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A/N: In the off chance that you ran into this post by itself, here's the first part: here!
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Afternoon had barely begun, the sun seeming snagged along the forests’ jagged treetops -- but the town was already brimming with vibrant activity, no doubt spurred by the ball’s arrival in only a few short hours. There were still the thriving constants, of course -- countless ornate stands stationed before each building, exuberant villagers crowding within each open door and stretch of street, the same ragtag band playing cheerful tunes in the square. Mixed in, though, were obvious additions; women dressed in muted colors -- obviously servants -- scurried past, rolls of fabric clutched in their arms, last-minute jewelry for their noble families jingling in their pockets. Impromptu dancing lessons seemed to be taking place on every corner, adults and children alike twirling on the balls of their feet, laughter heavy in the air.
Ahiru couldn’t help but notice how different it felt being here again. Last time, she‘d done her best to keep her identity a secret, and it had worked; no one had paid her so much as a second glance. She’d been a mere nameless face jostled through the crowds and accosted by merchants and peddlers alike.
This time, however, with her dress of elaborate thread, her jewelry of expensive stone, and a knight of the castle at her side, blending in wasn’t an option. A noticeable hush fell over the throngs when they noticed her approaching and countless forms stumbled back in order to give her room. It seemed that despite her absence from the ball, she was still easily recognizable as the princess, and countless women and men collapsed in deep bows and curtsies, their smiles dazzling. She responded to each in turn with a gentle bend of her ankle, smiling as well. Maybe everyone really didn’t hate her!
Still, she couldn’t help but notice those who strayed at the back of the crowds, eyes bright and lips curled as they whispered.
Ahiru found herself so distracted by the sight that she ran right into Fakir, briefly knocking them both off-balance.
“S-Sorry!”
Fakir didn‘t even glance to her; merely straightened and continued walking at the same stiff pace, keeping a few feet ahead of her on the road.
She quickened her pace and managed to catch up to him. He’d said he was going to sleep during those few hours they were apart, but what she saw after throwing a discreet glance in his direction startled her. His eyes appeared so haggard and hollow shadows dusted the lines of his face.
Maybe she was being too harsh in assuming he was rude to ignore her like this. He had spent all night in that awful forest looking for her. Of course he would still be exhausted and irritated and not in the mood for talking! Anyone would be like that after such a long ordeal!
Then again, she thought, this wasn’t too far of a stretch from how their other encounters had gone.
Passing by, a woman sharply gestured to the three young girls following at her heels. In succession, they spun around on their heels to face Ahiru and curtsied, their curls of hair collapsing over their rosy faces. With a smile, Ahiru mimicked the gesture, giggling when the youngest girl waved and her lips parted in a gap-toothed smile. Pinned within her mess of golden ringlets was a silver bird of elegant shape, glimmering when she turned towards the sun.
That reminded her…
“Fakir,” she murmured when the woman and her children, their attention seized by a stand of baubles and trinkets further up the road, passed on. He was a few feet ahead of her once more, and she hurried to catch up.
She heard him take a shallow breath, and took that as enough of an invitation to continue.
“You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you? About my…”
She trailed off, too afraid that someone in the crowd may overhear. Her hands wringed within the folds of her skirt. She cast a careful glance at Fakir, but his eyes were still focused forward.
“Who would I tell?” He muttered, tone so curt that she could practically hear the word idiot lingering at the end of the question, even though he didn’t bother to speak it.
“Well, I don’t know,” she said, brow furrowing. “The other knights, or any of the servants, or your family, or friends, or anyone in town, or --” she bit down on her lip, realizing sheepishly that she was spiraling off into a tangent again. “Just -- promise you won’t, please?”
He glanced at her then, with a sigh, nodded.
“Good,” she answered, a small smile twitching at the corners of her lips, only to promptly disappear when her eyes strayed to a small shop across the road. Two young women stood at crooked angles in the doorway, skirts swishing around their bare ankles as they turned to watch Ahiru pass by. They didn’t make a move to curtsy, as countless other had. Both merely cupped their palms tight across their lips, lithe bodies shaking with laughter as they whispered. They could be talking about anything, Ahiru insisted to herself, but still, the sight forced a sharp-edged memory to the surface: two women wandering the vast halls of the castle, their laughter like bells, their insults like needles against her skin. Clearly the girl’s just cowardly. Or inadequate in some way…
“See?” She couldn‘t help but speak up, still watching them. When Fakir didn’t stop, she gripped a few stubborn fingers on his sleeve, pulling him back. “Look,” she continued, gesturing to them. “That’s why I can’t tell anyone else. These people, they don’t know anything about me -- but just because I couldn’t come to the ball that night, they talk about me and act like I‘m strange! If they knew the truth…”
“Why do you care so much about what they think?”
The question cut a clean tear through her train of thought, and she glanced up, wide-eyed. Fakir’s expression was unreadable, mouth a rigid line as he met her gaze.
“I -- I don’t care that much,” she insisted at once, but the words were weak, hoarse in the low of her throat. “It’s just -- I only…”
She couldn’t help but trail off. Fakir pulled free from her grip with one sharp tug of his sleeve, turning back towards the stretch of road they had yet to travel.
“You know the truth,” he muttered. “What does it matter?”
He began walking once more, and she took a deep breath, unsure if what he’d said was meant to be encouraging or insulting. Still, even as she followed, Ahiru couldn’t help but look back to the women in the doorway. They noticed her eyes this time, and paused their whispering long enough to take up their skirts in one hand, each falling back on a thin ankle in the slightest of curtsies. Their mouths formed crooked lines, and their eyes were bright with laughter.
“I know it seems silly,” she finally managed to retort, hurrying her steps even as she kept her head turned back, “but it’s different for me! If people don’t like me, then they might not think I’m fit to be the princess, and then they’d wish somebody else was princess, somebody who can show up on time and is a much better dancer and -- ah!”
She turned her head forward just in time to collide with Fakir’s back, causing them both to stumble forward yet again. He regained his balance at once, taking rough hold of her wrist and pulling her upright with a glare.
“Will you stop running into me!?”
“Sorry,” she repeated, cheeks darkening with color. “I didn’t mean to!”
He brought one rigid hand against his brow and thrust his other arm towards her. “Here.”
She briefly thought he meant to give her something, but his hand was clenched tight with crooked shape of his elbow closest to her. “What?”
“Just -- take it.”
Take it? Ahiru blinked, comprehension quickly settling in. He wanted her to hold onto him? Like how a man and a woman walked when they were…
“R-Really?” She couldn’t help but stutter.
“If it will keep you from charging into me and stumbling around like an idiot,” he grunted, so curtly that the words silenced that particular image, dragging a very different one to the surface instead -- instances where knights had taken the arms of struggling elderly guests and helped them through the vast halls of the castle. Yes, Ahiru thought, bristling. This was definitely much more like that than her former thought -- even if she did resent the implication.
He didn‘t move back, and after a long moment, she sighed. Her arm drew within the crook of his elbow, fingertips gently settling along his sleeve. There was only a little further to go, Ahiru reasoned. She supposed this would be alright for a little while.
They began walking once more. The crowds were starting to thin. A few villagers still milled in doorways, adjusting their handfuls of goods and pausing to peruse some of the lesser stands. Still, most people were hurrying to join the excitement in the square, and with each step they took further down the road, the music echoed back to Ahiru fainter.
She hummed broken snippets of a tune, her free hand rising to brush away a loose tendril of hair then dropping to settle against the curve of her neck. The winged pendant rested at the latter, and her fingertips caressed its etched edges. She had been meaning to save the gift for only the most special of occasions, but for some reason, the memory of it had seeped deep within her thoughts as she’d dressed that afternoon. Finally, she’d allowed herself a quick peek. The chain had been warm, and quickly wondered of its own accord, from the lines of her palms to the eager tips of her fingernails to the shape of her neck. It would be a short trip, she was quick to tell herself -- and so she wore it.
“It‘s a sign,” she murmured, so deep in thought she that didn’t even realize she’d spoken the words out loud until Fakir glanced to her.
“What?”
“It’s just,” she started, still gripping the pendent with her free hand, “I think maybe I should tell Mytho. After all, he picked this out.” She gently drew back her fingers, cradling the silver wings against the lines of her palm as she showed it to Fakir. “There must have been a lot of choices, but he picked this! Don’t you think that has to be some sort of sign?”
A long moment passed. Fakir glanced at the pendant, then at her.
“Maybe,” he finally said.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, smiled a warm smile and tightened her grip on his arm. “I think so too.”
At last, they reached the end. The last few villagers they’d passed much further up the road had looked to them with wary eyes and hurried the other way. Now, there was only the frayed ends of the town to look upon: a few poor houses, roofs half-built and windowpanes cracked; the forest, a monstrous flood of color before them with gaunt branches that grasped at the worn edges of the road.
Ahiru took a deep breath.
“This is where you wanted to come?”
Fakir’s voice was grave, the slightest touch of alarm flooding in. His free hand moved to his side, and only then did Ahiru notice that his sword hung there, his fingertips straying along the firm shape of its hilt.
She nodded, and her careful gaze wondered past each slanted doorway, each dark window. The last house on the left, she remembered, and turned towards it with a fresh air of determination, only to promptly catch her breath at the sight.
She remembered.
It looked somewhat different -- the stand, littered with trinkets and jewelry and so many worn, beautiful books, was gone -- but there was no mistaking this particular house. She could still remember the red pendant‘s warm glow; the voice of the man in the shadows, his grin wide and bright.
Why don’t you tell me, little Ahiru?
With a frown, she stubbornly shook loose any semblance of fear. It made sense, she insisted to herself, that such a strange person would have written her that letter. In fact, she supposed most fortunetellers were just like him, laughing and grinning and knowing things they had no business knowing! There was nothing to be afraid of!
Gently, she removed her arm from Fakir’s grip, taking up the folds of her skirt in both hands as she began walking. “Well,” she said, her weak laughter mingling with her words, “I’m sure this won’t take long! If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I would really --”
A familiar sharp tone interrupted, one hand grabbing her shoulder.
“What are you thinking?” Fakir said, his hand now firmly clutched on the hilt of his sword. “Do you even know what you’re going to find in there?”
“Um,” Ahiru attempted to explain, but nothing convincing came to mind, and she sheepishly scratched the back of her head. “Well, I received a letter, so…”
“You idiot,“ he spat through clenched teeth, “this could be dangerous! Someone could be trying to kill you! Don’t you see that?”
“But I only wanted to…”
“I should never have agreed to this ridiculous errand of yours --”
“Wait,” she cried, tugging at his wrist with both hands. “You don’t understand! I have to find a way to fix this now, or I’ll never be able to! I know it sounds silly, but -- but this person sent me a letter saying they could help me, and it might be my only chance!”
Fakir continued glaring, and she was sure, so sure for an awful moment that he was going to drag her back to the castle and tell everyone everything to make sure she didn’t try to come again…
…but to her enormous surprise, he instead released his grip.
“I’ll go with you,” he muttered, and started towards the house before Ahiru even had a chance to catch her breath, “if it’s that damn important.”
She followed, and in only a moment, they were standing beneath the house’s deep awning. The settling walls seemed to sigh at their presence, low creaks and moans sliding through the afternoon air. The door rested an inch open, the slightest warmth of candlelight emanating from within.
“But,” Ahiru whispered, “I don’t want to make them think they’re under arrest or anything scary like that! If something seems strange, I’ll scream. I promise!”
For a moment, Fakir didn’t say anything in response, and she wondered briefly if he was going to refuse -- but in one fluid motion, he fell back against the stretch of wood nearest to the door. “Make it quick.”
She nodded, forming her hand into a fist and knocking against the wooden door.
The answer was instantaneous.
Come in, come in! I had grown weary of waiting, but at last, you’ve arrived!
The voice was sudden, almost hearty in its strength. Ahiru could not see who it belonged to, though, and it resonated within her as a mere ghost. A shiver tore through her skin, but she pushed the door open and dared a few careful steps within.
Do close the door, won’t you? Precious words may slip through the cracks if we aren’t careful!
At once, she did what she was told, fumbling for the heavy handle. Fakir looked to her warily, but only shifted his position, ear now pressed firm to the thin wall. She offered him one last brave smile, then pulled the door shut, only to find herself thrust into darkness.
For a moment, she fumbled helplessly, hands grasping for something tangible that she could rest against as her eyes adjusted. Still, a flicker of candlelight beckoned from further within the room, and she had no choice but to stumble towards it, praying that she wouldn’t accidentally knock something hidden in the darkness over in all her confusion.
“H-Hello?”
Yes, welcome, welcome! You’ve been long expected, my dear.
Her hands finally settled upon the worn shape of a chair, and she tiptoed around its jutting leg, settling into the seat with a deep breath.
A single candle rested before her, its wax half-melted and seeping onto the table she found herself seated at. Countless loose papers were scattered with tangled words scrawled along their surfaces. Small items lay among them. Ornate baubles, their shine having long since dulled. A small mirror, theatric faces etched into its stone trimming. Apples and cherries, none whole: some half-eaten, some with only a bite missing. The sharp ends of needles pointed towards her. Shoes crafted of ribbon, lace, and satin.
“Mystifying, isn’t it?”
Ahiru jumped, biting down on her lip hard to keep from crying out. Across the table, a irregular shape slowly came into focus, the lines of a body brimming within the light. A beard’s thick curls pooled against the table’s edge. Large eyes, a strange, swirling color, almost seemed to be floating in midair.
“Such pointless trinkets,” he continued, “and yet, when placed just so within simple confines, they become tools of the greatest caliber! Isn’t it fascinating?”
Ahiru had no idea how to respond to such a strange statement; she could only manage a trembling nod in response. There was nothing to be scared of, she insisted to herself, wringing her hands within the folds of her skirt.
The man’s grin appeared, a crescent of white that glimmered in the candlelight. “But such revelations do little to aid you, don‘t they, little Ahiru? You are still in desperate need of your own salvation -- your own deus ex machina! Oh, if only it were that easy…”
He laughed, then, darkness seeping within the gasping red of his mouth. Realizing she would have to voice her thoughts at some point, Ahiru took a deep breath and straightened against the back of her chair.
“W-Why,” she murmured, unable to mask a clumsy stutter, “did you send that letter to me? Can you…help me?”
The strange man seemed to find this question even more amusing. “Why, it is what I do, my dear! I am a giver of fortunes, a spinner of stories, if you will! I call out to those unfortunate souls who find themselves forced from fate’s blood-drawn path, and lead them to a truth of my own design.” He met Ahiru’s startled gaze squarely. “You are desirous of such assistance, yes?”
“Well, yes, but I‘m not sure that you can fix my problem, mister --?”
The name she’d seen scrawled along the card escaped her, and she looked down at her lap, embarrassed.
“Ah, yes, where are my manners?” He spoke up, not missing a beat. “You may refer me to as Drosselmeyer!”
“Mister Drosselmeyer,” she repeated, finally managing to force her lips into a quivering smile. She was not able to curtsy in greeting, as she usually would in such a situation. Still, she was desperate to find some tangible sense of familiarity so as to soothe her nerves. At a loss, she flung one hand out across the table, fingers splayed. “It’s very nice to meet you!”
He regarded her curiously for a brief moment, and then without warning, erupted into yet another peal of wild laughter so strong that several papers rustled as if a gust had blown through. “Your actions are certainly capricious,” he said, “but I’m afraid it would be quite impossible for me to partake in such a gesture.”
Her fingers curled tight to her palm, expression settling into one of innocent confusion. “W-What?”
A strange shape seeped onto his edge of the table, sinking deep within the pool of candlelight. Ahiru’s wide eyes were drawn to the movement --
-- and at once, she brought her hand against her mouth, barely stifling a violent gasp.
“Your hands,” she whimpered, fingernails so tightly clutched against her lips that they left imprints. “They’re…”
“Ah, yes,” Drosselmeyer answered easily, grin widening as he looked upon them himself. “They are quite dreadful, aren’t they?”
Ahiru could barely comprehend the sight. His hands were mangled beyond recognition, each finger torn and twisted at unnatural angles, his knuckles gnarled. Deep creases of skin were drowned in jagged scars, some barely healed and still coated in dried blood. Overgrown nails scraped against the worn wood of the table.
“But that is quite enough of my own personal oddities,” he said, and Ahiru averted her gaze, removing the hand from her mouth and pressing it firm against the curve of her chest instead, desperate to soothe her quickening heartbeat. “Your own heart-wrenching tragedies are what I find the greatest interest in, after all! Shall we begin?”
She nodded, and with a deep breath, smothered the unsettling image in the low of her thoughts. “O-Of course! It’s a very strange problem, really. In fact, it’s actually rather silly! I’m not even sure just how to describe it, really --”
“My dear,” Drosselmeyer interjected yet again, “were you under the impression that I was not already aware?”
Ahiru blinked. “What?”
His grin was blinding. “Why, your troubles, your precious insecurities all stem from one troubling dilemma -- that you spend half of your all-too human life as something quite inhuman!”
Her breath stilled, cold within the stifling shape of her throat. “Yes,” she murmured. “But how…”
He continued on blithely. “You are poised to be the savior of this dreadful place, and yet, with one unfortunate absence, you’ve suddenly found your abilities called into question by those who know no better! Even your beloved prince’s attention seems to be wavering in lieu of such unfortunate events -- isn’t that right?”
She couldn’t muster up a single word in response. Only her wide eyes revealed the difficult thoughts tangling within the whirling recesses of her mind. It couldn’t be real. These burdened words he was so carelessly tossing out before her, she had to be imagining them, hallucinating them, something. How could he know?
His eyes narrowed, and within the candlelight, his grin appeared sharp for the briefest of moments; a fleeting dagger, meaning to pierce her clean through. “How dreadful it must be, to take the form of such a pitiful animal. After all, what can a mere duck accomplish?”
Ahiru couldn’t breathe.
“How terrible,” Drosselmeyer murmured. “How delightfully terrible!”
At last, she recovered her voice, and it resonated as a callous echo, filling the room to the brim.
“How do you know that? I never -- I’ve only told -- this isn’t --”
“My dear, it is quite easy for one to know things,” he answered, voice so casual that it seemed as though he was discussing mere trivialities - the hour she had dinner each night, her favorite color. “Knowing is simply an act of taking in information whenever and wherever one feels it is relevant! The simplest, most ordinary of tasks, it is --”
Ahiru steadied a gentle hand against the trembling of her chest. A sturdy sheet of ice still felt as though sewed to her shoulders, and despite her best efforts, she could not shake it free. “T-That still doesn’t explain how you --”
“-- and yet, it is what one does with such knowledge that really matters in lieu of such poetic calamity!”
His elbows met the wood with heavy thuds, his massive shadow crumpling against the table as he leaned towards her. She leaned back in turn, eyes widening. The candle’s stubborn flame waned with his ragged breaths. A perfect reflection danced within his eyes.
“So what will you do with such knowledge, little Ahiru? You have been made painfully aware of the issue at hand, have you not? Will you simply make peace with the fact that you can do nothing but wither away in the hearts of your subjects -- in the eyes of your dear prince? Will you fight against such a meaningless fate? Lest you be replaced! Lest you be forgotten…”
Despite her best attempts to stay calm, Ahiru’s heart still gave a vicious heave at the thought. She clamped both hands tight to the bare skin at the cusp of her sleeves, just to make sure she was still there, that she hadn’t vanished into thin air at the thought. What would it feel like, to wither away? She imagined becoming little more than the pitiful flame upon the candle; a speck of light, able to be extinguished with a mere careless breath.
“No,” she said at once, voice cracking. She straightened in her seat and met his wide-eyed gaze, fingers gripped so tight that her knuckles gleamed white. “No. What can I do? Please, tell me!”
“Why, the answer is a simple one, is it not? You must remain human! Only then will you be able to prove your worth to such simpletons!”
“But how can I --”
“My dear,” he interjected, and met her curious eyes. Yet another grin emerged, a crooked, gaping shape amidst all the darkness of his face, “why do you think you’ve come here?”
One of his hands sunk within the light. A glint of red dangled just beneath his palm, swinging in clumsy circles around the melting candle: the pendant from the other day, Ahiru realized. He gave a sharp tug on its chain, and the smooth stone leapt and danced in obedient reply. At that moment, he seemed a puppeteer, the pendant his willing mannequin, his mangled hand the master, yanking at the strings when it fell lifeless and still before the weakening flame yet again.
“This trinket will prove your savior.”
Ahiru regarded the glinting stone and after a moment, dared to touch a few careful fingertips to its smooth surface. It felt warm.
“It may appear at first to be utterly ordinary,” Drosselmeyer continued, “but do not allow yourself to be fooled by mere appearance! It possesses a rare sorcery within it. One that will grant your greatest desire, should you make it known.”
She found the courage to grip it gently against the lines of her palm then looked to Drosselmeyer once more. “Do you mean --?”
“Of course! This item will do what nothing else in this world can!” He chuckled, and the sudden mess of sound rattled around the room. “It will keep you of human form through an entire night.”
Ahiru didn‘t know what to think. Both hands moved in careful, intense unison along the round shape of the pendant, nails pricking at its strong surface, eyes flinching when its blood-red hue cast a sharp glint. She couldn‘t dare a smile just yet, too afraid that it all might be some kind of wishful dream, some awful joke that this strange man had concocted in order to trick her into a expensive purchase. There was no way it could be true, was there? Such amazing magic couldn’t possibly exist, right?
A strange inclusion in his wording struck her, and she drew in a shallow breath.
“A night?” She said, hands finally sliding off the stone and returning to her lap. “Only one?”
“Why, yes! You mustn’t be greedy with such powerful magic, my dear! Isn’t one beautiful night quite enough? You will show your straying subjects that no unpleasant oddities or fears plague you in the midst of the night, as they have all long feared! Your beloved prince will at last know that his princess’s devotion is forever unwavering! The perfect ending! What could be better?”
A smile couldn’t help but twitch at the corners of Ahiru’s mouth, warm images seeping in along the fringes of her thoughts; bright faces, kind words. That did sound nice…
“But, yes, I’m afraid once that momentous night vanishes and another emerges on the horizon, you will return to the pitiful form of a duck! Such is the way tales like this go. Time is a monstrous force, given sparingly, priceless in every sense of the word -- and should be spent with the utmost care!”
Both of her wrists pressed hard to the side of the table. Her fingers twitched, flooded with the memory of how the stone had felt against them -- but she refrained from reaching out, and met Drosselmeyer’s gaze instead, a firm look of determination settling along her gentle features.
“How much?”
He seemed to consider this intensely, distorted fingers gathering in the swell of his beard. A long moment passed, and then --
“Nothing.”
Ahiru blinked. “I’m sorry?”
He burst into laughter, as though he’d just made the funniest of jokes. “Nothing!”
“I-I don’t understand. Why would you --”
He held up a hand, motioning for her to stop, and the unsettling sight silenced her at once. The candlelight tore wild spirals along each scar his skin bore, coloring them a rich maroon. His fingers crumpled, the chain sliding off the towering shapes of his nails. The pendant hit the worn wood with a clatter at a mere breath away from Ahiru’s hands.
“Let’s consider your glorious…experiences during this fine evening as payment enough, shall we? You must only promise me one favor -- that you will return this trinket to me come morning!”
She couldn’t hide a bright smile any longer. “Of course!”
He made one last vague gesture towards the pendant, then leaned back in his chair, his form merging effortlessly with the thick shadows of the room. “Now, there is only the question or whether you will take it or not. The choice is yours!”
For a moment, the room sat perfectly still and silent. Drosselmeyer did not move from his chair, his unblinking gaze held fast to her. A thousand desperate thoughts danced through Ahiru’s head, joyous, wary, supportive, warning. Her body felt heavy, limbs like lead, like basins filled to the brim with water. Still her fingertips dared to inch across the table, and holding her breath, she gripped the chain, fumbling with the clasp and pulling it tight around her neck in a single sweeping motion. Briefly, she relaxed when the deed was done, when she realized the world hadn’t ended just because she’d given in to a touch of magic -- only to stiffen once more when the stone clattered against her silver wings. In all the excitement, she‘d entirely forgotten about the necklace she was already wearing. “O-Oh,” she stuttered, embarrassed, and rose her hands at once to remove it. “I didn’t remember I was already --”
She wasn’t allowed a chance to finish, the rest of her words swallowed up in a sharp gasp as the pendant began to glow. She tore her hands away at once, as if burned. Her first desperate thought was to shield herself, and she brought her arms against her face, eyes clenched tight as the room filled with fiery red --
-- and then settled into darkness again just as easily.
Ahiru didn’t dare a look for a few long moments, too afraid that something terrible had happened, that she’d doomed herself forevermore by accepting the pendant. Finally, she creaked one eye open, allowing her arms to slowly shift back down to her lap.
Only one necklace rested there now.
She couldn’t believe it. The two had somehow melded, silver and red effortlessly interlaced. Its new shape almost seemed to resemble the elegant shape of a swan, smooth stone its brimming torso, etched feathers its majestic wings.
“W-What does this mean?” She asked Drosselmeyer, brandishing the hand that cupped it across the table for him to look upon.
He did so. Ahiru prayed that he would have some sort of explanation for what had just happened, a kind word for her to take comfort in -- but he only grinned yet again, the tired crescent wavering within the shadows.
“Interesting! How very interesting,” he said, sounding so genuinely enthused that if his hands were free of flaws, she was sure he’d be clapping. “It seems that simple trinket of yours possesses something unusual as well --”
But Ahiru wasn’t listening any longer. Despite how she struggled to fight the feeling down, fear was overtaking every length of her body, seizing her heart in the cruelest of grips. Both hands rose to clutch at the pendant at once, its weight suddenly too much to bear.
“I -- I don’t understand,” she said. “Please, you have to tell me why it’s --”
She gave a firm tug, expecting the chain to loosen in obedient response -- but it didn’t. Biting down on her lip, she gripped every finger tight to it and yanked as hard as she could manage, but once again, the clasp refused to give way. The swan-shaped pendant remained fastened to the bare skin just above her dress’s neckline. The chain settled, and would not move again.
“W-What’s going on!?”
Terror seized her in that breathless instant, and she rose to her feet, so suddenly that her chair tumbled over backwards.
“What’s happened!? Why won’t it come off!?”
There was an urgent knock at the door, followed by a series of slams, the wall trembling with each violent impact. Fakir’s alarmed voice sifted through the cracks. “Ahiru!”
She turned in response, but the door was a mere meaningless shape in the distance, miles and miles away from her -- it hadn’t locked when she’d come in, had it? No, it hadn’t, she knew it hadn’t, so why couldn‘t he --
“My, my,” Drosselmeyer mused, and she spun back around only to nearly crumple at the sight. In only the few seconds’ time she‘d turned away, he had risen from his chair and moved just behind her, his towering form almost seeming to fill the entire room. For an irrational moment, Ahiru feared being enveloped by his monstrous shadow, dragged down into a horrific world of darkness and silence and forbidden magic, never to return. Fakir had been right. Why hadn’t she realized how dangerous this was!? Any moment now, she was about to be --
Drosselmeyer took a ragged breath, his body beginning to move. With a shrill intake of air, Ahiru braced herself for an impact -- but she only felt the gentle rustle of a cloak as it brushed against her shoulder. He passed right by her, slow, sturdy steps carrying him across the room towards the door.
“Now, now, no reason to delve into a senseless bout of panic. Such an emotion is wildly entertaining, of course -- but useless at this present time, I must admit. There is nothing for you, nor your worthless knight to fear here.” He made a gesture for her to follow. At a loss, she obeyed, still careful to keep a few breaths of distance between them. “The pendant merely wishes to fulfill your greatest wish to the best of its ability! Doesn’t it make perfect sense that it would not allow itself to be removed until it has done so?”
“Y-Yes,” she stuttered in response, fear slow to settle amidst all the calamity of her thoughts. “I suppose it does…”
“There you have it! And thus, I do believe our business here has come to an unfortunate end!”
The door flew open at that, the afternoon sun so rich and blinding that Ahiru couldn’t help but lift both arms against her eyes. A rough hand pressed against the low of her back and pushed, sending her stumbling forward.
“Do remember this, though, won’t you? When you wish to take use of the pendant’s wondrous gift, merely take hold of it with a firm hand. And be sure to return it to me come morning, little Ahiru! I’ll be waiting…”
And with that, she was outside once more, the endless shape of the forest swaying in her blurred gaze, echoes of faint noise from the town twitching along the shapes of her ears. She cast a bewildered look backwards, but the door had already closed shut. Turning back, she was met by Fakir’s startled gaze. His sword was grasped limply in one hand, shoulders heaving with each deep breath he took, no doubt from his attempts at ramming the door down.
“What happened?”
Ahiru blinked, then glanced down at the curve of her neck. The swan-shaped pendant still rested there, sharp silver and gentle red intertwined. She cradled it in her palm for a long moment, fingertips kissing each dip and curve, just to see, just to make sure it was really still there.
It was, and she held it out for Fakir to see, a genuine smile finally blossoming along her lips.
“Magic,” was her answer, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
- - -
Much later, after the sun had burrowed deep below the forests, after the princess and the knight had long returned within the castle’s gaping shadow, after the town had at last fallen under a hush, emptied with one last flourish of footwork and formalwear as villagers swept up the path towards the festivities, there was another knock at Drosselmeyer’s door.
“Come in, come in,” he called at once, his cracked lips pulling tight. “I do believe you’re late! Such careless mistakes were not a part of our arrangement, I believe --”
The door creaked open, and a figure slid in; form tall and thin, face obscured by a draped hood.
“I have other duties I must attend to,” they answered, voice tainted with obvious strain. “I cannot devote all of my time to you, you must realize.”
“Such a frustrated tone,” he mused. “You almost sound as though you’ve become unhappy with our arrangement! Though I certainly hope that isn’t so…”
He shifted in his seat, and the candlelight revealed a sharp glint of silver -- a knife, its handle threaded through his myriad of disjointed fingers. He lifted it in one jagged motion and rested the tip against his other palm, just so between the sweeping lines of two other scars.
“After all, that would mean it must be time to craft another young fate of my own accord!” His gaze was set aflame by candlelight; his grin mimicked the dangerous shape of the knife, glinting, gaping. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” the figure answered at once, crossing to the table in a few desperate steps, one hand outstretched towards him. “No, I am not unhappy! This arrangement, it pleases me greatly, I assure you. Please.”
The weapon’s tip pressed to his worn skin a moment longer -- finally slipped from his grip and settled harmlessly against the wood once more.
“I am afraid to admit that I must return within the hour, though,” they continued when he said nothing in response, tone thick with frail warmth. “I am needed there.”
“No reason to fret over such trivialities,” he answered with surprising ease, and brushed the knife away as though it was little more than bothersome trash. “Your duties are not what concern me, but the essence of your demeanor! You serve under the most benevolent of men, do you not? Do you think that does not deserve a pleasantness of the highest caliber?”
“Never,” they responded, and continued with their work as they had done a thousand times before. The clean papers sat scattered amidst those already cluttered with words. Three quills, feathers colored a brilliant white, waited to be gathered. Ink crowded the table, their wells crafted of priceless stone and metals. They reached out to steady themselves against their chair -- only to stumble when there was no wood back to meet their outstretched hand. It still rested on the floor, legs splayed high in the air.
“Did you have a customer today?”
Drosselmeyer chuckled. “You have no reason to be informed of who I have seen or what I have given them.” He made a gesture for them to sit, shadows gathering deep within the hollow curves of his face. “Not yet.”
The figure seemed to still at this for the briefest of moments but quickly shook the feeling away, movements almost mechanical as they replaced the chair at the table and slid into it.
“What is your desire tonight?” They asked, elegant hands slipping from the depths of their cloak and gathering each paper in careful succession -- one, two, three, four. “Another memoir? We have not yet covered the sixth century of your life in full, I believe…”
“A story,” he spoke, voice brimming with excitement, so deeply palpable that it seemed to seep from his mouth and settle within every worn line along the table. “I’ve had quite enough of the past. Let us delve deep within the limitless realms of imagination yet again! So many tales left woefully unthreaded! So many characters still burdened with the capacity for sorrow…”
In his rush of emotion, he grasped for a quill. The gentle shape of the feather crumpled within the hold, but still, his hand settled along it with an air of unmistakable familiarity, holding it as someone who meant to craft stories would --
-- but his mangled fingers could not sustain the grip, and it fell.
For a moment, his familiar grin faltered, lips unraveling into a dark frown. The figure across the table dared not to move, but spoke instead, their words careful, tone laced with the gentlest of pity.
“Do you miss it?”
He looked to his hands, mere monstrous shapes in the dim light. The grin returned just as easily as it’d vanished.
“Why, never,” he said, and allowed his knuckles to linger a mere breath from the candle’s flame. Each scar revealed itself in a flourish of intense color. They mimicked the spiraling marks of ink, bleeding into existence so elaborately that it seemed as if words of power and pain had been carved straight into his skin.
“After all,” he murmured, eyes bright, “I possess the greatest ink of all.”
The figure remained still, and he looked to them.
“Let us begin!”
In one stiff motion, they took up the quill he had dropped. The tip settled along the frayed edge of the first paper, poised.
“Once upon a time,” he began, his grin growing sharp, his laughter thick in the air, “there was a foolish princess…”
They wrote.
- - -
His crown wouldn’t straighten.
For the fifth time, Mytho steadied both palms flat against its edges, struggling to ease the slight angle it seemed stuck at. A wary glance at the mirror across the room revealed that his efforts were fruitless, though. The stubborn thing still sat askew, and with a sigh, he tore it off, tossing it onto the foot of his bed. At a loss, his hands rose to fidget with his collar instead, gaze straying back to the angular shape of the mirror.
He looked much too pale.
Resting hadn‘t helped. Eating had only made him feel ill. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t dissuade this strange affliction. There was no way to erase it, no way to fix it, and soon enough, his concerns had settled into sullen acceptance. After all, there was no reason to dwell on yet another unusual dilemma -- the day had proved surreal enough already. He’d woken late that morning, an unusually vivid dream still clawing at his clearing thoughts. In it, he’d been wandering aimlessly through a hushed night, the massive slope of the field rustling before him, the castle so small and harmless behind him. An elegant curve of darkness had clung to his side, and he’d been sure it was his shadow, come to play, to lead him wherever he was meant to go, but vibrant colors bled through the swell of black: snow white, rose red, and when he turned, he saw that it was not a shadow at all but Rue. There was no light, but she moved with ease. There was no ballroom, but still she danced with such startling grace that it stole his breath away. She held out a hand to him, a hand that was not a hand at all, but something strange, something unfamiliar, and still, he reached to take it. Warmth overtook him, and he found himself drowning in it, drowning in the blood-red sheen of her jewel, glowing, glowing…
And then he’d woken.
It had certainly been a strange dream, he’d admitted to himself, the intense emotions he’d experienced within it almost seeming to still linger in the low of his chest -- but a dream nonetheless, and therefore not something to dwell on.
At least, he hadn’t until a shaken servant informed him that it had not been a mere dream.
The young woman had knocked on his door not an hour later, and with a shaky voice, proceeded to tell him what had happened. Just after nightfall, she’d been woken by an urgent knock at her door, and answered it only to find one of the knights standing there, Mytho’s unconscious form slumped over his back. As he carefully slid the still body off his shoulders and set it against her doorway, he’d told her that a woman had attempted to harm the prince just outside the castle walls, and for her to make sure he was taken care of. Then, the young man had run off, disappearing down the nearest stairwell before she could even think to call after him. Not wanting to cause a needless panic, she’d fetched a few other quiet servants, and together, they had carried Mytho to his room and made sure any injuries were cared for before departing.
Startled, he’d asked her for the name of the knight, hoping to discover any other crucial details about this apparent attack through him, but she admitted that it had been dark, and she had not been able to glimpse his face clearly.
Thus, he was left only with the vague notion that something odd had happened to him the night before. Mytho racked his brain for any semblance of a memory, but he could only remember roaming the countless hallways of the castle. After that, there was nothing but the strange, unthinking chaos of his dream. But then again…what had been a dream, and what was real?
Tired of his reflection, he turned away. The crown was waiting for him, and he dropped down on the bed, taking it up once more, etched metal cold against his fingertips.
There was no time to linger on such impossible questions now. The ball was to begin shortly, and he had to focus all his attention on such a momentous event. After all, Ahiru was to be at his side today. He would dance only with his princess, help her to prove her worth to all those who dared to doubt her, and their future would be set in stone once and for all. What could be better?
His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door creaked open, and one of the servants slipped halfway inside: a young woman of short brown hair and unusual height. In her hand, she gripped a folded letter, the royal seal clamped around its crisp edges.
“I’m sorry to bother you, your highness,” she stammered, and did not enter the room any further, apparently preferring to remain poised in the doorway, “but the princess asked me to deliver this letter to you at once. She told me it was of the utmost importance.”
Mytho couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at that. What could Ahiru have to tell him that couldn’t wait until they saw one another within the hour at the ball?
He couldn’t find the strength to rise from his seat. Instead, he offered a tired smile and made a gesture for her to open the seal herself. “Thank you, Hermia. Would you please tell me what it says?”
She nodded, fingernails beginning to pick at the edge. “O-Of course, if that’s what you want! Let’s see…”
After a brief moment, she managed to pry the sheet of paper open. Her eyes traced each line with the utmost care, expression shifting fluidly from one of confusion to one of worry as she moved down the page.
“Her highness says,” she began, once her gaze had passed the signature scrawled along the bottom, “that she is very sorry, but that her plans for this evening have changed. She cannot make an appearance at the ball until after nightfall, it seems.”
Mytho was upright at once upon hearing that. “Are you sure?”
Hermia gave a frantic nod before continuing. “It says that she has found a way to overcome her allergy, but to do so, that she mustn’t be present when the sun is out. It says…it says that she is very sorry, but that you must stall the festivities as best you can until she arrives, and that hopefully, it will be worth it if you can do so.” Her eyes dropped clean off the page, and she warily met his gaze. “That’s all.”
Mytho found himself at a loss, countless confusing thoughts swelling in the back of his mind. She had found a way to overcome her allergy? Was such an amazing thing even possible? If it somehow was, there was still the troublesome question of explaining her absence yet again to a crowd of frustrated partygoers. The sun wouldn’t set for a least a few more hours! How would he ever be able to ---
He took a deep breath, commanding all the chaos within him to calm at once. He couldn’t resort to useless panic. Yes, the whole situation sounded rather incredible, and yes, it would be difficult to explain why she was delayed -- but Ahiru asked this of him, and he would not let her down.
He would trust her.
“Thank you,” he said, mustering up the brightest smile he could manage. “Please tell her that I will do my best. But before you go,” he added, and held out his crown, “would you mind helping me with this?”
Hermia, though taken off-guard by the strange request, moved into the room and took the priceless object from him all the same, lifting up on her tiptoes as she positioned it gently on his head.
“H-How’s that?” She stammered after a long moment.
Mytho regarded his reflection in the mirror, and his forced smile briefly blossomed into a genuine one. “Perfect,” he said. “Thank you. You’re the only one who could help me with that, Hermia.”
The young woman curtsied, then took her leave, letter still crumpled in one hand.
Still, he did not stray from the mirror’s glinting shape. With another breath, he took a few hushed seconds to adjust the jutting folds of his cuffs, the dip of his collar. Every detail had to be perfect. Every moment had to proceed without a hint of flaw. Yes, he realized, pretending not to notice when his smile dared to falter. There was no time to dwell on an irrelevant past, however recent it may prove to be.
The door still sat ajar, and with heavy steps, he went to it, already able to hear a steady swell of laughter, a grand flourish of music as the ballroom below him filled with newfound life.
His future was calling.
- - -
The ball was still well within its first hour, an amiable air resting comfortably over the festivities. New arrivals were still filtering in, faces appeared fresh and kind as friends greeted friends, as lovers basked thoughtlessly in the room’s comforting warmth, but already, cracks amidst all the pleasantness could be glimpsed. Some lingered near the walls of the room, tossing anxious looks towards the entrances. Whispers, once harmless, were beginning to gain weight as they passed from ear to ear, a dark undercurrent that threatened to taint the entire room.
Fakir, meanwhile, was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.
He’d arrived early after yet another attempt at sleeping within his quarters had proven useless. Now, though, as he leaned against a far wall, a fair distance from all the chaos, he couldn’t help but drift off.
Stop, he ordered himself upon jerking awake for the third time, and with a grunt, pulled himself upright. This was no time to be napping, of all pointless things. He had to be prepared for whatever would happen tonight, he was quick to remind himself, fingertips grazing the firm hilt of his sword.
He should have forced himself to sleep earlier. He’d had time both before and after the trip into town, had laid in his bed and willed his eyes to shut, his breathing to calm -- but too many thoughts had crowded within his head during those quiet moments, making it short of impossible. There were memories of the night before, the forest endless around him as he wandered through the night, calling out a name that only echoed meaninglessly back at him. Memories of late after the last ball, wrapping the little duck’s hurt wing with the utmost care, not wishing to scare it. Memories of -- her scars, ravens screeching, claws ripping into her back, blood, so much blood --
His chest heaved, and he steadied a hand against it, willing the image to disappear. No, he thought, his breathing ragged. He would not relive it again.
Eager to find something that would distract him, he cast a tired glance around the vast room. There was Mytho, at the other side, chatting pleasantly with an eager group of nobles. He didn’t seem strongly affected or hindered by what had transpired the night before, and Fakir was glad for it.
Now, there was only…
“-- and he said that it can keep me human for an entire night,” Ahiru laughed, cradling the strangely-shaped pendant in one careful hand as they walked the meandering path back to the castle. “Now, no one will think there’s something wrong with me! Isn’t that wonderful, Fakir?”
He’d wanted to call her an idiot at that point, for trusting so blindly in the words of strangers, for believing that magic really existed in such a bleak world. But the words hadn’t come for some strange reason, and he’d merely nodded in response, still wondering how he’d gone from being the barest of acquaintances to her closest confidant in the span of a single day.
So be it. He would wait and see what developed as the night wore on. If something should go awry with her supposed magic, he thought, his calloused hand gripping to his sword yet again, he would be ready for it.
“Here you are.”
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, lips grazing the low of his cheek. He turned, startled, only to meet Raetsel’s gaze, her thin hand curling against her mouth in order to muffle a laugh. Her gown, an elaborate flourish of white and soft blue, rustled around her.
“Raetsel,” he said, unable to hide his surprise. “I thought you were still ill.”
She shook her head, brunette ringlets trembling against her eyelashes. “I’ve been well for almost four days now. Charon’s still worried that I may not be able to handle all this excitement, but I think I‘ll manage.” She smiled, voice taking on a teasing tone as she continued. “You would know that if you visited us once in a while…”
“I’ve been busy,” Fakir muttered in response, gaze drifting to the floor. “I have duties, you know.”
“We know that,” she said gently. “Charon worries about you, though. He says you seem troubled --”
“It‘s nothing,” he interjected, a little sharper than he meant to. “It shouldn’t concern him, or you. I’m fine.”
Raetsel’s smile faded, but she didn’t press the matter any further, heaving a soft sigh instead. “Well, I hope to see you soon, nonetheless. It would be nice to catch up, don’t you think?”
Fakir glanced to her, uttering a sigh of his own before nodding. “I’ll come within the week.”
The ballroom was beginning to grow crowded, rushes of violent color brimming on every stretch of floor. The musicians were in place, broken notes vibrating through the air as they tuned their instruments. A few couples had already begun to spin wildly in one another’s arms, voices thick with song and laughter. Still, the anxiousness within the room had become almost palpable, more and more curious guests crowding around Mytho as they no doubt asked him the same question as countless others before them.
“The princess is meant to make an appearance tonight, isn’t she?” Raetsel asked, eyes bright as they wandered amidst all the vibrant sights the ball had to offer.
“Supposedly,” Fakir answered.
“I wonder where she is,” she pondered, fingertip pressed to her pursed lips. “Perhaps they’re trying to make a surprise of the whole event. Wouldn‘t that be exciting?”
A group of women called to Raetsel, then, eager arms all raised and waving her over. With one last brief kiss on his cheek and a promise that she would make his favorite dish should he come for dinner before the week was up, she hurried to join them, and Fakir was left alone once more.
A surprise, he thought, and couldn’t help but press a hand to his furrowing brow, hoping that wouldn’t be the case.
He’d already weathered more than enough surprises that day.
- - -
It was almost time.
She touched the tip of one wing to the windowpane, her breathing harsh as her body settled against the stone sill. The glass bore several careless smudges, each image within it reduced to spiraling blurs of color, but she managed to make some sense of the view. The vast ballroom was filled with nobles and villagers alike, all dressed in their most elaborate formalwear, but nowhere did she see any dancing taking place. There was no music, only shrill trails of notes tearing through all the meaningless chatter as the band practiced.
An unusually dense throng lingered near the front of the room, and the sight struck a chord of pleasant familiarity within her. She had glimpsed the same sight of angry guests, demanding to know when their worthless princess would at last make her appearance, when she’d arrived at the first ball.
Their princess wouldn‘t be coming at all, and if Rue had been in possession of human lips at that moment, she would have smirked at the thought.
She waited. The sun’s descent was a painfully deliberate one, but she did her best to bear such gravity, gaze held within the ballroom, watching for any unwelcome developments. None arose. The music remained stagnant and poor. Groups thinned, more and more blurring figures hurrying to join the crowd swelling at the helm of the room.
At last, light seeped away from the horizon. She still held one wing against the glass and watched with eager eyes as the dark feathers trembled, as the arched shape of a palm and several seizing joints tore free from their embrace. Fingertips danced along the windowpane now, and she relished the sensation of cold glass against bare skin.
Tonight would mark her last appearance in this land, and her changing body shivered with desperate anticipation. She would drink in every last gasp of warmth and joy within the vast ballroom. She would bask in all the wonder that countless naïve partygoers would not hesitate to offer in her presence. She would dance with the prince yet again, and when the festivities inevitably slowed to a halt, she would enchant him, lead him far away from all those troublesome witnesses yet again, and then --
Both hands pressed flat to the curve of her chest. A quickening heartbeat echoed against the lines of her palms, such an intense sensation that a few long nails dug deep within her wrist. Thin blotches of blood formed, pricks of pain twitching along the broken skin, and for some reason, the sensation comforted her. She had wondered from time to time if she still had the capacity for human pain.
She couldn’t bring herself to pretend that ripping out the prince’s heart would be an easy task. He was kind, warm, so gentle against the callous lines of her body. Something unfamiliar had stirred deep within as they had danced that endless night, when he’d so graciously given her a name of her own. The Raven had never bothered, and to receive such a wondrous gift , to hear him speak it with such breathless beauty, with such a warm smile, she had felt ---
She shook her head. Her limbs had begun to tremble, and she stretched them out against the rough stone of the windowsill. The elegant shapes of her arms unfolded, outlined by infant moonlight. She brought one back to rest against her, hand moving to fit against the shape of her neck, the soft skin of her face.
Feelings meant nothing. If she did this, her life would suffer no more misfortune. She would be free.
She would do anything if it meant being human always.
A harsh screech interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced up only to watch as a familiar raven landed on her shoulder, wings ruffled, claws sharp and still stained with aged blood. With a smirk, she ran a gentle finger down the curve of its chest, other hand settling against the harsh shape of her jewel.
“So,” she murmured, eyes bright, “shall we begin?”
- - -
Ahiru was scared.
The ballroom floor spread out before her quivering feet like an ocean, ready to drown her the moment she dared an innocent step onto it. The lights were so bright and countless vibrant colors shimmered in her wide eyes as gown after gown spiraled past her, and oh, how she longed to join it --
-- but she couldn’t bring herself to take that final step just yet, no matter how hard she tried. With a sigh, she shuffled backwards into the shadows of the darkening hallway once more, nearly tripping on the fringe of her skirt.
Everything would be fine, she wanted to insist to herself for the thousandth time, but in all honesty, she hadn’t the faintest clue how the evening would proceed past this breathless moment. Would the night be perfect, just as Drosselmeyer had promised? Would all her problems really be solved so simply?
She glanced down. The swan-shaped pendant rested against the curve of her neck, and with one careful hand, she cradled it, stone and metal warm against her trembling palm.
Could she really count on a miracle?
Dissenting voices within the ballroom swelled, and Ahiru cast a wary glance towards a far window. The sun’s fading light had finally ebbed away, leaving only a deep, swirling blue on the horizon. Already, the all-too familiar sensations were snaking its way through her limbs. Face settling into a look of determination, she touched both hands to the smooth body of the swan.
If this was her only chance, so be it.
And with one last deep breath, one final, silent prayer that everything would turn out alright, she gripped the pendant hard.
- - -
A/N: Looooooooong~ D: D: D: Sorry about that! I at least hope that it was rather interesting, and makes up for my ridiculous absence for so long~ DX As for when the next chapter will be, I really can't make any promises, either. Just know that it will come eventually, and hopefully a LOT sooner than this one did. XD;;;
Comments are appreciated~ <3 It'd be nice to hear from those of you who are still out there. XD;;
- - -
~
A/N: In the off chance that you ran into this post by itself, here's the first part: here!
- - -
Afternoon had barely begun, the sun seeming snagged along the forests’ jagged treetops -- but the town was already brimming with vibrant activity, no doubt spurred by the ball’s arrival in only a few short hours. There were still the thriving constants, of course -- countless ornate stands stationed before each building, exuberant villagers crowding within each open door and stretch of street, the same ragtag band playing cheerful tunes in the square. Mixed in, though, were obvious additions; women dressed in muted colors -- obviously servants -- scurried past, rolls of fabric clutched in their arms, last-minute jewelry for their noble families jingling in their pockets. Impromptu dancing lessons seemed to be taking place on every corner, adults and children alike twirling on the balls of their feet, laughter heavy in the air.
Ahiru couldn’t help but notice how different it felt being here again. Last time, she‘d done her best to keep her identity a secret, and it had worked; no one had paid her so much as a second glance. She’d been a mere nameless face jostled through the crowds and accosted by merchants and peddlers alike.
This time, however, with her dress of elaborate thread, her jewelry of expensive stone, and a knight of the castle at her side, blending in wasn’t an option. A noticeable hush fell over the throngs when they noticed her approaching and countless forms stumbled back in order to give her room. It seemed that despite her absence from the ball, she was still easily recognizable as the princess, and countless women and men collapsed in deep bows and curtsies, their smiles dazzling. She responded to each in turn with a gentle bend of her ankle, smiling as well. Maybe everyone really didn’t hate her!
Still, she couldn’t help but notice those who strayed at the back of the crowds, eyes bright and lips curled as they whispered.
Ahiru found herself so distracted by the sight that she ran right into Fakir, briefly knocking them both off-balance.
“S-Sorry!”
Fakir didn‘t even glance to her; merely straightened and continued walking at the same stiff pace, keeping a few feet ahead of her on the road.
She quickened her pace and managed to catch up to him. He’d said he was going to sleep during those few hours they were apart, but what she saw after throwing a discreet glance in his direction startled her. His eyes appeared so haggard and hollow shadows dusted the lines of his face.
Maybe she was being too harsh in assuming he was rude to ignore her like this. He had spent all night in that awful forest looking for her. Of course he would still be exhausted and irritated and not in the mood for talking! Anyone would be like that after such a long ordeal!
Then again, she thought, this wasn’t too far of a stretch from how their other encounters had gone.
Passing by, a woman sharply gestured to the three young girls following at her heels. In succession, they spun around on their heels to face Ahiru and curtsied, their curls of hair collapsing over their rosy faces. With a smile, Ahiru mimicked the gesture, giggling when the youngest girl waved and her lips parted in a gap-toothed smile. Pinned within her mess of golden ringlets was a silver bird of elegant shape, glimmering when she turned towards the sun.
That reminded her…
“Fakir,” she murmured when the woman and her children, their attention seized by a stand of baubles and trinkets further up the road, passed on. He was a few feet ahead of her once more, and she hurried to catch up.
She heard him take a shallow breath, and took that as enough of an invitation to continue.
“You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you? About my…”
She trailed off, too afraid that someone in the crowd may overhear. Her hands wringed within the folds of her skirt. She cast a careful glance at Fakir, but his eyes were still focused forward.
“Who would I tell?” He muttered, tone so curt that she could practically hear the word idiot lingering at the end of the question, even though he didn’t bother to speak it.
“Well, I don’t know,” she said, brow furrowing. “The other knights, or any of the servants, or your family, or friends, or anyone in town, or --” she bit down on her lip, realizing sheepishly that she was spiraling off into a tangent again. “Just -- promise you won’t, please?”
He glanced at her then, with a sigh, nodded.
“Good,” she answered, a small smile twitching at the corners of her lips, only to promptly disappear when her eyes strayed to a small shop across the road. Two young women stood at crooked angles in the doorway, skirts swishing around their bare ankles as they turned to watch Ahiru pass by. They didn’t make a move to curtsy, as countless other had. Both merely cupped their palms tight across their lips, lithe bodies shaking with laughter as they whispered. They could be talking about anything, Ahiru insisted to herself, but still, the sight forced a sharp-edged memory to the surface: two women wandering the vast halls of the castle, their laughter like bells, their insults like needles against her skin. Clearly the girl’s just cowardly. Or inadequate in some way…
“See?” She couldn‘t help but speak up, still watching them. When Fakir didn’t stop, she gripped a few stubborn fingers on his sleeve, pulling him back. “Look,” she continued, gesturing to them. “That’s why I can’t tell anyone else. These people, they don’t know anything about me -- but just because I couldn’t come to the ball that night, they talk about me and act like I‘m strange! If they knew the truth…”
“Why do you care so much about what they think?”
The question cut a clean tear through her train of thought, and she glanced up, wide-eyed. Fakir’s expression was unreadable, mouth a rigid line as he met her gaze.
“I -- I don’t care that much,” she insisted at once, but the words were weak, hoarse in the low of her throat. “It’s just -- I only…”
She couldn’t help but trail off. Fakir pulled free from her grip with one sharp tug of his sleeve, turning back towards the stretch of road they had yet to travel.
“You know the truth,” he muttered. “What does it matter?”
He began walking once more, and she took a deep breath, unsure if what he’d said was meant to be encouraging or insulting. Still, even as she followed, Ahiru couldn’t help but look back to the women in the doorway. They noticed her eyes this time, and paused their whispering long enough to take up their skirts in one hand, each falling back on a thin ankle in the slightest of curtsies. Their mouths formed crooked lines, and their eyes were bright with laughter.
“I know it seems silly,” she finally managed to retort, hurrying her steps even as she kept her head turned back, “but it’s different for me! If people don’t like me, then they might not think I’m fit to be the princess, and then they’d wish somebody else was princess, somebody who can show up on time and is a much better dancer and -- ah!”
She turned her head forward just in time to collide with Fakir’s back, causing them both to stumble forward yet again. He regained his balance at once, taking rough hold of her wrist and pulling her upright with a glare.
“Will you stop running into me!?”
“Sorry,” she repeated, cheeks darkening with color. “I didn’t mean to!”
He brought one rigid hand against his brow and thrust his other arm towards her. “Here.”
She briefly thought he meant to give her something, but his hand was clenched tight with crooked shape of his elbow closest to her. “What?”
“Just -- take it.”
Take it? Ahiru blinked, comprehension quickly settling in. He wanted her to hold onto him? Like how a man and a woman walked when they were…
“R-Really?” She couldn’t help but stutter.
“If it will keep you from charging into me and stumbling around like an idiot,” he grunted, so curtly that the words silenced that particular image, dragging a very different one to the surface instead -- instances where knights had taken the arms of struggling elderly guests and helped them through the vast halls of the castle. Yes, Ahiru thought, bristling. This was definitely much more like that than her former thought -- even if she did resent the implication.
He didn‘t move back, and after a long moment, she sighed. Her arm drew within the crook of his elbow, fingertips gently settling along his sleeve. There was only a little further to go, Ahiru reasoned. She supposed this would be alright for a little while.
They began walking once more. The crowds were starting to thin. A few villagers still milled in doorways, adjusting their handfuls of goods and pausing to peruse some of the lesser stands. Still, most people were hurrying to join the excitement in the square, and with each step they took further down the road, the music echoed back to Ahiru fainter.
She hummed broken snippets of a tune, her free hand rising to brush away a loose tendril of hair then dropping to settle against the curve of her neck. The winged pendant rested at the latter, and her fingertips caressed its etched edges. She had been meaning to save the gift for only the most special of occasions, but for some reason, the memory of it had seeped deep within her thoughts as she’d dressed that afternoon. Finally, she’d allowed herself a quick peek. The chain had been warm, and quickly wondered of its own accord, from the lines of her palms to the eager tips of her fingernails to the shape of her neck. It would be a short trip, she was quick to tell herself -- and so she wore it.
“It‘s a sign,” she murmured, so deep in thought she that didn’t even realize she’d spoken the words out loud until Fakir glanced to her.
“What?”
“It’s just,” she started, still gripping the pendent with her free hand, “I think maybe I should tell Mytho. After all, he picked this out.” She gently drew back her fingers, cradling the silver wings against the lines of her palm as she showed it to Fakir. “There must have been a lot of choices, but he picked this! Don’t you think that has to be some sort of sign?”
A long moment passed. Fakir glanced at the pendant, then at her.
“Maybe,” he finally said.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, smiled a warm smile and tightened her grip on his arm. “I think so too.”
At last, they reached the end. The last few villagers they’d passed much further up the road had looked to them with wary eyes and hurried the other way. Now, there was only the frayed ends of the town to look upon: a few poor houses, roofs half-built and windowpanes cracked; the forest, a monstrous flood of color before them with gaunt branches that grasped at the worn edges of the road.
Ahiru took a deep breath.
“This is where you wanted to come?”
Fakir’s voice was grave, the slightest touch of alarm flooding in. His free hand moved to his side, and only then did Ahiru notice that his sword hung there, his fingertips straying along the firm shape of its hilt.
She nodded, and her careful gaze wondered past each slanted doorway, each dark window. The last house on the left, she remembered, and turned towards it with a fresh air of determination, only to promptly catch her breath at the sight.
She remembered.
It looked somewhat different -- the stand, littered with trinkets and jewelry and so many worn, beautiful books, was gone -- but there was no mistaking this particular house. She could still remember the red pendant‘s warm glow; the voice of the man in the shadows, his grin wide and bright.
Why don’t you tell me, little Ahiru?
With a frown, she stubbornly shook loose any semblance of fear. It made sense, she insisted to herself, that such a strange person would have written her that letter. In fact, she supposed most fortunetellers were just like him, laughing and grinning and knowing things they had no business knowing! There was nothing to be afraid of!
Gently, she removed her arm from Fakir’s grip, taking up the folds of her skirt in both hands as she began walking. “Well,” she said, her weak laughter mingling with her words, “I’m sure this won’t take long! If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I would really --”
A familiar sharp tone interrupted, one hand grabbing her shoulder.
“What are you thinking?” Fakir said, his hand now firmly clutched on the hilt of his sword. “Do you even know what you’re going to find in there?”
“Um,” Ahiru attempted to explain, but nothing convincing came to mind, and she sheepishly scratched the back of her head. “Well, I received a letter, so…”
“You idiot,“ he spat through clenched teeth, “this could be dangerous! Someone could be trying to kill you! Don’t you see that?”
“But I only wanted to…”
“I should never have agreed to this ridiculous errand of yours --”
“Wait,” she cried, tugging at his wrist with both hands. “You don’t understand! I have to find a way to fix this now, or I’ll never be able to! I know it sounds silly, but -- but this person sent me a letter saying they could help me, and it might be my only chance!”
Fakir continued glaring, and she was sure, so sure for an awful moment that he was going to drag her back to the castle and tell everyone everything to make sure she didn’t try to come again…
…but to her enormous surprise, he instead released his grip.
“I’ll go with you,” he muttered, and started towards the house before Ahiru even had a chance to catch her breath, “if it’s that damn important.”
She followed, and in only a moment, they were standing beneath the house’s deep awning. The settling walls seemed to sigh at their presence, low creaks and moans sliding through the afternoon air. The door rested an inch open, the slightest warmth of candlelight emanating from within.
“But,” Ahiru whispered, “I don’t want to make them think they’re under arrest or anything scary like that! If something seems strange, I’ll scream. I promise!”
For a moment, Fakir didn’t say anything in response, and she wondered briefly if he was going to refuse -- but in one fluid motion, he fell back against the stretch of wood nearest to the door. “Make it quick.”
She nodded, forming her hand into a fist and knocking against the wooden door.
The answer was instantaneous.
Come in, come in! I had grown weary of waiting, but at last, you’ve arrived!
The voice was sudden, almost hearty in its strength. Ahiru could not see who it belonged to, though, and it resonated within her as a mere ghost. A shiver tore through her skin, but she pushed the door open and dared a few careful steps within.
Do close the door, won’t you? Precious words may slip through the cracks if we aren’t careful!
At once, she did what she was told, fumbling for the heavy handle. Fakir looked to her warily, but only shifted his position, ear now pressed firm to the thin wall. She offered him one last brave smile, then pulled the door shut, only to find herself thrust into darkness.
For a moment, she fumbled helplessly, hands grasping for something tangible that she could rest against as her eyes adjusted. Still, a flicker of candlelight beckoned from further within the room, and she had no choice but to stumble towards it, praying that she wouldn’t accidentally knock something hidden in the darkness over in all her confusion.
“H-Hello?”
Yes, welcome, welcome! You’ve been long expected, my dear.
Her hands finally settled upon the worn shape of a chair, and she tiptoed around its jutting leg, settling into the seat with a deep breath.
A single candle rested before her, its wax half-melted and seeping onto the table she found herself seated at. Countless loose papers were scattered with tangled words scrawled along their surfaces. Small items lay among them. Ornate baubles, their shine having long since dulled. A small mirror, theatric faces etched into its stone trimming. Apples and cherries, none whole: some half-eaten, some with only a bite missing. The sharp ends of needles pointed towards her. Shoes crafted of ribbon, lace, and satin.
“Mystifying, isn’t it?”
Ahiru jumped, biting down on her lip hard to keep from crying out. Across the table, a irregular shape slowly came into focus, the lines of a body brimming within the light. A beard’s thick curls pooled against the table’s edge. Large eyes, a strange, swirling color, almost seemed to be floating in midair.
“Such pointless trinkets,” he continued, “and yet, when placed just so within simple confines, they become tools of the greatest caliber! Isn’t it fascinating?”
Ahiru had no idea how to respond to such a strange statement; she could only manage a trembling nod in response. There was nothing to be scared of, she insisted to herself, wringing her hands within the folds of her skirt.
The man’s grin appeared, a crescent of white that glimmered in the candlelight. “But such revelations do little to aid you, don‘t they, little Ahiru? You are still in desperate need of your own salvation -- your own deus ex machina! Oh, if only it were that easy…”
He laughed, then, darkness seeping within the gasping red of his mouth. Realizing she would have to voice her thoughts at some point, Ahiru took a deep breath and straightened against the back of her chair.
“W-Why,” she murmured, unable to mask a clumsy stutter, “did you send that letter to me? Can you…help me?”
The strange man seemed to find this question even more amusing. “Why, it is what I do, my dear! I am a giver of fortunes, a spinner of stories, if you will! I call out to those unfortunate souls who find themselves forced from fate’s blood-drawn path, and lead them to a truth of my own design.” He met Ahiru’s startled gaze squarely. “You are desirous of such assistance, yes?”
“Well, yes, but I‘m not sure that you can fix my problem, mister --?”
The name she’d seen scrawled along the card escaped her, and she looked down at her lap, embarrassed.
“Ah, yes, where are my manners?” He spoke up, not missing a beat. “You may refer me to as Drosselmeyer!”
“Mister Drosselmeyer,” she repeated, finally managing to force her lips into a quivering smile. She was not able to curtsy in greeting, as she usually would in such a situation. Still, she was desperate to find some tangible sense of familiarity so as to soothe her nerves. At a loss, she flung one hand out across the table, fingers splayed. “It’s very nice to meet you!”
He regarded her curiously for a brief moment, and then without warning, erupted into yet another peal of wild laughter so strong that several papers rustled as if a gust had blown through. “Your actions are certainly capricious,” he said, “but I’m afraid it would be quite impossible for me to partake in such a gesture.”
Her fingers curled tight to her palm, expression settling into one of innocent confusion. “W-What?”
A strange shape seeped onto his edge of the table, sinking deep within the pool of candlelight. Ahiru’s wide eyes were drawn to the movement --
-- and at once, she brought her hand against her mouth, barely stifling a violent gasp.
“Your hands,” she whimpered, fingernails so tightly clutched against her lips that they left imprints. “They’re…”
“Ah, yes,” Drosselmeyer answered easily, grin widening as he looked upon them himself. “They are quite dreadful, aren’t they?”
Ahiru could barely comprehend the sight. His hands were mangled beyond recognition, each finger torn and twisted at unnatural angles, his knuckles gnarled. Deep creases of skin were drowned in jagged scars, some barely healed and still coated in dried blood. Overgrown nails scraped against the worn wood of the table.
“But that is quite enough of my own personal oddities,” he said, and Ahiru averted her gaze, removing the hand from her mouth and pressing it firm against the curve of her chest instead, desperate to soothe her quickening heartbeat. “Your own heart-wrenching tragedies are what I find the greatest interest in, after all! Shall we begin?”
She nodded, and with a deep breath, smothered the unsettling image in the low of her thoughts. “O-Of course! It’s a very strange problem, really. In fact, it’s actually rather silly! I’m not even sure just how to describe it, really --”
“My dear,” Drosselmeyer interjected yet again, “were you under the impression that I was not already aware?”
Ahiru blinked. “What?”
His grin was blinding. “Why, your troubles, your precious insecurities all stem from one troubling dilemma -- that you spend half of your all-too human life as something quite inhuman!”
Her breath stilled, cold within the stifling shape of her throat. “Yes,” she murmured. “But how…”
He continued on blithely. “You are poised to be the savior of this dreadful place, and yet, with one unfortunate absence, you’ve suddenly found your abilities called into question by those who know no better! Even your beloved prince’s attention seems to be wavering in lieu of such unfortunate events -- isn’t that right?”
She couldn’t muster up a single word in response. Only her wide eyes revealed the difficult thoughts tangling within the whirling recesses of her mind. It couldn’t be real. These burdened words he was so carelessly tossing out before her, she had to be imagining them, hallucinating them, something. How could he know?
His eyes narrowed, and within the candlelight, his grin appeared sharp for the briefest of moments; a fleeting dagger, meaning to pierce her clean through. “How dreadful it must be, to take the form of such a pitiful animal. After all, what can a mere duck accomplish?”
Ahiru couldn’t breathe.
“How terrible,” Drosselmeyer murmured. “How delightfully terrible!”
At last, she recovered her voice, and it resonated as a callous echo, filling the room to the brim.
“How do you know that? I never -- I’ve only told -- this isn’t --”
“My dear, it is quite easy for one to know things,” he answered, voice so casual that it seemed as though he was discussing mere trivialities - the hour she had dinner each night, her favorite color. “Knowing is simply an act of taking in information whenever and wherever one feels it is relevant! The simplest, most ordinary of tasks, it is --”
Ahiru steadied a gentle hand against the trembling of her chest. A sturdy sheet of ice still felt as though sewed to her shoulders, and despite her best efforts, she could not shake it free. “T-That still doesn’t explain how you --”
“-- and yet, it is what one does with such knowledge that really matters in lieu of such poetic calamity!”
His elbows met the wood with heavy thuds, his massive shadow crumpling against the table as he leaned towards her. She leaned back in turn, eyes widening. The candle’s stubborn flame waned with his ragged breaths. A perfect reflection danced within his eyes.
“So what will you do with such knowledge, little Ahiru? You have been made painfully aware of the issue at hand, have you not? Will you simply make peace with the fact that you can do nothing but wither away in the hearts of your subjects -- in the eyes of your dear prince? Will you fight against such a meaningless fate? Lest you be replaced! Lest you be forgotten…”
Despite her best attempts to stay calm, Ahiru’s heart still gave a vicious heave at the thought. She clamped both hands tight to the bare skin at the cusp of her sleeves, just to make sure she was still there, that she hadn’t vanished into thin air at the thought. What would it feel like, to wither away? She imagined becoming little more than the pitiful flame upon the candle; a speck of light, able to be extinguished with a mere careless breath.
“No,” she said at once, voice cracking. She straightened in her seat and met his wide-eyed gaze, fingers gripped so tight that her knuckles gleamed white. “No. What can I do? Please, tell me!”
“Why, the answer is a simple one, is it not? You must remain human! Only then will you be able to prove your worth to such simpletons!”
“But how can I --”
“My dear,” he interjected, and met her curious eyes. Yet another grin emerged, a crooked, gaping shape amidst all the darkness of his face, “why do you think you’ve come here?”
One of his hands sunk within the light. A glint of red dangled just beneath his palm, swinging in clumsy circles around the melting candle: the pendant from the other day, Ahiru realized. He gave a sharp tug on its chain, and the smooth stone leapt and danced in obedient reply. At that moment, he seemed a puppeteer, the pendant his willing mannequin, his mangled hand the master, yanking at the strings when it fell lifeless and still before the weakening flame yet again.
“This trinket will prove your savior.”
Ahiru regarded the glinting stone and after a moment, dared to touch a few careful fingertips to its smooth surface. It felt warm.
“It may appear at first to be utterly ordinary,” Drosselmeyer continued, “but do not allow yourself to be fooled by mere appearance! It possesses a rare sorcery within it. One that will grant your greatest desire, should you make it known.”
She found the courage to grip it gently against the lines of her palm then looked to Drosselmeyer once more. “Do you mean --?”
“Of course! This item will do what nothing else in this world can!” He chuckled, and the sudden mess of sound rattled around the room. “It will keep you of human form through an entire night.”
Ahiru didn‘t know what to think. Both hands moved in careful, intense unison along the round shape of the pendant, nails pricking at its strong surface, eyes flinching when its blood-red hue cast a sharp glint. She couldn‘t dare a smile just yet, too afraid that it all might be some kind of wishful dream, some awful joke that this strange man had concocted in order to trick her into a expensive purchase. There was no way it could be true, was there? Such amazing magic couldn’t possibly exist, right?
A strange inclusion in his wording struck her, and she drew in a shallow breath.
“A night?” She said, hands finally sliding off the stone and returning to her lap. “Only one?”
“Why, yes! You mustn’t be greedy with such powerful magic, my dear! Isn’t one beautiful night quite enough? You will show your straying subjects that no unpleasant oddities or fears plague you in the midst of the night, as they have all long feared! Your beloved prince will at last know that his princess’s devotion is forever unwavering! The perfect ending! What could be better?”
A smile couldn’t help but twitch at the corners of Ahiru’s mouth, warm images seeping in along the fringes of her thoughts; bright faces, kind words. That did sound nice…
“But, yes, I’m afraid once that momentous night vanishes and another emerges on the horizon, you will return to the pitiful form of a duck! Such is the way tales like this go. Time is a monstrous force, given sparingly, priceless in every sense of the word -- and should be spent with the utmost care!”
Both of her wrists pressed hard to the side of the table. Her fingers twitched, flooded with the memory of how the stone had felt against them -- but she refrained from reaching out, and met Drosselmeyer’s gaze instead, a firm look of determination settling along her gentle features.
“How much?”
He seemed to consider this intensely, distorted fingers gathering in the swell of his beard. A long moment passed, and then --
“Nothing.”
Ahiru blinked. “I’m sorry?”
He burst into laughter, as though he’d just made the funniest of jokes. “Nothing!”
“I-I don’t understand. Why would you --”
He held up a hand, motioning for her to stop, and the unsettling sight silenced her at once. The candlelight tore wild spirals along each scar his skin bore, coloring them a rich maroon. His fingers crumpled, the chain sliding off the towering shapes of his nails. The pendant hit the worn wood with a clatter at a mere breath away from Ahiru’s hands.
“Let’s consider your glorious…experiences during this fine evening as payment enough, shall we? You must only promise me one favor -- that you will return this trinket to me come morning!”
She couldn’t hide a bright smile any longer. “Of course!”
He made one last vague gesture towards the pendant, then leaned back in his chair, his form merging effortlessly with the thick shadows of the room. “Now, there is only the question or whether you will take it or not. The choice is yours!”
For a moment, the room sat perfectly still and silent. Drosselmeyer did not move from his chair, his unblinking gaze held fast to her. A thousand desperate thoughts danced through Ahiru’s head, joyous, wary, supportive, warning. Her body felt heavy, limbs like lead, like basins filled to the brim with water. Still her fingertips dared to inch across the table, and holding her breath, she gripped the chain, fumbling with the clasp and pulling it tight around her neck in a single sweeping motion. Briefly, she relaxed when the deed was done, when she realized the world hadn’t ended just because she’d given in to a touch of magic -- only to stiffen once more when the stone clattered against her silver wings. In all the excitement, she‘d entirely forgotten about the necklace she was already wearing. “O-Oh,” she stuttered, embarrassed, and rose her hands at once to remove it. “I didn’t remember I was already --”
She wasn’t allowed a chance to finish, the rest of her words swallowed up in a sharp gasp as the pendant began to glow. She tore her hands away at once, as if burned. Her first desperate thought was to shield herself, and she brought her arms against her face, eyes clenched tight as the room filled with fiery red --
-- and then settled into darkness again just as easily.
Ahiru didn’t dare a look for a few long moments, too afraid that something terrible had happened, that she’d doomed herself forevermore by accepting the pendant. Finally, she creaked one eye open, allowing her arms to slowly shift back down to her lap.
Only one necklace rested there now.
She couldn’t believe it. The two had somehow melded, silver and red effortlessly interlaced. Its new shape almost seemed to resemble the elegant shape of a swan, smooth stone its brimming torso, etched feathers its majestic wings.
“W-What does this mean?” She asked Drosselmeyer, brandishing the hand that cupped it across the table for him to look upon.
He did so. Ahiru prayed that he would have some sort of explanation for what had just happened, a kind word for her to take comfort in -- but he only grinned yet again, the tired crescent wavering within the shadows.
“Interesting! How very interesting,” he said, sounding so genuinely enthused that if his hands were free of flaws, she was sure he’d be clapping. “It seems that simple trinket of yours possesses something unusual as well --”
But Ahiru wasn’t listening any longer. Despite how she struggled to fight the feeling down, fear was overtaking every length of her body, seizing her heart in the cruelest of grips. Both hands rose to clutch at the pendant at once, its weight suddenly too much to bear.
“I -- I don’t understand,” she said. “Please, you have to tell me why it’s --”
She gave a firm tug, expecting the chain to loosen in obedient response -- but it didn’t. Biting down on her lip, she gripped every finger tight to it and yanked as hard as she could manage, but once again, the clasp refused to give way. The swan-shaped pendant remained fastened to the bare skin just above her dress’s neckline. The chain settled, and would not move again.
“W-What’s going on!?”
Terror seized her in that breathless instant, and she rose to her feet, so suddenly that her chair tumbled over backwards.
“What’s happened!? Why won’t it come off!?”
There was an urgent knock at the door, followed by a series of slams, the wall trembling with each violent impact. Fakir’s alarmed voice sifted through the cracks. “Ahiru!”
She turned in response, but the door was a mere meaningless shape in the distance, miles and miles away from her -- it hadn’t locked when she’d come in, had it? No, it hadn’t, she knew it hadn’t, so why couldn‘t he --
“My, my,” Drosselmeyer mused, and she spun back around only to nearly crumple at the sight. In only the few seconds’ time she‘d turned away, he had risen from his chair and moved just behind her, his towering form almost seeming to fill the entire room. For an irrational moment, Ahiru feared being enveloped by his monstrous shadow, dragged down into a horrific world of darkness and silence and forbidden magic, never to return. Fakir had been right. Why hadn’t she realized how dangerous this was!? Any moment now, she was about to be --
Drosselmeyer took a ragged breath, his body beginning to move. With a shrill intake of air, Ahiru braced herself for an impact -- but she only felt the gentle rustle of a cloak as it brushed against her shoulder. He passed right by her, slow, sturdy steps carrying him across the room towards the door.
“Now, now, no reason to delve into a senseless bout of panic. Such an emotion is wildly entertaining, of course -- but useless at this present time, I must admit. There is nothing for you, nor your worthless knight to fear here.” He made a gesture for her to follow. At a loss, she obeyed, still careful to keep a few breaths of distance between them. “The pendant merely wishes to fulfill your greatest wish to the best of its ability! Doesn’t it make perfect sense that it would not allow itself to be removed until it has done so?”
“Y-Yes,” she stuttered in response, fear slow to settle amidst all the calamity of her thoughts. “I suppose it does…”
“There you have it! And thus, I do believe our business here has come to an unfortunate end!”
The door flew open at that, the afternoon sun so rich and blinding that Ahiru couldn’t help but lift both arms against her eyes. A rough hand pressed against the low of her back and pushed, sending her stumbling forward.
“Do remember this, though, won’t you? When you wish to take use of the pendant’s wondrous gift, merely take hold of it with a firm hand. And be sure to return it to me come morning, little Ahiru! I’ll be waiting…”
And with that, she was outside once more, the endless shape of the forest swaying in her blurred gaze, echoes of faint noise from the town twitching along the shapes of her ears. She cast a bewildered look backwards, but the door had already closed shut. Turning back, she was met by Fakir’s startled gaze. His sword was grasped limply in one hand, shoulders heaving with each deep breath he took, no doubt from his attempts at ramming the door down.
“What happened?”
Ahiru blinked, then glanced down at the curve of her neck. The swan-shaped pendant still rested there, sharp silver and gentle red intertwined. She cradled it in her palm for a long moment, fingertips kissing each dip and curve, just to see, just to make sure it was really still there.
It was, and she held it out for Fakir to see, a genuine smile finally blossoming along her lips.
“Magic,” was her answer, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
- - -
Much later, after the sun had burrowed deep below the forests, after the princess and the knight had long returned within the castle’s gaping shadow, after the town had at last fallen under a hush, emptied with one last flourish of footwork and formalwear as villagers swept up the path towards the festivities, there was another knock at Drosselmeyer’s door.
“Come in, come in,” he called at once, his cracked lips pulling tight. “I do believe you’re late! Such careless mistakes were not a part of our arrangement, I believe --”
The door creaked open, and a figure slid in; form tall and thin, face obscured by a draped hood.
“I have other duties I must attend to,” they answered, voice tainted with obvious strain. “I cannot devote all of my time to you, you must realize.”
“Such a frustrated tone,” he mused. “You almost sound as though you’ve become unhappy with our arrangement! Though I certainly hope that isn’t so…”
He shifted in his seat, and the candlelight revealed a sharp glint of silver -- a knife, its handle threaded through his myriad of disjointed fingers. He lifted it in one jagged motion and rested the tip against his other palm, just so between the sweeping lines of two other scars.
“After all, that would mean it must be time to craft another young fate of my own accord!” His gaze was set aflame by candlelight; his grin mimicked the dangerous shape of the knife, glinting, gaping. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” the figure answered at once, crossing to the table in a few desperate steps, one hand outstretched towards him. “No, I am not unhappy! This arrangement, it pleases me greatly, I assure you. Please.”
The weapon’s tip pressed to his worn skin a moment longer -- finally slipped from his grip and settled harmlessly against the wood once more.
“I am afraid to admit that I must return within the hour, though,” they continued when he said nothing in response, tone thick with frail warmth. “I am needed there.”
“No reason to fret over such trivialities,” he answered with surprising ease, and brushed the knife away as though it was little more than bothersome trash. “Your duties are not what concern me, but the essence of your demeanor! You serve under the most benevolent of men, do you not? Do you think that does not deserve a pleasantness of the highest caliber?”
“Never,” they responded, and continued with their work as they had done a thousand times before. The clean papers sat scattered amidst those already cluttered with words. Three quills, feathers colored a brilliant white, waited to be gathered. Ink crowded the table, their wells crafted of priceless stone and metals. They reached out to steady themselves against their chair -- only to stumble when there was no wood back to meet their outstretched hand. It still rested on the floor, legs splayed high in the air.
“Did you have a customer today?”
Drosselmeyer chuckled. “You have no reason to be informed of who I have seen or what I have given them.” He made a gesture for them to sit, shadows gathering deep within the hollow curves of his face. “Not yet.”
The figure seemed to still at this for the briefest of moments but quickly shook the feeling away, movements almost mechanical as they replaced the chair at the table and slid into it.
“What is your desire tonight?” They asked, elegant hands slipping from the depths of their cloak and gathering each paper in careful succession -- one, two, three, four. “Another memoir? We have not yet covered the sixth century of your life in full, I believe…”
“A story,” he spoke, voice brimming with excitement, so deeply palpable that it seemed to seep from his mouth and settle within every worn line along the table. “I’ve had quite enough of the past. Let us delve deep within the limitless realms of imagination yet again! So many tales left woefully unthreaded! So many characters still burdened with the capacity for sorrow…”
In his rush of emotion, he grasped for a quill. The gentle shape of the feather crumpled within the hold, but still, his hand settled along it with an air of unmistakable familiarity, holding it as someone who meant to craft stories would --
-- but his mangled fingers could not sustain the grip, and it fell.
For a moment, his familiar grin faltered, lips unraveling into a dark frown. The figure across the table dared not to move, but spoke instead, their words careful, tone laced with the gentlest of pity.
“Do you miss it?”
He looked to his hands, mere monstrous shapes in the dim light. The grin returned just as easily as it’d vanished.
“Why, never,” he said, and allowed his knuckles to linger a mere breath from the candle’s flame. Each scar revealed itself in a flourish of intense color. They mimicked the spiraling marks of ink, bleeding into existence so elaborately that it seemed as if words of power and pain had been carved straight into his skin.
“After all,” he murmured, eyes bright, “I possess the greatest ink of all.”
The figure remained still, and he looked to them.
“Let us begin!”
In one stiff motion, they took up the quill he had dropped. The tip settled along the frayed edge of the first paper, poised.
“Once upon a time,” he began, his grin growing sharp, his laughter thick in the air, “there was a foolish princess…”
They wrote.
- - -
His crown wouldn’t straighten.
For the fifth time, Mytho steadied both palms flat against its edges, struggling to ease the slight angle it seemed stuck at. A wary glance at the mirror across the room revealed that his efforts were fruitless, though. The stubborn thing still sat askew, and with a sigh, he tore it off, tossing it onto the foot of his bed. At a loss, his hands rose to fidget with his collar instead, gaze straying back to the angular shape of the mirror.
He looked much too pale.
Resting hadn‘t helped. Eating had only made him feel ill. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t dissuade this strange affliction. There was no way to erase it, no way to fix it, and soon enough, his concerns had settled into sullen acceptance. After all, there was no reason to dwell on yet another unusual dilemma -- the day had proved surreal enough already. He’d woken late that morning, an unusually vivid dream still clawing at his clearing thoughts. In it, he’d been wandering aimlessly through a hushed night, the massive slope of the field rustling before him, the castle so small and harmless behind him. An elegant curve of darkness had clung to his side, and he’d been sure it was his shadow, come to play, to lead him wherever he was meant to go, but vibrant colors bled through the swell of black: snow white, rose red, and when he turned, he saw that it was not a shadow at all but Rue. There was no light, but she moved with ease. There was no ballroom, but still she danced with such startling grace that it stole his breath away. She held out a hand to him, a hand that was not a hand at all, but something strange, something unfamiliar, and still, he reached to take it. Warmth overtook him, and he found himself drowning in it, drowning in the blood-red sheen of her jewel, glowing, glowing…
And then he’d woken.
It had certainly been a strange dream, he’d admitted to himself, the intense emotions he’d experienced within it almost seeming to still linger in the low of his chest -- but a dream nonetheless, and therefore not something to dwell on.
At least, he hadn’t until a shaken servant informed him that it had not been a mere dream.
The young woman had knocked on his door not an hour later, and with a shaky voice, proceeded to tell him what had happened. Just after nightfall, she’d been woken by an urgent knock at her door, and answered it only to find one of the knights standing there, Mytho’s unconscious form slumped over his back. As he carefully slid the still body off his shoulders and set it against her doorway, he’d told her that a woman had attempted to harm the prince just outside the castle walls, and for her to make sure he was taken care of. Then, the young man had run off, disappearing down the nearest stairwell before she could even think to call after him. Not wanting to cause a needless panic, she’d fetched a few other quiet servants, and together, they had carried Mytho to his room and made sure any injuries were cared for before departing.
Startled, he’d asked her for the name of the knight, hoping to discover any other crucial details about this apparent attack through him, but she admitted that it had been dark, and she had not been able to glimpse his face clearly.
Thus, he was left only with the vague notion that something odd had happened to him the night before. Mytho racked his brain for any semblance of a memory, but he could only remember roaming the countless hallways of the castle. After that, there was nothing but the strange, unthinking chaos of his dream. But then again…what had been a dream, and what was real?
Tired of his reflection, he turned away. The crown was waiting for him, and he dropped down on the bed, taking it up once more, etched metal cold against his fingertips.
There was no time to linger on such impossible questions now. The ball was to begin shortly, and he had to focus all his attention on such a momentous event. After all, Ahiru was to be at his side today. He would dance only with his princess, help her to prove her worth to all those who dared to doubt her, and their future would be set in stone once and for all. What could be better?
His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door creaked open, and one of the servants slipped halfway inside: a young woman of short brown hair and unusual height. In her hand, she gripped a folded letter, the royal seal clamped around its crisp edges.
“I’m sorry to bother you, your highness,” she stammered, and did not enter the room any further, apparently preferring to remain poised in the doorway, “but the princess asked me to deliver this letter to you at once. She told me it was of the utmost importance.”
Mytho couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at that. What could Ahiru have to tell him that couldn’t wait until they saw one another within the hour at the ball?
He couldn’t find the strength to rise from his seat. Instead, he offered a tired smile and made a gesture for her to open the seal herself. “Thank you, Hermia. Would you please tell me what it says?”
She nodded, fingernails beginning to pick at the edge. “O-Of course, if that’s what you want! Let’s see…”
After a brief moment, she managed to pry the sheet of paper open. Her eyes traced each line with the utmost care, expression shifting fluidly from one of confusion to one of worry as she moved down the page.
“Her highness says,” she began, once her gaze had passed the signature scrawled along the bottom, “that she is very sorry, but that her plans for this evening have changed. She cannot make an appearance at the ball until after nightfall, it seems.”
Mytho was upright at once upon hearing that. “Are you sure?”
Hermia gave a frantic nod before continuing. “It says that she has found a way to overcome her allergy, but to do so, that she mustn’t be present when the sun is out. It says…it says that she is very sorry, but that you must stall the festivities as best you can until she arrives, and that hopefully, it will be worth it if you can do so.” Her eyes dropped clean off the page, and she warily met his gaze. “That’s all.”
Mytho found himself at a loss, countless confusing thoughts swelling in the back of his mind. She had found a way to overcome her allergy? Was such an amazing thing even possible? If it somehow was, there was still the troublesome question of explaining her absence yet again to a crowd of frustrated partygoers. The sun wouldn’t set for a least a few more hours! How would he ever be able to ---
He took a deep breath, commanding all the chaos within him to calm at once. He couldn’t resort to useless panic. Yes, the whole situation sounded rather incredible, and yes, it would be difficult to explain why she was delayed -- but Ahiru asked this of him, and he would not let her down.
He would trust her.
“Thank you,” he said, mustering up the brightest smile he could manage. “Please tell her that I will do my best. But before you go,” he added, and held out his crown, “would you mind helping me with this?”
Hermia, though taken off-guard by the strange request, moved into the room and took the priceless object from him all the same, lifting up on her tiptoes as she positioned it gently on his head.
“H-How’s that?” She stammered after a long moment.
Mytho regarded his reflection in the mirror, and his forced smile briefly blossomed into a genuine one. “Perfect,” he said. “Thank you. You’re the only one who could help me with that, Hermia.”
The young woman curtsied, then took her leave, letter still crumpled in one hand.
Still, he did not stray from the mirror’s glinting shape. With another breath, he took a few hushed seconds to adjust the jutting folds of his cuffs, the dip of his collar. Every detail had to be perfect. Every moment had to proceed without a hint of flaw. Yes, he realized, pretending not to notice when his smile dared to falter. There was no time to dwell on an irrelevant past, however recent it may prove to be.
The door still sat ajar, and with heavy steps, he went to it, already able to hear a steady swell of laughter, a grand flourish of music as the ballroom below him filled with newfound life.
His future was calling.
- - -
The ball was still well within its first hour, an amiable air resting comfortably over the festivities. New arrivals were still filtering in, faces appeared fresh and kind as friends greeted friends, as lovers basked thoughtlessly in the room’s comforting warmth, but already, cracks amidst all the pleasantness could be glimpsed. Some lingered near the walls of the room, tossing anxious looks towards the entrances. Whispers, once harmless, were beginning to gain weight as they passed from ear to ear, a dark undercurrent that threatened to taint the entire room.
Fakir, meanwhile, was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.
He’d arrived early after yet another attempt at sleeping within his quarters had proven useless. Now, though, as he leaned against a far wall, a fair distance from all the chaos, he couldn’t help but drift off.
Stop, he ordered himself upon jerking awake for the third time, and with a grunt, pulled himself upright. This was no time to be napping, of all pointless things. He had to be prepared for whatever would happen tonight, he was quick to remind himself, fingertips grazing the firm hilt of his sword.
He should have forced himself to sleep earlier. He’d had time both before and after the trip into town, had laid in his bed and willed his eyes to shut, his breathing to calm -- but too many thoughts had crowded within his head during those quiet moments, making it short of impossible. There were memories of the night before, the forest endless around him as he wandered through the night, calling out a name that only echoed meaninglessly back at him. Memories of late after the last ball, wrapping the little duck’s hurt wing with the utmost care, not wishing to scare it. Memories of -- her scars, ravens screeching, claws ripping into her back, blood, so much blood --
His chest heaved, and he steadied a hand against it, willing the image to disappear. No, he thought, his breathing ragged. He would not relive it again.
Eager to find something that would distract him, he cast a tired glance around the vast room. There was Mytho, at the other side, chatting pleasantly with an eager group of nobles. He didn’t seem strongly affected or hindered by what had transpired the night before, and Fakir was glad for it.
Now, there was only…
“-- and he said that it can keep me human for an entire night,” Ahiru laughed, cradling the strangely-shaped pendant in one careful hand as they walked the meandering path back to the castle. “Now, no one will think there’s something wrong with me! Isn’t that wonderful, Fakir?”
He’d wanted to call her an idiot at that point, for trusting so blindly in the words of strangers, for believing that magic really existed in such a bleak world. But the words hadn’t come for some strange reason, and he’d merely nodded in response, still wondering how he’d gone from being the barest of acquaintances to her closest confidant in the span of a single day.
So be it. He would wait and see what developed as the night wore on. If something should go awry with her supposed magic, he thought, his calloused hand gripping to his sword yet again, he would be ready for it.
“Here you are.”
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, lips grazing the low of his cheek. He turned, startled, only to meet Raetsel’s gaze, her thin hand curling against her mouth in order to muffle a laugh. Her gown, an elaborate flourish of white and soft blue, rustled around her.
“Raetsel,” he said, unable to hide his surprise. “I thought you were still ill.”
She shook her head, brunette ringlets trembling against her eyelashes. “I’ve been well for almost four days now. Charon’s still worried that I may not be able to handle all this excitement, but I think I‘ll manage.” She smiled, voice taking on a teasing tone as she continued. “You would know that if you visited us once in a while…”
“I’ve been busy,” Fakir muttered in response, gaze drifting to the floor. “I have duties, you know.”
“We know that,” she said gently. “Charon worries about you, though. He says you seem troubled --”
“It‘s nothing,” he interjected, a little sharper than he meant to. “It shouldn’t concern him, or you. I’m fine.”
Raetsel’s smile faded, but she didn’t press the matter any further, heaving a soft sigh instead. “Well, I hope to see you soon, nonetheless. It would be nice to catch up, don’t you think?”
Fakir glanced to her, uttering a sigh of his own before nodding. “I’ll come within the week.”
The ballroom was beginning to grow crowded, rushes of violent color brimming on every stretch of floor. The musicians were in place, broken notes vibrating through the air as they tuned their instruments. A few couples had already begun to spin wildly in one another’s arms, voices thick with song and laughter. Still, the anxiousness within the room had become almost palpable, more and more curious guests crowding around Mytho as they no doubt asked him the same question as countless others before them.
“The princess is meant to make an appearance tonight, isn’t she?” Raetsel asked, eyes bright as they wandered amidst all the vibrant sights the ball had to offer.
“Supposedly,” Fakir answered.
“I wonder where she is,” she pondered, fingertip pressed to her pursed lips. “Perhaps they’re trying to make a surprise of the whole event. Wouldn‘t that be exciting?”
A group of women called to Raetsel, then, eager arms all raised and waving her over. With one last brief kiss on his cheek and a promise that she would make his favorite dish should he come for dinner before the week was up, she hurried to join them, and Fakir was left alone once more.
A surprise, he thought, and couldn’t help but press a hand to his furrowing brow, hoping that wouldn’t be the case.
He’d already weathered more than enough surprises that day.
- - -
It was almost time.
She touched the tip of one wing to the windowpane, her breathing harsh as her body settled against the stone sill. The glass bore several careless smudges, each image within it reduced to spiraling blurs of color, but she managed to make some sense of the view. The vast ballroom was filled with nobles and villagers alike, all dressed in their most elaborate formalwear, but nowhere did she see any dancing taking place. There was no music, only shrill trails of notes tearing through all the meaningless chatter as the band practiced.
An unusually dense throng lingered near the front of the room, and the sight struck a chord of pleasant familiarity within her. She had glimpsed the same sight of angry guests, demanding to know when their worthless princess would at last make her appearance, when she’d arrived at the first ball.
Their princess wouldn‘t be coming at all, and if Rue had been in possession of human lips at that moment, she would have smirked at the thought.
She waited. The sun’s descent was a painfully deliberate one, but she did her best to bear such gravity, gaze held within the ballroom, watching for any unwelcome developments. None arose. The music remained stagnant and poor. Groups thinned, more and more blurring figures hurrying to join the crowd swelling at the helm of the room.
At last, light seeped away from the horizon. She still held one wing against the glass and watched with eager eyes as the dark feathers trembled, as the arched shape of a palm and several seizing joints tore free from their embrace. Fingertips danced along the windowpane now, and she relished the sensation of cold glass against bare skin.
Tonight would mark her last appearance in this land, and her changing body shivered with desperate anticipation. She would drink in every last gasp of warmth and joy within the vast ballroom. She would bask in all the wonder that countless naïve partygoers would not hesitate to offer in her presence. She would dance with the prince yet again, and when the festivities inevitably slowed to a halt, she would enchant him, lead him far away from all those troublesome witnesses yet again, and then --
Both hands pressed flat to the curve of her chest. A quickening heartbeat echoed against the lines of her palms, such an intense sensation that a few long nails dug deep within her wrist. Thin blotches of blood formed, pricks of pain twitching along the broken skin, and for some reason, the sensation comforted her. She had wondered from time to time if she still had the capacity for human pain.
She couldn’t bring herself to pretend that ripping out the prince’s heart would be an easy task. He was kind, warm, so gentle against the callous lines of her body. Something unfamiliar had stirred deep within as they had danced that endless night, when he’d so graciously given her a name of her own. The Raven had never bothered, and to receive such a wondrous gift , to hear him speak it with such breathless beauty, with such a warm smile, she had felt ---
She shook her head. Her limbs had begun to tremble, and she stretched them out against the rough stone of the windowsill. The elegant shapes of her arms unfolded, outlined by infant moonlight. She brought one back to rest against her, hand moving to fit against the shape of her neck, the soft skin of her face.
Feelings meant nothing. If she did this, her life would suffer no more misfortune. She would be free.
She would do anything if it meant being human always.
A harsh screech interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced up only to watch as a familiar raven landed on her shoulder, wings ruffled, claws sharp and still stained with aged blood. With a smirk, she ran a gentle finger down the curve of its chest, other hand settling against the harsh shape of her jewel.
“So,” she murmured, eyes bright, “shall we begin?”
- - -
Ahiru was scared.
The ballroom floor spread out before her quivering feet like an ocean, ready to drown her the moment she dared an innocent step onto it. The lights were so bright and countless vibrant colors shimmered in her wide eyes as gown after gown spiraled past her, and oh, how she longed to join it --
-- but she couldn’t bring herself to take that final step just yet, no matter how hard she tried. With a sigh, she shuffled backwards into the shadows of the darkening hallway once more, nearly tripping on the fringe of her skirt.
Everything would be fine, she wanted to insist to herself for the thousandth time, but in all honesty, she hadn’t the faintest clue how the evening would proceed past this breathless moment. Would the night be perfect, just as Drosselmeyer had promised? Would all her problems really be solved so simply?
She glanced down. The swan-shaped pendant rested against the curve of her neck, and with one careful hand, she cradled it, stone and metal warm against her trembling palm.
Could she really count on a miracle?
Dissenting voices within the ballroom swelled, and Ahiru cast a wary glance towards a far window. The sun’s fading light had finally ebbed away, leaving only a deep, swirling blue on the horizon. Already, the all-too familiar sensations were snaking its way through her limbs. Face settling into a look of determination, she touched both hands to the smooth body of the swan.
If this was her only chance, so be it.
And with one last deep breath, one final, silent prayer that everything would turn out alright, she gripped the pendant hard.
- - -
A/N: Looooooooong~ D: D: D: Sorry about that! I at least hope that it was rather interesting, and makes up for my ridiculous absence for so long~ DX As for when the next chapter will be, I really can't make any promises, either. Just know that it will come eventually, and hopefully a LOT sooner than this one did. XD;;;
Comments are appreciated~ <3 It'd be nice to hear from those of you who are still out there. XD;;
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