
He reached a hand within the folds of his coat, and Ahiru swayed back and forth in her slippers, hands tangling within one another as she struggled to keep her expression calm. She didn’t want to appear too eager, but...a present? How exciting!
Quite by accident, she glanced to Fakir again -- only to notice, with some trepidation, that he was staring, not at her face, but further down. Was it her dress? Her shoes? Did she look strange?
It wasn’t until Mytho produced a velvet box and looked back to her, expression shifting into one of worry that she realized.
“Your arm,” Mytho said, gesturing his free hand towards it. “What happened?”
Ahiru blinked and glanced down at her bunched sleeve, then to the curve of her arm, terror quickly seizing her as she realized the bandage was uncovered, the worn cloth obvious against her pale skin. She’d completely forgotten it was there, save for a few faint aches throughout the day.
She yanked her sleeve down a little too fast and met the wide gazes of both boys with a nervous laugh and grin. “I -- I fell! Just a few hours ago, here, in my room! It’s nothing to worry about, honestly!”
Fakir didn’t avert his gaze, straightening against the wall as if he meant to say something. Change the subject, Ahiru urged herself, panicking, and desperately focused all her attention on the box in Mytho’s hand. “What is it?”
Mytho blinked. “Oh, yes! It’s a gift,” he said at once, and offered it to her. “Hopefully, this will make up for my horrid behavior.”
“Thank you,“ she squeaked, and took it into both hands, still trembling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fakir look away once more, back settling against the stone. Thank goodness, she thought, relaxing, and when she opened the box, promptly caught her breath.
A necklace. The chain was silver, stark against the black velvet of the box, and at its end...
She ran a careful finger over each etching, the softest of realizations gathering in her head.
Wings.
She looked up at once, searching Mytho’s eyes for some sort of clue, some hint of a deeper understanding -- but all she could see was warmth and innocent happiness. Could this be some sort of sign? Could it mean that since he’d found this necklace and chosen it over a thousand others, that a part of him had known all along? Could it mean that...it was time to tell the truth?
She realized he was waiting for a response, and offered him a smile, fingers threading through the chain and lifting it from the box with the utmost care.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed to choke out.
Mytho seemed overjoyed, and took an eager step closer to her. “May I put it on you?”
“S-Sure!”
He took the necklace from her, and she stood still, arms quivering against the fabric of her dress as he wound his own close to her neck, against her unraveled hair. Another moment, and it was secure. The wings settled in the curve of her chest. Her nails clicked against each groove as she ran a hand across it once more.
Mytho stepped back, eyes bright. “You were born to wear it.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, and meant it: she could not find the strength to say anything else on the matter, too startled, too overcome to consider all the countless possibilities.
“I’m glad,” he answered. “And I also wanted to tell you that...I think your idea for another ball is wonderful.”
She nearly choked on her tongue. “Really?”
“Of course. I’ll talk to the Council about it first thing in the morning.” He took her hand for the briefest of moments and squeezed it as if he meant to pull her closer -- but then he let go, and she brought the hand to her chest, knuckles pressed to the wings. “And then we’ll have our dance at last.”
Ahiru was beginning to feel faint. “Oh, yes, yes! I’ll start practicing right away, tomorrow morning! It’ll be wonderful, you’ll see...”
Mytho chuckled, then nodded. “I look forward to it.”
After a moment, he turned and gestured to Fakir, who moved behind him. “I think we should be going now. The sun’s nearly gone. The later we stay, the sooner someone finds us here...and a very stern scolding is given.” He offered her one last smile before turning away. “Goodnight.”
She traced an anxious hand through her hair, lifting the other to wave them off as the two began down the darkening hallway. “Good night, Mytho,” she called down the corridor. “Good night, Fakir!”
They were gone, and she hurried back into her room, closing the door and falling against it, legs too weak to support her any longer. Both hands gripped the winged pendant just to make sure it was still there, that she hadn’t just dreamed up the last ten minutes out of pure desperation.
It was still there, and at a loss for words, she laughed, too thrilled to care how strange it sounded.
How could everything have changed for the better so quickly? Clearly, someone of a higher power had finally chosen to take pity on her. She’d spent all that time wallowing, angry with herself, hopelessly upset, the curse threatening to ruin her life, her prince infatuated with another -- and in less than ten minutes, every single problem had faded into oblivion. He’d come to apologize, even to bring her a present. And the ball! There would be another ball, and she could surely show everyone, most especially all those who had laughed at her and thought her hopeless, that she could be wonderful too...right?
Her laughter faded away. Her hands disappeared into the folds of her skirt as she slid to the floor, the wooden door cold against her back.
Could she prove such a thing? Even if she practiced every minute until then…could she ever be just as graceful as the woman in black?
Probably not.
Ahiru gripped the winged pendant hard. Somehow, she thought, suddenly empowered and determined not to fail again. There had to be a way to become the princess Mytho deserved. There had to be a way to overcome her curse, no matter how eternal it seemed. Some way...
Oh, but there is!
She stiffened and cried out at a sudden gust of wind, cold against her face. The glass shutters clanged against the stone of her walls, loose. That was strange, she thought, rising to her feet. Hadn’t she closed them not half an hour ago?
She latched both shut once more, glancing outside to the treetops colored with the barest of sunlight. Less than an hour, she thought, and one hand gripped to the stone ledge hard, knuckles gleaming white.
The other meant to do the same but gripped something else entirely. Blinking, she glanced down, and allowed her fingertips to curl around the strange object.
A card, thin and white.
Where had this come from?
Elaborate gold trimming furnished each stiff side, tracing countless spiraling lines down the front. At a loss, Ahiru flipped it over and read the few simple lines scribbled on the other side.
A cure for every ailment. An end for every story.
The last house on the left.
H. Drosselmeyer
~
- - -
A/N: Aaaaah, late again~! Sorry. This is actually going to be around the time that I update from now on, I'm pretty sure. XD; Anyway, that's it for this week~! Hope you enjoyed the slightly longer chapter. :D
Next week's installment is going to be a little strange, because my sixth chapter has topped out at 20,000+ words. XD; XD; XD; Yes, it's quite looooooong. Therefore, it's going to be posted in two different installments over two weeks. So, um...look forward to that?
As always, reviews are appreciated~!
~