beyondfate

beyondfate — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 19:52:08 GMT

~

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;;

- - -

~

beyondfate — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 19:51:08 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Seven ~ 18,600 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six, Part One] [Chapter Six, Part Two]
Summary: Morning comes, and Ahiru, having to face both her secret and her fears, makes a choice that will change everything. Meanwhile, the second ball is about to begin.

A/N:: ...HAHA, WOW. XD;;; I don't even know what to say about how ridiculously long it has been since an update. I think the last installment was put up in March? I FAIL. Long story short: I've just been really busy with school and moving and work and drama and a bunch of other little things. I hope there are still some people out there who are interested in what happens next?

Anyway, this chapter is HUGE, and you'll probably need to pack a lunch before starting in, but I hope it makes up for the hiatus. This starts from where the second part of Chapter Six left off, obviously, so it might be a good idea to skim over that one first if you've forgotten what happened? XD;;;

- - -

A violent roar tore through the water’s surface, crumbling the edges of the bank. Cracks and scars riddled scretches of earth. Innocent animals had fled the clearing long ago. Only ravens remained, watching from their perches, wings swelled with palpable excitement.

A violent breath fled her lips. She could not bring herself to move closer and steadied against a tree instead as if it might somehow hide her from his wrath.

“Please,” she started, her fingertips curled against her trembling lips, “don’t be angry with me.”

The ground beneath her trembled. She gripped both palms tight against the trunk and held on, feet smudged a coarse black by the dirt.

“Forgive me,” she cried out, “I did not know you were in such pain!”

The ravens screeched high above her, and it sounded like laughter, like a thousand cruel voices mocking her misfortune. The sound cut into her bare skin like blades, and with a worn frown, she approached the pond despite her fear, unwilling to allow such simple creatures any further pleasure.

His familiar eyes greeted her own, forming twisting slits with each breath he took.

“I want to leave this place,” he growled. “This prison has become unbearable. I do not remember what it is to be free any longer.”

“I understand so well,“ she murmured, her thick curls of hair sinking deep within the water as she leaned closer. “You should be free --”

“Then why do you fail me so easily? Once more, I am forced to look upon your wretched face, and you have not even the prince’s heart to offer in compensation. Were such intentions somehow unclear to you? Are you so worthless that even the promise of your own freedom fails to rouse you?”

“I tried. I did, honestly…”

“Have you cast aside my gift? I bathed that jewel within my own flesh and blood; gave selflessly of myself for you and you alone. Are you disrespectful of such a sacrifice?

“No, I would never! I used your gift, just as you told me to, and the prince was easily mine.” She laid one hand against the curve of the jewel and grimaced when it pulsed, a hungry beat that trembled against every line of her palm. “There was…interference, though.”

“Of what sort?”

“One of the knights, he wrenched the prince away from me, and -- and I am so grateful for your gift, but it gives me no strength against a weapon.”

The water rippled with a harsh breath. Her tired limbs trembled, and anxious, she curled both feet beneath her body. The corners of her mouth sunk downward as a memory resurfaced.

“She was there as well.”

The surface of the pond stilled. Her broken reflection became whole, revealing a gentle image of her face. Short of breath, she touched a few fingertips to the curve of one cheek, watching as the movement was mirrored beneath her. Her face. Oh, how it hurt to know that such a soft touch would not linger for much longer.

His voice silenced such thoughts.

“You saw her,” he said, and sounded almost pleasant. “Our worthless princess, before your very eyes. It has been a long time.”

“It has,” she murmured, her hands twisting within one another. The meeting had been brief, but the memories were almost harsh in their vibrancy: a desperate voice, a hand on her wrist, flashes of red and blue. The duck, so very small. That form seemed to have not aged a day, and such a realization had proven unsettling, if only for the briefest of moments. “She seemed not to remember me.”

“Of course not,” he answered, and she met his blood-colored eyes. “That cowardly child never cared for you. She may have seemed your friend, but such kindness was a lie. When the chance for salvation came --”

“She left me to rot,” she interjected, and the words settled like a trail of ice along her lips, “and I will never forgive such cruelty.”

His easy breath fanned across her face. “When I am free, she will know pain as you have known it. Let that be your comfort.”

She could only nod. Above her, the ravens cried out into the dying night, a graceless symphony of sound that pricked at the low of her neck.

“I will forgive your worthlessness this time, but my mercy runs thin. Return to the kingdom and do as you’ve promised me, or you will live as a wretched prisoner to the end of your days. I will make sure of it.”

Her body gave a vicious heave, but nonetheless, she bent into a bow, her forehead pressed to the cold earth. “Thank you.”

She rose up, looking towards the sky, brimming with sudden color. Already, light had begun to grasp impatiently at the tips of the trees. Already, she could feel the prick of feathers along her limbs. Could time not still its path a moment more?

A sudden weight on her shoulder startled her, and she turned only to see a familiar raven perched there -- the one who had aided her in dismantling the guards. Its eyes were sharp. Its talons still bore streaks of dried blood.

“They will aid you.”

The treetops bled red, a thousand pairs of glinting eyes flooding through the leaves. They took to the sky in a rush of feathers, their bodies sweeping in irrational circles overhead.

“You’ve gathered them,” she breathed, unable to look away.

“It has been years,” her master said, his voice the most vicious of growls, “but I long for the fragrant scent of blood. Let it coat the land once more.”

The ravens answered in deafening union, and the sky was blotted out by a wave of black.

- - -

Something was tickling her nose.

That was Ahiru’s first hazy thought upon waking. With a groan, she batted a hand close to her face in an attempt to brush whatever it was away, but the sensation lingered. Her thoughts still fuzzy with sleep, she snuggled further beneath her blanket, brow furrowing.

Uzura, I’m trying to sleep! Please ask Miss Edel if I can have five more minutes. Only five more minutes, I promise…

The strange touch just wouldn’t go away, though, and she managed to convince her heavy eyelids to lift. Five more minutes wasn’t unreasonable, not at all…

The thought quickly derailed. Traces of sleep seeping away, her wide-open eyes saw neither the soft color of her ceiling nor the smiling face of a familiar, drum-bearing little girl. Instead, in every direction was the same bright shade of green.

Leaves?

They rustled as a warm breeze blew though. A few with sharp edges drifted across the low of her cheek, and as a reflex, she rose a hand to bat them away yet again only to see as it passed before her eyes that it was not a hand at all, but a yellow wing.

A quick glance at the rest of her form confirmed the troubling news -- that she was still a duck.

Okay, don’t panic, don’t panic, she insisted to herself, but it took every ounce of effort she could muster up to keep calm. Both wings trembled as her thoughts raced, a frantic hum in the back of her head. What had happened? What time was it? Where was she!? Surely, this had to be some sort of strange dream. Any moment now, she would be waking up in her bed, having a nice laugh about this whole incident. Any moment now…

She cast a wary glance upwards. The leaves were thick, but Ahiru could glimpse a few pockets of brightening sky amidst them. She had endured enough anxious mornings to easily recognize when sunrise was coming.

With a deep breath, she tried to take a step only to utter a sharp “quack!” as the soft floor beneath her sagged. Startled, she looked down, pressing her webbed feet carefully against the fabric gathered beneath her. A familiar pattern of embroidery stretched in all directions, but only after turning and noticing the gaping shape of the neck hole did Ahiru see it was her dress. It must have been what she’d mistaken for a blanket, she realized, heaving a sigh upon noticing how crumpled and smudged the material had become. It wasn‘t really that big of a surprise. After all, she’d tripped so many times the night before, what with everything that had…

“You -- you can’t go with her, Mytho!”

“You’re pathetic, and I expected so much better.”

“Ahiru!”

The memories, misplaced until that moment, hit her hard with such a sudden weight that she tumbled flat onto her back. She took a deep breath, then another.

That was right. The night before seeped back in as a violent rush of voices and colors that Ahiru did her best to make some sense of. The woman in black had returned -- the swan, she remembered with a sharp breath -- and the memory was so vibrant that she could not bring herself to believe it had only been a dream. She’d tried to lead Mytho away into the forest, but Fakir had managed to stop her. She’d fled, then, running within the forest’s dark edge without even a hint of hesitation, and Ahiru, in turn, had…

She lifted one wing over her head, sighing at the sight of dirtied feathers. How could she have been so stupid? How had running blindly into the forest, of all places, and chasing a stranger ever seemed like a good idea? Not to mention how she hadn’t even bothered to consider the time in all the commotion! Honestly, where had her head been!?

She was cursed too.

That was all Ahiru needed to remember in order for her frantic thoughts to fall silent, for her sighs to soften into shallow breaths, echoing in the air all around her.

The dark-haired woman may have acted cold and cruel -- and may have had dark intentions, even -- but that didn’t change the simple fact that she was another human who took the form of a bird. After so many years of being convinced that she carried such a strange burden alone, Ahiru had somehow managed to come face to face with someone plagued by the same ailment. In that desperate moment of realization, she’d cast aside all other concerns, overwhelmed by the need to know more.

And despite how she struggled to tell herself otherwise, Ahiru knew she would do so again in a heartbeat.

That wasn’t all. The look that fluttered across the woman‘s face, if only briefly, had been one of clear recognition, and she had spoken as if she knew her. But what she said had been so hateful, so…

“You always were so very good at abandoning others, though.”

What could it mean? Was it all just another distant memory, lost somewhere in the depths of her mind? Had she hurt the swan-woman, done something unforgivable to her all those years ago?

Ahiru wished she knew.

She hoisted her little body upright once more, the fabric of her dress crumpling beneath her as she stumbled down to the dirt ground. Sharp-edged leaves scratched at the wide curves of her face, and despite the twinges of pain, she shoved her head clean through the bush and cast a wary glance at the scenery. The forest looked much more innocent in the dim light of dawn; monsters revealed to be weary trees and grasping claws little more than branches, rattling in the breeze. The clearing, a mere patch of torn grass, rested a breath away.

She would have to think more about it later, Ahiru reluctantly decided. The remainder of the night lingered in the undercurrent of her thoughts, and she forced it to the forefront at once, hoping that it would offer her some sort of clue as to what she should do next. After the swan-woman had run off, Fakir’s footsteps had only grown louder and louder, at one point so deafening that she was convinced he only stood a breath or two away from her hiding place. The fear of what would happen if her empty clothing was discovered had kept her from daring a look, though, and so she’d merely buried herself in the fabric and waited as shouts of her name echoed for some time after. Eventually, the sound quieted, then vanished altogether, leaving only the unfamiliar creaks and moans of the forest, so frightening that she couldn’t bear to open her eyes once more. Instead, she’d snuggled deeper within her warm dress, and somehow, she must have drifted off…

Had he eventually gone back to the castle? Was everyone already informed of her sudden disappearance? Could countless knights and guards already be gathering up their weapons this very moment, poised and prepared to comb every inch of the forest until she was finally found?

Would anyone even care?

The thought struck without warning, and her breath grew cold for the briefest of moments.

Of course -- of course they would care! Her mind was quick to smother the painful question, her beak trembling as she uttered a few laughing quacks. What a silly idea! There were lots of people who’d be worried for sure, like Miss Edel and Uzura and Pique and Lillie. And even if some people still thought her scared or strange, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t sincerely hope she was unharmed, right?

Right!

Determined to not consider it a moment longer, Ahiru busied her mind instead with countless possibilities of what to do next. The hazy warmth of dawn was quickly gathering at the tips of each treetop, which meant there had to only be a handful of minutes left before she would change back. Of course she would pull on her dress the instant it happened and hurry to the castle -- but what would she say? That she’d merely gotten lost and wondered in the forest all night, unable to find her way back without any sunlight to lead her? Or -- oh! Maybe she had run into a tree and hit her head hard enough to knock her unconscious, and that was why she didn’t respond to shouts of her name! That was certainly believable enough!

Anxious to begin her wonderful plan, Ahiru gathered up a corner of her dress in her mouth and tugged at it gently, hoping to at least smooth out some of the wrinkles before she pulled it back on. It could be washed, of course, but she just hoped the material hadn’t torn on a sharp branch. It was one of her favorites --

The innocent thought was intruded on -- then quickly drowned out -- by the echo of footsteps.

Ahiru stiffened, struggling to convince herself that it was only in her imagination and that her head was supplying memories of familiar noises so that the forest didn’t seem so silent and scary. Still the noise continued, mixed with the gentle crunch of leaves and snapping twigs. Someone was approaching from deeper within the forest.

Muffling a quack with one wing, she dove back into the center of the bush and burrowed deep within the crooked shape of her dress. Who would be walking around in the forest now? Had the swan-woman returned?

The sound swelled to a loud pitch, and without warning, a shadow of two legs cast a shadow against the clearing. The steps stopped, and whomever it was remained in the clearing, their ragged breathing the only sound left. Ahiru blinked a few times, poking her head out from the mess of fabric. That didn’t sound like the woman‘s voice…

It took a few moments of intense convincing, but eventually, Ahiru managed to gather up enough courage to dare a look. Wriggling free of her dress, she took a handful of deliberate steps to the edge of the bush, making sure to keep both wings flat against her sides so as not to cause a rustling sound. With one last fervent prayer that it wasn’t some kind of monster or anything equally terrifying, she gently poked the tip of her head through the leaves --

-- only for the hazy air she’d just inhaled to catch in her throat as Fakir, of all people, stepped just a breath away from her, his back turned, one hand clutched tight to the sword clasped at his side.

What was he doing out here now? Hadn’t he -- hadn’t he gone back to the castle the night before!?

At a loss, she could only watch. With a harsh twist of his torso, the knight looked back the way he’d came, then towards the front once more, his neck strained, his shoulders heaving. His lips parted, but pursed shut just as quickly, and a string of curses was all he muttered. After a few weak steps, he reached the edge of the clearing and slumped down against a thick tree.

Ahiru nudged her beak a little further through the leaves, watching with careful eyes as he rested his elbows against his knees, catching his chin in both open hands. He looked so tired, she thought while catching a glimpse of his face: eyes dark, mouth thin. Almost as if he’d…

She blinked, a new thought coming to mind.

Had Fakir been out here all night looking for her?

She shifted another inch further from the bush, finding it hard to see with so many leaves crowding around. His palms twitched against his neck and face, heels leaving shifting imprints in the dirt. Countless times, he lifted his head to face the maze of trees around him, mouth opening wide as though he meant to call out, but each time, he muttered a harsh curse instead and allowed his balled fists to scrape against the ground. Her name, Ahiru’s mind was quick to supply. He was trying to call out to her, trying to find her, and the thought inexplicably burrowed deep in her throat, making it hard to breathe for a moment.

But why!? Why would he have stayed so long out in this scary forest all by himself? Why wouldn’t he have gone back to the castle and gotten help? It didn’t make sense!

It’d only been a minute or two since he’d first sat down, but Fakir was already rising again, gritting his teeth as his body swayed uncertainly for a moment then straightened once more. He stepped towards the other side of the clearing, to an area that Ahiru couldn’t glimpse, and she moved without thinking, unwilling to lose sight of him -- only to nearly let loose a shrill ’quack!’ as something dragged her backwards. A branch had snagged under her bandage. Blinking, she tried to pull free, but the fabric remained caught. A firmer tug, then, but this time, a spasm of pain shot through her wing, so sudden that she couldn’t help but cry out. The cut she’d suffered the past week may have already healed, but the branch still stuck against the spot, clawing at the scar strewn there. The leaves around her shook in senseless unison as she kept tugging, willing it to let go, let go --

It didn’t. Instead, a hand appeared from overhead with its dirt-stained fingertips gently pulling at the bandage. “You again,” a voice muttered, and she turned her head only to find herself engulfed by Fakir’s shadow. He crouched beside the bush, his calloused palm brushing against the curve of her wing as he tore the stubborn branch loose. Suddenly free, Ahiru stumbled into his knee and looked up with wide eyes as he managed a weak smile.

“So you managed to survive after all.”

Even his voice was hoarse, as though he‘d been calling out all night long -- but it wasn’t the time to think about that, Ahiru remembered, painfully aware of her crumpled dress resting only a few brief feet away. It was one thing that he’d found her hiding place, but if he found her clothes…

With a few shrill quacks, she stumbled out from the bush, praying that his attention would follow her. It did. He shifted both knees, watching as she ran into the clearing with her wings held high. The bandage had been torn from its snag on the branch and began to unravel onto the grass.

“Looks like your injury‘s healed,” he muttered, and reached out to gather the fallen edge of the bandage. His hand was warm against her feathers, and without thinking, she nudged her head closer. The wind had been cold the night before, she insisted to herself, but that didn’t stop a gentle flush from gathering along her cheeks when he petted her head. It was nice, to catch a glimpse of Fakir’s softer side again, even if he wouldn’t stay this way.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tug around her body, and Ahiru found herself unexpectedly lifted into the air, gathered in the crook of Fakir’s arm as he stood. At once, he was off with her in tow, walking so quickly that she only had enough time to cast a bewildered glance back at the clearing before it was swallowed up in gnarled trees.

“I’ll remove the bandage. After a wash, it should be fine.” He shook his head. “This is useless, anyway,” he muttered, voice so quiet that Ahiru barely heard the words. “I’ll have to tell them that she -- that I --”

He didn’t say anything more after that and merely threw a tired glance upwards. Ahiru followed his gaze and stiffened at the sight. Shreds of blue sky were woven amidst all the green. Weak, warm threads of light had already gathered at the leafy tips of each treetop.

Sunrise?

And then the tremendous gravity of where she was, who she was with, and what would be happening very shortly collapsed down on her in one shrill moment.

How did she keep forgetting about her curse so easily!? Not just now, but the night before as well! It wasn’t some silly game, it was serious, very, very serious, and she couldn’t keep letting important details like time slip from her thoughts. She had to stay focused! Besides, she’d hardly made such awful mistakes like this before…

Okay, so maybe before, she hadn’t been dealing with things like knights searching for her in scary forests and princes leaving the castle with frightening strangers and black swans who were actually girls who were actually cursed too --- but still! She had to focus!

The trees were beginning to thin as light fell in thicker and thicker waves upon their hushed forms. Fuzzy glimpses of green in the distance grew clear, and soon enough, Ahiru found herself and Fakir already poised at the edge of the forest with a stretch of familiar grass before them. The castle stood on the slope of the hill, a mere shape of grey in the hazy morning air.

Fakir didn’t waste any time, and he set out across the field in the direction of his quarters with strides brisk and deliberate. All the while, Ahiru couldn’t keep her wings from trembling as she cast anxious glances down at the ground; matted grass passed under her so swiftly that a wave of dizziness nearly overtook her. Don’t panic, she insisted to herself. Any second now, she would simply leap out of his arms and duck beneath the grass until he‘d gone. After all, escaping had gone smoothly enough that frightening morning after the ball, she was quick to remind herself. Of course there was nothing to worry about!

Fakir reached a dip in the field, stumbling briefly, and Ahiru realized that this was her chance. She pressed her feet hard to the crooked shape of his arm, and with a deep breath, ruffled her feathers and jumped, bracing herself for the impact --

Fakir reached a dip in the field, stumbling briefly, and Ahiru realized that this was her chance. She pressed her feet hard to the crooked shape of his arm, and with a deep breath, ruffled her feathers and jumped, bracing herself for the impact --

-- only to let loose a strangled “quack!” when she was yanked back.

Blinking furiously, she glanced up at Fakir, but he didn’t even seem to have done anything, much less noticed her plan, as his eyes were rigidly focused forward while he walked. A dull panic beginning to bubble deep in her stomach, she shifted her little body, glancing around for something, anything, that could have…

Her wing. The tip of it was pressed flat in the gasp of space between his chest and arm, and wiggling it was no help. She tugged a few frantic times, but the hold refused to loosen. Even nipping at the bare skin above his sleeve did nothing. Fakir merely took a breath, his grip around her tightening.

Faced with another situation, Ahiru would probably have resorted to laughing by now, as she usually did when things looked bleak in the hopes that it would raise her spirits. In this particular instance, however, Ahiru couldn’t find the strength to even muster a breath, much less a giggle. Ribbons of warm light were flooding the dew-soaked curves of the field, grasping greedily at her form as they struggled to catch up. She could glimpse the sun, a blinding rim against the slope of the land. And her feathers, she realized, eyes widening. They were beginning to tickle…

She resorted to blind panic.

At once, Ahiru exploded, kicking and struggling, quacking so loudly that it surely seeped within every dream in the kingdom. Fakir finally took notice, his eyebrows arching as he struggled to hold on.

“Hey, hey,” was all he muttered, palms firm against her little body. He was too strong, she realized in horror. If he didn’t let go…

With a harsh sigh, he effortlessly pulled her back against his elbow, holding her still as they finally reached his home, the slanted door creaking as he yanked it open. She cast one last hopeless glance back at the brightening sky as it vanished from view and the door shut behind them with a resounding thud.

The next few moments were little more than a blur to Ahiru. She knew what was going to happen, knew there was no way out this time, but still, she shut her eyes tight, desperately willing her body to stay the same, only for a few more moments, just a little longer. Despite her best efforts, however, there was the same rush of familiar sensations, -- dizziness, warmth, pain -- overtaking her with ease. The pull of gravity took effect as she grew heavier. She heard the sound of someone catching their breath, felt a stiff arm instinctively wrap under her legs so as to catch her, and then --

-- silence.

She couldn’t bring herself to dare a look. What had happened? Had she somehow managed the impossible!?

With a hasty breath, she finally creaked one eye open, but no, Ahiru only saw the familiar curves of her human form. Her small hands, fingers twitching as they settled helplessly against her stomach. The swell of her knees --

-- and Fakir above her, eyes wide; still holding in both arms her suddenly larger, suddenly naked body.

Neither moved. He seemed frozen, arms rigid against the low of her back, a vibrant shade of red flooding his face. Ahiru could only bring both arms tight against her chest with a similar blush, lips parting just wide enough to utter a few hoarse words.

“Um…I…”

There was a knock at the door so suddenly that her stuttering erupted into a full-blown screech.

“QUA-mmph!”

Another knock, more urgent.

Ahiru held both palms firm against her lips, and without another sound, slipped out of Fakir’s arms and stumbled across the room, ducking behind the bed.

“Fakir,” an angry voice called, and the knight barely managed to blink, shaking his head as he turned to answer it. A disgruntled young man stood there, half-dressed, his hair still mussed with sleep.

“What’s all the noise about? It’s barely dawn, for chrissakes,” he muttered with a thick yawn. “With all that screeching, you’d think you had a wild animal in there.”

He moved so as to catch a glimpse inside the house, but Fakir was quick to block his view, positioning himself firmly in the doorway. “It’s nothing,” he managed to say, mouth settling into a dark line. “An accident. That‘s all.”

The man arched a disbelieving eyebrow, but shrugged all the same, turning out to face the field already drenched in infant sunlight. “Just keep it quiet, okay? I have to be on patrol in a few hours, and at this rate, I’ll be falling off my horse --”

The man took off, still muttering under his breath as he trudged back to his own quarters. Fakir closed the door with one rigid pull and turned back in time to watch Ahiru rise up on shaky legs with one of his sheets wrapped around her slight frame.

At a loss for what to do next, Ahiru managed a weak laugh, hugging the material close to her. The silence was uncomfortable, and she proceeded to do what she did best in such situations: fill it. “You see, it’s a funny story -- well, of course it’s funny, I mean, of course a story about being a duck would be funny, don’t you think, because ducks are funny animals and do funny things and this whole accident was just really funny, don’t you think --”

Fakir wasn’t laughing.

“A - a duck?”

He barely managed to choke the words out, a stubborn blush still clinging to the bridge of his nose.

Ahiru adjusted her hold on the sheet, fingers fidgeting along the frayed edges. There was no way out of this, no reasonable explanation she could make up to account for what had just happened. Nothing left to do but tell the truth, she accepted, and took a deep breath.

“W-Well, it’s only at night, but --” Despite her newfound bravery, the last few words couldn’t help but wither away in the low of her throat, and she only managed a sheepish nod as a answer.

“How can you --” Fakir started at once, voice thick, only to stop short with a sudden rush of realization flickering across his face. “The night of the ball,” he said, eyes widening. “That was…”

“Me,” she squeaked with another nod, and brandished her arm as proof, the bandage half-unraveled around the curve of her elbow.

Fakir made a strange noise then turned away and steadied himself against the wall with one rigid hand, the other clutched tight to his mouth. Though he was obviously doing his best to make it difficult for her to see, Ahiru could still glimpse a thin slant of his face, and blinked a few hasty times upon seeing that, once again, it was flooded with a flourish of red. She stifled a giggle, beginning to find the whole situation rather silly. Was he embarrassed? Of such a little thing as being kind to a duck?

She dared a few steps into the middle of the room, doing her best to keep from tripping on the edge of the sheet as it fluttered between her legs. “That was very nice, what you did for me that night,” she started, voice careful. “I really --”

“Why didn’t you say anything!?”

He’d turned back already, voice so shrill and angry that Ahiru stumbled back a step, steadying herself against the table. “H-How could I have said something? You don’t speak duck --”

“That’s not what I mean, you idiot --”

“Hey!”

There she’d been, so sure for one brief, shining moment that they could actually carry on a decent conversation. But no, he had to go and ruin it by switching back to his awful self once more. Well, Ahiru thought, an all-too-familiar swell of anger pricking at the low of her chest, she wasn’t going to take that sitting down any longer.

With a few sharp strides, she was directly in front of him, eyes narrowed.

Fakir noticed with a slight jolt and backed away so suddenly that he ran into the table. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Stop that! You always have to be so mean,” Ahiru said, and followed after him. Fakir, in turn, shifted around to the other side, attempting to keep a few breaths of distance between them. “But it’s not going to work anymore, because I know! I know you were worried about me!”

“What are you talking about?”

She wasted no time in hurrying closer to him. He, in turn, shifted to yet another side, and soon enough, they were running around the little table, Ahiru in determined pursuit and Fakir struggling to keep away.

“You were out in the forest all night looking for me, weren’t you!?”

Fakir didn’t say anything for a moment, his mouth unraveling into an uneasy line for the slightest of moments before settling into a frown once again. “I thought you’d been killed, you moron. It’s my duty to keep you safe,” he finally shot back, slowing his pace just long enough to cast a glare at her. “If it wasn’t, then I wouldn’t have bothered!”

“That’s not true! It wasn’t your duty to spend all night in that scary forest! You could have come back to the castle and gotten help, or sent someone else to look instead -- but you didn’t! You stayed, and you looked, because you were worried!”

“I was not, you -- will you stop chasing me!?”

“No,” Ahiru shot back, almost catching him by the sleeve at the corner, only for Fakir to duck away from her grasping hand, “because this is what you always do! Every single time I try to talk to you, you just run away! Well, not this time, because I’m not go-ah!” She stumbled across the corner of her sheet, inadvertently tugging the fabric off her shoulders. She gathered the material up at once with a hoarse giggle, covering her chest, cheeks tinted pink. “Heh, whoops…”

Fakir‘s face regained a healthy shade of crimson. “Can’t you keep that damn thing pulled up!?”

“I’m trying,” she squeaked, still struggling to catch him. “But the point is -- what I want to say is -- ah-hah!”

She rounded the corner -- and skidded to an abrupt stop. Just as she’d suspected, Fakir wasn’t prepared for the halt, and grabbed onto the table in a desperate attempt to keep from slamming into her. Thrown off-balance, he stumbled backwards onto the bed.

Fakir blinked a few hasty times and pulled himself upright just as Ahiru’s shadow collapsed over him. She stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, lips set into a determined line.

“You were nice to me,” she insisted, voice thick, “and I know I was just an animal and you couldn’t tell who I really was and maybe you just hate me or something and that’s why you always call me names and run away when I‘m talking to you and act like a jerk -- but if you can be nice to duck me, then you can find a way to be nice to me me!”

Silence. Short of breath, she uncrossed her arms, clutching both limp hands to the folds of the sheet as she steadied herself. Fakir didn’t say anything and merely looked away, his eyes dark.

If anything, Ahiru thought, at least she had gotten her point across.

“Now,” she said with a sniffle, doing her best to muster up a weak smile, “will you please go get my dress for me?”

- - -

The sheet, messily folded, was returned to the foot of the bed. Ahiru grimaced, struggling to stretch her arms far enough behind her back. She gave up after the fifth try with a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. No matter how hard she tried, her fingers just couldn’t grasp the buttons sewn into the spine of her dress. She supposed it didn’t matter if the back it was left open, though: at least she was wearing actual clothes now. Glancing down at the skirt, she frowned. This had been her favorite gown, but the delicate fabric had been ruined during its long night in the forest, torn by sharp branches, smudged with dirt and grass. Maybe Miss Edel could repair it…

Deciding not to dwell on it any longer, Ahiru slumped into the nearest chair and blinked when a cup was set in front of her.

“Here,” Fakir said, and she glanced up only to see that he’d already turned away from her. “Water.”

Ahiru may have regarded the offer with a stronger curiosity at any other time -- but her throat felt sore and sticky, and she smothered the cup with both eager hands at once. “Thank you,” she chirped, and downed half the cup easily.

He slumped into the other chair across the table from her, silent. After a moment, she dared a brief look up at him. He seemed distracted, half-watching her, half-staring out the window with warm sun painted along each smudged pane. Her lips rose into a fleeting smile. At least he didn’t look angry any longer. And he wasn’t saying anything mean or rude, either! She supposed that was a step in the right direction, if anything.

“How?”

The stark word startled her, and she fumbled with the half-full cup. All of Fakir’s attention was focused on her now, face stoic, one eyebrow quirked.

“W-Well,” she stuttered, fingernails fidgeting against the worn metal as she wondered where to begin. She’d never spoken of the curse to anyone, not out loud, not once. With Miss Edel and Uzura, it had always been something simple, something quiet they’d kept deep within them, so deeply carved into the woodwork of their lives that it had become almost superfluous in discussion. But now…

“I don’t really know how explain it,” she finally managed to say. “I just…change. I mean, it’s only at night -- but it happens every night, always. Ever since I can remember. I think, maybe, it’s some kind of curse, but I don’t --”

“A curse?” Fakir said, a touch of alarm in his voice. “The ravens --”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, “or, at least, I think it was them. But I don’t know anything about it, or how to get rid of it, or what it means or anything. I can’t even remember when it started, so that could mean -- I mean, I know everyone thinks I’m the princess, and it’s not like I don’t think I am, but maybe I’m not, maybe instead of a girl cursed to be a duck, I’m a duck cursed to be a girl, and that means --”

“Anyway,” he sharply interjected, and Ahiru realized, gentle pink spotting her cheeks, that she’d been rambling. Well, it was understandable, she was quick to insist to herself. She’d never had the chance to discuss all of this before, these countless confusing thoughts buried deep down for so long, rattling in the low of her chest like caged birds. It was a relief, almost, to reveal them to someone new.

Fakir placed a hand to his forehead, brow furrowing. “Who else knows?”

“Only my caretaker,” she was quick to answer. “She was the one who took care of me, and so she saw -- and she thought it’d be best to keep it a secret, so…”

His eyes widened somewhat, one eyebrow arching in obvious confusion. Ahiru blinked. “W-What? What did I say?”

“Nothing, it’s just --” he started, pausing briefly before continuing the thought. “Not Mytho?”

The question sunk in, and Ahiru looked down at her lap, fidgeting with the curled end of her braid.

“Well, no. What if he thinks…it’s too strange?” She finally managed to say, voice quiet. “I can’t be his princess like this. Everybody else already thinks I’m awful, and they don’t even know. They’d prefer someone who --”

In one elegant motion, she turned, feathered skirt fluttering around her. Dark feathers. Wings…

A memory brimmed at the surface, vibrant images gathering amidst all the quiet of her other thoughts, and at once, Ahiru straightened, half-lidded eyes opening wide.

“Oh,” she breathed, hands rising so quickly that her knuckles accidentally knocked the cup over, a few thin veins of water settling against the wood. “The woman from last night! She was cursed too!”

Fakir’s expression settled into one of disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“She had wings,” Ahiru was quick to insist, voice stern and sure, “and that’s why I ran after her! I was sure that maybe she could tell me something about it, who did it, how to stop it, anything…”

“You idiot,” he interrupted, voice sharp. “How could you assume that was a good idea?”

“I was excited,” Ahiru countered weakly, mouth unraveling into a frown.

“Anyone with eyes could have seen that she was up to no good --”

“I just thought --”

“You didn’t think. You jumped to a ridiculous conclusion, and because of --”

“Don’t you think I know!?” She cried, voice so bold that surprise rippled across Fakir’s face. Tears, of all things, were pricking at the corners of Ahiru’s eyes, and she shook her head, willing them away. She’d always realized that her decision had been stupid and dangerous and lots of other horrible things! She didn’t need it all thrown back in her face!

For a moment, she’d meant to yell some more, but her strength died away as quickly as it had surfaced, and she crossed both arms against her chest, slumping against the chair once more.

“I’m not an idiot,” was all she managed to mutter.

Fakir didn’t say anything more and merely stood and gathered her fallen cup, mopping up the spill with his sleeve. He moved across the room, leaving Ahiru alone at the table.

It wasn’t as if her mistake hadn’t gone unpunished, she stubbornly insisted to herself, making a face at Fakir‘s back. The woman in black hadn’t just refused to answer her question. She’d said awful things, spoken so cruelly --

“You’re pathetic, and I expected so much better. You couldn’t even dissuade the prince from me, could barely hope to catch his attention in the least. And now you’ve run off and left him, hoping instead that I can tell you whatever it is you wish to know. Did you really think it would be this easy?”

-- and she’d been right.

The cold realization rattled in her bones, but Ahiru knew it was true, no matter how much she wished it wasn’t. She had honestly believed that the woman could help her, could make all her troubles go away with some simple solution, some magic word. And not just then, either. All this time, her entire life, she’d just been trying to make it through each day as best she could, hoping and praying that somehow, the curse would disappear on its own. She wouldn‘t be able to live like that much longer. Sure, the Council had yielded to her need for a ball during the day now -- but what about the next time, and the time after that? What if she was married and it still refused to vanish? She couldn’t keep hoping for an easy way out. She couldn’t keep waiting like this!

A cure for every ailment.

If she wanted to find a way to overcome the curse…

An end for every story.

…then she’d have to seek out a solution herself.

“If you’ve finally calmed down,” Fakir’s voice broke through her mess of thoughts, and she swiveled around in her chair, watching as he made his way towards the front door. “I’ll take you back.”

She stood at once, having made up her mind. “Fakir.”

He met her gaze, and she took a deep breath, hands wringing within the folds of her skirt.

“I need a favor,” she started. “Y-You took Mytho into town the other day to buy me that necklace, didn’t you?”

He gave a curt nod, and she hurried a few steps closer towards him, as if someone else might possibly overhear the question if she spoke it too loudly. “Do…do you think you could do the same for me? It would just be for a little while!”

Fakir looked less than enthused with the idea. “And why would I do that?”

“Um, well -- because I asked you very nicely?” She weakly suggested, flashing the most encouraging smile she could muster up. Her shoulders sagged when she realized Fakir was already shaking his head.

“I spent all damn night in that forest looking for you,” he grunted, “and now you expect me to play babysitter?”

Ahiru bit down on her lip, turning around to push in her chair out of innocent habit. She should have expected this, really. Even though Fakir knew her secret now -- and had finally stopped flat-out ignoring her -- it wasn’t like they were going to suddenly be friends or anything of the sort. She leaned an elbow on the corner of the table, cupping her chin within her palm as she thought. Maybe she could ask one of her servants to go with her, or another knight…

Behind her, she heard the sharp creak of the door opening and Fakir’s voice, still a low grumble across the room. “You can’t think that I’m just going to…”

She sighed, wondering when he was going to let the issue drop, only to stiffen when just that happened and an abrupt silence flooded through the room. Why had he stopped mid-sentence?

She turned her head, enough to glimpse him still standing at the front door. He seemed frozen, eyes wide as he stared unabashedly at her.

“W-What?” She stuttered, thrown off-guard by the sudden intensity of his gaze. “What’s the matter?”

Her torso twisted further around, and Fakir’s gaze seemed to shift with it. It almost looked like he was staring at her back, but why would he --

A fresh breath snagged in the low of her throat. Her back. She hadn’t been able to do the buttons along the spine of her dress, she remembered. And that meant…

Her scars.

Ahiru spun around at once, hip banging against the corner of the table as she backed up against it. Her cheeks were already darkening with painful embarrassment -- of course he would stare, they were horrible, ugly scars, even she cringed when she glimpsed them in her mirror -- but still, she managed a trembling smile, hands clutching to her elbows.

“It’s, um,” she started, weak laughter mingling with her words, her gaze dropping down to the floor.” They’re just -- just from an accident! A long time ago! I don’t even really remember what happened, actually! Isn’t that silly? To have scars like this and not even be able to remember how I got them? It‘s silly!”

She dared a wary glance back up at Fakir, only to see that his gaze still hadn’t wavered in the least, his face colored with an emotion she couldn’t quite read. He almost looked…scared? But why would that be? It wasn’t like he had anything to do with ---

He shook his head, and the moment passed.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, and made a rough gesture towards the open door. Confusion lingered, a heavy mist over her mess of thoughts, but she did her best to shake it away, hurrying over to him while unable to catch what he said next.

She glanced up at Fakir as they stepped outside. “Hmm?”

“I said fine,” he answered. His voice was quiet and grave, inexplicably robbed of the thick aggravation he’d spoken with just a moment ago. “I’ll take you.”

The uneasy shape of her mouth immediately flowered into a grin. “Really?”

A curt nod was her answer, his eyes focused on the sun-drenched shape of the field as they began up its slope towards the castle. “Just let me sleep for a few hours.”

“O-Of course! Thank you!”

Fakir didn’t say anything more; merely moved beside her as a dark shape amidst the light of early morning.

Briefly, Ahiru wondered just what had changed his mind -- and twitched when a prick of sudden pain surfaced along the shape of her shoulder blades -- but decided a moment later, with a bright smile, that it really didn’t matter.

The day was beginning to look better already.

- - -

Told you this chapter was long! It's not even close to being over. XD;;;

Here's the second part: here!

~

beyondfate — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 23:47:53 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Six (Part Two) ~ 9,028 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six, Part One]
Summary: Night falls, and the black swan attempts to fulfill her promise. However, she is unaware of witnesses, which leads to tense encounters and incredible realizations.

- - -

The sun was quick to collapse that evening, burdened by ragged clouds that smothered the sky in gray, that trembled with ghosts and echoes of rain though none would fall. Still, though it slipped beneath the forest’s edge, dusk seemed reluctant to emerge. The light lingered, a rim of gold along the withered outline of the trees.

It would only take a few minutes more -- but she had never been one for waiting.

An animal rustling. A human sigh. Both wings curled to her sides, feathered tips damp from tracing shapes along the pond. A thought flitted through, the slightest of questions. Would it be wise to look upon her reflection? The water was still and calm, bereft of everything but truth. Her long neck arched and guided her eyes to the spiraling echoes of light that trailed along its surface, but she could not bring herself to look, and turned away instead. It would not be her face within the water. It would be too much to bear -- this much, she believed.

A single raven’s arrival freed her from such unsettling reveries. Both sets of talons sunk into the bank, a careless breath away from her body. Its wings spread wide and cold eyes met her own, seeking approval for what was to come next. She gave it, and the bird rose into the sky once more, beginning to screech, the sound an uncanny imitation of a human voice. It was startling but not surprising, not when she paused to think on it. After all, the horrid creature must have caused such screams time and time again.

She waited to see what would occur next, to see if her plan would follow the careful path she had carved for it. Over countless days, she’d played the role of a simple animal, but in truth, her innocence proved meaningless, and her careful eyes had watched the steady, strict rhythm of the guards before the castle doors, taking in every detail of their posts: her obstacle. The length of their shifts. The severity of their weapons. Which of them proved weaker than the others. Which of them would be easier to...overcome.

Sure enough, only a few moments passed before frantic footsteps swelled in volume, and two guards stumbled up the field, weapons poised. They turned in all directions, searching for someone in peril -- only for their own cries to be stolen away as claws sunk into the naked skin of their necks. The darks of their eyes disappeared, leaving only startling white. Their bodies crumpled to the grass, warm blood mingling with soft dirt.

She shook her wings dry with a sigh and waddled through the grass over to them, close enough for the tips of her feathers to graze their twitching fingertips. Such injuries would seem severe to a simple eye, but they would not die. She’d been explicit in that order to the raven, who’d ruffled its feathers in obvious disappoint but obeyed all the same. Murder was such a brash, clumsy method, one meant for violent fools and simple-minded ravens. She was not a raven, and in her mind, she repeated the words a thousand times over, as if they would be forgotten lest she not. She was a swan, and such pointless brutalities were beneath her in this moment.

No, she thought, and one wing strayed through a trail of blood, feathers matting with sudden, stark color. She would not kill anyone.

Not yet.

Dusk finally came upon the land, then -- but still, it appeared stilted and broken, as if reluctant to bring her the comfort she so desperately craved. Her form could not decide which body to assume in these breathless moments of twilight, and therefore seemed to struggle to engulf both, a monstrous assortment -- wings, hands, feathers, skin, beak, lips. She could not look upon herself at such a horrifying moment, instead fixing her gaze towards the castle walls. The doors, so suddenly bereft of their protection.

It did not matter whether her legs were bird or human, for at once, they carried her towards it. The familiar jewel appeared amidst her swirling feathers and pulsed, a strong, hungry beat. The lone raven, still lingering overhead, uttered a screech before disappearing within the foliage of the forest once more, no doubt to inform her master of her welcome intentions this evening.

Your freedom from this curse will serve a suitable reward, would it not?

Her body trembled. The doors drew back with a simple push.

She would not fail.

- - -

What was wrong with him?

Frantic footsteps echoed down the length of the hallway. A shadow danced across the cobblestone walls and crumpled against each corner. The sky held within each open window swirled with muted color, a few threads of sun nearly lost amidst the folds.

Such light was pitiful, but still it flooded Mytho’s eyes, coloring them a wild amber for the briefest of moments.

He couldn‘t stop moving. He felt as though his legs had wholly separated from his body and were determined to carry him somewhere, to a place he knew nothing of, save for the simple belief that he needed to be there. Irrational thoughts flitted to and fro, a painful whirl of words inside his head. Both arms tensed, and his torso was stiff and heavy. Yet, he kept on.

It didn’t make any sense. He had not felt this way for quite some time -- not since that restless afternoon after the ball, when he’d felt compelled to linger before countless windows and ignored Ahiru so callously. Not since that tense morning he’d spent before the Council, where his anger had somehow gotten the best of him and forced him to demand nonsense from such well-meaning men. Many days had passed since then, his time filled with quiet innocent lessons and activities, so many that his thoughts barely had a moment to linger elsewhere. Not a single odd inclination had plagued him, and he was relieved, convinced that all his strange behavior had merely been due to some illness or ailment that had since passed.

Today had been different, though. He was reluctant to admit it, but the tour through the hall of portraits had proven...unsettling. The circumstances of both his father and his mother’s demise had been gently relayed to him many times while growing up, and eventually, he’d found himself immune to the tale. Spoken words were not as powerful as images, though and to suddenly be brought before their portrait and see with his own eyes the stern face of his father, the soft curls of his mother, captured within a moment of time he could never hope to reach -- it had been overwhelming, to say the least. Of course, then the historian had looked to him with caution, and Ahiru’s hand had tightened around his arm, as if bracing for a rush of emotion. If anything, Mytho was not someone who sought pity, and thus, he’d done his best to remain unaffected. Even so, when the tour had ended, he’d been quick to excuse himself, uneasy question after question gathering on the fringes of his thoughts, questions he would never know the answers to.

Just when he’d managed to recover, though, the Council had summoned him, desiring yet another promise that his horrendous actions would not be repeated and he would do his best to not create commotion. He’d agreed to it all without incident, of course, even if both of his fists had clenched tight as they‘d spoken. Once released, he'd chosen to take a walk around the walls of the castle, hoping the outdoors would calm him, only to be informed by an overzealous servant that he was not to step outside without express permission. They were only performing their duties, and he had been appropriately apologetic as they’d led him back inside, but still, he could not fight down the frustration that overtook him, overwhelming, even absolute as he paced the length of his room a thousand times over. They meant well, they all meant well. So then why could he not shake this feeling that the walls were closing in on him, that if something did not change soon, he’d find himself trapped forever?

Was this how his father had felt? The historian’s words spun like loose thread through his thoughts, painting pictures of a brave king rushing from his sanctuary without a second thought and battling the monsters with every shred of strength he could muster up. In the end, had fighting proved the only choice? If there was the slightest chance of destroying this prison the ravens had created -- had it been worth it to the king, to countless past monarchs who’d done the same, even if death was all but a certainty?

The darkening hallway curved before him, and in desperation, Mytho reached out both hands and clung to the slope of the wall, managing to stop his steps at last. He took one deep breath, than another. His back flattened against the cool stone, and he shook his head side to side, as if maybe all of this nonsense would be shaken free and leave him be.

It was crazy, to be thinking such thoughts. Had the marriage completely slipped his mind? Only a few months more, and it would prove the final key to freedom. The forests would be rid of their vicious burden. The land would see no more lives lost, no more blood shed. He would be king, and all the rules so heavily burdened on his shoulders would be a thing of the past. Then, he’d be able to revel in true happiness at last...right?

Of course.

With one last breath, he stood straight, curls of dying sunlight dancing along the curve of his neck. At least no one had come upon him in the middle of his pacing, he thought, managing a chuckle as he ran a cold hand through his hair. They would have surely thought him a madman. Yes, he would return to his room at once and perhaps pick up that book he had started the other day. That would surely take his mind off such things...

He turned and began walking in the direction he’d come -- only to stop a few steps later, distracted by his shadow on the far wall as it mimicked the form of another person.

The echo of footsteps, though, strangely continued on for a few seconds before coming to a halt.

Mytho stiffened -- had he just imagined it? -- before starting his pace once more, noting the firm, unique sound of his own footsteps on the stone floor. He reached a bend in the corridor then stopped cold.

Still, he heard them. Another set of steps, softer and quicker than his own. They flooded the quiet hallway with noise for a brief moment before mimicking his pause.

He didn’t dare to turn around, but spoke instead, hoping it was a careful servant or a playful child. “Who’s there?”

A laugh was his answer, as gentle and lilting as an evening lullaby.

My, you seem troubled.

He couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from, but even so, it seemed to surround him, settling like a blanket along the curve of his shoulders, pleasantly warm. It was a woman -- he‘d known that easily -- but the sound clung to his every fleeting thought, bothering him with a sudden rush of familiarity. That couldn’t be...

He spoke, voice softer than before. “Where are you? Who...”

You mean to tell me you don‘t remember? How very disappointing. I, on the other hand, cannot forget.

A sudden movement caught hold of Mytho’s attention. At first, it appeared as though one of the vast shadows had come alive, its fluttering form dragging across the stone like a careless child’s ribbon. Only after a moment did he realize it was the fringes of a woman’s skirt, soft and uneven, traveling the length of the hallway and disappearing around the bend. At once, he hurried in the same direction, his body acting of its own accord, his thoughts clouding and convincing the parts of him still resisting that to do so would be worthwhile. All the while, her voice flooded through him, the warmest, most welcome of presences.

What saddens you, Prince? You did not look of such sorts at the ball. You certainly did not wear that worn face as we danced the night away.

The realization struck, so suddenly that he nearly stumbled, catching himself against a nearby wall. Ahead of him, the glimpse of trailing skirt he’d been chasing vanished within the shadows of a nearby stairwell, and at once, he quickened his pace. Her name grew heavy in his mouth, soft along the shape of his lips, and he could do nothing but call out.

“Rue!”

Another soft laugh. The sound unraveled behind her fleeing form, twirling around the dizzying curves of the stairwell -- almost like a trail, leading him all the closer to her. He was running, and the tips of both shoes barely pressed to the edges of the steps as he hurried further and further down. Still, he could not reach her, the echoes of her voice the only sign she was even there at all.

Rue. Yes, that’s right. You gave me that name, and such a priceless gift should never be forgotten. Shouldn’t it?

The stairwell came to a sudden end, and Mytho found himself thrust out into the grand entrance of the castle, marble floor wide and gleaming beneath his feet. The gates, painted a stark ebony, had been left raised, and the doors lingered just within their shadows. At once, he turned in all directions, but yet again there was no one to be seen. Was this all just in his mind? Could he be going mad? The memory of Rue’s voice, vibrant amidst his clouded thoughts, urged him on, and he spoke despite such possibilities.

“Of course it shouldn‘t be forgotten. I could never --”

The slightest of movements distracted him, but once again, it was only his shadow, dancing along the far walls.

“Rue, where are you? Why are --”

I am here. You must only step a little closer, towards the doors. Twilight is such a beautiful sight, wouldn’t you agree? The night is being born at last...and I, as well.

He did as she asked, setting his palm firm against the elegant carvings of the door, which had for some reason, been left ajar. A thought struck him, callous despite all the uncertain warmth. Where were the guards?

Only a little further, Prince. Do you not wish to see me? Perhaps we could dance once more; here, within the night. The stars will be our audience. The wind will prove our melody.

But the sudden question had given rise to many more, an unwelcome whirl of words gathering in the back of his head. The Council’s forceful demands returned to him, and he found himself unable to fully ignore them. Your involvement with that strange girl was disrespectful, both to us and the princess...

His grip on the door’s edge loosened, and he took a few hasty steps back within the shadows of the castle walls. “I’m sorry,” he called out to her. “Forgive me, but I -- I can’t...”

Why ever not?

He turned once more, and for the briefest of moments, glimpsed a glint of crimson amidst all the darkness of the grand room -- but before he could even dare a step, it vanished, swallowed up in deepening shadows.

All I desire is to ease your torment. Whomever has denied you happiness must be endlessly cruel.

“It’s -- no, it isn’t like that,” he stammered, his words weakening, his shaking hands reaching up to grip around both tense arms. “They mean well.”

Oh, dear Prince. Do you honestly trust in such lies? You must trust in me instead, for I understand this feeling that plagues you so well. The weight of the world, forced to be your burden. The fates of countless souls left to your actions, and yours alone. You must see it, though. The people of this land are not worth your selfless love. They care only for their own salvation, and they will trap anyone who can give them the means for such a future. Like a beautiful songbird captured within a cold cage. A true tragedy.

“A tragedy,” he repeated, and even as his own voice formed them, they were not words he had chosen to speak. It couldn‘t matter less, though: a growing presence within his mind insisted. Misty thoughts trembled throughout his body, forcing all those other troublesome emotions far away. It made sense...

I understand. You desire to be everyone’s prince. A prince who loves everyone and is loved by everyone. Your intentions are noble...

Soft footsteps echoed along the length of the floor. Sharp gleams of red flooded his wide-eyed gaze, and he found himself unable to move, to even construct a thought that had not already been formed for him.

Such a thing seems so very difficult, though. So very burdensome. So very unhappy.

He could feel the presence of a body standing just behind him; he barely stiffened as cold arms wound between his own, encircling his chest with the gentlest of holds. No -- no, they were not arms. They were stained black, and their edges were ruffled and uneven as they tickled the skin of his face, fluttering with each muted breath he dared to take.

There is another choice, however. Why not, instead of being everyone’s --

Her grip tightened without warning. Long nails stiffened and pressed hard to his chest, so tight that he thought them claws, his heartbeat quickening just beneath their painful embrace. Pursed lips grazed the curve of his neck, and her voice proved absolute as it drew a firm line across his skin, so sharply warm that it felt like a flame, burning, burning --

You will be my prince, and mine alone.

“Yes,” he answered, and whatever traces of doubt that had possessed him before were overpowered, effortlessly muted by his new thoughts, so pleasant and sure. The glow of crimson remained. She remained, gentle against him, and oh, how wonderful it was to only be hers.

The elegant shape of a hand formed in the shadow before him, palm splayed wide.

Come.

Mytho took it -- only to discover that it was not a hand at all, but a strange shape of feathers, soft within his grip.

He thought to question such a strange sight, but it did not matter, for questions were unnecessary now. In the end, it seemed, he knew not where she began to lead him, or to what purpose such a journey would serve, only that he was going towards it.

Ah, to be free at last.

- - -

Ahiru heaved a heavy sigh.

The hallway was growing dark around her, the glimpse of sky lingering outside each passing window laced with swirling purple. She wasn’t really paying much attention to that, though. After all, the arrival of dusk still meant that she still had thirty minutes or so as a girl, and she’d learned over time that such an estimate could even stretch to as much an hour, the arrival of the moon having proven unpredictable time and time again. Instead, she had trained her feet into a sort of skip, making sure not to step on the worn cracks in the floor as they passed beneath her. It wasn’t for any important reason, really, she‘d already sheepishly admitted to herself. She just found it fun, not to mention distracting, the game managing to keep her mind far away from many unwelcome topics -- such as how the few bites of dinner she’d managed to choke down had begun dancing in the low of her stomach. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, and she clutched a careful hand to the spot, making a face when one of her shoes landed flat in the middle of a crack.

Not that the dinner had been bad or anything! The cook had even gone out his way to make an elaborate dish, his smile when he’d presented it assuring her that he was no doubt aware of all the pressures awaiting her the next day. Lillie and Pique had been thrilled, easily cleaning their plates, but Ahiru hadn’t been able to manage anything more than a few half-hearted pokes with her fork. Pique had nudged her shoulder, offered her a soft smile, a “hey, come on now, things aren’t that bad,” -- only to be overrun by Lillie’s exuberant, excruciatingly detailed list of everything that had, as well as could, go wrong (“Don’t worry! I’ll be here to pick up the pieces of your woefully shattered heart!”). Though both girls managed to get her to swallow a few bites with incessant prodding, they had eventually finished the warm meal themselves. Ahiru, meanwhile, had done little more than rest her chin on the table, eyelids drooping, lips twitching into a frazzled line. It wasn’t just the impending ball. It was the failed dance practices, the judging looks from strangers, the memory of the woman in black. She couldn’t seem to find a nice thought anywhere amidst all the unpleasant anticipation. Even the encounter with Fakir in the field earlier that day bothered her, if only because she was still mad.

Of course, then Pique had come up with the idea to go downstairs and sneak into the finished ballroom, so they had, both girls seizing Ahiru by a limp arm and dragging her all the way downstairs. The three of them had stood for a long moment in the entryway, Lillie and Pique ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘aah-ing’ over every detail while Ahiru marveled at how pretty the fading sunlight looked as it filtered through the stain-glassed windows.

The room couldn’t have looked very different than it had for the first ball, she’d insisted to herself, taking in the decorated tables, the shimmering decorations, the gleaming floor resting at the tips of her shoes -- but somehow, it did. Somehow, it seemed so much bigger, so much grander than she had ever seen it, and tomorrow, she’d be in the center of it all, a thousand pairs of eyes following her every movement, watching as she took part in a dance, as she twirled around and around and around and --

-- and then she’d felt very sick.

Ahiru had quickly excused herself after that, doing her very best to ignore two servants arranging flowers across the room who had begun to whisper and cast curious gazes in her direction. Lillie, bless her, had shooed them off in her usual flamboyant way, though, and Ahiru’d been able to manage a weak smile as she left, all the while promising that she would be sure to say “hello” to them tomorrow amidst all the celebration.

So here she was.

Ahiru tried to take a deep breath, only to have the air dragged right out of her throat as one of her heels snagged within an overlooked crack. Unprepared, she fell out of the shoe, arms flailing as she stumbled backwards a few steps before managing to regain her balance and allowing her shoulders to sag. Could she not even succeed at a silly game?

She gathered up the fringes of her skirt in both hands and hurried back over to the shoe, forcing herself to laugh as she slid her wiggling toes back within the material.

Why was she doing this to herself? Everything would be fine! And even if it wasn’t -- and it would -- dwelling in so many awful negatives wasn’t going to help in the least! She would think of something happy instead, like -- like the fact that the ball would be during the day! For once, the curse wouldn’t be lurking in the back of her every thought like an eternal rain cloud, determined to rain on her parade. For once, she’d be allowed to escape its effects and simply enjoy all the fun. Empowered by that thought, she flashed a victorious grin at the next open window she passed, as if to taunt the darkening sky overhead, to say “not this time, moon!” --

-- only to perform a hasty double-take.

Ahiru hurried back to the window, palms pressing hard to the ledge as she lifted onto her tiptoes for a better look. Her braid tumbled off her shoulder and out into the open air, dangling beneath her like a loose rope. The field seemed endless beneath her perch, a spread of muted green as it stretched all around the castle walls. What caught her immediate attention, though, was a lone figure, their form a shape of color amidst the overwhelming hue of the grass.

She squinted as hard as possible, wondering if she was mistaken -- but there was no mistaking the glimpse of white atop his head.

She blinked once, then twice. She knew Mytho enjoyed being outside, but why would he have chosen to sneak out just before nightfall, of all times? Wouldn’t the guards have seen and stopped him from leaving through the main doors?

With a grunt, she managed to hoist herself a few more inches out of the window, a burst of wind slapping her braid hard against the low of her neck. It looked like he was walking, she realized. His steps were slow and stiff, but still he was moving away from the castle walls, growing smaller and smaller as he traveled down the slope of the field. Why?

A stubborn thread of light shimmered high in the sky, finally revealed as a cloud passed by, and as it bathed the field in a glow, Ahiru saw what she first thought was his shadow, crumpled against his form -- only to catch her breath a moment later.

At once, almost irrationally, she believed it to be the black swan, with elegant wings spread wide, feathers dark and ruffled -- but no, no, that couldn’t be, because swans didn’t have legs, or faces, or glowing red jewels gathered amidst all the black of their bodies. A swan wouldn’t be leading Mytho away, so far away from the castle, closer and closer to the forest’s dark edge --

-- and then Ahiru was running.

- - -

Two candles would do. With a shallow breath, he lit both curled wicks, quick to catch the smaller one when his wrist nudged the warming wax -- only for his elbow to in turn brush a handful of loose pages straight off the table.

Fakir cursed under his breath, watching as they scattered in wild directions, twirling in the air for a brief moment before settling along the floor. Now he’d have to put them in order all over again, he grumbled, crouching down to gather them up.

It didn’t matter. After all, it wasn‘t as though he’d actually planned to bind them or anything of the sort. All of his work that day had proven nothing more than nonsense; some ridiculous story he’d felt compelled to pen, its subject being an answer to the question of the ravens’ departure. Everyone around him seemed so convinced that the monsters had acknowledged defeat, vacating their claim in silence and vowing never to return, and in a moment of weariness, he’d believed it best to try and craft an outcome along that tone, if only to settle his own troubled thoughts -- but the desire could not overcome his own judgment, and soon enough, his quill had formed words that led to a much darker conclusion. He just couldn’t accept it. He just couldn’t believe that it was over, and anyone who blindly assumed it was clearly had to be an idiot of the greatest caliber. Was he the only person who had any shred of common sense? The ravens had laid vicious claim to this land for almost five hundred years now, had murdered hundreds of innocent people in order to make sure their control would never be forgotten. To think that they would leave without a fuss, without so much as an attempt at revenge for their approaching banishment...

Shaking his head, he glanced down. His grip had tightened around the collected pages, hand pressed so firmly that the words had left imprints on his calloused fingertips. The lines he’d written only a few hours ago seemed to waver in the candlelight, sloped and hasty, no doubt because of the troublesome breeze he’d been forced to deal with. A few phrases had bled darker than others, it seemed. Gathering into a wild flock -- dark orders were given -- an attack, greater than all which had come before --

Drivel. He would burn them in the morning.

The last few dropped sheets lingered just out of reach, and with a sharp sigh, Fakir moved to gather them, fingers stilling against the awkward fold of the last one. It was a little more wrinkled than the others, only half-covered in words, and had one frayed corner hopelessly crumpled.

His frown deepened, and he seized the deformed page a little firmer than intended, shuffling it deep below the others. No, he insisted to himself as he rose to his feet and returned to the table. He refused to be reminded yet again, refused to linger even one second longer on --

Why can’t you be kind to me!?

Her annoying voice. It seemed stuck in the back of his head, determined to ruin any semblance of a decent mood he could conjure up. Even after so much, she still seemed ridiculously dead-set on getting a rise out of him, refusing to leave him be like any reasonable person would at this point. What would it take to make her understand that her efforts were meaningless? That it was impossible for him to ever...

The thought trailed off, and Fakir took a seat at the table, one hand reaching out to brush against his worn inkwell and the frayed tips of his quill, little more than a solemn shadow within the candlelight. After a long moment, he took it up.

He would try once more.

The feather was soft against the curve of his hand, and he dipped it within the inkwell. A letter would serve his purpose well enough -- but how would someone start one of this caliber?

Dea-

The point stilled, ink gathering in a blotch against the curled shape of the ‘a’. After a moment, he crossed out the unfinished word with one stroke, then tried again.

Ahir-

Once again, his fingers stiffened. Once again, he could not bring himself to continue.

Damn. Did he not have the strength to even finish a single word?

Still, he tried, refusing to remove the point even as a growing shape of black bled stronger and stronger -- but it was not enough, and with a fierce scowl, he dragged the quill down the length of the page, leaving a jagged streak of black in its wake. With a wild hand, he cast it aside, steadying his elbows against the table instead, palms pressed to his forehead.

He should have known it’d prove a pointless effort. He’d already tried countless times, tried crafting letters of various lengths and tones, all meaning to explain in simple, stark words what would forever be impossible to speak aloud, to explain just how complicated the answer to the question she was so stubbornly seeking would prove. And in the end, what did he have to show for it? A stack of ruined papers, all stained with weak, blotted words, angry streaks of ink. Why was it so damn difficult to --?

He needed some air.

Outside, the breeze was calm and cool, and with a harsh breath, Fakir steadied himself against his door, running a hand through his hair as he looked towards the castle, little more than a distant shadow in all the absence of sunlight. The land had already fallen quiet around him, the quarters near him still and silent, his fellow knights seeming to have already retreated deep within. He could not say he blamed them. A few faint streaks of color still lingered overhead, mixes of dark blue and violet mingling amidst all the black -- but night was about to begin, and the trees of the forests’ edge rustled violently, as if meant to be a warning of what such darkness could -- and had -- brought from within it. He would not be ignorant of such memories. He was not blind to such signs.

Still, he could not help but think back to the dilemma at hand. However ridiculous it was, he would have to find a way to resolve the matter once and for all. Perhaps asking the Council for a different assignment, one that did not deal so heavily with protection of the royals. If he could keep his distance, then surely ---

The thought derailed, his attention seized by a strange sight further up the field.

A single person, moving slowly within the castle’s sinking shadow. At first, he assumed it to be a hurrying knight or a guard startled by some small disturbance, but with a closer look, he could tell at once that that was not the case. The landscape may have darkened, but Fakir had endured countless instances in which he‘d watched the prince from great distances in order to preserve protection, and he recognized the royal blue of his clothing after the briefest of moments.

What the hell was he doing?

At a loss, he could do nothing but call out, the name echoing across the field as it was caught up in a gust of wind. “Mytho!”

The prince did not turn at the sound. His deliberate steps didn’t even slow, and Fakir could only watch as he continued to move further and further away from the castle, dark shadows numerous around him, appearing almost human in shape, almost like --

The knight muttered a sharp curse, and straightening at once, he ducked within his home just long enough to seize his sheath and sword; in only a moment, he had taken off across the field.

- - -

Mytho could not recall ever feeling happier. The stifling walls of the castle were far behind him, disappearing within the darkness so easily that it all must have only been a terrible, terrible dream to begin with. Not like this wondrous world around him, so vast and free and magnificent. The wind fell in waves against his clammy skin, and the rustling grass tickled at the soles of his feet. The forest’s wise trees seemed to brush against the very heavens themselves, beckoning him like the dearest of long-lost friends. Wait a moment longer, he wished to call out, his body urging him all the closer. He would be with them soon enough.

And Rue, beautiful, wondrous Rue followed beside him, so gentle against his shoulder. How had he ever known true life before becoming hers and hers alone? How had he ever taken an easy breath without her voice trailing like the softest of ribbons all through his head, forcing any tedious questions that arose far away? He did not know, and he never wished to remember.

She moved before him, her lithe form surrounded by the faintest glow of daylight as she spiraled through the grass, as she curled and spun and leapt with such breathtaking grace that his heart gave a vicious heave at the sight. Her pale face shimmered through waves of hair. Her majestic wings were splayed wide and full. Yes, wings -- she was not only Rue, he had learned, for a mere women would have arms instead, would have fair skin instead of dark feathers. No, she was his beloved swan as well, and he was not sure how he knew such a thing, only that it had to be true. Her body seemed trapped between the two forms, and in one moment, she would take the shape of the quiet bird while in another, her limbs would twist, pale and thin once more -- but still, she moved with the elegance of both beautiful girl and beautiful creature. At another time, as the slightest of notions in the back of his head reminded him, he might have thought such a transformation strange, even frightening, but his every thought bore an unthinking warmth now. The only word that came to mind was magical, and he was enamored all the more.

They came before the pond, then. The quiet pond he had stolen away to many instances before, searching for a moment’s peace, an innocent laugh as the ducks gathered at the crest of the bank to greet him (and in the back of his mind, echoes of a stammering voice, a flash of red hair bothered him, only to be quickly subdued). Rue’s lips curved into the sharpest of smiles, and with a sigh, she stepped upon the surface of the pond as though it were as firm as solid ground. Her new feet, a gleam of alabaster beneath all the black of her body, curled upright, so straight that she seemed to be balancing on nothing more than her toes.

She turned back to face him just as the last few whispers of light on the horizon faded into oblivion. The last of her feathers shook, then fell, slipping from the curves of both shoulders as simply as a loose scrap of clothing. Her wings bled into arms, thin and trembling as they rose into the cool air, and at last, her body was that of a human’s once more.

She breathed deeply, easily. His empty eyes clung to her own, which flashed a wild crimson, matching the shade of the jewel ornamented amidst all the black of her gown.

Do you find me beautiful, prince?

“Yes,” he answered, and did not even take a breath.

Could you come to love me?

“Yes.”

The red curl of her lips deepened. The jewel pulsed and glowed all the brighter, urging him closer, so close that he could not bear such distance another moment. With a sharp breath, he hurried towards her, feet only pausing when they reached the bank, weak dirt crumbling into the water as his weight fell upon it.

She held out her hand, elegant fingers arched, nails catching fragments of warm red along their edges.

How much? How much would you love me, if given the chance? Enough to give me whatever I may long for? Enough to -- enough to offer me your very heart, should I desire it?

Somewhere within Mytho’s muddled thoughts, a murmur brimmed at the surface, like a smothered cry, like the prick of a thorn against skin. His heart? What would such an promise entail? Was this really what he -- but such questions were overcome by yet another rush of warmth, by the wondrous glow of red before him.

He was hers and hers alone, his sharper thoughts were quick to remind him, and one hand rose of its own accord, eager to settle against hers at once. If she wished it, then he would gladly --

“Mytho!”

- - -

Ahiru couldn’t bring herself to move, form so starkly frozen in place within the field that she didn’t even flinch when a gust of wind blew past, slapping the end of her braid hard against her neck. Her mouth hung open, both blue eyes widened and unblinking. For the briefest of moments, she’d even forgotten Mytho‘s presence, her attention seized by the dark-haired girl -- by the impossible shape her body took that in turn had taken Ahiru‘s breath away.

She had wings.

No -- no, not just wings. Her body had seemed to shift, human one moment, then something entirely different the next, wings spread wide, feathers black and full. The swan, Ahiru realized, recognizing the wiry curve of her neck, the glimpse of a red beak in the few brief moments she retained the form. When daylight had finally vanished from the horizon, though, she’d become fully human at last -- just as Ahiru had seen her from the high window during the ball.

A woman who becomes a bird; a bird who becomes a woman. Just like...

But then she’d held out a hand to Mytho, urging him closer towards the forests’ edge, and all the gravity of the situation had come crashing down on Ahiru in one shrill moment, silencing the thought. Stricken, she’d done the first thing that came to mind -- screamed his name.

“Mytho!”

The swan-woman’s form seemed to stiffen, and she glanced over his shoulder, meeting Ahiru’s gaze at once. For the briefest of moments, both her eyes widened, her smirk unraveling into an uneasy line. But then her expression hardened, and when Mytho began to turn, she touched her long nails to the low of his cheek and guided him back to her, fervently murmuring something that Ahiru couldn’t hear.

Was something wrong with him? Why hadn’t he resisted her? Was he...

With a sharp intake of breath, Ahiru tried again. “Please, don’t --”

But her desperate words were swallowed up in a noisy gust of wind, and not even the woman looked to her again. At once, she gathered up her shirt against both sets of grasping fingers and began running through the long grass towards them -- only to cry out as a rough hand grabbed her by the arm.

“Stay back,” a voice ordered, and she glanced up bewilderedly only to meet Fakir’s intense gaze. The knight yanked her backwards a few steps, holding tight when her heels dragged and nearly caused her to fall.

“B-But Mytho, he’s not --” she stammered, straightening at once and struggling to pull her arm out of his iron grip, too startled to consider anything else than her own frantic thoughts, urging her to do something, anything.

“I’ll handle it,” he interjected, and Ahiru noticed the sheath and sword held in his other hand, fingers curled so tight that his worn knuckles gleamed white. “Go back!”

What? How could he expect her to do that!? Anyone could see that something was wrong with Mytho. What if she waited within the castle walls only to find out later that something awful had happened to him!? No, no, she wouldn’t do that! There had to be a way she could help, something she could do or say that would --

-- and with a surge of newfound energy, she managed to tear her arm away from Fakir’s hand, quickly turning and stumbling through the grass a few quick paces towards the pond. After a moment, she came to a stop and steadied on both wobbling knees, only allowing herself one shallow breath before crying out.

“You - you can’t go with her, Mytho,” she screamed, struggling to keep her voice steady and strong. “You must want to stay here at the castle instead, right? It’s your home, after all, and surely it’ll be scary in the forest, with all those trees and ravens and -- and lots of other horrible things! Please, come back over here!”

She wasn’t even sure what she had just said, hasty words rushing to her mouth much faster than she could hope to control them -- but to her surprise, the prince’s form began to move. The woman drew in a sharp breath, glinting eyes widening as in one quick motion, he turned to meet Ahiru’s gaze, whose lips spread into a smile, relief flooding through her --

-- only to quickly subside, replaced by a swell of shock as she met his eyes. They still bore the same gold gleam as always, but the warmth she’d grown so accustomed to glimpsing within them had vanished, replaced by little more than emptiness. No recognition blossomed along the curves of his face. He looked to her as one might look upon an unwelcome stranger, and after a brief moment, he turned back just as easily to the woman, whose smirk deepened.

Once more, she held out a pale hand. This time, he took it without hesitation, following as she began to lead him away from the pond and across the brief remainder of the field.

Ahiru uttered a sharp cry, running as fast as she could manage after them -- only for the tip of one shoe to tread across her skirt’s fringe. The misstep sent her stumbling to the ground, elbows skidding through the dirt. Still, she called out, voice cracking. “No, you can’t --”

The rest of her sentence died away as Fakir’s sheath landed in the grass just before her fingertips. Startled, she glanced up just in time to watch as he rushed past her, sword poised and ready. He didn’t use it just yet, though, and she watched wide-eyed as instead, he took violent hold of Mytho’s shoulder and dragged him away from the woman, her grip on the prince’s hand broken.

“Mytho, wake up!” He shouted, and shook him hard, searching for some hint of recognition or reason within his eyes. “What’s wrong with you!?”

The woman’s lips formed a sneer, eyes narrowing as she drew closer, longs nails arched like the sharpest of claws. “How dare you --”

But her words dwindled away as Fakir drew back, and in one fluid motion, brandished his sword, blade drawn only a breath away from the curve of her neck.

“Get back,” he growled. “Get back!”

Her expression flooded with obvious rage, careful eyes tracing the shape of the sword -- from its sharp tip to his hand, strained around the hilt -- but despite the pause, she drew back, her jewel’s glow withering to little more than the slightest of glints.

Fakir’s stance did not falter despite her movement, and for a uneasy moment, it seemed as though he would pursue her with the weapon -- but suddenly, Mytho’s limp hands twitched, then tensed.

With a gasp, he clutched both around Fakir’s wrist, tight enough for the knight to glance back at him, and without even a hint of warning, the prince crumpled, legs giving way as easily as ill-placed twigs. Fakir reacted quickly, managing to wrap an arm around the low of his back, catching him just before he hit the ground. “Mytho!”

Meanwhile, Ahiru had risen to her feet once more and was watching the dark-haired woman with wide eyes. Anger glimmered against every curve of her face, and for the briefest of moments, it had looked as though she might draw forward once more -- but Mytho’s sudden collapse seemed to have been startling enough to keep her frozen in place, and she merely watched as Fakir struggled to rouse him once more. The moment passed, though, and in one elegant motion, she turned, feathered skirt fluttering around her. Dark feathers. Wings...

She was the swan, Ahiru remembered with a jolt, her realization from a few minutes ago flooding in once more. This girl became a bird just as she did, changing from human to swan to human once more right before her very eyes. A cautious spark of hope swelled deep within her chest, then, heartbeat quickening to a fervent pitch. What if...what if she knew who or what was responsible for the change? And if Ahiru could somehow talk to her for a moment, then maybe, just maybe...

The woman took off running, her form quickly meshing with the forest’s shadowed edge, and any concern of basic safety or danger withered away to little more than a murmur inside Ahiru’s head, replaced by a single belief: that if she didn’t find out now, there would never be another chance.

“Wait!”

And then she was running after her.

Fakir shouted her name, but she barely heard it, the steady thrum of her own footsteps ringing in both ears. The forest rose up to meet her approach, trees trembling like tormented shadows, rattling branches reaching out to her as if arms, meaning to yank her within. A step away from its dark edge, she hesitated -- but with a deep breath of her own, she forced the uneasiness away, and in she went.

The soles of her shoes bent and twisted against the uneven ground. Thorns and sharpened branches yanked at tendrils of her hair, tore thin scrapes across her face and hands. Horrifying shapes rose to flood her gaze time and time again, nothing more than monsters in such overwhelming darkness, and a thousand times over she begged herself to go back -- but the echo of softer footsteps ahead led her on, and she kept going. She could only call out, her voice hoarse and nearly silenced by the wind’s howling.

“W-Wait! Please wait!”

And then, a clearing.

Ahiru’s foot snagged on a gnarled root, and she fell right into the brief patch of grass, soft against her palms. One deep breath, then another. Her dress had ballooned around her, and quickly, she shoved back the folds, grimacing as she struggled to rise to her feet once more. She had to keep going, had to find --

“It’s you.”

The unfamiliar voice cut through every other thought, and with a gasp, she looked up, locking startled gazes with the swan-woman who stood a few feet away with arms crossed and unmoving.

“I must say,” she spoke once more, and her voice was quiet, sharp, “I never expected to see you again.”

Ahiru rose to her feet, blinking a few hasty times. “You -- you know me?”

A thread of surprise seemed to flutter across the woman’s face, but it was quickly overcome by a darker expression, and her lips formed a cold curve as she approached. “I did. A long, long time ago,” she said, her steps wandering in a circle around Ahiru, who could only watch. “You’re who that child became? How disappointing.”

Ahiru noticed her pale wrist lingering close to her own, and grabbed it gently, too overwhelmed by her words, still so desperate to ask her question before the moment passed and her chance was gone. “Please, I only wanted to --”

But before she could finish, the woman violently tore away, fixing Ahiru with such a fierce glare that the rest of her words died away in the low of her throat.

“Don’t touch me!”

Startled, Ahiru gripped both hands tight to the curve of her chest, backing a few steps away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to! I just --”

“You’re pathetic,” the girl interjected, and her crimson eyes were so hardened, so horribly cold that Ahiru could not bring herself to meet them for more than a moment, “and I expected so much better. You couldn’t even dissuade the prince from me, could barely hope to catch his attention in the least. And now you‘ve run off and left him, hoping instead that I can tell you whatever it is you wish to know. Did you honestly believe it would be this easy?”

Her hateful words settled like weights on Ahiru’s shoulders, so sudden that she could barely understand them at all. “W-What?”

The woman ignored her word and smirked instead, a sharp laugh trailing her lips. “You always were so very good at abandoning others, though.”

She turned away, but Ahiru just couldn’t let it end like this, and she held a desperate hand out towards her. “Please, I only --”

The rest of her words died away. The pale shape of her hand arched in the dim light -- smothered in yellow feathers.

“My,” the woman said, casting a brief look over her shoulder, “you seem to have forgotten the time.”

Ahiru couldn’t even bring herself to breathe. She turned her gaze towards the sky, blotted with countless dark treetops. There it was, the silver curve of the moon, trails of its light filtering through the shadows and covering the clearing in streaks of ethereal white.

No, no, no, Ahiru must have repeated a thousand times over within her head, clutching both hands tight to both arms, hoping against hope that maybe if she wished strongly enough, that she could somehow stop it, delay it, anything --

It was no use. All at once, she felt light-headed, a frenzied blur of wings and beaks and webbed feet overcoming her, drowning her -- and before she knew it, Ahiru was falling, tumbling to the ground in a small, feathered heap, dress parachuting down and covering her in thick folds of fabric -- just as it had happened a thousand times before.

Muttering a string of quacks, she managed to dig her way out of the dress with a few shoves of her beak, nudging her head up out of the heavy cloth only to see that the woman was still there, staring down at her, a twitch of amusement obvious along her lips. She wasn’t surprised, Ahiru realized. She already knew...

“Ahiru! Ahiru!”

Echoes of shouts reached the clearing, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Ahiru recognized it as Fakir’s voice after a moment, her body tensing as she glanced back up at the woman, whose smirk only deepened, a mere thread of color amidst all the empty moonlight.

“Let’s see what they think of you now.”

And with one last flourish of her feathered skirt, she was gone, vanishing into the maze of trees.

Blind with panic, Ahiru grabbed a thick fold of the dress in her beak, dragging it as quickly as she could manage into a nearby bush. When that was taken care of, she hurried in as well, nestling deep within the fabric and allowing herself one last mournful quack before quieting.

All she could do was wait. All she could do was listen as the shouts of her name grew louder still.

What now?

- - -

A/N: And that's the rest of Chapter Six. In my humble opinion, the two halves work best together, but nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed it!

...and now for some bad news. I was hoping I would be able to write fast enough so as to keep up with this updating schedule -- but sadly, I am rather slow. Which means that I have fallen far behind on writing. It doesn't help that I'm on Spring Break at the moment, and won't have a chance to work on it, due to being with my family.

What does this mean? Probably that the next installment won't be up for quite some time -- two or three weeks, even. ;___; I know, this is a pretty awful place to leave it off on, but I will be back as soon as possible!

Comments, as always, are appreciated!

~

beyondfate — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 01:45:57 GMT

~

A/N: In the off chance that you ran into this section by itself, here is the first part! Stupid LJ standards, making me split this up. XD;

- - -

“You should have seen her, Ahiru! She just sashayed right to the front of the room, right up to the prince, like she owned the whole place --”

“-- truly the epitome of grace, quite unlike you!”

“-- and when they started to dance, they both just looked so sure of themselves, like nothing was wrong at all! You couldn’t help but join in, you know?”

“Don‘t fret, though! With lots and lots of grueling hard work, I’m positive you could be half as good as her soon enough --”

“You have to admit, the whole night was pretty amazing. It’ll be hard to top --”

“ -- but you must always have dreams, Ahiru! No matter how impossibly distant they may be --”

“Um, guys?”

Pique curled both bare feet beneath her skirt and blinked, her pink curl bouncing against the curve of her cheek. Uzura sat beside her, drumsticks briefly limp in her hands as she watched a colorful butterfly fluttering overhead. Lillie looked up with bright eyes, quivering fingertips poised to pluck the last cream-colored petal clean off the stem clutched in her hand.

Ahiru met each of their wondering gazes for a brief moment before dropping down into the grass with a sigh, dress billowing all around her slight frame.

Pique cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”

“Poor thing,” Lillie cooed, and ripped the last petal free with a cheerful vigor. “The stress must be truly crushing!”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just...it‘s...”

Ahiru couldn’t help but falter, her murmured words swallowed up in a brisk gust of wind. At a loss, she leaned forward to clasp her twitching fingers around the tips of her shoes, unwilling to look at either of her two friends at the moment -- unwilling to admit that all of this endless discussion about the last ball and how wonderful and beautiful and perfect it had been was making her feel more and more sick with each passing moment.

“Can we please talk about something else?” She finally managed to ask, forcing her lips into a weak smile.

The two girls exchanged a glance. Uzura, oblivious, filled the silence with a handful of rapid beats on her drum; her lips pursing as she hummed fragments of familiar tunes.

“Oh, I know,” Lillie finally spoke up, flinging the bare stem to the ground. “We could discuss the new ball!”

“There’s going to be a lot less people there,” Pique offered, mouth quirked into a faint smile. “So that means less pressure, doesn‘t it?”

“Oh, don’t tell her that! She’s so cute when she’s panicked!”

“I don’t know, though. I saw them fixing up the ballroom earlier, and it looks even better than last time. It’ll still be pretty great --”

“Yes, yes, of course, with all the gowns and couples and dancing! You and your prince, leading the crowd in the first waltz! It‘ll be lovely, so lovely that no one will even notice when you trod across his toes!” A thought seemed to strike the blonde, and her whole face lit up, pigtails bouncing feverishly on her shoulders. “Oh, oh! What if the woman in black were to return, though? Wouldn’t that be thrilling? A love battle for sure!”

Uzura perked up at the word, blue eyes widening as she uttered a little laugh. At once, she began to chant, drumbeats forming a steady rhythm. “Lovey dovey, lovey dovey, lovey dovey...”

Ahiru, meanwhile, had stilled, fingertips frozen against a few loose strands of hair she had meant to tuck behind her ear. She tried to laugh at Lillie‘s idea, but the sound emerged as more of a hoarse cough. In truth, the possibility hadn‘t crossed her mind all week, not once -- but now it overwhelmed every other worry, cold and heavy in the back of her head. What if the woman returned? Would she demand to dance with Mytho once more? Would everyone take her side instead?

The thought consumed her so thoroughly for a moment that she didn’t even notice Pique rise up onto her knees and shuffle over to her. At least, not until her friend was mere inches away from her face, her own expression one of determination.

“Say,” she said, nose wrinkling. “Why weren’t you at the first ball? We’ve been wondering. I guessed maybe you got really sick all of a sudden...”

“And I guessed,” Lillie piped in, scooting in beside Pique, “that it was because of crippling embarrassment! Or maybe a forbidden affair...”

“No, no!” Ahiru interjected, face reddening - an affair? She wasn’t even married yet! -- as she waved a hasty hand. “Nothing like that!”

Both girls blinked in innocent unison.

“Then why?” Pique asked.

“We won’t tell a soul,” Lillie insisted. “No matter how dreadful it may be!”

Ahiru glanced back and forth between their eager gazes and considered, for the briefest of moments, how easy it would be to tell them. It would only take a few simple words, two careful whispers in each of their ears, and the secret would be unraveled, as simply as pulling a thread from a frayed fabric. After all, these were her friends. They would understand, wouldn’t they?

Her lips parted, but once again the words died away, reduced to a shallow breath. She had to look away.

“I-It’s nothing,” she stammered, fixing her eyes to the sky. A soft mess of blue and gray loomed overhead, clouds almost seeming to rest on the treetops as they drifted past. “I just have this -- this allergy, but it’s not a big deal, not at all, I promise!”

The two girls were quiet a moment longer, and Ahiru found herself sure they’d wouldn’t accept her excuse, that they’d keep prodding her until it all became too much to bear, but to her surprise, Pique just shrugged. She sighed as she steadied herself, hands pressed to the flattened grass behind her. “Okay, okay,” she drawled. “We were just curious.”

“There’s certainly no reason to be ashamed!” Lillie piped up, and with a girlish squeal, caught Ahiru in yet another back-breaking embrace. “Such shortcomings only add to your charm!”

“Ah, thank you,“ Ahiru gasped in response, and she couldn’t help but smile as warm relief flooded through her. After a moment, she gently untangled herself from Lillie’s arms and stood, brushing a few specks of dirt from her dress.

“I think I need to practice some more,” she said, touches of laughter in her voice as she gathered up the folds of her skirt in both hands. A few feet away, a telltale circle waited, the grass flattened and torn, the dirt covered with countless elegant imprints of familiar shoes. Ahiru hurried over to it, finding herself eager to change the subject -- which in her case, usually led to rambling. “It’s the only way I’ll get any better, after all! Could one of you pretend to be my partner again, maybe? It really helped, you know, to have a real person to do the steps with, and it’s a lot better than just pretending there‘s someone I‘m dancing with, don’t you think --”

“Actually,” Pique interjected, standing as well, “we really have to get going. We’re supposed to be having the fittings for our gowns today. Remember, Lillie?”

“Oh, that’s right,” the blonde chirped, and jumped to her feet. A sudden gust spiraled across the field, startling the three girls as each of their skirts were ruffled. “These discussions are just so thrilling. It’s easy to lose track of time!” She called over the whistling of the wind, giggling as she pressed both hands against the swell of her dress -- no doubt to keep it from flying up. “You’ll still be sure to join us for dinner, right, Ahiru?”

Ahiru hesitated, not entirely sure how much more “discussion” she’d be able to take, but Lillie’s smile was unwavering, and she found herself reluctant to disappoint. “Of course,” she said, doing her best to mimic the smile. “I’ll see you in the dining room. Oh, but make sure to tell the cook --”

“Before sunset, we know, we know,” Pique called over her shoulder with a lazy wave of one hand, already turning to face castle walls further up the field. She patted Uzura on the head, her shoes slipping on the curling grass as she hurried past. “See you later, Uzura!”

“Yes, keep our dear Ahiru’s spirits bright,” Lillie said, catching the little girl in a one-armed hug as she followed after Pique. “Goodness knows she needs it!”

Uzura blinked, and with a laugh, shouted “I don’t get it-zura!” before returning to her ‘lovey-dovey’ song, drumbeats quick and loud as they echoed throughout the emptied field.

Ahiru watched her two friends run up the gentle slope of the field, mere colorful blurs amidst all the swaying green and still gray of the castle. With a soft, slow breath, she turned back, taking a quiet moment to watch the trees sway and bend in the breeze, to watch the grass bend back as brisk threads of wind passed through again and again.

It was nice to be outdoors.

The ballroom was a lovely place to practice, of course, but sometimes, a change of scenery seemed like the best way to brighten one’s day. At first, she’d assumed the idea impossible, of course -- hadn’t it only been a week or so ago that she’d been forbidden from even taking a step outside the castle walls? -- but Pique and Lillie had insisted that she go to the Council for permission. She assumed they’d deny her at once, but to her surprise, the question had barely left her mouth before the hall swelled with countless warm permissions. If you mean to improve your performance, the little man in the center had said, eyes wide and bright, far be it from us to deny you such a simple wish.

It was rather strange, Ahiru thought -- but the decision wasn‘t entirely irrational. At least, it didn’t seem that way when she remembered...

The thought trailed off. To make sure, she turned in a careful circle, eyes trained to the forests’ thick edge as she searched for spots of black and touches of red. Every distant treetop proved a perfect green, though. The sky above her was calm, bereft of everything but innocent clouds.

There were no ravens.

She hadn’t seen any for days now. No one had, and the castle had since brimmed with all sorts of wild possibilities, sculpted by anxious nobles and curious servants alike. The awful birds weren’t fond of the warm weather and chose to hide within the forest for shade. Some unforeseen sickness or discomfort had caused them to desert their claim prematurely. A great attack was being planned, and therefore the land was being led into false comfort.

Ahiru, meanwhile, led little weight to such ideas, instead preferring to think much more positively, if only because it was her nature. Maybe they had given up! The wedding was only a few months away, after all, and once it took place, the ravens would be forced to leave forever -- at least, that was what the prophecy entailed. Maybe they thought it was hopeless to stay and had already left to find somewhere else to live. Maybe...

With a sigh, Ahiru shook her head, the curled tip of her braid tickling at her fingertips as it settled against the curve of her neck. Well, whatever the reason was, what mattered was that the Council found the outdoors safe enough for her to practice her dancing in the field. The forest was distant, and the castle walls lingered just a few paces away. Surely if she was in any danger, someone would hear from such a short distance. Besides, they had promised to send someone to keep an eye on her. She hadn’t seen anyone just yet, but they had to be close by...

“Ahiru!”

She turned, roused from her thoughts by the sudden voice. Uzura had jumped up to her feet and stood still, one drumstick raised high in the air.

“Does the word allergy mean to turn into a duck-zura?”

Ahiru blinked, confusion setting in briefly before she remembered what she’d told Pique and Lillie. “Um, well,” she struggled, unsure of how to explain, “it sort of does! It’s just…a fancier way of saying it. A big word for grown-ups! That way, people know I’m being, um, serious...”

“But,” Uzura interjected, stumbling a few quick steps over to her, wide-eyed gaze unwavering, “why is ‘duck’ not serious-zura?”

With a sigh, Ahiru crouched down to the little girl’s level, gathering up the fringes of her skirt beneath both knees when they strayed through the dirt. Twin pairs of blue eyes met, blinking in gentle unison. “It’s just -- I think that if I said that, it might be a little scary to some people. Allergy is a much nicer word, too...”

“Ducks are scary-zura?”

“Well, no, but...”

Ahiru hesitated, then after a quiet moment, softly clasped her hands to both of Uzura’s colorful sleeves. “Do you know anyone else who turns into a duck at night?”

Uzura pressed a curled fingertip to her lips; after a long moment of thought, shook her head.

“That’s because it’s a very...strange thing to have happen, and most people aren’t very good at understanding strange things. It could make them angry, or upset, or disappointed, or…some other bad feelings.” Short of breath, Ahiru steadied a careful hand against her chest, mustering up a bright smile when Uzura’s eyes widened with concern. “It just wouldn’t be a very good idea to tell right now, I think. Okay? Can you please promise me that you won’t say anything?”

Uzura blinked, and with a bright smile, waved one stick high in the air. “I promise-zura!”

Ahiru couldn’t help but giggle, watching as the little girl hurried back into the tall grass with drumbeats constant as she ran in wild circles, having returned to her song. “Lovey dovey, lovey dovey, lovey dovey...”

Enough distractions, she reluctantly told herself. With a sigh, she turned back to her little space of dirt and flattened grass. Soft imprints from her slippers remained in the dirt, having already formed countless hasty lines and spiraling shapes in all the chaos of her earlier practice. She fit both soles within their nearest worn outlines, and rose both arms into the correct position, her cupped hands mimicking the firm shape of a shoulder, of another hand, identical in form. Practicing had seemed a lot easier when Lillie and Pique were filling in for the male partner. They hadn’t known most of the steps, of course, but at least then she’d had someone to hold to and lean on when she stumbled through the grass. Nibbling on her lower lip, she straightened her stance. Well, she’d just have to make do with an imaginary partner once more.

The beats on the little drum formed a faint, steady rhythm in Ahiru’s head -- thump-thump-one-two-step-thump-thump -- and her feet followed it without fail, kicking up gasps of dirt with each shift of her pointed toes. The distant forest wavered in her gaze, distracting in its starkness, and so she allowed both eyes to flutter close and struggled to conjure up the familiar images of the ball instead: warm threads of light, soft music lilting overhead, flourishes of elegant skirts and vivid tunics as they swept in and out of view. She took a myriad of deep breaths, trying to immerse herself in the warm memories and force it to feel as real as possible if only for a moment, but dark questions kept cropping up in the back of her head. Would another ball really work? Would the awful rumors and cruel comments she couldn’t help but keep overhearing finally stop? What if the woman in black returned? Surely she wouldn’t force herself into the spotlight. Surely she would understand that it was Ahiru’s place, no matter how much more graceful she proved to be...right?

There were no answers to be found, merely question after haunting question filling up every cavern of her thoughts, swelling to a fevered pitch much faster than she could hope to control them. Distracted, her steps strayed into the grass as she spun around, and the sole of one shoe slid across a patch of thick blades, still damp with stubborn dew. Unprepared for the misstep, Ahiru uttered a sharp cry and stumbled forward, dress billowing up against her flailing arms as both knees hit the ground. Great, she thought, familiar disappointment seeping in as she brushed away a few bedraggled strands of hair from her face. Now she would have grass stains on her favorite dress.

It wasn’t until she’d risen to her feet and dusted off her wrinkled skirt with a sigh that she realized Uzura’s steady drumbeats had ceased, the field quiet save for the sound of her own heavy breaths.

Ahiru turned, expecting to see the little girl distracted by yet another frantic bug or colorful flower, but instead blinked once, then twice when only an empty stretch of field greeted her.

“Uzura?”

There was no answer, save for the gentle whistling of the wind. Heartbeat quickening, she spun around, looking in several different directions.

She tried again, voice cracking as she cried out. “Uzura!”

Nothing.

Where had she gone? The little girl couldn’t have already made it all the way back to the castle, and she knew better than to wander into the forest. Calm down, calm down, she’s surely here somewhere, calm down, Ahiru insisted to herself a thousand times over, taking a few careful steps through the grass, hands stiff and outstretched as if Uzura had become invisible, as if at any moment she would appear and wander into her arms. But still, fear swelled in her chest, cold and quickly overwhelming. How could she have been so careless? Edel had trusted her to look out for the little girl while she was running an errand in town, and now she would be --

Her thoughts trailed off as a spot of bright color across the field caught her gaze. Ahiru squinted to make sure, and her ragged breaths finally calmed. There she was, standing near the cluster of trees that had seemed to stray from the forests’ edge. At once, Ahiru gathered up her long skirt in both hands and hurried through the swaying grass over to her, a relieved smile fluttering across her lips. Uzura had probably just been distracted by something silly, like a butterfly, or a stray leaf in the wind, or...

She noticed something strange then. Her footsteps slowed, and she steadied herself against the hunched trunk of the nearest tree. Uzura was facing a thicker one a handful of feet away, and Ahiru watched as the child’s little mouth moved rapidly, obviously forming words. It sounded like mere noise from Ahiru‘s distance, though. Who was she talking to?

Curious, she approached as quietly as possible, not wanting to startle her, but blinked as another figure slowly came into view around the trunk. A pair of long legs, stark black amidst all the green of the field. The curve of a bent torso and stiff shoulder, leaning against the worn bark. The Folds and colors of the clothing were familiar to her, but it wasn’t until wide threads of sun slid through the drooping branches, settling along the shape of his hair and coloring it a vibrant green, did she realize.

Fakir.

Ahiru paused her steps and stood still, back pressing to a thin tree just a few feet away. Neither of them noticed she was there. Uzura was still talking, but the clumsy words were a mere murmur of noise in the back of her head, too overwhelmed by her genuine surprise as she watched Fakir look to the little girl, nod once, then again to whatever it was she was saying. What was he doing here?

She noticed the sword, laid flat amidst the curling blades of grass. One of his hands rested close to the hilt, fingertips twitching as they strayed against it again and again, if only out of instinct. He must have been who the Council sent to watch out for her, she assumed, and yet, quickly found herself much more interested by what he held in his other hand. It looked like a thin stack of papers, flapping wildly against his leg as a cold breeze tore through the field once more. When it had passed, he laid them flat against his lap once more and took up a quill from his side, the feather tall and colored a dull white. Ahiru watched with wide eyes as he scribbled a handful of hasty words across the paper’s crinkled length, completing what looked like a string of dark, elegant lines. The memory of him standing before the bookstore and perusing the quills flitted through Ahiru’s thoughts, and she blinked a few times, both instances fitting together in her mind to form a suitable conclusion: he liked to write! She wondered what about, and leaned forward in the faint hope that maybe she could read it from her distance. No such luck, she accepted after a determined moment, the words too far away to discern correctly. At a loss, she finally began to listen to Uzura’s chattering.

“--and it’s a really pretty song-zura!” The bright-eyed girl rapped a handful of loud beats on her drum, humming a few clumsy notes as she did so. “Do you like it-zura?”

Fakir nodded once more, quill stilling against the edge of the page as he glanced to her. “You make a good musician.”

Uzura beamed at that, and allowed both clenched hands to fall limp as her attention was caught by the spiraling smudge of ink his quill had left. She moved a step closer, peering down at the papers held in his lap. “What are you writing-zura?”

“A story,” was his simple answer.

Her round face brightened. “I like stories-zura! Stories about animals and princesses and monsters-zura!”

“Do you? Careful,” he hastily added when her foot strayed close to the sharp blade of his sword. Uzura didn’t seem to understand, though, still squinting to see his written words better, and so he set the quill within the curls of the flattened grass and held out his hands. “Here, come around. It’ll hurt if you step there.”

Fakir wasn’t saying much of anything, but still his voice was much softer, almost kind in the careful way he spoke to the child. Ahiru couldn’t help but watch as he gently curled his fingers around both of Uzura’s wrists and led her in a wide circle around the sword, a ghost of a smile twitching across his lips when she laughed. It was certainly much different from the cold glare she’d glimpsed him wearing in various hallways over the length of the week. Just like the night of the ball, when...

She laid a few careful fingertips against the bend of her elbow. The elegant fabric of her sleeve was thin, and she could feel the coarse material of his bandage beneath it, the cloth stiff with age. The cut had surely healed by now -- but still, she hadn’t thought to remove it. Not for any reason or anything, she insisted to herself, dropping the hand back to her side. She just hadn’t gotten around to taking it off yet.

The thought dissipated, replaced by a new one as she watched Uzura gesture with a drumstick to certain scribbled words; watched as Fakir told her what each one was and what it meant. So he could be nice to animals and children. That was something. She’d been right after all. A truly awful person wouldn’t speak so softly to a little girl, or take the utmost care in wrapping the wing of a mere duck. At least, they wouldn’t when they thought there was no else around to see them do it...

Another brisk gust of wind blew through the field, and Ahiru clasped both hands against her billowing skirt, desperate to keep it from flying up. Fakir, however, apparently wasn’t as prepared, and the sudden breeze tore one of the pages from his grip. “Hey!”

Ahiru cried out as well, and without thinking, rushed forward through the grass, hand outstretched to catch the flailing paper before it flew past her. The wind softened, and it slowed, twirling just above her head. Jumping to her tiptoes, her fingertips managed to snag one frayed corner -- only for another wild gust to rush against her, tangling her skirt around both legs and pushing her backwards, so hard that she fell in a mess of wrinkled fabric, back and head hitting the ground hard.

Hurried footsteps echoed across the field. Ahiru blinked, the gray-splotched sky wavering in her startled gaze. Uzura’s wide face blotted it out a few seconds later, blue eyes peering down at her. “Are you okay-zura?”

She didn’t even have a chance to answer before two strong arms hooked around her own and hoisted her upright once more, holding on until she managed to regain her balance. Steady once more, she met Uzura’s worried gaze with a weak smile before turning around to face a wide-eyed Fakir.

“What are you doing?” He asked at once. He sounded -- and looked -- startled, Ahiru realized, and it dawned on her that he hadn’t known she was so close until just now.

She blinked. “I was...oh!” She lifted her hand, and sure enough, the paper was clutched in her trembling fingertips, a little crumpled from her fall, but intact. A victorious grin emerged on her face, and she waved it high in the air as though it was a prize. “Hey, I caught it!”

“Ahiru!” Uzura had scrambled up beside her, proceeding to interrupt her celebration by tugging on her skirt. “This is Fakir who writes stories-zura!”

Ahiru remembered then, her giddy smile quickly shifting into one of embarrassment as she lowered the arm waving the now even more wrinkled paper. She smoothed it out to the best of her ability with a few soft strokes of her palm, and held it out to Fakir at once. “Ah, I’m sorry! I was just really excited that I didn’t let it get too far away, because that would have been awfully bad, and I -- um, here you go.”

He didn’t say anything, but took the page from her and cast a brief cursory glance at it before turning away. He returned to the tree where he’d left the others, and Ahiru, at a loss, followed with Uzura close behind her.

“So...you like writing!”

She hadn’t really meant to speak up again, her sheepish gaze having strayed to the tips of her shoes, but the silence was uncomfortable, and she felt compelled to fill it with something.

“That’s great -- I mean, writing is great! I really love stories, so I’m sure it must be even more fun to create them yourself, and getting to make your own characters and places and…well, all that stuff! So, um, is your story about anything in particular, or --”

“Are you finished?”

She glanced back up and couldn’t help but stammer, startled by the stark interruption. “W-What?”

Fakir sheathed his sword in a single fluid movement, his crumpled papers clutched fiercely in the other hand.

“With this pitiful excuse for a practice. Are you finished or not?”

His tone was sharp once more, and when he turned to face her, meeting her wide eyes with a cold glare, Ahiru drew back a hasty step as if stung. “It’s -- it’s not pitiful,” she finally managed to say, voice weak as she fumbled for a retort. “I’ve been working really hard -- ”

He cut her off cold. “You’ve been stumbling around like a moron for the past hour and wasting my time.”

He crouched beside the tree, gathering up his quill from where he’d laid it amidst the grass as well as what looked like a small inkwell, and shuffled both deep within his stack of papers. Ahiru could only watch, frozen in place. Her shock only lasted the briefest of moments, though, quickly replaced by an all-too familiar swell of anger, one that overtook her at once and forced words to her mouth without a moment’s hesitation.

“What’s the matter with you!?”

She had yelled it, so loud that Fakir stood at once, his dark expression colored with surprise. Maybe it was too much, but she was sick of this, sick of how he shifted so suddenly, so irrationally between different behaviors; she found herself determined to expose the duplicity once and for all. “I just watched -- I watched you just a moment ago, talking to Uzura, and you weren’t asking like this at all! You were even --”

“Never mind that,” he interjected, voice so strong and sharp that the rest of her words withered away in the low of her throat. The papers trembled as his fingers curled tighter around him. His scowl had deepened, but -- was it just her imagination, or had a streak of warm color formed along the bridge of his nose? Was he embarrassed? “Don’t waste thought on -- on trifles. All I know is that I’m sick of babysitting you --”

“I don’t need you to look out for me,” she shot back, offended by the word -- only for Fakir to mutter a curt “fine,” and brush past her, his long, stiff strides carrying him a handful of feet away before Ahiru could even catch her breath. She turned, the wind picking up once again, a soft hum as it toyed with the trim of her skirt. It didn’t matter, it didn’t, she tried to tell herself -- but still, a careful hand clutched to her sleeve, fingertips pressing hard to feel the bandage beneath it, and she couldn’t help herself.

“I -- I just don’t understand,” she called after him, and the restless breeze seemed to take hold of the words and echo them a thousand times over, each instance softer than the last. “Why can’t you be kind to me!?”

Fakir’s steps paused, and he stood still with his back to her, little more than a streak of dark color amidst all the green of the field. The moment was brief, though, and he took off once more with steps faster than before, quickly disappearing down the gentle slope of the field.

“Why were you yelling-zura?”

Ahiru blinked and glanced down at a wide-eyed Uzura, her little hand still clinging to the wrinkled folds of her skirt. In all the commotion, she’d forgotten the little girl was even there.

“O-Oh, don‘t worry,” she stuttered, patting the girl’s head with a weak upturn of her lips. “Everything’s fine, it -- it’s over, it doesn’t matter!” Then why was her smile faltering so staunchly? Anxious to hide it, she raised a hand, curling it tight against her mouth. Still, Uzura seemed to notice, and immediately released her loose hold on the skirt so as to grasp at Ahiru’s other hand instead.

“What’s wrong-zura?”

Uzura’s own hand was warm, and Ahiru instinctively curled her fingers tight around it, a real smile returning. “I’m okay,” she said, voice soft. Yet another gentle current of wind passed by, and she shivered at its touch, the vast field suddenly feeling very lonely. “I think that’s enough for today,” she said to the little girl, gently pulling her along as she turned to face the castle wall and began walking in its direction. “Let’s go inside. Maybe we could have a snack, or I could read you a story -- ”

The little girl laughed, footsteps quick and clumsy as she kept the pace. “A story about animals and princesses and monsters-zura!”

Ahiru could only nod, could only resist the urge to look back as she and Uzura hurried across the length of the field, the wind soft against their shifting ankles and the glow of the newly setting sun warm on their backs.

- - -

A/N: ...wow. This chapter is long AND boring. XD;; So sorry, guys. The second half of Chapter Six is considerably more exciting, but I really didn't want to inflict a 23,000 word monster on you in one go. That said, though, Part One and Two no doubt work best together. XD;

Anyway, I hope this very loooong installment wasn't completely uninteresting! I'm glad to say that this is pretty much the last bit of set-up needed on our way to the main plot at hand. Everything really gets going in the second half~!

As always, comments are appreciated, and look forward to the update next week! :D

~

beyondfate — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 01:43:39 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Six (Part One) ~ 13,019 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five]
Summary: A week has passed quickly. Ahiru struggles to gain a moment's peace before the new ball, but strange memories, pressing questions, and frustrating encounters make her day all the more difficult.

- - -

A/N: Just a heads-up! This first scene (basically, what's in italics) takes place the morning after the end of Chapter Five, while everything that comes after that takes place a week after Chapter Five. XD; Hopefully that makes sense. The characters will mention it as well. Enjoy! <3

- - -

He knew it was morning, but within the grand conference hall, it still seemed like the blackest of nights to Mytho, darkness brimming in every corner and crevice of the room. No cracks in the stone, no windows to open. He could not see, but still found his chair with ease, and the worn wood was familiar against his hand.

Footsteps, slow and soft, traced careful paths to the center. Breath after heavy breath filled the air, twisting within one another so absolutely that it felt as though the room itself had come alive, reveling at their presence within it.

Thick candles were lit, and the table shifted into view, ornate, incredibly long. Each pocket of warmth revealed the barest of human forms; dark robes and wrinkled fingertips. A few hollow faces flickered in the wavering light, ghostly.

In the center sat a small man, eyes as white and round as full moons.

His withered face formed a smile. “Prince.”

Mytho must have sat before them a thousand times, but the voice never failed to send a tremor through his spine. Both hands clutched to his knees, and he straightened. “You’ve called me back so soon. Have you already reached a decision?”

“We have,” the man said, and those around him murmured in agreement, weak flames bending and sputtering with each word. “Another ball does seem ideal.”

Mytho honestly hadn’t expected such a quick, positive answer. In fact, he’d assumed he would have to convince the Council of its necessity. “Really?”

“Of course. The princess’s absence from the first was both unexpected and unfortunate. We meant for the ball to cement her place in the hearts of the public, but…well, you must hear what they are saying now.”

“...I have.”

It was true, Mytho accepted with a sad shake of his head. All sorts of elaborate rumors and ugly comments had sprung to life within the kingdom so quickly. He had heard nobles giggling in the hallways, villagers speaking in the streets outside the jewelry shop -- even his own servants, whispering to one another at his bedroom door. The princess was a coward, a failure, and imperfect in all the worst ways. He had reprimanded those he came across who spoke of Ahiru so callously, of course, but there was only so much he could fix, so much damage he could undo.

“Has she told you anything more about this…aversion to moonlight?”

Mytho could even hear the same familiar disdain tainting the man's own words. Why did everyone find it so difficult to trust in Ahiru? Why could no one bring themselves to believe that her problem was real? For once, he found himself glad for the darkness, for the Council could not see his frown.

“No, she has not,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “I’m sure it’s just as serious as she says, though. I trust her.”

A scatter of murmurings echoed down the table. The old man shifted in his seat, lips still twisted in a careful smile.

“Then the only solution is to acquiesce to her rules. An appearance at another ball, one during the day, will reassure the public of her worth, we hope.”

“It will.”

Each head nodded in slow succession. “The announcement will be made tomorrow.”

Mytho stood at once. Though he was reluctant to admit it, such strong darkness was beginning to unnerve him, and he found himself eager to escape the room. “Thank you for your understanding,” he said with a short bow, and turned to face the door, his form creating little more than an elegant shadow across the floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“We’re not through here, Prince.”

His voice was sharp, and Mytho turned back with a quiet sigh, dreading what was to come next. Surely they wished to make some pointless complaint concerning his behavior. Perhaps his recent trip to town was cause for alarm in their eyes. “Yes?”

The man in the center folded his wrinkled hands within one another, wide eyes so bright that they seemed like beacons, focused on him, making it impossible to hide.

“We have overlooked much of your improper behavior,” he started, words dragging behind one another, “because you are still young, and we are forgiving. But your actions at the ball were quite inexcusable.”

Mytho blinked. What were they talking about? He played the night over in his mind a quick handful of times, eager to discover just what it was they had been so disgusted with. All he could remember was joyous music, pleasant laughter, and dancing. So much dancing...

He took a few hasty steps towards the table, suddenly uneasy. “I don’t understand --”

“Your involvement with that strange girl,” the man wasted no time in cutting him off, “was disrespectful, both to us and to the princess.”

All of this anger, these accusations were happening much too fast for Mytho. “What are you talking about? What involvement? I didn‘t --”

“You spent the entire evening with her, in plain view for all the world to see.” Mutterings rumbled all throughout the hall, hooded figures trembling as they slammed their fists to the wood, one after the other, a chaotic symphony of sound. “If anything, you are the one to blame for the public’s sudden distaste for the princess, what with your apparent favoring of another.”

“What!?”

Mytho had never been one for outright anger, but something seized within him at that instant, and in only a moment, he had closed the space between himself and the vast table. He gripped both hands around its edge, so hard that his knuckles gleamed white in the faint light.

“This is ridiculous,” he said at once, words spilling out faster than he could hope to control them. “She asked for nothing but an innocent dance, it would have been much more inappropriate to have refused her --”

“Nonetheless,” the man interrupted, not even blinking at the prince’s sudden flourish of emotion, “it will not happen again. You will not put any other foolish ideas into the heads of the public. You will dance only with your princess from this moment on. Is this clear?”

Let it go, a small, stern part of Mytho insisted, the words bubbling in the back of his head -- but still, he could not, a frustration, an anger swelling within him he did not fully comprehend. He had done nothing wrong, merely danced with another when he was bereft of his rightful partner. Ahiru had told him he could do so -- insisted on it, even. How could they speak so disdainfully of such a beautiful evening? The memories still lingered, vibrant and warm. Music heavy along his shoulders, thick against his back. Countless skirts twirling, kissing the tips of his shoes as they moved; one, two, three, step His palm pressed to the curve of her waist and the gentle red of her smile, a streak of color amidst all the empty light. He had been happy that night, had grinned and laughed and felt as though he could have gone on dancing for ten lifetimes. He’d felt much happier than he ever had following the Council’s ridiculous rules. If they were to take yet another simple freedom away from him, then...

Both hands settled along the worn wood, his twitching fingers splayed. The candlelight painted them a weak yellow, and for a moment, they looked as withered as the old man’s.

“Perhaps I don’t agree,” he said, voice dark.

The man’s curled smile didn’t even waver. “Is that so?”

He was being taunted. These men were humoring his anger, treating his rebellion as if it were coming from nothing more than a doll, a puppet who could tug at its strings but never hope to break them. He wouldn’t be treated like this. The decision flooded all through Mytho, almost painful in its starkness.

“Perhaps I find all of this foolish. Perhaps I think you and your Council have become deluded, paranoid. Perhaps I am not someone to be controlled by these ridiculous rules!”

The words were pouring out, and he was useless to stop them, to even consider them before they echoed in the dark air all around him. An idea struck, and he spoke without hesitation, briefly invincible.

“Perhaps I should be king now.”

Silence.

No one seemed to breathe. Heads rose upright, wide eyes gleaming within the depths of each hood, all held to the prince. Even the flames atop each candle stood straight and still, as if unwilling to create a disturbance.

Mytho met each gaze, then blinked once, twice. His words lingered in the air, taking on a grave weight and pressing against his shoulders, chipping away at his resolve until there was little left.

He’d actually said it. What he’d been thinking and so quietly considering for the past few years had finally emerged into the open. Ever since he’d been old enough to grasp his place amidst all the woodwork of this society, doubt had plagued him, crept into his thoughts at the most innocent of moments. There had been not been a single monarch for over seventeen years. The sudden, startling death of his mother had meant that the throne was his and his alone -- but he had been little more than an infant at the time, and in the light of such monumental futures being forced into motion, the Council was formed so as to have some guidance during such trying times. They were only trying to do what was best for the land, to make sure the prophecy was fulfilled and his marriage brought peace at last --- but in the end, he knew it had never been their place at all. He was the rightful heir. He was the one who should be making judgments and setting rules. Who were they to deny him his place? Could they really trust a mere poetic prophecy to know what was best for him and the land?

But such questions had never been more than a slight notion, a quiet idea in the back of his head that would never be spoken of. He’d certainly never meant to question it in front of the entire Council! Now, watching as each form shifted and rumbled with anger, as the little man in the center rose with a look of true horror, he knew he’d made a grave mistake.

“You dare to doubt our judgment?”

“No,” he tried to start, voice weak, but a slew of angry mutterings overpowered him.

“You dare to play with our future, to play with the fates of innocent people in exchange for your own freedom? Have we not always done what’s best for you? Have we not protected this land from those monsters to the best of our ability?”

“I did not mean to...”

Mytho did not know what he could say to erase his words, and cursed himself a thousand times for being so bold. They were right, of course. Who was he to question such great men? This was a time of caution, of destruction that had to be remedied before it was too late. His own beliefs amidst such momentous troubles were miniscule at best, and mattered not in lieu of what was best for the land.

“We cannot change what has been done,” the man continued, voice small and grave. “We cannot alter what has been set into motion. All we can do is fulfill this future and make sure not to step outside the lines. There is no room for freedom in such trying times, you must see.”

“I do.”

“Do you find yourself brave enough to cast the prophecy aside, prince?”

“...No.”

“Then you will be king when the fateful day comes. This is the fate arranged for you, and this is what will come to pass. Until then, you will follow our rules. Is this clear?”

At a loss, Mytho bowed to them, hands clutching to his chest, heart pounding so hard he could feel it against every line of his palm. “I understand. Please forgive me for my...boldness.”

Each hooded figure settled into their chairs once more with heavy sighs. The man in the center regained his smile, candlelight wavering as he took a breath. “You are dismissed.”

Mytho turned without another word, desperate to escape the darkness and see the sun once more, but in his haste, he stumbled against a tall obstacle a few feet from the door. Startled, his hands pressed to the object, searching for some small clue as to what it was. A stack of thick books, he deciphered. There were others, he remembered: stacks of histories, facts, and legends spread all throughout the grand conference hall. Just before he moved on, out the door and into the morning air, he patted the dusty cover of one, managing a weak smile.

Those men and their books.

- - -

The candles grew thin. Hot wax pooled in shallow circles along the worn wood. Flames fought for life on curling wicks. The prince had left some time ago.

Still, the men sat there, their heavy words lingering amidst each thin trail of smoke -- eyes gleaming as gasps of light within the dark holes of their hoods.

“His thinking is dangerous...”

“We cannot afford mistakes...”

“There must be obedience...”

“Only more questions will come...”

“Lock him away, lock them both away...”

“Extreme measures must be taken,” one man‘s dark voice rose above the rest, and he stood, hands gripped to something heavy, something sharp: a clean blade glinting in the light. “We will end any doubt now.”

The man in the center rose a hasty hand in his direction, though, and he obeyed, sinking back down into his chair.

“Now, now, there is no need for that just yet. They are still young, we must remember. Mistakes will be made, and that is fine -- as long as they are quickly remedied.”

“But the prince, he spoke of --” a distressed voice interjected, but once again, such words were silenced by the man in the center, who rested both wrinkled hands along the table and offered comforting looks to each of his fellow Council members in slow procession.

“A moment of boldness and nothing more,” he said with unmatchable firmness. “It would be wise for us to wait, to perhaps watch a little longer. Hopefully this matter will resolve itself, and there will be no more straying from the path.”

Soft mutterings of agreement echoed, and the man’s eyes narrowed.

“But if not...we will do what must be done, and carry out our duty.”

Each head nodded; each form rose to steady feet. One by one, the flames atop each candle were extinguished with a single harsh breath, and the grand conference hall fell dark once more.

- - -

Ravens.

She knew their smell and their sounds; she knew every feather gathered along each ragged wing. The sky, once so full of wistful color, had long since drowned in darkness. Treetops writhed and curled as claw after claw sunk into tired wood. Each crack of a branch sounded like a cry for help; every torn leaf that floundered and crumpled at her feet seemed like another wasted life. The thought to run flitted through her thoughts once more, but her body was as useless as a doll’s, so still and cold against the forest floor. She no longer noticed the dried trails of blood that lingered on both curves of her shoulders, at the tips of her twitching fingers. Her nose wrinkled at the thick smell, but there was no more pain to be felt, no more sadness she could comprehend. The ravens turned their hungry eyes to her once more and smothered her with familiar feathers, and she couldn’t even bring herself to cry --

-- crying, someone was crying. Thorns pricked at her fluttering wings, but still she waddled as fast she could, desperate to find the source. Spots of red dotted each crushed blade of grass, and it was like a path, leading her right to the pitiful clearing and to the trembling form, so small and sad. The little girl wept openly into her torn hands, tender skin of her shoulders covered in fresh slashes. Overwhelmed, she held out the tip of one wing, and the child looked up, managing to brave a smile. With trembling fingers, she gripped the feathered tip and held it as tightly as if it were a human hand, wide eyes a spark of color amidst all the night, eyes like --

-- eyes like pools of blood, like lingering scars amidst the ghostly blue of the lake. Above her, the sky was a perfect black, the familiar curve of the moon having stolen away for a night. Beneath her, his crimson eyes were gaping, and the lake rumbled as his ragged breath filled it to the brim. Step upon the surface, he commanded. She did so, and the water stilled like glass beneath the bare soles of her feet, as firm as forest floor. Impossible, she breathed, but still her little body danced along its surface, curled toes creating delicate ripples but never breaking the surface. It is upon this lake, he said, where you will give me your heart. She stilled at this. Palms pressed to her chest, as if it would keep what he desired safe inside. You will give it to me, he demanded once more, and his roar was painful against her bare skin but still she would not, still she refused. A dream, she insisted, too terrified to consider otherwise. This had to be one of so many dark dreams --

-- dreams of darkness faded, and the grass was soft beneath her body. Vibrant green wavered in her hazy gaze as both eyes fluttered opened. A pond lingered at the tips of her toes, a perfect blue. The treetops wavered in and out the corners of her eyes, seeming so far, miles and miles away from her. The sun. There it was, a gasp of light lingering between their branches, so wonderfully warm. Soft footsteps echoed near her, then, blades of grass crunching as the growing sound traced a path straight to her. Frightened, she pressed both scratched hands tight to the dirt and tried to move, but couldn’t. A face framed by sunlight appeared over her, and whatever weak breath she had caught in the low of her throat. A boy. At once, he knelt beside her and held out his cupped hands, filled with water. Her throat burned, and she couldn’t bring herself to hesitate, pressing her smudged hands to his wrists and gently guiding him to her lips. She drank the water quickly but did not move away, palms and fingers curling against his own, so soft. She smiled, and when he met her gaze and managed a nervous smile as well, she thought him the most beautiful person in all the world. Don’t leave, she prayed, refusing to let go. Please don’t leave me --

“Ahiru?”

She blinked. The quiet color of her bedroom flooded her wide eyes once more. Another Ahiru, just as equally startled, stared back at her from the mirror, glimpses of Edel’s form obvious behind her as the woman moved from side to side, fingers working through her long, tangled hair.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered at once, pressing a careful hand to her forehead and struggling to shake herself free of such a strange feeling. “Did you say something?”

Her caretaker’s painted lips formed a soft smile. “Not even past morning, and you’re already daydreaming.”

Ahiru managed a weak laugh. “No, no, I’m listening, I promise, it’s just...”

Her sentence trailed off. The words wouldn’t come, and her gaze fled to the wringing hands hiding in the folds of her skirt. She felt foolish for being embarrassed, for not wanting to tell Edel, the person she trusted more than anyone else the world, but...

Her thoughts were derailed as the gentle feel of Edel’s fingers working through her hair vanished, replaced by a pair of hands pressing to her shoulders. She glanced back up and met the woman’s careful gaze in the mirror, her blue eyes brimming with concern.

“What troubles you, Ahiru?”

She hesitated a moment longer, but finally relented with a sigh.

“Nothing, Miss Edel, it’s just…I was just thinking about these dreams I had last night.”

Nimble fingertips returned to the swell of her hair and resumed braiding. “I assumed that may be the case.”

Ahiru blinked. “Why?”

“Well, your bed this morning was quite the mess, if I recall correctly,” the woman said, friendly amusement lingering in each word. “Even as such a little duck, you manage to thrash quite violently in your sleep.”

Ahiru couldn’t help but giggle at that, and her face flushed with warm embarrassment. She’d done her best to fix it, she told herself, arching her neck so as to catch a glimpse of the bed in the mirror -- only to cringe at the sight of wrinkled sheets and pillows laid haphazardly.

“The ball is almost here as well,” Edel continued. “I’m sure that must be hard on you. To think, a week has passed by so quickly...”

The week had gone by fast Ahiru realized. It felt like only yesterday she’d been convinced her entire future ruined beyond repair, only for Mytho to show up at her door and agree to her desperate idea of another ball at once. Days of hurried dance lessons, elegant meals, and afternoon promenades had swept by in a dizzying flash, and though it was faint, she could already hear echoes coming from the ballroom just beneath her feet. Tables were being carried into place once more, familiar decorations and grand banners splayed across the walls. So soon, she couldn’t help but think, a nervous knot already forming in the low of her stomach.

A quiet moment passed. Edel’s hands slowed as she spoke, a telltale sign of what she meant to say.

Her voice was quiet, careful. “Do ravens haunt your dreams?”

Ahiru stiffened for only a moment, resting her back against the soft cushion of the chair with another sigh.

“No, I -- well, yes, they do, but it’s not like that, not this time.” Once she started, it was difficult to stop, all the right words jumbling together as they poured out of her mouth. “I mean, I’ve always had dreams about ravens, really scary, awful dreams, but this -- this wasn’t like those, not at all. It felt real.”

Edel met her eyes in the mirror once more, expression unwavering. “Oh?”

“It feels like it happened to me, like it’s something that I’ve done but I can’t remember ever doing it in the first place.” She blinked and looked to Edel with a sheepish smile. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not just ravens, either, I saw -- I saw a little girl who had cuts on her arms, who was crying all by herself. And there was this boy, he saved me, and -- and I know it must sound silly, but it feels like I know them, like I should remember who they are -- and I just can’t.”

Ahiru took a deep breath, raising one hand so as to scratch at her shoulder, which had twitched with a small shudder of pain. Strange, she thought, and looked back up to Edel, who had pursed her lips in obvious thought.

“Ahiru,” she said after a moment, “do you remember anything from before you lived within the walls of this castle?”

Ahiru thought hard, searching every crevice of her memories for some hint of earlier years, but there was nothing, and she rose both hands briefly in defeat before allowing them to collapse against the folds of her skirt once more. “I -- I don’t think I do.”

The realization was somewhat offsetting. So much of her life proved empty to her, colored only by what others had told her, by what she had overheard from passing nobles who could do nothing but gawk and whisper. Is it true, what they say? That she spent the first five years of her life as a prisoner of the ravens?

She shook her head to rid herself of the unpleasant thought, unable to keep from scratching at the edge of her shoulder once more.

Edel’s fingers pressed to the ends of her long hair, finishing off the braid with a few simple tucks and threads. “Perhaps it is what you’ve lost, then.”

“What?”

“Our minds are known to block out memories deemed damaging. That time in your life must have been frightening, yes? It is only natural that you would have willed those memories away at such a young age.”

“But the girl,” Ahiru couldn’t help but interrupt, “and the boy...”

Her palms ached, consumed with the fleeting memory of his soft hands. That hadn’t been a bad memory at all, she almost said, but her lips pursed shut before she could.

Edel merely shook her head, her curled hair trembling on her shoulders. “Pleasant moments surely become lost in the shuffle when they occur between those not so pleasant. Don’t dwell on this. What’s passed has passed.”

The images still lingered, heavy and uneasy in the back of her mind, but Ahiru did her best to push them away, thinking it best to take Edel’s advice for the time being. “You’re right,” she said, and offered her caretaker the warmest smile she could muster. “Thank you, Miss Edel.”

A twinge of pain struck her shoulder once again, and Ahiru rose her hand without thinking, nails pressing to the spot, eyebrows knitting together in gentle confusion. What could be hurting her? It was as if she was being plagued by injuries no longer there, ghosts of pain she’d felt in the past. An idea struck, and her hand stiffened, palm falling flat against the spot. What if it was --?

“What’s the matter?” Edel’s soft voice cut off her thought. The woman’s hands lingered on her collar, wrists grazing against the ivory buttons that trailed down the back of the dress. “Is this fabric painful to you?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Ahiru insisted, but as if determined to prove her wrong, the pain trickled down further, trembling against the faint dips and curves of her back. She couldn’t bear to pull her hand away, and instead moved her fingers in stiff circles around the area, desperate for relief. Why now? It hadn’t bothered her for so long, for years and years and years. Why now?

Edel sighed, clutching two long nails to the first button. “Let’s find you something else. There’s no need to pretend, Ahiru. I‘ll help you take this off...”

“No, please, I’m just fine, it’s nothing, I promise,” Ahiru insisted once more, even attempting to yank away -- but it was too late. The first two buttons slipped open. The fabric folded over, revealing two pale shoulders and the gentle lines and shape of her back.

Edel caught her breath, pulling both hands away at once. “Oh.”

Ahiru closed her eyes, knuckles white as she clutched to her covered knees. She could not see, but she knew at once what had startled her caretaker so. Another memory she could not bring herself to remember; another imperfection that proved impossible to escape.

Scars, long and ragged. They covered her back, crisscrossing and curving against one another as if meant to form some haphazard pattern.

Edel redid the buttons at once, then pressed both hands to Ahiru’s shoulders with unmistakable remorse. “Please forgive me, I -- I forgot they were there.”

Silence. The sunlight flourished, flooding the bedroom with warm color that lingered at the fringes of Ahiru’s dress and the soft tips of her braid. She stood at once, offering Edel a weak smile when the woman moved to lead her to the doorway, her face pale.

“You’re expected downstairs.”

She followed, and the day began.

- - -

“And it was then that his majesty King Adalberto the Fourth became the first monarch to order a search of the forests surrounding our great land! If we were able to discover just where the ravens made their nesting grounds within such woods, he reasoned, perhaps we could destroy them at the source and end our torment. Of course, very few men returned from such a venture, and it was, on a whole, unsuccessful, but what’s important to remember is that he was a brave ruler, a king brilliant enough to look for solutions more intuitive and well-planned than any concocted before --”

The man’s voice meandered in and out of Ahiru’s head, forced away time and time again by her wondering thoughts. She was listening, she was, but...it was just so difficult to focus on such long, slow stories! Anyone else would think the same, she insisted to herself, having long settled for picking up on an interesting word here and there -- surely that would give her the gist of things in the end. Besides, how could she be expected to focus when there were so many other pressing matters occupying her thoughts?

Not the dreams. She had decided to take Edel’s advice in the end when it came to those, and without them lingering in her thoughts, her scars had ceased hurting. She was not entirely how or why the two were connected, too overcome with relief that the pain was finally gone.

After all, there were many other thoughts circling around in her head, demanding to be noticed. The ball -- the new one -- was only a day away, and the thought settled like a thick knot in the low of her stomach. Despite all of her fear, though, one realization remained bright. They would all see her. Everyone would see that she was not afraid.

Well, okay, maybe she was, but they wouldn’t be able to see it!

And that wasn’t all. There was her dance practice later on in the day to think about, as well as her new gown, how nice the weather was...

The card.

The card that had settled on her windowsill all those days ago, as if by coincidence, as if by magic. The card she had held in her hands over and over again, running her fingertips along its elegant trimming and its frayed corners, reading the same words a thousand times over in the hopes that there was some hidden meaning within them she was somehow missing. The card she couldn’t quite bring herself to get rid of, no matter how she tried.

It had rested in the top drawer of her armoire for seven days, hidden beneath wrinkled dresses she’d long outgrown. Not one other person knew it was there.

A cure for every ailment. An ending for every story.

It couldn’t be possible. This man, this ’H. Drosselmeyer’ -- surely he was some kind of healer, someone who could fix simple problems and sicknesses with homemade concoctions. He could be some sort of fortuneteller, even, one of those people with fancy hats and sparkly dust who spun elaborate futures for paying customers. She had read about them in her storybooks when she was younger, and had glimpsed colorful illustrations time and time again. Such a person had to be magical, she’d even thought.

But to hope, even for a second, that he might be able to help with her own problem?

She wouldn’t. It would be foolish to get all her hopes up over a simple card. So what if it had managed to somehow find its way to her windowsill? That didn’t mean it was magical. It certainly didn’t mean that such a man wouldn’t be scared out of his wits when he was told that the princess of the land turned into a duck when the sun went down.

Darker possibilities lingered in her mind as well. What if it was some sort of trap? She wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where she was going, of course. What if she snuck down there all alone, and this man meant to hurt her? It made so much sense. After all, to think he really meant to help her would be silly...right?

It was impossible to stop the curse...

...right?

No. The decision was stern and strict, easily overriding any flimsy doubts; she wouldn’t go. The minute she got back to her room, she’d tear the card up into little pieces, toss it out the window, and that would be the end of it.

Desperate to not think about it any longer, she tried to focus on what was being said.

“-and now we come upon this lovely portrait of his majesty King Siegfried the Second, who, in his later years, proposed the concept of a grand wall that would encircle the land, which he hoped would prove an effective boundary in keeping the people from attempting to flee the ravaged land. Many believed that they could find safe passage through the forest, but the ravens, ah -- ahem, quickly disproved such notions...”

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been paying attention the entire time, Ahiru insisted, quick to berate herself when once again, her thoughts wandered away from the subject at hand. She could recite the histories of the first few kings by heart, it felt like. Even their portraits had been wonderful to look at, so big and beautifully painted, thin and elegant strokes forming each monarch’s weathered face. But after seeing almost twenty of them now and hearing enough information to fill three large books, it was only natural that the strength of her attention would begin to wither.

She swayed on the balls of her feet, daring a careful glance in Mytho’s direction. The prince stood at her side, arms folded behind his back, golden-eyed gaze unwavering from the grand portrait before them. With every handful of words uttered, he managed a brief nod, lips settled in a soft, warm curve: the sort of smile he reserved for well-meaning servants and overly giddy nobles.

It was rather strange to be seeing patterns in his smiles, she realized, flushing gentle red -- but she supposed it made sense when one stopped to think about it. After all, she’d been spending a lot of time with Mytho over the past week, with walks, meals, and even a few brief dance practices spent in his company. It wasn’t his own doing, either. The Council, of all people, had been sending servants to her door each morning, bringing messages detailing certain engagements she was expected to attend; breakfast here, practice then, meeting later. She and Mytho had done it all, and now here they were again, asked to take part in a tour of the hall of portraits and listen to the histories of all the monarchs for a few hours. It was weird, almost --

“...and thus, shortly after the collapse of the third wall, the King died in his sleep at the ripe old age of eighty-seven, surrounded by his closest friends and advisors. His reign was one of the longest in our land’s history, almost fifty years to the dot! Aren’t these rich histories fascinating? Your highness?”

-- not that she minded, of course! Ahiru had enjoyed the last few event-filled days quite a bit. It was just that she hadn’t been near the prince for most of her young life, and before she had merely glimpsed him across vast rooms or passed him in narrow hallways for the briefest of moments. To suddenly have him near her so often -- a real, warm person instead of just a distant face, a figure shaped by nothing more than shared strings of facts and behaviors -- couldn’t help but feel jarring, in a way. And since when had the Council taken such an interest in their relationship? She wished she knew --

“Your highness!”

The sharp voice sent a sudden chill down Ahiru‘s back. With a squeak, she whirled her head back around to the front, her ruffled braid slapping against the curve of her neck. “Y-Yes, sir!”

The lanky man standing beside the portrait pushed a pair of silver-wired spectacles further up the bridge of his nose and fixed Ahiru with a stiff frown.

“Are we still paying attention, your highness?”

“Of course,” she stammered. At once she straightened, smoothing the creases in her skirt, gripping both hands together in a stern attempt to keep them from fidgeting. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mytho smothering a chuckle against his palm, and she flushed even deeper. “O-Of course I’m listening! This is very, very interesting! Of course!”

The man didn’t seem all that convinced, but turned away all the same, venturing further down the narrow hallway. “I do hope so,” he called over his shoulder, and raised his hand, gesturing for them to follow. “After all, the ravens may be fated to vanish once your marriage as taken place, but that does not mean that it is not vital to know all of your land’s rich and diverse history! The information will no doubt help you to be better, more informed rulers. Not to mention that history has a way of, shall we say, repeating itself...”

Ahiru sighed, and in her haste to follow, nearly ran into Mytho, who had stepped up beside her.

“This is almost done, I‘m sure,” he whispered close to the curve of her ear, amusement lingering in his voice. “Then, we’ll be free.”

With a smile, he offered her the crook of his arm. After a quiet moment, she took it with fingertips carefully pressing to the cloth of his sleeve, and she did her best to return the expression, struggling to will away the red that still clung to the bridge of her nose.

“And here we have,” the man continued, and the two hurried to catch up with him. “King Siegfried the Third and Queen Rudelle.”

It was the last one, Ahiru noticed, looking to the dark wall beside it; she decided that, in the least, she could devote all of her attention to this last portrait.

It was a beautiful painting, colorful and detailed. The man stood straight and stiff, so tall that the tips of his hair were almost cut short by the ornate frame. His face was bereft of many of the deep wrinkles that had graced the skin of the monarchs before him, dark hair speckled with only a few faint touches of gray. His queen sat beside him, pale-skinned and red-lipped, face just as soft and smooth as her king’s. Long hair trailed along her shoulders, gathered in loose, wild curls, so softly blonde that it almost appeared white. In the center of the portrait were their elegant hands, clasped together, as if meant to form the heart of the picture itself.

Ahiru blinked. They looked so much younger than all the other weathered rulers she’d seen before them. Why was that?

“Due both to King Siegfried’s lengthy rule as well as, ah, unfortunate circumstances, their reign was quite brief and ended after less than two years. Therefore, much was not accomplished during this time, but they will forever be known as the kindest of monarchs --”

The man hesitated, then, and glanced in their direction, brows knitting in obvious anxiety. It was only when Ahiru noticed that he was not looking to her, but at Mytho, that it all suddenly made sense.

These were his parents.

The prince merely offered the man a warm smile and nodded for him to continue -- which he did, if a little slower than before.

“The ravens staged a violent attack on the town close to a year after King Siegfried had ascended the throne. He was the bravest of men, and with no concern for his own well-being, followed his knights into the town so as to protect its hapless villagers. He...did not return.”

Ahiru’s hand tightened against Mytho’s arm, but she could not bring herself to look at him, instead keeping her eyes focused on the soft, vibrant colors of the painting, the curling strokes that formed their bodies and their clothes; their smiles, mere wisps of warm red.

“The queen...”

Another worried glance from the man. Another smile and encouraging nod from Mytho.

“The queen, ah -- perished in childbirth a few months later.”

Silence. The man managed a hoarse cough, hurrying a few frantic steps further down the hallway. Mytho led Ahiru after him, his pleasant expression unwavering all the while.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to say after a few quiet moments had slipped by. Mytho glanced to her, placing a careful hand over the trembling one clutched to his arm at once.

“Don’t worry,” he said, and his eyes betrayed nothing but genuine warmth to her. “What’s happened has happened. There’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

He was right, Ahiru accepted, relieved that the retelling hadn’t upset him as far as she could tell -- but still, she felt her own heart grow heavy with such awful words, stubbornly vibrant as they seemed to take root within her. He never even knew his own parents, she thought, downcast eyes focused on her feet as they shuffled across the cobblestone. Not even for a little while. Just like...

“And here,” the man spoke up once more with newfound boldness, obviously relieved to be shifting to a new subject, and with both hands, made a grand gesture towards a blank space of wall, “is where your portrait will hang soon enough! The painting won’t take place for another month or so, but the artist has already been selected, you might be interested to know. She’s rather young, but her work done thus far is quite extraordinary. She seems to excel quite marvelously at portraits, so --”

“Ahiru cast a curious glance around the remainder of the hallway, wondering just where the nearest escape -- ah, exit was. He had to be nearly finished, right? There was only so much one could say about a blank wall, right? If she could just...

The thought unraveled, her attention suddenly seized by a thin, curved shape further down the hallway.

It seemed to be leaning against the far wall, only one jutting side emerging from all the heavy shadow. The candlelight revealed a few flourishes of ruffled white, falling in messy folds against the cobblestone. A sheet?

The historian was still rambling. With the softest of movements, Ahiru managed to pull her hand free of Mytho’s bent arm, and gathering the fringes of her skirt in both hands, she tiptoed further down the hallway. After only a few hurried steps, she found herself standing before the strange object.

Careful palms and fingertips settled against the soft sheet, pressing against what rested hidden beneath it. It felt like a canvas, she deduced after a moment of thought, free of the golden frame that bound all the others hanging in the hallway. Was it a damaged painting? A mistake made by one of the artists?

At once, her grip tightened on the folds of the sheet. She wanted to see for herself.

“Ahiru?”

Footsteps echoed on the stone behind her, quickly growing in volume, but she paid them no mind, doing her best to remove the sheet as carefully as possible. The cloth covered the tips of her shoes in messy folds. Glimpses of the canvas emerged, dull white and worn with age.

“O-Oh no, that’s nothing, your highness, nothing at all, I promise you, there‘s no need to look,” the historian spoke up, tone laced with unmistakable panic, and dove forward to catch the sheet before it fell -- but found himself too late. Ahiru had already pulled the frayed corners free and held them loosely in her hands as faint candlelight seeped along the portrait, soft lines darkened, messy strokes of color set aflame.

A woman. The painting was not finished, countless lines missing, colors stark and hasty, but still her form was clear: an elegant, wispy shape. Tendrils of curled hair gathered on her shoulders, shaded dark. Her dress fell in soft folds around her thin arms and hands, a red jewel gathered on her chest. Both eyes rested closed, lips drawn straight.

“We only thought,” the man’s quiet voice shattered all the silence, “it would be quite the generous gesture to have her portrait done as well. After all, she was to live here with her child, and she was a monarch all the same, just of a different land. We had no way of -- there was no warning of -- the attack just happened so suddenly, and...”

A chill ran through Ahiru. The realization struck, a sudden flame in all the darkness of her thoughts, so strong that her legs nearly crumpled beneath her.

This was her mother.

Who was torn apart by ravens.

She couldn’t bring herself to move, to even tear her eyes away. The woman’s faint outline wavered in her blurring gaze, but remained before her all the same, beautiful and horrible. There was no memory of her for Ahiru to conjure up, no remembrance of a comforting touch or voice to console her quickening heartbeat. Only a story she had accidentally overhead long ago flooded through her, one that told of a journey through a great forest and its terrifying end. Scraps of skin wrapped in royal purple littered the ground, the only pieces left of the queen...

Without a word, Mytho gathered the sheet from her frozen feet and gently draped it over the portrait once more.

“Ahiru,” he said, voice careful. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, then shook her head so hard that her braid tangled around her neck. The images still lingered, heavy, painful -- but still, she managed a brave smile, looking up at the prince.

“O-Of course,” she stammered, and hid her trembling hands within her skirt. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Silence. Mytho offered her his arm once more, and with a deep breath, she took it, fingers gripping hard to his sleeve. The historian managed a cough as he set one hand against both of their shoulders and gently led them towards the end of the hallway, warm sunlight sinking in from the crack of the open doorway.

“Well,” he said, voice cheerful, if a little hoarse, “I suppose we should call it a day, then?”

- - -

This installment isn't over yet! It's just too long to fit in one post. Stupid LJ standards and all. XD;;;

Here's the rest!

~

beyondfate — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 01:02:16 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Five ~ 9495 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four]
Summary: The ball is over, but countless new opinions have been formed -- and some not for the better. Ahiru quickly finds herself losing ground, while Mytho struggles with his own problems, all while a new threat emerges unforeseen...

The night was young and so was she. She, with her arms, legs, fingers, toes, with her beautiful body, so light and graceful, still moving with the memory of the music, the colors, the hands clutched to her own. She had lived before, of course, lived so many nights of walking and running and twirling there in the dark depths of the forest, but it had never been quite like that. There had been light. There had been people. There had been dancing, not alone but with the prince, gentle against her cold skin, eyes such a lovely shade of gold. Had she known warmth before such a moment? Had she known laughter before it fled from his lips?

Was this what it felt like, to be human always?

Time ran thin, as it was wont to do. Above her, the sky’s darkness crumpled and gave way to the faintest of light, billowing at the tips of the trees.

Her bare feet trembled against the dirt, but still she ran, desperate to escape, desperate to elude whatever it was that chased her. The night had barely started, hadn’t it? So soon. The day came so soon, and left no time for dreams.

With a sharp cry, her knees dug into the soft earth. A pitiful pond rested before her, water dark and thick in the lines of her palms. Still, she gathered countless handfuls and poured them over her worn skin, desperate for some small touch of relief.

With the slightest of breaths, she bent her head so as to look upon her reflection.

A pair of monstrous eyes looked back, jagged in shape, as red as fresh blood.

Perhaps another time she would have felt fear or anger at his presence, but now, there was only gratitude to be given, and she managed a smile, asking softly, “why did you have me do such a thing?”

The water rippled. A rumbling breath emerged, warm against her face.

“Did you not enjoy yourself?”

“I did,“ she insisted. Her hand arched before her, and she admired it briefly, remembering the gentle touch of the prince’s lips to her skin. “But still, why did you desire it of me? I’ve never been...you’ve never allowed me to...”

“Do not fret,” the voice answered, so strong that the trees rustled, countless birds startled from sleep. “I will tell you, but first there is something you must tell me. Our pitiful princess. What of her?”

She considered it, a smirk forming along the thick lines of her lips. “I did not see her. They gave a pitiful excuse for her absence. An allergy to moonlight.” She managed a laugh at the thought, long nails sinking down into the fresh dirt of the bank. “The curse must remain in effect, despite her distance from you.”

He breathed deeply, easily. “Excellent.”

The curled tips of her hair traced haphazard patterns through the water. She took a breath as well, if only to echo him, but it emerged broken, slight at best.

Only a few moments had passed, but she could not bear such silence, and bent closer still, the weak glint of her wide eyes swallowed up in his own. “I must know,” she pleaded. “Why? What purpose did this serve you?”

His image remained still. Without her consent, both trembling hands slid from the bank and disappeared below the surface of the pond, swallowed in both glowing pools of red.

“Time is drawing thin,” he finally spoke, deafening voice echoing through every crevice of her form. “Action must be taken now, or everything will be lost. Do you not agree, my swan? Do you not wish for me to have freedom at last?”

“Of course I do,” she said at once, desperate to please him, all-too-familiar to the darkness seeping into his tone. “I know your pain so well. My greatest wish is to free you from this burden. What must I do? Anything, anything at all...”

“You remember the stories I have told you.”

“Yes.”

“You know what must be done to achieve eternal life.”

“I could never forget.”

He seemed to laugh, then, a horrible sound that pricked at her ears and carved itself into her bare skin. “To devour a heart of royal blood upon the Depths of Despair. How horribly poetic.”

A memory struck her, almost violent in its vibrancy. “I’ve been there,” she murmured, and remembered such. A lake that rose from bare earth, filled with ghostly luminance; its water as still as glass. “Such a beautiful place. But only on moonless nights, would it even…”

“A moonless night approaches,” he easily overpowered her. “A heart is needed.”

“Of course,” she insisted, shivering as the water grew cold, tight around her arms, like claws, almost, sinking through her skin and pressing to the bone.

“The prince’s heart is needed.”

She stiffened, just barely. Her lips twisted into something of a smirk, if not a grimace. “Wouldn’t the little duck be a simpler choice?” She asked, forcing a twinge of amusement into her words.

Once again, he laughed. Once again, she silently begged he wouldn’t, for it pained her so.

“Perhaps,” he commented, “if it was to be taken by force. You’ve so easily forgotten a particular. The heart must be given freely And this is where you prove your worth to me at last, my swan.”

“H-How so?” She cursed herself a thousand times over for stammering.

“You will return to the castle once more. You will enchant him, lead him away from that worthless girl and convince him to love you. When the moonless night arrives, you will lead him upon the Depths of Despair, ask for his love --”

The pond rumbled, his excitement palpable within it. The water rose up in countless sharp waves, splashing against her trembling knees. Her reflection billowed beneath her, distorted beyond recognition, looking almost horrifying, almost inhuman. No, that was not her face, it couldn’t be --

“-- and rip his heart out.”

It all settled so easily, as if nothing but a waking dream to begin with. The forest fell silent around her. The pond calmed. Her reflection smoothed and revealed her pale face, her wide gaze and pursed lips once more. All that remained were his eyes, still faintly glowing beneath her.

“Simple.”

Her hands fumbled uselessly within the water, fingers and nails clawing for something solid, something tangible to tear into. Would it be simple? The thought formed in the back of her mind, small and careful. Could something so absolute ever be called simple? She cupped both hands close and imagined the prince’s heart held there. Would it hurt him badly, when she ripped it clean away? What would it feel like, to hold such a thing? Warm, she decided. It would be so warm, so delicate. Easily broken, like glass.

Her breath quickened. The words came unbidden, and she knew they were a mistake before they even left her mouth.

“I don’t -- to do such a thing...”

“What!”

The entire pond flashed an angry crimson, and if she screamed, it was not heard over the deafening roar that drowned the forest and sent countless animals fleeing in fits of startled shrieks and caws. Something held her arms in place within the pond, and even as she struggled to pull free, it began to drag her further in, inch by inch.

“So eager to please, and yet, so quick to refuse me,” he bellowed, the most terrifying of presences. “Do you forget your place so easily, you wretched creature? You are mine. You have always been mine. You will be mine until the day you die. Will that day be today?”

“No,” she finally found her voice, hoarse with fear. Both feet dug deep within the ground, but still, her face was yanked beneath the surface, cold water rushing into her mouth, caught open in one last desperate cry. “No!”

She was released.

Her body tore out of the pond and fell back against the earth, useless. The dawn, still faint, flooded her eyes. Her lips parted desperately with one, two, three gasping breaths, water still stinging in her throat.

His voice returned, little more than a dream and gentle once more.

“I am fond of you, and your premature death would be unfortunate. So I will make a deal with you, my swan.”

She barely heard the words, hazy in the air above her. Both hands reached up to clutch against the jewel on her chest; to feel her heartbeat, irrational, deafening in the gentle curve of her breast.

“Bring me the prince’s heart, and I will give you what you desire most.”

The meaning of his words took a long moment to sink in -- but once they had, she was upright at once. Trembling hands dragged her body back to the pond’s edge. Wide eyes searched the gaping shapes of his own, searching for any glint of deception.

“Honestly?”

“I tell you only truth. Your freedom from this curse will serve a suitable reward, would it not?”

Freedom. All other thoughts dissipated, engulfed completely by the beautiful word. To know such a thing, after so many years of empty days, of false humanity so briefly bestowed upon her -- she could scarcely imagine it, the idea always having proved little more than painful whimsy.

And now here it was, so suddenly within her grasp. Both hands rose to fit against the gentle curves of her face, the face that could be hers always, until the end of time. Why, she would do anything for such a gift, anything at all. Even…

She took a deep breath. Her thin legs curled against the bank and dripping strands of hair gathered around her dark gaze as she bent once more to meet his eyes.

“I will do it.”

The pond rippled with an easy sigh.

“Excellent,” her Master said, and though her eyes fluttered close, she could almost feel a pair of monstrous wings draw close around her body, holding her tight. “In the end, you would never fail me, my swan...”

A thought struck, soft, and she could not refrain from speaking it. “I have a name now,”

“Oh?” He sounded amused more than anything else.

The dawn broke, giving way to sunrise, gentle light drifting across every hollowed curve of her body, soaking right through her skin -- which began to disappear as it had a thousand times before, swallowed up in black feathers, sculpted into a familiar, sickening shape.

“I have a name now,” she repeated, voice cracking, just before her arms crumpled into wings, before her lips formed a beak instead and lost all sense of speech.

“Rue.”

- - -

Bang! Bang!

Fakir found himself suddenly roused from sleep, and he shifted in his bed, disoriented. Both eyes slowly opened, revealing only the barest of light and shadows still strong across his ceiling. What time was it?

Bang! Bang!

What the hell was that sound?

With a groan, he sat up, sheets crumpling beneath his elbows as he steadied himself. For a moment, he thought it might have just been his vision, but even after rubbing both eyes, the room before him was riddled with shadow: the table, chair, and corners little more than wavering blurs. Outside his window, the sky was still dark, the barest of glows gathered on the treetops. Dawn had barely broken. No wonder he felt so exhausted.

Bang!

A yellow blur suddenly sprinted across the length of his table, slamming into the window with an anguished “quack!“ The glass trembled, but didn’t budge, and the little form stumbled backwards, dizzy.

The duck, he remembered, memories of the night before slowly seeping in. He could only watch, confused, as it rammed the window a few more frenzied times, then dropped down to the floor and proceeded to throw itself against the door as well. Still, nothing would give way, and eventually the little animal collapsed, gasping for air, both wings quivering in the faint light.

What was it trying to do, kill itself?

After a few seconds of urging, he was able to convince his unwilling legs to slip off the side of the bed and support him as he rose, unsteady. He moved slowly over to the duck, its billowed chest rising and falling dramatically, blue eyes like twin sparks of light amidst all the darkness.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He mumbled, the words barely out of his mouth before he thought them pointless -- it’s a duck, it couldn’t understand what he was saying -- but the little bird turned its head to look up at him then rose up on its webbed feet at once. With a few desperate quacks, it paced in a frantic circle, gestured its good wing towards the door over and over again, almost as if trying to tell him something, something important, something he needed to know...

The door creaked as Fakir yanked it open, revealing the field, heavy with the weight of morning dew and the forest’s edge, little more than a dark shadow in the distance. There was the sun, its bright rim just beginning to emerge at the foot of the groves.

The duck quacked a few more frantic times, nudging at his ankle. Maybe if it saw the sun, it would calm down, he reasoned, and he moved out of the way ---

-- only to watch as the duck sprinted out the opening he created as if it were in a race, traveling the length of the building and hurtling around the edge before he could even think to call after it.

At a loss, he followed, steadying himself against the slumped corner of his home as he scanned the field, straining to see a spot of yellow somewhere before the forests’ edge -- but there were only a few pitiful shrubs, an endless spread of muted green. The duck was gone.

He’d planned to release it anyway, Fakir told himself, offset by the strange sense of loss that washed over him. He shook it away with a frown. The sunlight began to filter between the maze of trees it sat trapped beneath, covering the field at his feet in streaks of light. His door still rested ajar, and he returned to it.

If anything, he reluctantly allowed himself to think just before pulling it shut behind him, he hoped it survived.

- - -

It had barely been a minute since Fakir had disappeared back inside before the shrub nearest to his house began to tremble. At first, the leaves merely shook in brief unison, as if disturbed by a gust of wind. But then the entire plant sagged, dragged down by some unseen weight, until finally it collapsed in a mess of torn vines and strewn leaves and revealed a very human, very naked Ahiru, sprawled beneath it.

She sat up at once, both hands clasped to the curve of her chest, as if meant to smother even the sound of her heartbeat. At once, she crawled on her hands and knees to the edge of the building before daring a look around the edge just to make sure he was gone.

He was, and she collapsed on her back once more, finally allowing herself to take a few deep breaths, warm, euphoric relief seeping in.

That had been so close.

Not sort of close. Not almost, kind of, probably close. Really, really, terrifyingly close. A few seconds longer, and she would have definitely -- and he would have seen that she was --

The thought shook her to the core, and she refused to continue it, instead sitting up with a brazen sigh, her messy braid pooling on her shoulder. Through the haze of early morning, she could glimpse a few dark blurs beside the castle’s gray walls: guards, making their rounds. Both thin legs curled against her chest at once, and she prayed that the faint shadow the building was casting over her would be enough to keep her hidden from them.

Her relief turned out to be fleeting and quickly gave way to fresh anger, frustration at herself for being so stupid. Really, what had she been thinking, getting all comfy like that? Her whole plan had been to find some way to escape the second he’d finished bandaging her wing. It was just, well, she hadn’t counted on the bread being so tasty, or the blanket feeling so soft, or the innocent exhaustion that’d quickly overtaken her. Just ten minutes, she’d sternly told herself before allowing her eyes to droop -- only to have opened them once more to see the sky sprinkled with light.

What if she hadn’t woken up before sunrise? What if he hadn’t opened the door in time? What if --

Ahiru shook the uneasy questions away. She really didn’t need to dwell on such things, anyway. What mattered was that her secret was still safe, perfectly safe, and here she was, outside --

She glanced down.

-- naked.

Reddening, she clutched both arms to the length of her chest. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t perfectly safe. She was still stuck on the edge of the forest without any clothes. In only an hour or so, everyone would be waking up, and she was pretty sure they wouldn’t easily overlook a naked princess huddled in the dirt -- but how was she going to get back into the castle without someone seeing her!?

Determined, she hurried from shrub to shrub, hands and knees dragging through the dirt as she crawled. Up ahead, she could see the patrolling guards more clearly, and it looked like there were a lot of them, she realized with a sigh. She quickly found herself at the last shrub before the expanse of field leading to the castle and wracked her brain for a solution. Maybe she could make a run for the servants’ entrance…but what if it was locked? Or she could climb in one of those low windows! But what if she wasn’t tall enough? Or -- oh, oh! She could create a distraction, throw a rock or something, and then they’d all go running to see and she could --

It quickly turned out that none of her hasty plans were necessary, though. After a few minutes of intense thinking, she noticed the servants’ entrance slowly creak open, revealing a wonderfully familiar caretaker, sunlight catching in her seafoam-colored hair. In her hands, she discreetly carried a folded blanket. Her expression looked pained, eyes half-lidded with obvious exhaustion, and at once, she took to searching the immediate area, no doubt looking for a certain missing duck.

Ahiru cried out in unthinking joy, waving her arms over her head. “Miss Edel!”

All of the knights had probably heard her scream in the fringes of their dreams, and Edel’s darkening expression as she hurried over probably meant another lecture, but as Ahiru giddily wrapped the blanket around her bare shoulders and was led back to her room, she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

- - -

Even though it was still fairly early in the morning, the castle was already filled to the brim with all sorts of pleasant noise, its countless residents seeming eager to greet the day. Servants were hard at work, emptying the ballroom of its ornate decorations, hands red and pruned as they tirelessly scrubbed the marble floor. Exuberant nobles roamed the hallways, chatting with those they met over how wonderful the ball had been, their conversations always lingering over the subject of the prince and his lovely partner.

Ahiru, reluctant to listen, had chosen to steal away into the higher levels of the castle. She was currently wandering down a quiet hallway, legs winding around one another as she stepped between pools of sunlight, the only sound her own muted footsteps.

As it turned out, Miss Edel hadn’t been angry at all. All right, maybe a little at first, but the second they’d reached Ahiru’s room, she’d caught the girl in a soft hug and whispered words of genuine relief into her mane of red hair. She’d then, with a tired smile, asked to know what’d happened, and Ahiru had told her the entire story -- even if she’d left out a few minor details (no one really had to know that she had stupidly hopped up on the roof to see inside the ball, right? A gust of wind blowing her out the open window was almost true, right?)

At the end of it all, Edel had just sighed and taken her leave with one last comment. Well, it was lucky for someone so kind to have found you.

Kind?

Ahiru paused her steps for a moment, the word’s meaning suddenly sinking in.

She would have never thought that word could be used to describe Fakir, of all people.

But as strange as it sounded, it was true. When she’d first come to after her painful fall only to see him hovering over her, she’d panicked, blindly convinced that he meant to drop her or kick her or something equally monstrous -- but instead, his voice had been soft, and his hands had been gentle, warm. He’d even smiled at her once or twice, much to her astonishment.

Fakir had a nice smile.

She lifted her arm, wincing at the soft ache of pain that twitched through it, and absentmindedly tugged at the flash of bandage sticking out from her sleeve.

The bandage he’d so carefully wrapped her hurt wing with.

It was all just a front, she thought. That stupid mean face of his. Sure, she had only been a duck, but if he could act that way to ‘duck‘ her, then...well, that had to mean he wasn’t all bad, right?

Ahiru heaved a sigh, quickening her footsteps into a sort of clumsy skip, but then she stiffened at the sudden sound of unfamiliar voices and clattering heels. Startled, she fell back against the wall, wavering on her tiptoes so as to peer around the corner.

Two chatting women were approaching, regally dressed, faces strained with wide-lipped grins. Both giggled in unison, pale hands folding across their red mouths, shoulders heaving in gentle unison. Finally, the taller one’s head shifted, a mess of curls and jewels, and Ahiru caught the end of her hurried sentence.

“--not until noon, practically,” the woman said. “But I couldn’t bring myself to blame the poor dear. After all, we must have danced until near daybreak last night!”

“It really was lovely,” the other responded, voice half-humming, as if still consumed with a tune from the night before. “Though I must confess, I kept stepping on Henrik’s feet. ”

A friendly laugh from the first. “Surely you weren‘t alone. Everyone could barely focus on their own steps, due to those two.”

The second heaved a romantic sigh. “So lovely -- it was hard to look away, really. I think I would have been content to merely watch them dance all night.”

“As pretty as a painting, they were.”

“Did anyone know what family she was from? Her home?”

“Not a soul. It’s really quite extraordinary. I asked all around the ball, and couldn’t find anyone who even knew her name.”

“How unfortunate.” The second twisted a blonde ringlet around her nail, disappointment mingling with her words. “If only she were the princess. A lovely, graceful girl like her. It would have been as if out of a storybook.”

She paused.

“I don’t like to judge,” she said, much softer than before, “but I can’t accept that pitiful excuse they gave for her highness’s absence. Clearly the girl’s just cowardly. Or inadequate in some way.”

The first woman giggled, casting a half-hearted look around before pursing her lips. “The latter, I‘m sure. I heard from a servant that she dances horribly. Like an animal!”

The two women continued on their way down the hallway, whispering a few more snide comments back and forth (“at least we weren’t forced to watch her make a fool of herself!”, “Could they honestly not come up with anything better than an ‘allergy to moonlight’?”) as they wandered away, not even noticing the girl hidden behind the nearby corner, whose dress ballooned around her as she slumped to the floor, who could only clench her eyes shut in a desperate effort to keep from crying, their words heavy in the air for some time after.

- - -

She eventually came upon her prince, poised before one of the windows overlooking the pond with golden eyes focused, hair blinding as the sunlight swallowed it whole. Her prince, who had forgiven her for being afraid, for stepping on his toes, for being absent from the ball. Her prince, who surely couldn’t think the same things as those horrible women, not at all...right?

Ahiru took a moment to settle her quickening breaths, to smooth out a few ugly wrinkles in her skirt and to wipe her knuckles once more against her reddened eyes.

“G-Good afternoon.”

The words fluttered in the gap of space between them, awkward. Mytho stiffened, then relaxed, casting a brief, warm look in her direction before turning back to the window. “Good afternoon, Ahiru.”

He said nothing else, allowing her a quiet moment to flail internally, panicked. What should she say next? Should she just get right to the point? Would that be inappropriate? No, she should definitely ease into it, maybe ask him how he was feeling, or make a comment about the nice weather, or --

“How was the ball?”

-- or maybe not.

He didn’t look to her again, but she saw his back gently arch, his smile deepen -- sunlight tracing the curve of his lips.

“It was quite the success,” he said, voice soft. “I’m sorry you had to miss it.”

See, she told herself. There was nothing to worry about! The ball was over, and he was sorry she missed it, and everything was fine, just fine, perfectly fine, and --

“Did you dance with anyone?”

Why did she keep doing that!?

The words rang in the air with an unmistakable curtness, and she brought her hand against her mouth, desperate to not say anything else foolish.

“I did,” was his only answer, smile still bright, and Ahiru couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong -- something small, something strange about him. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Struck, she waved a random hand in the air, hoping for a reaction, but Mytho didn’t even blink at the movement. Just what outside the window could he be looking at so intently? Could she really not hold his attention at all any longer?

The thought clung to her, unwelcome.

“I-I was thinking -- maybe we could have another ball!”

The idea had barely sprung up in her head before she was shouting out the words, too excited, too desperate to hold it in.

“I mean, maybe it could be during the day, and that way I could be there, and we could dance where everyone could see, and they’d see that I’m not weird or scared or anything, and I know I’m not very good, but I’ve been practicing, and I could practice even harder until then, every day, and then, and then, maybe…”

She ran out of air, pressing both hands to her skirt as she caught her breath. Surely he would think that was a good idea, wouldn’t he?

She looked to him once more, hoping for a word in return, a smile, even -- but Mytho said nothing. He didn’t even seem to realize she had spoken, his stance unwavering.

She blinked. “Are -- are you okay?”

At a loss, she moved to his side, her careful hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, so still against the slope of the window. Something had to be wrong. He had never been so unresponsive, so silent around her. Even his eyes seemed cold, she noticed, close enough to see them but too afraid to touch his face, to try and guide them towards her instead. She could only turn and follow his gaze herself.

The pond, the one where she had first met him only a few days ago. A few brown-feathered ducks lingered in the grass beside it, plucking at clumps of colored flowers amidst all the green. The water trembled as a familiar shadow traced curling lines across its surface: the black swan.

Was that what he was watching so intently?

It was quite pretty, she had to admit while watching as the elegant bird unfolded both its wings, dark feathers stark against the blue sky and green grass. Its long neck arched, head moving side to side, as though it were looking for something not yet found. Quite suddenly, she found herself focused on its beak, such a startling red amidst all the black, like a splotch of paint, like a jewel...

It hit her.

The woman. The one he had danced with the night before. Her gown had been black, hadn’t it? She’d even worn a red gem on her chest, just as startling in color, as if meaning to take on the appearance of the swan, echoing it in every way.

That was it, wasn’t it? The realization rumbled within her, devastating, and despite how she struggled to fight the feeling down, her face couldn’t help but crumble, hot tears already beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. The swan reminded him of her, his lovely partner from the night before, the elegant girl who had easily taken her place. What had she expected, really? After stepping on his toes and leaving the ball without so much as a decent excuse to offer, all the while looking so foolish that even strangers laughed at her -- how could she still think he would prefer her to someone so perfect?

Her cheeks were wet, and even though he still wasn’t looking to her, she pressed her hands to her face, unwilling to cry openly. “I-I’m so sorry for bothering you,” she managed to say before escaping. In her haste, she stumbled against his shoulder, knocking him off-balance.

She did not see the way Mytho blinked a few frantic times, his expression shifting into something of alarm as he turned after her retreating form. “Wait,” he called, voice strong once more -- but she had already disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone in the sunlit hallway.

- - -

A lapse of sanity.

It was the only suitable answer Mytho could come up with, genuinely at a loss for explanations. How else could he have behaved in such a way? How else could he have thought it right to spend countless silent hours before one window, to ignore Ahiru when she tried so desperately hard to please him with her words -- actions that had felt so impossibly normal before she‘d knocked him off-balance, somehow clearing his mind. How!?

In fact, when he paused to think back on it, the entire day had felt somewhat…strange. He’d woken much earlier than usual, bothered by dreams of dark shadows, twirling bodies, and smears of red. Meals, lessons, compliments from ecstatic nobles: none of it had interested him, and restless, he’d taken to roaming the hallways of the castle, searching for something he could not seem to find, something he knew nothing of, save for the simple, irrational belief that he needed it.

But then he’d come upon the window and glimpsed the pond, a shape of soft blue amidst all the angry color of the forest. The black swan had rested on its surface, as elegant as ever, and somehow, the sight had calmed him, pleased him to the point that his body would no longer move. He could never hope to explain such a feeling, and now, the very idea of it felt foolish, impossible -- but at the time, he’d wanted nothing more than to spend hours upon hours before that very window. Noisy passersby earned his scorn. He had pledged to no longer feed the ducks who dared to stray at the water‘s edge. He’d even been rude to Ahiru, his princess, ignoring her desperate words and hoping she’d leave him be if only for a moment.

He remembered every awful thought perfectly, but could not understand how he’d come to think such things. Was something wrong with him? Was he ill? Could this be something serious, something much more than --

“What of this, your highness? Fancy, yes?”

He looked up, startled by the sudden voice. The shopkeeper’s crooked teeth formed a grin, and he held out yet another necklace. A silver chain weighed down with a gem, large and green.

Mytho offered the eager man a smile, but shook his head all the same. “It’s very nice, but I think I’d prefer to look on my own, if that’s all right with you.” As if to seem genuine, he cast an interested look at a nearby table, adorned with countless gold broaches. All nice, but not what he was looking for. “I plan to purchase something, of course. Don’t worry. After all, yours is clearly the best jewelry shop in town.”

The shopkeeper nearly fell over, his wrinkled hands fumbling with the necklace before finally setting it aside on a nearby table. “Y-You are so kind to say such a thing, your highness! Truly, I’m honored! If there is anything, any trinket at all I can fetch for you, make for you, just ---”

“I will be sure to seek you out,” Mytho gently finished the thought. “Thank you.”

With a few messy bows, the man shuffled into the backroom, obviously meaning to revel in his glee, as well as track down any other pieces of jewelry he thought might please the prince. Mytho, with a soft chuckle, took to perusing the various tables set around the room once more.

So here he was, driven by his desire to make things right with Ahiru. Not merely for his rude behavior, he thought with some reluctance, but to assuage his own guilt as well. It was impossible to pretend that his thoughts hadn’t strayed once or twice towards the girl he’d danced with the night before. Rue, he remembered. He had given her that name. She had been lovely, yes -- but she was a stranger all the same, and looking back on the evening, it felt disrespectful to have spent so long in her arms. He could only be glad that Ahiru hadn’t witnessed his behavior.

He was to be married soon. It was time to start behaving as such.

A present, he’d finally decided. That would help to fix things, wouldn’t it? Only something precious, something unique would do. A piece of jewelry had seemed ideal, and he’d quickly sought out the finest shop in town, but now, as he sifted through countless necklaces, rings, and broaches of all shapes and sizes, he felt overwhelmed. How could he be sure of the perfect gift? Would he know it when he saw it?

He had taken to delving through a box of assorted jeweled rings when footsteps echoed on the wood behind him.

“How long is this going to take?”

With a slight smile, Mytho merely shook his head in response. With the rules still very much in effect, he had considered stealing out of the castle as he’d done in the past, but the day had already been trying enough. He wasn’t exactly eager to add a stern reprimand to the mix as well, so he’d sought out an escort.

“You’d better not be wasting my time with this fool’s errand, Mytho --”

A very reluctant escort, but one nonetheless.

“I haven’t found anything yet, Fakir,” he announced, moving past the box. “I didn’t think this would be so difficult.”

The knight stepped up beside him and pawed half-heartedly at a few tangled necklaces before stepping away once more, frown deepening. “What’s difficult about it? Pick anything. She won’t know the difference.”

Mytho bit back a chuckle, though still couldn’t help but to mutter a comment. “Yes, of course. Clearly you’re the expert on women.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Convinced he’d combed the entire left side of the room, the prince crossed to the other row of tables, passing Fakir’s stoic form. He took note that the knight kept one hand clasped firmly on the hilt of his sword, continuing to cast constant looks to the windows and to the open door. It was a wonder Mytho had even managed to convince him to come along in the first place. Fakir had probably found it relieving that he’d actually bothered to ask for once. And not just that, but...well, before he assumed anything, maybe it would be better to know for sure.

“How many ravens have you seen?”

Fakir said nothing, instead closing the distance between himself and the entrance in a few quick steps. The sunlight wavered against his outline, and he stood there within the frame, still. After a moment, he turned back and pressed a hand to his forehead in obvious frustration.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Where are they?”

“It does seem strange,” Mytho admitted. In the past when he’d visited the town, the sight of ravens was a common one. They lingered on sloping rooftops and perched on shop signs. The forest always appeared as if smeared with spots of black. Usually, save for a few isolated attacks, they were neither loud nor troublesome -- but they did watch, and watch carefully, bright eyes focused on every face, every movement that took place within their simple town. What had always frightened him the most, though, was the effect his presence seemed to have on them: how they knew him without fail, and were at once possessed by some sort of primal anger to screech from their perches with wings swelled and ruffled. Once, a few had even tried to attack him, arching their arms and aiming for skin, but missing just barely when he found shelter within a shop.

In truth, they’d become such a fixture in their town that it felt strange to not see them, lingering, watching.

Today, as he and Fakir had walked down the path through the town, they had not seen one raven. Every roof proved clear. The treetops remained a perfect green.

What could it mean?

“They’re planning something,” Fakir insisted, refusing to move more than a few feet from the entrance. “Why else would they vanish? It has to be --”

“Maybe they‘ve given up,” Mytho interjected, a more ideal notion coming to mind. “The wedding is only a few months away. Maybe it seems pointless to linger.”

Fakir didn’t seem too convinced, brows knitting together as he shot a quick glare in Mytho’s direction. “That kind of attitude will get you killed, Mytho.”

The prince shot a small smile back in retort. “Well, one has to find a bright side somewhere.” He waved Fakir over to the tables, unwilling to think on ravens any longer, more anxious to solve the dilemma at hand. “Enough worrying. Help me look.”

Though it took him a moment, the knight eventually wandered over to the table nearest the door, all the while grumbling under his breath, muttering “waste of my time,” and other similar phrases. Mytho merely shook his head, focused once more on the object in his hand.

This had to be the hundredth necklace he’d held in the last hour, he’d thought as the gold chain settled against the lines of his palms. It did have a nice shimmer to it, and the ruby hanging from its end was lovely enough, but...it just didn’t feel right. Reluctantly, he set it back in its place.

What would Ahiru like? Would she prefer a ring? A bracelet? Did she even wear jewelry? He couldn’t conjure up one single notion as to her tastes. In fact, he still knew next to nothing about her at all; her likes, dislikes, and hobbies were all utter mysteries. How could he possibly pick a suitable gift this way? Maybe a second opinion would help...

“Fakir?”

A sharp sigh. “Yes?”

“What do you think of Ahiru?”

There was a brief clatter. Mytho turned and watched as Fakir bent to grab a broach from the ground - had he dropped it? - and set it back on the table.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“It’s just a question. A simple one.” For a lingering moment, Mytho thought he’d finally found something worthwhile: a jeweled pendant, deep red. Holding it to the dim light, though, he noticed a faint scratch curved along its rim. That wouldn’t do. “Well?”

“I,” he seemed to falter for the briefest of moments -- something Mytho noted with amusement -- before his voice steadied, sharp once more. “I don’t think anything about her -- besides that she’s a nuisance.” He grabbed a silver chain from a nearby table, casting a cold look at it before sneering and throwing it back down. “I certainly don’t know what pointless trinket she’d prefer, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“Fair enough.” Mytho was beginning to think his search hopeless. Through the smudged windows, he could see the sun settling on the rooftops, eager to disappear all-too quickly. They’d have to be heading back soon if they wanted to reach the castle walls before dark. Steadying himself against a table, he ran a clammy hand through his hair. Why couldn’t he just settle on something? His remorse was too strong, he realized. Nothing seemed good enough to fix the damage he had done.

He found himself so wrapped up in melancholy thoughts that he didn’t even notice Fakir’s constant footsteps had stilled -- not until the knight spoke up once more. “Mytho.”

The prince turned to face him once more. “Yes?”

In the dim light, he watched Fakir approach. His hand unclenched, revealing what rested within, all without saying a word.

A necklace. The chain was thin, pooling in the gaps between each of his fingers. A shimmering trinket dangled at its end, strangely shaped. Mytho wasn’t sure just what to make of it at first, and only after leaning closer did he realize that it was a pair of wings. Both ruffled edges were detailed with countless etchings, every feather a striking silver. Surely they were meant to echo those of an angel.

“This,” Fakir said, and allowed it to slide off his palm onto Mytho’s.

He seemed so sure, and the prince thought to ask why -- but Fakir’s eyes were wide, colored with obvious surprise, and it was clear he did not know the reason himself.

The moment passed, and the knight turned away, heading for the door. “Hurry. We need to go.”

Mytho blinked and threaded his fingers through the chain as he held it up, watching how the faint sunlight glinted off the wings and gathered in every etched line.

Yes, he thought, and with a smile, moved to call for the shopkeeper. Perfect.

- - -

Another candle was lit. Three would be enough, Ahiru assumed, setting the last one beside her mirror with the utmost care. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair and allowed her head to droop forward. Both eyes filled with the swirl of her skirt, and following the bent path of both arms, she giggled at her sleeves, bunched around both shoulders. She’d rolled them up just to make sure one wouldn’t accidentally catch on the flame, but it hadn’t been necessary. She’d lit them all perfectly. Not one burn!

Well, okay, it wasn’t that big of a deal -- but at the moment, any small victory helped her feel a little better.

Her braid pooled in the crook of her arm, and she began undoing it, her fingers pressing into each soft curve, threading through the strands as they were freed. She hummed a familiar lullaby while she worked, thoughts wandering between harmless subjects: the nice weather, what she’d eaten for dinner, how beautiful the setting sun looked from her window -- anything to keep her mind from lingering on what had happened earlier. How she’d ruined everything so easily...

No! Ahiru gripped a handful of hair and yanked just hard enough for it to sting. She refused to dwell on that even one second longer. She’d already cried more than enough; had already spent the day in her room, unmoving and unhappy in every way; had already blubbered to Miss Edel about everything that’d gone wrong, desperate for a kind word or a touch of comfort.

Wallowing wouldn’t help anything, though. She had to be strong! Tomorrow, she could surely find a way make everything right again, with Mytho and all the others who thought badly of her.

But how?

Her fingers caught in a few tangled strands, and she pulled them free with a sigh. It was too much to think about tonight. She would find a way, she would...but tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

She’d unraveled barely half the braid when there was a knock at the door.

Ahiru jumped at the sound and stood at once, loose hair pooling on her shoulders. Who would that be? A servant, maybe? Or Miss Edel, wanting to know if she was feeling any better...

She hurried over to the door at once, putting on a brave smile as she pulled on the handle. “I’m fine, Miss Edel, I promi-”

Her body stiffened. The words withered away.

Mytho stood there, arms bent behind his back, gaze meeting hers at once. He smiled, and candlelight gathered in his eyes, warm. “Hello, Ahiru.”

Ahiru responded in turn with a very sudden, very loud “QUACK!” Blind with panic, she slammed the door shut at once.

How could she have done that!? Face aflame, she pressed both hands to her mouth in the fear that the sound may leak out once more. She was so sure she’d already overcome that awful habit of quacking when the tiniest thing startled her! Sure, she became a duck at night, and she supposed it made sense that she’d taken on the habit by accident, but that was still no reason to do it right in front of the prince! Now he had to be thinking even more awful things about her, what with her making animal sounds at the drop of a hat, and then...

...slamming the door in his face!?

She opened it once more, nearly crumpling with relief when she saw that Mytho was still there -- looking a tad more bewildered than before, but there all the same.

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, honestly, I didn’t, I would never slam a door in someone’s face on purpose, that’s just terrible! It’s just, you startled me, and sometimes when I get startled, I make these awful noises, which is just so strange, very strange, the strangest thing ever --”

She trailed off, pausing to take a much-needed breath. Mytho, to her surprise, merely shook his head, his pleasant expression unwavering. “Oh no, the fault is mine. It’s somewhat improper for me to be here so suddenly -- and at such a late hour, too.”

His smile was so friendly that it brought one to her own face as well, her ill feelings already ebbing away. Ahiru budged the door fully open, allowing candlelight to seep all through the hallway, and with a nervous giggle -- she had to look dreadful, her hair unraveled, her sleeves rolled up -- she stepped out to meet her prince, but stiffened at the sight of another person behind him, leaning against the far wall. The light was dim, but she still recognized Fakir at once, his legs casting stark shadows across the stone floor, and his hair a glint of emerald in the faint light.

Mytho followed her questioning gaze, chuckling as he shrugged. “I thought it would be more improper if I came to your bedroom without an escort.”

Ahiru quickly understood what he meant, and flushed a deep red as she nodded. “O-Of course,” she stammered, and offered Fakir a smile, one hand gathering up her skirt in a messy curtsy. “Good evening!”

He barely blinked, looking away with a distinct frown, a response that surprised Ahiru until she remembered. That was right. He’d only been nice to her when she was just a duck...

“I should have just waited until tomorrow,” Mytho’s voice slipped into her thoughts. “But I couldn’t, because…I must apologize to you, Ahiru.”

Ahiru blinked, scarcely able to believe it. “W-What?”

“The way I treated you today was...well, it was horrible, really. I have no idea what possessed me to ignore you like that, to not respond even when you were so upset.” His eyes darkened, his smile faltering. “It’s reprehensible, really.”

“Oh, no, no! You were fine!” He looked so troubled that Ahiru would have said anything at that moment to cheer him up. “You were just distracted. I shouldn’t have bothered you! It’s my fault, really...”

“No, Ahiru, it isn’t,” he interjected, voice firm. “I was wrong. Hopefully, you can forgive me.”

“Of course,” she answered at once, grin wide, barely able to hide her glee. He wasn’t angry with her! She hadn’t ruined everything beyond repair! “Of course!”

He smiled once more, shoulders heaving in obvious relief. “I’m glad. I brought you something, too, just to make sure…”

He reached a hand within the folds of his coat, and Ahiru swayed back and forth in her slippers, hands tangling within one another as she struggled to keep her expression calm. She didn’t want to appear too eager, but...a present? How exciting!

Quite by accident, she glanced to Fakir again -- only to notice, with some trepidation, that he was staring, not at her face, but further down. Was it her dress? Her shoes? Did she look strange?

It wasn’t until Mytho produced a velvet box and looked back to her, expression shifting into one of worry that she realized.

“Your arm,” Mytho said, gesturing his free hand towards it. “What happened?”

Ahiru blinked and glanced down at her bunched sleeve, then to the curve of her arm, terror quickly seizing her as she realized the bandage was uncovered, the worn cloth obvious against her pale skin. She’d completely forgotten it was there, save for a few faint aches throughout the day.

She yanked her sleeve down a little too fast and met the wide gazes of both boys with a nervous laugh and grin. “I -- I fell! Just a few hours ago, here, in my room! It’s nothing to worry about, honestly!”

Fakir didn’t avert his gaze, straightening against the wall as if he meant to say something. Change the subject, Ahiru urged herself, panicking, and desperately focused all her attention on the box in Mytho’s hand. “What is it?”

Mytho blinked. “Oh, yes! It’s a gift,” he said at once, and offered it to her. “Hopefully, this will make up for my horrid behavior.”

“Thank you,“ she squeaked, and took it into both hands, still trembling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fakir look away once more, back settling against the stone. Thank goodness, she thought, relaxing, and when she opened the box, promptly caught her breath.

A necklace. The chain was silver, stark against the black velvet of the box, and at its end...

She ran a careful finger over each etching, the softest of realizations gathering in her head.

Wings.

She looked up at once, searching Mytho’s eyes for some sort of clue, some hint of a deeper understanding -- but all she could see was warmth and innocent happiness. Could this be some sort of sign? Could it mean that since he’d found this necklace and chosen it over a thousand others, that a part of him had known all along? Could it mean that...it was time to tell the truth?

She realized he was waiting for a response, and offered him a smile, fingers threading through the chain and lifting it from the box with the utmost care.

“It’s beautiful,” she managed to choke out.

Mytho seemed overjoyed, and took an eager step closer to her. “May I put it on you?”

“S-Sure!”

He took the necklace from her, and she stood still, arms quivering against the fabric of her dress as he wound his own close to her neck, against her unraveled hair. Another moment, and it was secure. The wings settled in the curve of her chest. Her nails clicked against each groove as she ran a hand across it once more.

Mytho stepped back, eyes bright. “You were born to wear it.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, and meant it: she could not find the strength to say anything else on the matter, too startled, too overcome to consider all the countless possibilities.

“I’m glad,” he answered. “And I also wanted to tell you that...I think your idea for another ball is wonderful.”

She nearly choked on her tongue. “Really?”

“Of course. I’ll talk to the Council about it first thing in the morning.” He took her hand for the briefest of moments and squeezed it as if he meant to pull her closer -- but then he let go, and she brought the hand to her chest, knuckles pressed to the wings. “And then we’ll have our dance at last.”

Ahiru was beginning to feel faint. “Oh, yes, yes! I’ll start practicing right away, tomorrow morning! It’ll be wonderful, you’ll see...”

Mytho chuckled, then nodded. “I look forward to it.”

After a moment, he turned and gestured to Fakir, who moved behind him. “I think we should be going now. The sun’s nearly gone. The later we stay, the sooner someone finds us here...and a very stern scolding is given.” He offered her one last smile before turning away. “Goodnight.”

She traced an anxious hand through her hair, lifting the other to wave them off as the two began down the darkening hallway. “Good night, Mytho,” she called down the corridor. “Good night, Fakir!”

They were gone, and she hurried back into her room, closing the door and falling against it, legs too weak to support her any longer. Both hands gripped the winged pendant just to make sure it was still there, that she hadn’t just dreamed up the last ten minutes out of pure desperation.

It was still there, and at a loss for words, she laughed, too thrilled to care how strange it sounded.

How could everything have changed for the better so quickly? Clearly, someone of a higher power had finally chosen to take pity on her. She’d spent all that time wallowing, angry with herself, hopelessly upset, the curse threatening to ruin her life, her prince infatuated with another -- and in less than ten minutes, every single problem had faded into oblivion. He’d come to apologize, even to bring her a present. And the ball! There would be another ball, and she could surely show everyone, most especially all those who had laughed at her and thought her hopeless, that she could be wonderful too...right?

Her laughter faded away. Her hands disappeared into the folds of her skirt as she slid to the floor, the wooden door cold against her back.

Could she prove such a thing? Even if she practiced every minute until then…could she ever be just as graceful as the woman in black?

Probably not.

Ahiru gripped the winged pendant hard. Somehow, she thought, suddenly empowered and determined not to fail again. There had to be a way to become the princess Mytho deserved. There had to be a way to overcome her curse, no matter how eternal it seemed. Some way...

Oh, but there is!

She stiffened and cried out at a sudden gust of wind, cold against her face. The glass shutters clanged against the stone of her walls, loose. That was strange, she thought, rising to her feet. Hadn’t she closed them not half an hour ago?

She latched both shut once more, glancing outside to the treetops colored with the barest of sunlight. Less than an hour, she thought, and one hand gripped to the stone ledge hard, knuckles gleaming white.

The other meant to do the same but gripped something else entirely. Blinking, she glanced down, and allowed her fingertips to curl around the strange object.

A card, thin and white.

Where had this come from?

Elaborate gold trimming furnished each stiff side, tracing countless spiraling lines down the front. At a loss, Ahiru flipped it over and read the few simple lines scribbled on the other side.

~

A cure for every ailment. An end for every story.

The last house on the left.

H. Drosselmeyer

~

- - -

A/N: Aaaaah, late again~! Sorry. This is actually going to be around the time that I update from now on, I'm pretty sure. XD; Anyway, that's it for this week~! Hope you enjoyed the slightly longer chapter. :D

Next week's installment is going to be a little strange, because my sixth chapter has topped out at 20,000+ words. XD; XD; XD; Yes, it's quite looooooong. Therefore, it's going to be posted in two different installments over two weeks. So, um...look forward to that?

As always, reviews are appreciated~!

~

beyondfate — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 01:27:25 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Four ~ 7213 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three]
Summary: The ball begins, and a newcomer has unforeseen effects on the festivites. Meanwhile, Ahiru has an interesting experience of her own.

In retrospect, Mytho thought, it would have probably been a better idea to tell the arriving guests of Ahiru’s absence right at the start. The whole point of the ball, after all, had been to introduce her to the people of the land. That was what had been printed on the invitations, and that was what the crowd had been rightfully expecting. It just hadn’t seemed like a very pressing issue at the time, really.

Now, as the prince stared out into a sea of confused and unhappy faces, he realized he’d made a grave mistake.

“Is she sick?” Someone called out, sounding worried.

“She was only here for a moment,” a woman near the front of the crowd complained. “No one saw her for more than a second or two! Not even a royal dance!”

“You’re not trying to hide her away, are you? Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Mytho insisted for the fifth time in a row, raising his hands as a new roar of voices vibrated through the crowd. “There’s nothing wrong with her at all! The princess merely has a -- a severe allergy to moonlight. She wanted to stay, but her condition is serious, I assure you.”

More murmuring. More displeased faces. A few people near the fringes of the crowd drifted away, huffing in their stride back to the darkened exits.

“Is there even such a thing?” An older gentleman scoffed, just before he took his wife by the arm and led her away as well. Similar dissent swelled throughout the room, and the prince fought down a sigh.

“It doesn’t mean the ball has to end,” he weakly offered, but the ballroom was already filled to the brim with the sound of clattering heels, of swishing fabric and disappointed sighs as the crowd thinned. Even the musicians’ cheerful tune faltered and came to a final halt as they set their instruments aside.

Mytho found himself at a loss. He looked to the guards at each doorway and to the knights scattered amidst the townspeople for some sort of assistance, but they all looked just as bewildered as he felt. He couldn’t make them all stay, he knew, but it just couldn’t end on such a horrible note! What could...

“My, how disappointing.”

His desperate thoughts dwindled away as an unfamiliar voice cut through all the commotion. A disturbance vibrated through the crowd, and countless forms shifted, stepping away to make room for an approaching figure. It must have been whoever had spoken up, Mytho assumed, craning his neck to see. He couldn’t glimpse the new arrival, though, until the final few men and women lingering near him turned to look, and were promptly driven out of the way by the flourish of a feathered skirt, a pale hand beckoning them back -- followed by the woman to whom both belonged to.

She moved as though walking through water, each step slow and fluid, feet twisting around one another as they traced a meandering line into the center of the room. Her dress, an endless black, fluttered with every movement, edges as soft and uneven as feathers. Waves of dark hair framed her pale face, and when she looked up at last, the light caught in her eyes, irises as red as the jewel she wore in the center of her chest.

The crowd fell quiet, with those who had remained gathering together to watch as the woman approached the prince. Her steps were fast and brazen, only pausing when she was but a few breaths away. Mytho wasn’t sure what to think, but met her gaze when she looked to him, lips curled in the softest of smiles.

She took up the skirt of her gown in both hands and curtsied, so deeply that her body seemed painted along the floor for the longest of moments. She stood then, and turned to face the crowd.

“How very disappointing,” she spoke, and her voice was strong, echoing within the vast length of the room like a melody newly born. “This ball is quite lovely, and yet, everyone chooses to leave before it’s even begun. Is this how you treat your beloved prince? To be honest, I find it disrespectful.”

No one spoke. Her smile deepened. Her arms rose into the air, splayed towards the crowd, as though beckoning for an answer.

“Is all of this discourse taking place because a simple princess is missing?”

Still, no sound. Men and women glanced to one another, unsure of what to make of this woman, of these words. Still, no one could look away for long, and every gaze in the room watched as her eyes fluttered close, a pleasing laugh trembling along the curve of her lips.

“So be it,” she drawled, and twirled her body in a graceful circle. “I will be your princess for the evening. Surely you all can pretend I am the one you wished to see, can’t you? Think of it as a substitute, as filling in.”

She turned to the musicians, then, who had remained still through her words, and gestured for them to pick up their instruments.

“Play, won’t you? The silence is deafening.”

The men looked to one another, and after a moment, shrugged and did as she asked. Music, slow and cautious, swelled within the ballroom. Still, the crowd hesitated to move, glancing to others for guidance.

The woman in black spun around to face Mytho once more. In the span of a moment, she had closed the distance between them. He realized she was close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough for him to see each gentle curl of her hair and curve of her red smile. Close enough to feel on his face every breath she took.

Needless to say, he could hardly remember his own name at that moment.

She held out an elegant hand towards him, light catching along her long nails.

“Won’t you dance with me, your highness?”

Her voice was soft. Her gaze didn’t waver and held to him without fail. She was beautiful, he thought without meaning to, and found himself unable to come up with one decent reason why he should refuse her.

So he didn’t.

“Of course.” He reached out to her, resting his fingertips against the lines of her palm. She gripped them at once, a sharp smile betraying her gentler features, and pulled him closer. All at once, they took hold of the other, his shoulder, her waist, their hands, high in the air, trembling against one another.

The musicians seemed to have hit their stride, a beautiful tune flooding through the room. People throughout the crowd murmured, some disapproving, some entranced. “Do not mind them,” she whispered against the curve of Mytho’s shoulder when he hesitated, touching her long nails to his face. “Look at only me.”

He did, and they danced.

She moved like air against his hands. He was barely leading her at all, Mytho realized, instead merely following as she stepped, swayed, and spun with such grace that he found himself short of breath. The dissent in the crowd was melting away, replaced with gasping words of praise and wonder.

He twirled her in a slow circle, and instead of clutching his shoulder once more, she laid her palm flat against his chest. “Your heartbeat is quickening,” she commented, lips thick with a smirk. “Do I make you nervous, prince?”

“N-Not at all,” he stammered, which was probably an answer enough in itself -- but then she laughed, and soon, he was laughing as well, irrationally unable to think of a happier moment in his life before this one. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm. Their gazes did not waver, and they danced still.

The crowd separated; slowly at first, then faster and faster. Couples formed, splayed along the immense length of the floor in careful circles. Women curtsied. Men bowed. Hands were offered, then taken, and a thousand skirts swept against a thousand pairs of twirling legs as the dancing began.

Awkwardness lingered, but as nervous patrons turned to look upon the prince and his lady -- his princess, they thought in breathless admiration, only after a moment remembering to add ’for the evening’ -- in the center, they found such grace reassuring, and soon enough, the ball was alive with music and movement, all thoughts of anyone missing from the festivities soundly erased.

- - -

She was dancing. Yes, dancing with the prince, her perfect prince who held her close, spun her around and around and around until she could barely find a breath to call her own. She felt dizzy, so dizzy, and she thought to call his name, to ask him to stop for just a moment, but then his warm hands left her and she was stumbling away, unable to regain her balance. Her feet didn’t seem to work. Why weren’t they working?

She lifted her dress, but saw no ankles, no toes -- just two webbed feet, an ugly orange amidst all the beauty of her gown. That wasn’t right. These weren’t hers, they had to be someone else’s, had to be, she insisted, but still they remained. With a sharp breath, she yanked her skirt as far down as it would stretch, desperate to hide them away -- but then there were feathers on her arms, she realized, thick and yellow. Go away, she screamed, trying to shake them off, hot tears welling up in her eyes, but they were stuck, erasing her skin as if it was nothing more than a stray mark of paint. It wasn’t fair. How could she dance with webbed feet and yellow wings?

She thought to cry out, but then music flooded the room, loud and graceless, and countless forms were moving, dancing around her. No, not people, they were birds, they were ravens, dancing in irrational circles, reaching ragged claws out to drag her in. No, she cried, pulling away. No!

The music swelled to a grand pitch, and she pressed both wings to her ears, desperate to shut it out. It was too loud, too loud, TOO LOUD, TOO -- CLANG!

With a startled shriek, Ahiru hit the floor hard, roused to sudden consciousness.

She didn’t move for a moment, breathing hard against the worn rug while caught up in the fading fringes of her dream -- dancing, feathers, ravens, music. A few more quiet seconds passed, and the images finally faded away, replaced by innocent confusion. What time was it? Was it morning already?

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing darkness barely brightened by candlelight. With a groan, she lifted her head. In the open window, a curved moon still hung in the sky.

Ahiru blinked. But if it was still night, wouldn’t that mean --

She lifted up one arm out from under her body and held it up to her face. Her vision was finally clearing and adjusting to the darkness, enough to see that it wasn’t an arm at all, but a wing -- yellow, reluctantly familiar.

Still a duck.

With a sigh, she rose up unsteadily on her webbed feet and glanced around the room. Uzura was fast asleep on the floor, drumsticks still clutched in both little hands, and above her on the chair, Edel’s curved form sat slumped against the cushions, gently snoring. That was right, Ahiru remembered: they had stayed to keep her company. They had been listening to the music from the ball below...

The ball. Was it still going on? She listened.

Nothing, save for the gentle rustling of the wind.

A familiar sort of sadness sunk in as she buried her beak in both folded wings. All the partygoers had surely been furious to discover that she‘d up and left without so much as a single dance. They’d surely shouted, questioning the explanation for her absence -- was being allergic to moonlight even possible? -- and eventually stormed out, furious with their disgrace of a princess for disappointing them. All of those grand decorations and wonderful outfits, wasted.

Maybe she should have stayed, Ahiru thought, quacking out a weak laugh. She would have to tell everyone soon enough. Maybe it would have been better to just let them all watch her change and watch as Mytho danced with a duck, of all things. What a silly thought!

Her laugh died away just as quickly as it emerged, the bedroom feeling much too dark and lonely at that moment.

What a silly thought...

With one last sigh, she settled onto the rug and rested her head against Edel’s warm leg, drawing her wings over her body as though they were a blanket. No reason to dwell on it any longer. The ball was over and the damage was done. Nothing to do now but sleep, she thought, and allowed her eyes to droop closed once more --

-- only to be thrust haphazardly into the air once more by a sudden screech of music.

“QUUUUACK!” She couldn‘t help but cry out, wings desperately flapping in fear. Uzura murmured something indistinguishable into her curled hands. Edel shifted then fell still once more. Ahiru didn’t want to wake them, so she struggled to calm herself as she waddled in a frantic circle, but --- what was that!?

It had come from outside, she realized, but before Ahiru had even fully turned to look, another, calmer sound drifted into the room. Music?

Sure enough, it was a song, just begun -- gentle at first, but quickly swelling to a fevered pitch. A song meant for a waltz, she thought, waddling closer to the window. Wasn’t the ball over? Hadn’t everyone gone home?

It took some maneuvering - traveling to even the simplest of places was difficult in this form, she lamented -- but with a few clumsy hops across the length of her bed, she managed to flap her way to the stone windowsill.

It was a long way down, the ground little more than a blur of darkened brown and green below. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed her for a moment, but she shook it away, looking instead to the elegant pools of light further down the field, cast by the grand windows of the ballroom. Countless dark shadows swayed in and out of view, raised hands, flourishing skirts obvious against the light. The music continued without a single pause, leading them on.

The ball hadn’t stopped at all; she had merely woken between songs. Apparently, they hadn’t found her absence distressing enough to stop altogether.

She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Disappointed!? She stiffened at once, overcome with guilt. What was the matter with her? Of course they should have still had the ball! In fact, she hoped everyone was having lots of fun.

Still, as Ahiru watched the shadows twirl along the field, she found herself wishing more than anything that she could have taken part -- that she could see it, if only for a moment.

Maybe...

An idea struck, and she glanced up, taking note of the hint of roof sloping above her. There were a few windows up there, she remembered. She’d noticed them time and time again during her various practices within the ballroom -- round, stain-glassed, and so far away that they looked almost miniature, as if meant for mice to peer through. The ballroom was close to her room, so that had to mean they were only a little further up the roof, and then she could see, just for a second...

Ahiru had never been very good at flying, and briefly weighed her chances as she peered up at the ledge, then took a long, hard look down at the ground. It wasn’t that far away, she told herself, and shook all her hesitation away, spreading both wings wide.

Luck didn‘t seem to take pity on her, though. She’d barely left the ledge when she found herself thrown off-balance by an ill burst of wind, and she faltered dangerously in the open air for a moment before managing to cling the tips of her wings around the stone ledge. With a determined grunt and a few fervent prayers, she managed to drag her little body up. She finally stood on the sloped edge of the roof, breathless, the sky full and open above her.

And there were the windows, round pools of yellow light brimming against all the darkened stone of the castle. One waddling sprint up the steep incline, and she was there, beak pressed to the glass as she peered inside, unable to wait a moment longer.

It was all a colorful blur: couples poised in sweeping circles, clutched in one another’s arms as the music led their feet along, one, two, three, step. The tune flourished, and in one grand motion, the men lifted their ladies into the air and twirled them around, faces riddled with smiles all the while.

She found herself searching the crowd for Mytho. She didn’t see him around the tables, or watching from off to the side as a handful of others were. Had he chosen to dance after all?

Finally, she glimpsed him, a gasp of white amidst all the swirling color. He was near the middle of the circling couples, stepping and turning in perfect rhythm, moving closer to…

Who was that?

She had never seen the girl in Mytho’s arms before: soft face framed by dark hair, form little more than a curve of black against him. Ahiru watched with wide eyes as he took the stranger by the waist and twirled her high in the air, her red lips parting, mirroring his own open mouth. After a moment, she recognized it that they were both laughing.

Ahiru would be lying if she pretended the knot forming deep in her chest was anything other than jealousy.

It was silly, she knew. After all, she’d practically ordered Mytho to dance without her, to have fun even though she couldn’t be there, but still -- as she watched him gently lower his beautiful partner back to the ground and watched the way she settled into his arms, her own spread high like elegant wings -- Ahiru found herself giving into a burst of childish anger, if only for a moment.

It just wasn’t fair. That was supposed to be her down there, her and not some stranger, and she knew that it was only one dance, one ball, one night that wouldn’t mean anything in the morning -- but still! She was the one meant to be down there. She would have been down there, if not for the curse...

Her thought trailed off as Mytho arched his arm high, the girl’s long fingers raking down his palm as she spun away. It was the same move he had tried with her earlier that day, Ahiru remembered, the memory cropping up in the back of her mind: the empty ballroom floor, the whirling dizziness, her two feet, unable to complete the step, tripping over his innocent foot instead.

She watched. The girl’s dress fluttered around her as she turned, once, twice, three times. Her feet twisted and curled against one another as though it were the simplest thing in the world. Another breath, and she was back in his arms -- flawless.

She didn’t trip, or step on his feet, or look really silly. She was a wonderful dancer.

Ahiru found herself able to watch for only little longer; closed her eyes with a sigh. It had been a mistake to come and watch, she thought, and leaned her head against the pane --

-- only to quack in terror as the glass creaked and shifted out of place due to her weight. She yanked her wings upright, webbed feet stumbling backwards in a desperate effort not to crash right through the colored pane.

Unfortunately, by the time Ahiru realized just how steep the roof beneath her was, she was practically rolling, reduced to a ruffled ball of feathers and shrieking quacks. She dragged her wings across the stone, irrationally thinking they were hands, able to latch on -- but nothing helped.

The roof disappeared beneath her, and then she was falling, falling straight through the air, too shocked to even try and save herself, to even cry out. Her wings crumpled against her body, useless. The night sky shimmered above her, a million stars spiraling in dizzying fashions, growing farther and farther and farther away until --

-- the sudden stop.

She blinked, once, twice, her body arched in strange ways against whatever she’d hit. Her vision blurred; her thoughts were muddled. Green, there was green all around, like trees, like leaves, swallowing her up, and something hurt, she’d been hurt, somewhere, somehow, blood, she could smell blood, what now, how would she get back, her room was back up there, up at her window, up in the sky, miles and miles and miles away ---

Her thoughts trickled away just as quickly as they‘d seeped in, darkness overtaking her. The stars trembled in her drooping eyes, a thousand gems along the blackest of gowns. She gasped for one last breath, and was gone.

- - -

What a waste of time.

Fakir raked a stiff hand through his hair as he walked, the curving walls of the castle monstrous above him. He’d been circling for what felt like hours, glancing to open windows, watching the darkened trees tremble and twist in the wind. He wasn’t sure just where he was meaning to go -- only that he couldn’t have handled one more minute trapped in that deafening nightmare they were calling a ball.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend in the first place, but rather he had purposefully stayed within his quarters as the other knights gathered, in the hopes his absence would be overlooked. He should have realized that Charon, as quietly eager as ever, would go out of his way to check on him, to sternly inform him that ‘your sense of duty seems to be wavering’ and ‘your lord and lady expect your support’ and so many other noble, never-ending statements that eventually, he found himself forced to relent with a gritted ‘fine’.

The man had even managed to coerce him into dancing -- just how that had happened, he couldn’t remember. Apparently, his guardian for the past fifteen years had noticed a cluster of giggling girls lingering nearby as the music began and mentioned how it ‘couldn’t hurt his mood’ to humor a few of them with a quick waltz. He had begged to differ, but once again found himself reluctantly acquiescing after a handful of stern refusals, too tired, too distracted to fight the point for long.

That had ended quickly, though. He barely lasted through two songs, and even that was a miracle, what with those insufferable twits and their iron grips and incessant giggling.

In truth, the only reason he’d even lingered in the ballroom for as long as he did was due to a certain strange figure in the center of the room: the woman in black, who seemed permanently entangled in Mytho‘s arms. Over the years, Fakir had come to recognize mostly every face in town, if only faintly. After all, there were only so many that could live in such a small area, and newcomers and travelers were an impossibility, due to painfully obvious reasons. But that girl, he had thought -- following her twirling form across the vast length of the floor and back -- she was a complete stranger to him. To everyone, it seemed.

Fakir couldn‘t help but find her suspicious, and had wondered, hand itching for the hilt of his sword, if she meant to harm Mytho, to even stab him clean through as the two moved closer again and again. She even looked like a raven, with her dark hair, her red eyes, her gown, looking as if made from black feathers.

He’d continued to watch, feeling so sure of her intentions, but song after song after song slipped by, and the two kept dancing. A smile never left the stranger’s face, laughing with each careful step, each simple twirl, arms drawn high and free as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Harmless, he finally had to admit. Just another bothersome girl desperate for attention.

He was through with it, then. All the noise had given him a headache, and he’d managed to slip out between songs without anyone bothering him with questions as to why.

So here he was.

Fakir kicked a pebble through the tangled grass and followed the wavering shadow of the castle for a lack of anything better to do. At least now he had some quiet, the field open and empty before him, the windows brimming with light. Sometimes, it did him some good to wander, to think on pointless things and for a moment, avoid his problems. The castle wall curved before him, and he followed, only to see --

He craned his neck to get a better look and stiffened.

How the hell had he...

He tried to convince himself he was mistaken. The sides of the castle looked practically identical. That could be anyone’s window up there -- but it was no use. It was her window, her room and he had known it in an instant, known it better than he‘d ever care to admit.

There was a light glowing within, and he hastily stepped closer to the wall so as not to be seen. It only looked like a single candle or two, though. She’d probably done something stupid like falling asleep and forgetting to snuff it out.

There was no reason to linger.

His feet wouldn’t move, and he hated himself for it.

A little kindness never hurt anyone, Fakir.

The words returned to him, an annoying twitch in the back of his head -- one that he violently shook away. There were a myriad of reasons why kindness was not an option, the simplest one being that she didn’t deserve it. And how could she? She may be his princess, but that didn’t mean the girl wasn’t still an idiot. She’d refused to listen to his warnings, disobeyed direct rules, nearly gotten herself killed --

Her face, twisted in terror as she crumpled to the ground.

The memory rose unbidden, startling him. Why was he wasting his time with thoughts like that? He couldn’t trouble himself with such particulars, even if -- even if it had reminded him of --

-- well, it didn’t matter now.

I understand why you’re doing this, Fakir.

More of Charon’s words, bothering him. Why couldn’t he force them from his mind? The man may have raised him, but that didn’t give him the right to act as though he knew everything there was to know about him. No doubt the man was thinking back once again on those ridiculous things he’d said when he was younger. Why did any that still matter in the least? How could Charon still be placing so much weight on all that nonsense he spouted when he was still a brat, even after so many years?

Even if he...

...he absolutely refused to complete that thought.

With a harsh breath, he turned away and faced the open field instead, the rows of cottages lingering just under the forests’ grasping branches. His own simple home clung onto the edge, its single window dark.

Might as well.

He’d only taken a few slow steps away from the castle, though, when a sound startled him; such a strong rustle that his hand instinctively flew to his side, fingers poised to grasp the hilt of his sword -- only for them grasp air instead. He’d left it behind, he remembered, and instead whipped around to face the direction of the noise. One of the pitiful shrubs near the castle’s edge was trembling, leaves having scattered through the air, as though something had struck it.

He stepped closer, still cautious. The severed leaves lingered in a brief thread of wind then settled at his feet. The shrub didn’t move again. There were no other sounds. Maybe it’d just been in his imagination…

Still, Fakir bent over to see, just to make sure, and stiffened at the sight.

A duck.

Its little body was bent awkwardly against the shrub’s thin branches. Both wings were crumpled at its side, and both eyes were closed, unmoving.

Was it dead?

At a loss, he picked it up and held on carefully, fingertips curled under its head. One of his knuckles nudged the low of its back, but it seemed to have no effect, the little body still against his palms. Maybe it was...

But then the duck trembled, beak opening and closing with a soft breath. He lifted it closer, struggling to see clearly through the darkness, and watched as its eyes fluttered open, a startling shade of blue. It seemed disoriented, pressing both webbed feet tight to his wrists, craning its head back against his fingers so as to look up at the sky, the castle wall beside them. Finally, it turned its bewildered gaze on him, blinked once, then again, and --

“QUACK!”

“H-Hey!” He couldn’t help but stammer as the animal came alive in his hands, wriggling so violently that he was forced to drop it. It stumbled through the grass away from him, covering a few quick feet before finally looking back, blue eyes set aglow by the moonlight.

Was it glaring at him?

Fakir took a step after it, but the duck seemed to bristle at this before quacking again, so loud and stern that he stopped cold; mentally berated himself for taking orders from a duck, of all things.

It turned away once more but tripped, spreading both wings wide so as to catch itself -- only for one to crumple uselessly across the tangled grass. When the bird rose once more, feathers ruffled, Fakir realized there was a swell of smeared blood gathered across the crumpled wing, vibrant amidst all the yellow. It had probably been cut by the shrub’s branches when the duck fell.

To his surprise, though, the duck kept trying to back away from him, with tears, of all things, gathering in the curves of its eyes, matting in its feathers as they dripped. Could ducks even cry?

The animal took two careful steps, but tripped once more, the bloody wing folding against the ground, staining the grass.

It wouldn’t survive like that.

“Hey,” he said again, as gently as he could manage, trying not to scare it. He had a few old bandages somewhere, he was sure. Maybe if he could get the stubborn animal to calm down for a second, he would be able to bind the wound. In the least, it would mean a better chance of living long enough for it to heal.

He stepped closer once more and held out his hands in an attempt to pick the duck up -- but again, it pulled away, what impossibly looked like anger still in its wide eyes. “I’m just trying to -- stop, stop,” he grunted, finally managing to clench his fingertips against its curved back, only for the animal to twist its head around and nip at him, forcing him to release it once more.

This was pointless.

Fakir turned away with a gruff breath, half-convinced that the duck preferred to die a slow, moronic death rather than be saved, half-embarrassed that he’d even chosen to try and argue with it in the first place.

“Fine,” he called, and started off down the slope of the field towards his dark cottage, refusing to linger for even a moment longer -- only to stop when he heard a familiar ‘quack’.

It was softer than before, and he turned back, only to watch with faint surprise as the duck slowly waddled through the grass after him, head bowed. Once it’d finally reached the tip of his shoe, it blinked up at him and lifted the bloody wing into the air as if in quiet defeat, as if to say okay, I do need your help.

What a pitiful sight, he thought, and couldn’t help but smile.

He lifted the duck into the crook of his arm and ran his palm across its back so as to smooth the clumps of ruffled feathers. It uttered one last stern quack in response before deflating against him, obviously exhausted, and with a strange sense of relief, he started off once more, quickly disappearing down the length of the field --

-- barely missing the head of seafoam-colored hair that emerged from the high window, a yawn full in her mouth and her eyes wide as they searched the distant ground.

“Ahiru?”

- - -

In the end, the ball proved to be more than anyone could have hoped for. Tables were easily relieved of their burdens, the gleaming floor scuffed with the imprints of a thousand twirling soles of shoes. The moon wavered above the guests, the lights fell weak, and still, they danced, hopelessly caught in what felt like endlessness, moving with fingertips, pointed toes, and curving, breathless bodies. A true success, the crowds cheered. A perfect night.

No one seemed willing to leave, but eventually, the couples parted, exhausted and happy. With gracious goodbyes, they took their leaves one by one. Soon enough, they’d all disappeared into the aging night, laughter trailing along at their heels like ribbons.

And yet, the beautiful girl in Mytho’s arms kept leading him on with one more step, one more dance. It seemed impossible, but her face was still as fresh and bright as if they’d only just begun, her fluid movements untouched by weariness.

“Are you not tired?” He finally had to ask, unwilling to admit that that he was running short on breath.

She laughed. “Not at all.”

The music faltered, the musicians beginning to slump in their chairs.

“It‘s night,” she continued, oblivious, and curled backwards against his open arm, dipping back so far that the ends of her dark hair traced the floor. “How could anyone ever find themselves tired at night? This is the only time when I ever feel truly...alive.”

He gently pulled her upright once more. With a soft sigh, her fingers slid off his own, and she finally stepped away. He stumbled, both of his own hands still cupped to match her form against them. The music continued on for a few last brave notes, then quickly died, the musicians obviously overjoyed to be finished.

She gathered her feathered skirt in both hands and curtsied deeply once more, her red jewel glinting in the weak light.

“I am honored to have been allowed the pleasure of your company,” she said, and even though her head was bowed, Mytho could still see her smile, a curling line of vibrant red amidst dark waves of hair. “Goodnight.”

And then was she hurrying away, every footstep deafening against the vast, empty floor of the ballroom, so fast that at first, he couldn‘t comprehend it, his body still disoriented by the familiar movements of their dancing. Stranger still, he found himself desperate for her to stay, just for a while, just for one more moment, and called out before he could think better of it.

“Wait!”

She did, coming to a stop at the cusp of the dance floor, turning to face him with wide eyes. “Yes?”

What was he supposed to say? He hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest. There had to be something, though, something small, something necessary to ask her of --

“Your name,” he finally managed to say. “I don’t even know your name.”

It was a simple question, he’d thought, but for the first time all night, her expression fluttered into something of bewilderment, pale hands entangling within one another, obvious against her black gown.

“I...I don’t,” she stammered, and laid her long nails against her jewel. Her face softened just as quickly as it had tensed. A smile formed once more. “What would you like it to be?”

He blinked, confused.

“What is the most beautiful name you can think of?” She continued, oblivious. “Let me be known as that.”

He probably should have questioned just why she didn’t have a name of her own to offer, but he found that the words wouldn’t come, replaced by the first name that came to mind.

“Rudelle,” he said, and stepped forward, eager to close the distance between them. “It was my mother’s name.”

Was it wrong, to offer such a thing to a woman he barely knew? For a moment, he thought so, but then she took a breath, both hands rising to clutch against the curve in her chest where her heart lay, and he thought her so lovely in that moment that it did not matter.

“It’s beautiful, it is,” she said, voice quiet, “but I am not worthy to wear the late queen’s name.”

She looked so genuinely distraught by the idea. With a few more steps, he’d finally reached her, and they stood together on the edge of the room, the floor wide and gleaming behind them.

“A piece of it, then,” he offered. “Like Elle. Or Rue.”

She seemed to consider it before looking up to him once more.

“Rue,” she repeated, and the word slid along the red of her lips as they curved, forming a smile once more. “I do like that.”

Mytho smiled too. “You’re Rue, then. That is what I’ll always know you as.”

Her gaze, warm, held him for a moment longer before shifting up, over his head to the windows gathered near the ceiling. The moon was small, so delicately held within them.

“I have to take my leave,” she said, and with a bowed head, she turned away once more, only to be pulled back as he took her hand in his own. He lifted it, pressing his lips to the pale skin just above her knuckles.

“Thank you, Rue,” he said, “for the dance.”

For the briefest of moments, she didn’t move, crimson eyes wide, face flushed with sudden color, and her lips parted as if she meant to say something more -- but then they pursed close once again. With one last nod, she tore her hand from his, spun on her heels and ran. In only an instant, she was lost to him, effortlessly meshing with the darkened hallway.

He looked in the direction she had gone, then back to the ballroom, emptied of its guests, devoid of everything but faint, fleeting memories. Still, if only briefly, Mytho could almost feel the touch of something more, something unfamiliar, heavy in the air around him -- but the moment passed, and with a sigh, he turned to the stairwell and took his own leave.

So it ended.

- - -

The duck was giving him a weird look.

That was silly, Fakir told himself not a moment later, trying to stay focused. The candle’s wick was running low, and melted wax began to pool on his desk. A few more minutes, and there wouldn’t be enough light to see. It was an animal, so it had no idea what it was doing.

Still, as he finished wiping its wing clean of blood, gathered up the tangled bandages in his wet hands and went to work on wrapping the wound, he couldn’t help but keep glancing to its face.

The duck looked startled, almost awe-stricken by him, blue eyes wide and blinking. At first, it had twitched every time he’d reached for it, seeming eager to pull away as he’d dragged water across its matted feathers. But now, it seemed to have gotten used to him, even resting its head on his bent arm as he worked. Its expression still didn‘t waver, though. The animal looked almost as if it was unable to believe what he was doing, that he was actually helping it -- maybe it had some bad experiences with humans in the past? Stranger still was that when it wasn’t staring at him, it seemed to have some unhealthy fixation with the moon, casting apprehensive glances out the window time and time again.

He was thinking too hard about this.

One more weave around the wing, and he pulled the bandage tight, carefully tucking the end in place.

“There,” he said, and wiped both damp palms across his trousers as the duck waddled a few careful steps across the desk, lifting and bending its wing. It quacked nonsensically to itself, almost sounding relieved.

Fakir watched, amused. It hadn’t been as bad of an injury as he’d first thought. A lot of blood, but the cut had been shallow, and it would heal fairly easily. The duck probably wouldn’t be able to fly for a few days, but other than that, it was as good as new.

He stood, wandering over to his bedside. Sure enough, they were still there: a few crusts from the loaf of bread he’d bought the other day, wrapped in cloth. He deposited them at the bird’s feet, and was almost startled by the ravenous way it attacked them, beak open and eager.

“Hungry, eh?“ Sure enough, it cleaned the table in only a matter of moments. “You sure do eat a lot.”

The duck glanced up at him, looked almost affronted by such a comment. He reached out a careful hand to pet it, vaguely wondering if it would even let him. Surprisingly enough, after a moment of hesitation, it did, pressing its head to his palm.

Fakir would never care to admit such a thing to anyone, but it was kind of...nice to have a little company, even if it was just a duck. Sure, he was friendly with the other knights, and visited Charon and Raetsel on occasion, but it still felt as though he spent too much time alone in this simple home, keeping to himself.

He petted it for a moment longer -- was he just imagining things, or had its yellow face flushed with red? A trick of the light, probably. He gathered the duck up in his arms once more, having reached a decision. The animal could sleep here tonight. He’d release it in the morning near the pond.

A folded blanket in the corner made a decent bed, he reasoned, and set the duck down, watching as it nestled itself deep in the folds, large eyes beginning to droop.

It was stupid, he knew, but still he felt compelled to mutter a “good night”, and he found it amusing when the duck quacked in response. The candle was little more than a thin nub in the corner of his table, but just before he snuffed it out, he cast one last glance towards the corner of the room. The duck was looking up, towards the door, then the window, eyes hopelessly focused on the white curve in the sky. Why was it so fascinated with the moon?

He decided it didn‘t matter, and blew the candle out with one short breath.

- - -

A/N: OMGSH, THIS IS SO LATE. I'm sorry! I've been distracted by so many things today. I also apologize for last week -- but now, we're baaaaack, and I hope that this chapter made up for the absence. I'm awfully fond of it. <3

And I...think that's all I have to say, other than GOOD GOSH THIS IS LATE AND I FEEL AWFUL ABOUT IT. XD;

Reviews, as always, are really appreciated! New chapter next week~!

~

Delay~ D8

beyondfate — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 01:02:20 GMT

Yes, I know, I know. Only on the third chapter and there's already a bump in the road? XD;

Anyway, I'm really sorry, but there isn't going to be an update for The Heart of Everything this week. This is mostly due to the fact that my beta-reader, bless her, has been ridiculously busy lately, and I really want to give both her and I a chance to catch up. I'd rather put up a good, well thought out chapter than a rushed, hastily edited one, you know?

Anyway, I apologize! :( I hate leaving people hanging without any explanation, so that's why I'm posting this notice. Fear not! The continuation will be up next week for sure~

Happy V-Day! <3

beyondfate — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 19:08:33 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Three ~ 7113 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two]
Summary: The day of the ball, Ahiru has some interesting encounters, and prepares herself for disappointment.

The ball was tonight.

It was still early in the day, but the ballroom was already filled to the brim with the footsteps of countless servants. Men and women hurried to and fro, carrying decorations, maneuvering tables, placing plates and bowls. Some were even constructing a stand for the musicians at the front of the vast room.

It was fun to watch, Ahiru had to admit, clicking her heels together as she stood at the edge of the marble floor. Almost like she was seeing a beautiful transformation of sorts, the room becoming more and more lovely with each elegant piece added. She imagined it would look even more wonderful later that evening, when all the people and music and dancing were added to the setting.

When she would not be there.

No. She refused to wallow, to be sad over something that couldn’t be helped. She would think of something else! Anything, like the weather, or what would she would be having for lunch, or the night before --

The night before. Oh, Edel had been so upset by her sudden appearance, and she had asked to know at once just where she had been, why she hadn’t realized the time, just when she’d become so careless with her curse. Of course, Ahiru hadn’t been able to answer with anything more than a pitiful quack, but this hadn’t seemed to bother her caretaker, who’d then delved into all the colorful ways she could have been hurt, or trampled, or killed, or thrown outside, or eaten...and the list had gone on and on and on until the candle’s wax finally ran thin and Uzura was yawning every few seconds, blue eyes drooping. Still, the little girl had demanded that “ducky Ahiru-zura” sleep with her and the rest of her toys -- and so “ducky Ahiru-zura” had, uncomfortably pressed between a sharp-edged drum and a handful of wooden figurines.

It hadn’t been the best of evenings, that was for sure.

A woman hurried past, startling Ahiru. A long gown, red with gathered strands of lace around the skirt, was clutched in her arms, and she hurried towards the nearest exit after a breathless moment, seeming in an obvious hurry. Probably sent out to fetch something to wear for one of the nobles within the castle.

Her own dress -- the one she had planned to wear and had picked out herself weeks beforehand -- was the softest of blues.

Stop it!

She stomped her foot hard on the floor. Why did she have to keep doing that? It was just one night. She’d spent an entire lifetime of nights alone, eating cold meals, resting her beak along the pages of books, waddling under the windowsill and watching the stars until she finally fell asleep. The curse had always been hard, yes, but she’d grown used to it, even learned to find it silly, in a way, as though someone was playing an enormous, lifelong joke on her.

To be human by day, but bird by night...

“Your highness?”

She turned. One of the servants stood there, crookedly smiling, a glass bowl clutched in his arms.

“Are you in need of assistance? I would be glad to --”

“Oh, no, no!” Ahiru laughed, waving a flippant hand, suddenly feeling very exposed there on the fringes of the great room. “I’m just watching. I wanted to see how the room looked before tonight!”

The servant nodded, bowing to the best of his ability. He hurried off to a nearby table, then, where a handful of others were unraveling a golden tablecloth. Were they all wondering what she was doing here? Did she really look that silly?

Probably.

That was one of the good things about not being able to go tonight, she accepted, coaxing her lips into a smile. This way, she wouldn’t have a chance to look silly in front of everyone. She wouldn’t accidentally spill food on her dress, or knock something breakable off a table, or trip over her own two feet. She wouldn’t have to show everyone just how terrible she was at dancing, and she wouldn’t accidentally tread across Mytho’s feet when he twirled her around.

Still...

Ahiru sighed and gathered up her skirt.

Some princess she was turning out to be.

She turned to leave, then, but stopped when she noticed a familiar figure making his way across the length of the ballroom to her.

“M-Mytho!” she managed to squeak. He smiled at her, stepping in a slow circle as he took a look around.

“I came to see how it was coming along,” he commented, turning back to face her. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

She prayed he wouldn’t notice her trembling hands, hidden in the curves of her gown. “I wanted to see too,” she said at once, and found herself rambling quite easily. “Balls are just so beautiful, and I really wanted to see all the decorations! After all, this is really my only chance because surely they’ll take it all down first thing in the morning, and I won’t be...”

Ahiru trailed off. A twinge of guilt struck her, and she found herself unable to look Mytho in the eye, so she fixed her gaze on his white shoes instead.

“I’m...I’m really sorry about not being able to come tonight. I want to so much, I even had a dress and everything, but it’s just, it’s this awful problem I have, and I wish I didn’t and I’m just so sorry..."

She worked up the nerve to look back up. He was still smiling, golden eyes warm, and his hand reached out to take a gentle hold on her arm.

“If you say you cannot, then I believe you,” he said. “I don’t think any worse of you for it, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Don‘t worry.”

All she could do was nod, a genuine smile finally coming forth. Her braid flopped over her shoulder, trailed down the length of her arm, and her fingers found the end before gripping at in nervousness.

“Surely some of the guests will arrive before the sun has completely set,” Mytho continued. “Perhaps you -- we -- could greet them. Then you could wear your dress, and they would be able to see how lovely you were for themselves.”

She could just feel the blood rushing to her face already. “O-Of course!”

The tables were finished. Smooth, golden tablecloths adorned each. Countless empty dishes and ornaments were poised along the lengths, waiting to be used. Both prince and princess turned to watch as a smiling woman skirted around the room, depositing vases of colorful flowers. The ballroom was full, save for the stretch of smooth stone beneath their feet. It would be filled with people instead, sweeping, swaying, twirling.

Mytho’s hand left her arm and clutched at her stiffening hand instead.

“Let us dance now,” he said. “If not later.”

What!?

She aimed to protest, but he was already leading her out into the center, already taking her by the waist, guiding her hand to his shoulder, gripping the other close to his own and holding both high.

“B-But there’s no music,” she stammered, unprepared for the moment. She hadn’t had a chance to practice yet that day! What if she forgot all the steps, what if --

“There’s no need for it,” he said, and the rest of her words died away as they moved, slowly at first, then faster, the vast room tilting and twirling in her gaze.

It was quite a different feeling to have a real partner rather than an imaginary one, Ahiru realized -- and not in a bad way. It was more solid, more real. She didn’t have to jerk herself around or pretend to be twirled a certain way: someone was leading her, and it was a wonderful feeling. The steps were whirring in her mind, a frantic murmuring -- one, two, three, step, step, was that right? -- but it felt like her feet were shifting all on their own, following the silent, soft rhythm of Mytho’s own movements. She felt dizzy, almost sick, tables and bowls and windows and people swimming in and out of view, but then she found Mytho’s face in all the chaos, his smile, his eyes, watching her, and when he raised his arm to twirl her around, happiness swelled so fervently in her heart that she believed it might burst. It was meant to be this way, wasn’t it? She and her prince, dancing together, like a scene right out of a storybook, and it was perfect, so --

-- and then Ahiru stumbled mid-twirl, legs tangling against one another. Mytho stiffened and pulled hard on her arm in an attempt to keep her from falling. She managed to straighten against his grip, but one foot still trembled in the air, and she spun herself around, desperate to regain her balance, to place it back on solid ground -- that was, until the sole of her shoe firmly met something that was not the floor.

Horrified, she broke away.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Mytho insisted, but his face twisted in a wince, both hands cupped around the front of his shoe, and oh, Ahiru wanted nothing more than to vanish at that moment. How could she have been so clumsy? They hadn’t even danced the length of a full song yet, not even half, and already, she’d treaded across his foot like some sort of graceless animal. What was the matter with her!?

Mytho must have noticed her crushed expression, because he removed his hands at once and attempted to stand straight. His face betrayed the pain to her, though, and she nearly burst into tears.

“No, no, you’re not, you’re hurt and it’s all my fault,” she stuttered, taking a step away. There were still a few servants milling around near the edge of the room, checking small details, imperfections, and she called to them at once, beckoned them over. Distance, she thought. He just needed to stay away from her.

“Yes, please help the prince back to his room,” she asked of them, despite Mytho’s bewildered look. “His foot, it’s hurt, and he can’t walk by himself, I’m sure. Please,” she added, and although both looked confused, they acquiesced, each moving to one of Mytho’s arms, silently waiting for his approval.

“Ahiru, it’s nothing serious, I promise,” he insisted, but she was already hurrying away, heels clattering on the stone as she slipped out the nearest entryway, desperate to escape.

- - -

It was official. She was the worst princess ever.

Ahiru sighed, hugging her knees to her chest. Her nose twitched as the sun washed over, finally sliding out from behind a stubborn cloud. Normally, she’d be thrilled to be where she was, sitting on the open steps leading down to the dirt path, not technically away from the castle, but still in a place where she was able to feel every cool breath of wind, to watch clouds wonder by at a snail’s pace, fat and fluffy. One of the guards patrolling the premises had said it would be all right, that he’d keep an eye out for danger.

A small part of her had hoped a change of setting might brighten her mood, but no luck. She curled her legs up further into the folds of her dress and grasped the satin tips of her toes. She imagined becoming round like a wheel and rolling down the path, through the town, far away.

She felt a small weight on her shoulder, then, little claws pressing to her skin, and briefly struck with panic, she turned her head -- but it was only a familiar bluebird.

She smiled. “Hi, Teal.”

It answered with a hearty chirp, jumping down to the swell of her knee.

“How are Indigo and Cerulean? Have they left the nest yet?”

The bird cocked its head to side, answering in its usual way.

“Not yet, huh? Well, I’m sure they’ll be ready soon! You have to be sure not to rush them, I’m sure flying for the first time is awfully scary --”

A few stern chirps.

“They were? I’m sorry! I didn’t stay in my room last night. I’ll have twice as much seed tomorrow morning, I promise.”

A sweeter chirp.

“I look sad? Aww, are you worrying about me?”

The little bird nestled against her curled hand, and Ahiru couldn’t help but giggle.

“I’m fine. It’s just -- it’s hard to be a princess sometimes. The prince wanted to dance with me, and do you know what I did? I stepped on his foot. So now, I’m sure he’s in lots of pain and thinking about what an awful klutz I am and how embarrassed he’ll be when he’s married to me.” The laughter in her voice stilled; her gaze dropped to the ugly wrinkles in her skirt. “He deserves someone better than me.”

She took a deep breath and smiled at her little friend once more, running a careful fingertip along its feathers. “Do you ever worry about things like that?”

The bluebird blinked, and without any sort of warning, flew away. Ahiru managed another laugh, watching as its little form easily melted into the blue sky. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” she whispered, and lifted her hand in a weak farewell.

The patrolling guard passed by, marching in perfect rhythm.

“Everything all right, your highness?”

“Perfect,” she answered, offering him the brightest smile she could muster up. He nodded, and she watched his retreating form until he disappeared around the corner once more.

Nothing else to do but watch the sky, she thought, and leaned back on the palms of her hands. She studied the clouds, searching for shapes, eager to stop thinking about everything that was wrong, if only for a moment. That one looked like a flower…

The faint sound of footsteps in the grass brought her upright once more. The guard wouldn’t complete his round for another fifteen minutes or so. Who was--?

She glanced around. There -- a figure a few yards away, hurrying across the field. It seemed as though they were on their way to the stable -- either that, or the knights’ quarters. His clothes were of the usual thread, but his hair made him instantly recognizable to her. Fakir.

He didn’t notice her, eyes trained forward as he ventured down the length of the field, sheath and sword swinging at his side. She wondered if he ever went anywhere without it.

She wondered if his arm was okay.

I’ll only say this once more. Stay inside. Next time, I won’t bother.

He hadn’t even given her a chance to apologize. He hadn’t given her a chance to say much of anything, really, what with his rude comments and annoying habit of running off before she could get a word out edgewise.

Still...

She stood, absently smoothing out the wrinkles gathered in her skirt. The guard wouldn’t make a complete circle for a little while longer. She had some time to spare.

It just couldn’t be helped. The truth remained that he had jumped in to save her and he had gotten hurt because she’d ignored what he said. She wasn’t going to be able to feel anything but uneasy about the entire incident until she managed to get an apology out -- no matter how much Fakir didn’t want to hear one.

He’d disappeared down the incline, and she hurried after without another thought.

- - -

It took a little searching. Fakir was faster than she thought, and he had vanished by the time Ahiru stumbled down the dip in the grass herself, glimpsing the knights’ quarters and a haphazard row of gray cottages -- but eventually, she came upon him in the stables. She wandered past countless horses with long faces drooping down to meet her own, round eyes as reflective as muddy water, and she did her best to avoid stepping on strewn oats or pieces of stray hay. Briefly, she wondered if he’d come in to mount, but then she heard a distinct ’thwack’ sound, once, twice, three times. The gate on the last stall was swinging on its hinges and she caught it with both hands, bringing it to a careful stop, peering around its edge to see just what was going on inside.

Fakir had his sword drawn, hilt held firmly in both hands. It looked as though he’d been frozen in place with legs spread and bent, eyes closed, and weapon poised high above him. A second passed, then two, and all at once, he came alive. Both arms collapsed to his chest, his feet moving quickly, pulling the rest of his body into a new stance, then another, spinning, ducking, kneeling -- like some sort of wild dance, Ahiru thought, unable to look away.

His eyes opened, then narrowed at once. His arms folded and straightened just as easily, the blade bent back to the skin of his temple. Another sharp breath, and he moved. The sword sliced through an imaginary victim an extraordinary number of times, so many Ahiru couldn’t have counted them if she tried.

He came to rest, the gleaming tip of his sword pressed gently to the wall.

Ahiru almost felt out of breath herself at such a display. He really was quite good. Should she interrupt him in the middle of his practice?

The question quickly answered itself as the gate she’d been leaning against gave into her weight and swung to a swift, creaking close. With a panicked yelp, she was thrown into the room by the motion; found herself staring at her own distorted reflection in the long blade as it was brought but an inch from her face. Fakir stared at her with wide eyes, obviously startled by the interruption.

“S-Sorry,” she managed to stammer after a moment, focused on the weapon. A little closer, and it would have been against her neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

He pulled back at once, sheathing the weapon in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?”

In only a moment, he’d advanced on her a few quick steps, and despite all of her determination, she still found herself stumbling backwards to keep a breath of distance between them.

“Do you not hear what I tell you?” He muttered, voice little more than a growl. “Or are you just too stupid to understand what the words stay inside mean?”

His anger was startling -- she’d forgotten, still focused on his actions during their last meeting -- and all the words in her head skirted just out of reach as if they themselves were frightened. Unwilling to meet his glare, she looked down at her hands, twisting against one another. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but made a curt ‘humph’ sound when she did not.

“Of course,“ he grunted, and she glanced up once more just in time to watch him turn his back on her, stride across the room to remove both sheath and sword from his side and lay them to rest in a small bale of hay.

“I -- I wanted to apologize.” she managed to find her voice once more and was determined to get everything out in open before he could say anything else mean. Fakir didn’t turn to face her, but she saw the way his back stiffened and she knew he’d heard it. “I just wanted to say that, that you were right and I was wrong, and I should have listened to you about the ravens, but I didn’t, and then you got hurt and it was my fault and I felt really bad, so I just wanted to...to say I was sorry.”

Silence.

“Your arm,” she said, a little softer. “Is it --”

“It’s fine,” he cut her off, still refusing to look at her. “Are you finished?”

“U-Um, no,” she stuttered. “I just -- thank you, for saving me. It was kind of you.”

More silence.

“That’s all,” she hastily added.

A horse’s frantic clomping echoed from somewhere in the building. Fakir bent over his weapon once more, shifted the blade in its case, and the brief screech of metal twitched in her ears.

“There was nothing kind about it,” he said. “I did it because it’s my duty, that’s all. Don’t get any other idiotic ideas in your head.”

The words rattled around her, cold. Ahiru drew a short breath in, anger beginning to swell deep in her chest. Why couldn‘t he just accept it? Why did he have to be so difficult? “But I ---”

“If you’re through babbling,“ he started to say, already turning -- probably to make another quick exit -- but Ahiru stood in his way this time, having closed the distance between them, her arms crossed.

“Are you like this to everyone you talk to?”

“What?”

“Are you this rude to everyone, or just to me? Because, you know, all the other knights, they treat me with respect, they bow and say, ‘yes, your highness,’ and ‘no, your highness,’ and lots of other really wonderful, kind things!” Once Ahiru got started, it was difficult to stop. She even found herself leaning up on her tiptoes, jabbing an angry finger in his face for added effect. “but you, you act like I’m nobody at all, like you can just say whatever you wish to me! Well, you can‘t, because I’m the princess, and you’re -- you have to listen to me!”

“Do I?” His face didn’t offer any emotion, but the tone was easily a mocking one.

“Y-Yes, you do! If I told the Council about this, that you were calling your princess terrible things like moron and stupid, they’d, they’d...well, they would do something awfully bad, I’m sure!”

She was out of breath; steadied herself on her knees for a moment. Fakir didn’t even blink, but met her gaze when she finally looked back up.

“Go ahead,” he said, and the shadow of a smirk appeared along his lips. “I only say those things because they’re true.”

“It is not!” She could just feel her face turning red, her arms trembling with unbidden anger. “Not in the least! I just think -- I think -- I think you’re a big jerk!”

She raised a hand, then, meaning to shove him, but Fakir easily stepped out of the way, grabbing a hold of her splayed fingers and holding them tight.

Ahiru made a few weak attempts to pull away, but his grip didn‘t loosen. She wanted to yell again but couldn’t find the voice for it, her brief burst of fury already fading away. For a moment, he just stared, expression unreadable to her: his lips set in a straight, stiff line, his eyes narrowed, so focused that she had to look away.

Finally, he let go. Her arm fell limp to her side.

“Fine,” he said, unmoving. “If you want to hit me, then go ahead.”

Ahiru blinked. She curled her hand into a loose fist, then released it just as easily. “N-No, I don’t want to…I just…I just wish you’d be a little nicer, is all...”

For a quiet moment, she thought she may have finally gotten through to him -- only to watch his expression harden just as it had countless times before. “Pathetic,” he muttered with a stiff shake of his head, and the word cut right through her, painful, absolute.

He turned away, then, and gathered up sheath and sword at once, hanging both against his side. “Go back to your castle,” he said, and brushed past her on his way out the gate. “You’ve wasted enough of my time.”

“W-Wait!”

She stepped out into the hay-strewn corridor, yelling after him. “I didn’t waste -- you’re just -- I’m not -- you didn’t even,” she stuttered on for a few moments, then settled on one last defiant cry of, “you’re awful!”

He was gone, and she found herself alone with the horses; stamped her foot on the ground with a shrill sigh.

At least there was one good thing about the exchange, she told herself. She had gotten out her apologies -- no matter how much he hadn’t deserved it -- and now there was no reason to speak to him ever again.

A few minutes later, cries of “your highness, your highness!” echoed through the building, and the guard from the castle, face pale, weapon poised, came upon her, certain she’d been abducted or killed on his watch. After a quick, familiar discussion of, “you aren’t supposed to leave the castle walls, it could be dangerous. I am sorry, my lady, but that is the way it must be,” -- though it was much nicer than certain parties had been on the subject -- he led her back, pretending not to notice the way she slammed her foot down on every stone step leading up to the castle walls.

- - -

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Mytho laughed and lifted his foot off the ground, wiggling it for confirmation. “Not even a bruise. Seems like I’ll live to see another day.”

Ahiru flushed, aiming to throw in one more apology for good measure, but then another couple approached the two, smiles wide, arms splayed open, and they found themselves drawn into yet another brief conversation of ‘hello’, ‘lovely ball, yes’, ‘so exciting to finally meet you!’. The woman swept her enormous red gown to the ground as she curtsied, and managed to compliment Ahiru’s hair, eyes, and dress all in one shrill, laughing breath. The man bowed, his tunic crinkling against his chest, and shared a few friendly words with Mytho before bending to kiss Ahiru’s hand. The two swept away into the vast ballroom, then, leaving the prince and princess still poised at the opening, waving them off.

Yes, Ahiru thought with a soft sigh: this had been a good idea. Countless guests, ornately dressed, had arrived early, just like Mytho said, and she and he had been there to greet them without fail, standing against the slope of the vast entryway. She’d already received more glowing compliments than she’d ever thought possible; found herself so filled up with all the merriment that it was impossible to keep her face from flushing red at the slightest warm word. Her blue dress -- the one she’d been saving for so long -- she’d even gotten to wear it and watch it twirl in soft, swaying folds as she turned. Even though it would all only be for a little while longer, she found herself unconcerned with the curse for once in her life, too filled up with genuine cheer to care.

“You look happy,” Mytho commented, looking to her. “Enjoying this?”

“Yes,” she answered without even a breath of hesitation. “Just, look at everything! The lights and the decorations and all the people! It’s so nice, and everyone’s been so friendly!”

“So I take it this was a good idea?”

“Of course!”

She offered him a smile, and he took her white-gloved hand in his own, holding it in the breath of space between them. Through the windows, she could still see the sun, a blinding rim against the sturdy shapes of the trees. Still plenty of time.

A few more bright faces swept through. The conversations were beginning to melt together in Ahiru’s mind, little more than loud, happy blurs, but she always found herself able to remember each face that stopped to greet them. An older couple, arms interlocked, hair just beginning to bleed grey. One of the knights, escorting a shy-smiling woman with the brightest eyes Ahiru had ever seen. A girl no older than seven whose little body was swallowed up by frills and ribbons, who blushed when Mytho bent down to greet her. She’d even seen Lillie and Pique, dressed in their finest gowns, eyes wide and bright as they hurried over to say hello. Pique had nudged her shoulder, gesturing to Mytho with a sly look in her eyes. “What did I tell you?” She’d said with a knowing smile. Lillie, always helpful, had clutched Ahiru’s arm fiercely. “Don’t fret,” she’d whispered in her ear. “I’ll dance as dreadfully as possible so you’ll look better by comparison!”

Ahiru hadn’t the heart to reveal that she wouldn’t be joining them in the ballroom, but offered the both of them warm smiles instead as they hurried off in a flurry of flowing skirts, cheerful laughter to make way for the next guests.

“I hadn’t heard much of the princess,” she heard one women comment to another near her. “I can’t understand why, she’s lovely!”

“The two make such a good match,” the other offered. “What a beautiful marriage it will be.”

Ahiru felt awfully proud at that moment, and she wondered to the high heavens why she’d allowed herself to be caught up in so many trivial matters as of late. This was what mattered, her being here with Mytho, revealing herself to the land she‘d soon sit at the head of-- and she was making a pretty great first impression, it seemed!

Beside her, she noticed Mytho shift his weight from foot to foot, and wondered with a twitch of old guilt finding its way into all her happiness, if he was just trying to be nice about his injury.

“Are you absolutely, positively sure you’re all right?” She repeated.

His face was colored with amusement, and he squeezed her hand. “I could take off my shoe and show you, if you’d like.”

She managed a little laugh at that. “Are you going to be able to dance?”

He blinked. “Dance? Who am I going to dance with? You won’t be there.”

“Oh no, no,” she said at once, a little louder than she meant to. “You have to! Please don’t worry about me. You should have fun tonight!”

He seemed to study her face for a long moment. “If that’s what you want --”

“It is,” she said, an end to the genuine thought, and the two took to watching the growing crowd within the ballroom, colorful forms shifting and mingling around the tables, calling out to one another from across the open floor. A few blunt notes of music floated through the air from time to time: the musicians were preparing, heads bent studiously over their instruments.

She felt Mytho brush against her as he turned to glance down the hallway once more. “Look,” he said, and she didn’t hear him for a minute, too fascinated by the wooden, stringed item one of the musicians held, plucked at quite fervently. “Here comes Fakir.”

She turned, already frowning at the mere mention of the knight’s name. Sure enough, there he was, clad in a dark blue tunic, walking alongside an older gentleman Ahiru had never seen before. Mytho must have noticed her darkened expression, because he nudged her and offered her a smile when she looked to him.

“What’s the face for?” He asked, voice teasing. “I told you, he’s not that bad…”

Ahiru “humph’d” at once, crossing her arms. “If by ‘not that bad’, you actually mean ‘the most horrible person to have ever lived‘, then yes, you would be right.”

Mytho laughed. “I take it your paths have crossed since yesterday.”

Ahiru gave a curt nod, but straightened and forced herself to smile as the two men finally reached them at the doorway. Both bowed in silent unison. Once risen, Mytho took each of their hands in a firm, friendly shake.

“Ahiru, this is Charon,” he said, gesturing to the older gentleman, who nodded to her with a kind smile, traces of wrinkles crinkling around his dark eyes. “He’s the castle’s blacksmith and very generously supplies the weapons for all the knights and guards. Why, he even taught me how to use a sword when I was younger.”

“It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, your highness,” Charon said, voice so friendly that Ahiru’s fake smile fluttered into a genuine one. “I must say, no one prepared me for how lovely you would be.”

She flushed a pleasant red, as she was wont to do at such nice compliments. “Thank you! It’s nice to meet you too,” she responded in kind, curtsying.

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy with your prince here,” Charon went on to say, patting Mytho on the shoulder in such an easy way that Ahiru could tell their relationship was a friendlier one than mere prince and subject. “Now, if only he would let me craft him a new sword for a wedding present…”

“And I told you, Charon,” Mytho said, half-laughing, “that the one you first made is still perfectly fine. Don’t waste more metal on me. How is Raetsel?”

“Not very well, actually. She wanted to come tonight, even had a dress picked out, but she was coughing up a storm, so...”

Mytho and Charon continued to chat, of people and places Ahiru knew nothing of, and she had no choice but to fall quiet. In time, she found herself awkwardly facing Fakir, who hadn’t said so much as a word yet. He seemed determined not to look at her, gaze focused instead on the filling ballroom. Eventually, he tossed a glance towards Charon, looking annoyed that he and the prince were still in the midst of a conversation. She hadn’t even realized she was staring, but he must have felt it, because then he turned his head to finally meet her eyes.

She made a face and quickly looked away herself. That would teach him.

“-- so next time, hopefully,” Charon finished his train of thought with a sigh, turning back towards the group. He glanced to Fakir, then to Ahiru, and his eyes widened, as though he’d made some sort of mistake.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Ahiru realized he was speaking to her. She watched as the older man looked towards Fakir. “I should have introduced --”

“We’ve met,” Fakir interrupted, so sharply that no one said anything more for a moment, the only sound around them the broken, lilting pieces of music from the band as they prepared for their first song.

“Fakir,” Charon spoke up, his voice stern. “That doesn’t mean you don’t show your respects.”

The man made a subtle gesture towards what Ahiru first thought was her dress. Glancing down, she realized he meant her gloved hand, hanging at her side, and she felt herself stiffen at the implication.

“Oh no, that’s all right,” she said at once, but the knight was already taking a step closer. In one firm motion, he took up her fingers against his own, touched his lips to the lace just above her knuckles in a brief kiss.

“My apologies, your highness,” he said, voice thick with something she couldn’t quite decipher, too busy berating herself for the blush that had sprung up unannounced along her face.

“We’ll see you within,” Charon said, and then with one last smile and nod to both Mytho and Ahiru, he and Fakir took their leave into the ballroom, quickly disappearing from view amidst all the other forms strewn along the open floor.

In fact, the room looked almost full to the brim, with chatting men and women gathered around each table. Hands raised in countless apologies as people mistakenly ran into others, shoulders pushing against backs, skirts brushing knees. The musicians had even begun to play a few simple, happy tunes, couples rising to the occasion as they swept together along the length of the floor, laughing with each easy step, each gentle twirl.

Maybe there was time.

The thought rose up into Ahiru’s head unbidden, and she clung to it, thrilled. The dancing was already beginning, it seemed, and if they hurried, maybe she could --

A reluctant glance towards the windows silenced the hope. The sky was already a deepening purple, the sun little more than a sliver of weak light beneath the trees.

She touched a few fingers to Mytho’s shoulder. “I--I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but...I have to go.”

She attempted a smile, but could feel her lips faltering, twisting into something that resembled more of a grimace. He seemed to notice and offered her a warm smile, one last squeeze of her hand.

“No more apologies,” he said, voice nearly drowned out by a swell in the music. “It was wonderful enough to spend this time with you now.”

He turned to face the bright ballroom, then, and sighed. “Now to tell them all of it.”

Ahiru waved him off and watched as the crowd greeted him with admiring smiles, parted to create a clean path. Some glanced back to her, still standing in the entryway, eyes wide with innocent confusion. For a moment, she stayed still, fingers intertwined within the folds of her beautiful gown, and took in for one last time the warm lights, the dazzling outfits, the spinning, swaying couples as they danced.

Ahiru turned back to the entryway and faced the stairwell in the corner, dark and unwelcoming; with one last sigh, took her leave.

- - -

As Charon wandered across the vast room, holding a few warm slices of bread he‘d gathered from one of the tables, he caught a glimpse of Mytho, little more than a flash of white hair as he shifted through the folding crowd. Why was he going alone? Surely Ahiru was supposed to be with him, after all, weren’t they were planning on taking part in one of the first dances? The thought settled in the back of his head as he rejoined Fakir, who had strayed from the noisy crowd and was leaning against the far wall.

Charon offered him the bread, and he took it with a nod, but did not eat. There she was, Charon noted, seeing Ahiru’s thin form still in the darkened entryway, little more than a blur of blue and red. She stood still and seemed to be watching, as though planning on being little more than a bystander for the event. Strange, he thought.

In truth, he’d found the princess both perfectly kind and lovely. Why would she not take part? A smile hadn’t even left her face throughout their entire exchange, except for when the two were first approaching, he remembered --- and at that, looked to Fakir.

“She seemed angry with you,” he commented, moving to stand beside the young knight. “You shouldn’t leave such an impression on her, in the least.”

Fakir grunted, not even glancing at him. Charon was used to such behavior, though, and offered the boy a gentle smile. “A little kindness never hurt anyone, Fakir.”

“She’s a nuisance, Charon,” he suddenly spoke up, voice angrier than usual. “She refuses to listen, she --”

He trailed off, and Charon noted, with a touch of clarity, how Fakir raised his head to look at Ahiru himself, only to turn away just as quickly. He took up the bread in his hands and tore off a chunk, sticking it in his mouth as though to stop anything else he might have said, given the chance.

Charon patted his shoulder, hesitating, unsure of what the right thing to say would be. “I understand why you’re doing this, Fakir,” were the words he finally settled on. “But please, remember your place.”

He said nothing more.

Still, Charon couldn’t help but notice that as Ahiru turned and began to walk away, Fakir’s narrowed gaze followed her all the way down the length of the hallway and didn’t waver until she’d disappeared up the stairwell and out of sight.

- - -

Another handful of candles were lit. Edel set them along the length of the armoire with the utmost care before returning to her nearby chair. Uzura stood on her tiptoes before the open window, clapping when the music swelled. “They’re playing another song-zura,” she announced before scrambling back to the rug where she’d left her drum and sticks. “I can play with them-zura!”

“Quaaaack.”

Edel smiled and gathered up the droopy-eyed duck in the folds of her skirt as Uzura banged along with the tune.

“They won’t think any less of you,” she murmured, running her palm along each yellow feather.

Ahiru merely turned both bright eyes towards the curved moon in her window, but buried them in her wings not a moment later with one last sighing quack.

- - -

Poised at the beginning of the path leading to town, two guards stood straight, weapons poised. The windows of the great ballroom towered behind them, filled to the brim with light, while the buildings below them were dark, empty of their residents for one night. One was just beginning to nod off when both men were startled by the sound of flapping wings.

With identical cries, they turned in all directions, searching for the ragged feathers and glowing red eyes of ravens -- only for one guard to suddenly calm, gaze settling on the pond a yard or so behind them.

“Look,” he said, nudging his panicked friend, and they both watched as a familiar dark swan, elegant wings splayed wide, came to rest on the water‘s surface, the glow of the crescent moon like a halo of light around its form. “Just that swan again,” the same man commented.

“Pretty thing,” the other said, and both turned back to face the empty path.

They didn’t notice as the swan’s curved body sunk down into the shallow water, wings crumpling, dragging it down until the pond appeared empty once more with nothing but a perfect reflection of the moon left on its surface.

The water rippled. First, a head emerged, then two shoulders, the low of a pale back, and a pair of thin legs. Black feathers gathered at the tips of her new toes and sunk over her body, taking the fluid form of a gown. A red jewel appeared along the curve of her breast, so heavy that her long nails fell against it, settling along the rigid pattern.

With a soft, human sigh, she looked to the moon, crimson eyes glinting, and gathered her feathered skirt in both hands.

The castle towered overhead. The windows were large and warm with countless shadows sweeping in and out of view, hopelessly distracted by their own merriment. Much too distracted to see anything wrong with a lovely young newcomer dressed in black.

A smirk formed along her red-lipped mouth.

Perfect.

- - -

A/N: That's it for today~! I'll be the first to admit that this chapter was not all that exciting. It was basically meant to serve as a transition into the big ball. (And as you all will no doubt notice as this story progresses, I love me some character and relationship development, so there was lots of that in here as well. <3) Nonetheless, I hope it proved enjoyable!

Also, only an incredibly brief mention of this was made, and most of you probably didn't notice, but just in case, I'd thought I'd point out -- Charon and Raetsel are married in my story. This is mostly to SUIT MY SELFISH NEEDS. XD; Also, I always thought they were cute. But yes, it will become important later on. Just a heads-up. :DD

As always, comments are much appreciated~!

~

beyondfate — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 08:41:31 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter Two ~ 7321 words. [Prologue] [Chapter One]
Summary: Ahiru breaks the rules, and experiences the wonders -- and dangers -- of the town firsthand.

“I will not be blamed. It isn‘t my fault that you refused to listen --”

“This is unacceptable, Edel! We’ve been planning this for months --”

“ -- and I am telling you, with all due respect, that it cannot be done.”

“What are they talking about-zura?”

“Shh, I can’t hear...”

“I’ve told you time and time again of her severe allergy to moonlight --”

“ -- it’s necessary for her to make an appearance. The people know next to nothing of her, there must be a way --”

“Is that what you want? For her to have some sort of seizure in front of so many? That would make quite the first impression, I’m sure --”

The voices quieted. Ahiru pressed her ear against the door as hard as she could, but could no longer make out anything other than a few disjointed words, meaningless on their own. Sighing, she rested her forehead to the wood. At her side, Uzura mimicked the position and blinked up at her, concern brimming within her wide eyes.

“What’s wrong-zura?”

Ahiru glanced over, managing a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m okay. There’s just…a very important ball going on tomorrow and I can’t be there.”

“Why-zura?”

She hesitated a moment before answering. “Well, it’s at night.”

Uzura’s little mouth formed a circle. “Ohhhh,” she breathed, and rose both arms into the air, flapping them up and down a few hasty times. “’Cause of ---?”

“Yes,” Ahiru gently cut her off, not wanting to hear the word at the moment. “That.”

The door opened, then, so fast that Ahiru almost fell right along with it, but she managed to sway on her tiptoes instead as Edel stepped inside, expression unreadable.

Silence. Her caretaker pulled the handle into place once more, eyes dark, lips thin.

Steadying herself, Ahiru clutched both hands together within the folds of her skirt and met the woman’s gaze at once, unable to contain her anxiousness. “Well?”

Edel’s shoulders gave a gentle heave, and a look of relief finally surfaced. “It will go on without you.”

Uzura laughed at once. “No ball for Ahiru-zura!”

The little girl ran to gather her drum from where she had dropped it in all the excitement. Edel sunk into the nearest chair, a delicate hand pressed to her forehead. Ahiru, meanwhile, couldn’t bring herself to move, still unable to believe it. She’d been so certain that it was her secret’s final hour, that the Council would drag her to the ball and inadvertently reveal to the world the awful truth she’d tried so hard to hide. Relief flooded her -- but still, it felt cold, almost unwelcome as all its meaning seeped in. Uzura’s words rung in her ears: No ball for Ahiru.

“Really?” She took a careful step towards Edel. “They said it was okay?”

“How could they not?” A tired smile fluttered across the woman’s face. “I told them you’d go into conniptions at the mere sight of the moon.”

Ahiru managed a laugh. “That’s very good.”

“I thought so.”

A quiet moment passed. Uzura banged away blithely in the corner, singing. “No ball, no ball, no ball!”

“We won’t be able to hide this forever.”

The words rung through the air, settling along the curve of her shoulders, their weight almost painful. She felt Edel’s careful gaze held to her, but Ahiru couldn’t bring herself to meet it once more, so she turned to face the window instead, late afternoon sun pouring in.

“This day was to come eventually.”

“I know that,” she answered, voice soft. Desperate for warmth, she crossed to the window with a few quick steps and rested her elbows along the sill.

“You’ll be married soon,” Edel continued. “The truth will have to come out, despite the consequences. The prince, he --”

“He’ll have to know, he’ll have to know everything,” Ahiru finished the thought, cradling her chin in both open palms as she watched a few forms mill in the clearing beneath her, carrying baskets into town, leading horses to the stables. “I understand but I’m just -- I’m ---”

Her words faltered, so staunchly that she could feel both Edel and Uzura‘s gazes, heavy on her back.

She didn’t turn to make sure. She didn’t finish the thought, instead starting a new one with the cheeriest voice she could muster up. “Thank you, Miss Edel, for speaking to them.”

“You’re welcome.” Edel’s voice was soft, filled with warm understanding, and she took her still-singing daughter by the arm, leading her out of the room without so much as another word on the issue. “Come, Uzura, let’s leave Ahiru for a while.”

The door shut behind them with a sharp click, and Ahiru was alone with her thoughts, an endless view of trees and buildings and people framed by her window.

They would all have to know.

The thought terrified her -- she couldn’t bring herself to pretend like it didn’t. What would they think? She had prayed all her life in the desperate hopes that she wouldn’t have to find out, that she’d wake one morning only to find that the...deformity had vanished. She’d probably wished it on every star in the sky at some point -- and still, nothing.

A small, fragile part of her still held out faith. Maybe the wedding! Maybe when she was married, and the ravens were gone, and everything was perfect; surely there was no room for her problem amidst such a happy end. Surely it would vanish or be snuffed out as simply as an aging candlewick...

But if not...

The truth will have to come out, despite the consequences.

Ahiru refused to spend another moment thinking about it. She forced her lips into a perfect smile and giggled at the angry lines the stone sill had imprinted on her arms. No reason to ruin a perfectly good day with such thoughts! So she couldn’t go the ball. There were lots of other things she could do! Like read a book, or practice her dancing, or take a walk around the castle, or...

The faintest of music seeped into her thoughts, and she hummed along with the tune for a few unsuspecting moments before realizing that it wasn’t just in her head. Blinking, she leaned further out the window.

It was coming from town. She squinted as hard as possible down the meandering path, but could only make out countless blurs of people passing through and brown and black roofs nestled among green leaves.

Perhaps there was some kind of festival going on. It looked like there were more people in the streets than usual, and the music had to mean that there was some kind of band present. Maybe games, even dancing in the town square...

Ahiru sighed, burying her face in her bent arms. That sounded like fun. Lots of cheerful faces, lots of people to laugh with, lots of things to touch and smell and see and do. It certainly would be better than spending her day alone in a dark castle. And in such a crowd, how could being outside be dangerous in the least? She couldn’t even see any ravens --

They’ll rip you to shreds, and the only one you’ll have to blame is your moronic self.

The knight’s -- Fakir, wasn’t it? -- words echoed in her head, sounding more and more preposterous with every passing moment. Sure, the ravens were frightening, but they had stayed away for so long now, almost as if they were hiding in the trees, frightened. The last attack felt like eternities ago, and with the wedding approaching, they were probably giving up, retreating further and further into the forest. None had ever hurt her personally -- only in terrible dreams of screeching, cawing, tearing -- but never in real life, not once. And what did he know, anyway? For all she could tell, he was just a big, paranoid jerk, determined to ruin everyone’s fun.

She stood at once, her mind easily made up, already rummaging through her mess of clothes a second later. If she wasn’t going to be able to attend the ball, she told herself, draping a cloak across her shoulders, pulling the hood over her ruffled hair, the least she could do was enjoy herself in a perfectly safe outdoors.

- - -

Sneaking out of the castle, Ahiru discovered, was a lot easier than previously thought. With a moth-eaten cloak on her shoulders and a hood shadowing her face, the few faces she passed in the hallway didn’t even bother with a second glance, obviously thinking her to be some sort of servant -- which made it even simpler to sneak out the door used as the servant’s entrance for bringing in town-bought goods. Once outside, she stood still for a moment, looking to the sun, just beginning to dip lower in the sky -- plenty of time. With a smile, she squished the bottoms of her shoes deep in the grass. A small, giddy part of her almost wanted to abandon all thoughts of going into town, to instead throw her shoes off and spend her time running around in the grass, climbing trees, picking flowers. A silly idea, she thought, but grinned all the same.

Okay...but just for a minute!

She slid off both shoes, giggling when the grass ticked the soles of her feet. Gathering her skirt in her hands, she performed a little twirl for fun, the wind fresh and cool as it gathered in the swallow of her hood.

She saw someone approaching, then -- a man carrying two large baskets of what looked like bread -- and with a twinge of reluctance, gathered her shoes up once more and held the entrance open for him. That was enough of that. After all, things were sure to be even more fun in town!

The quick trip down the dirt path was rather uneventful. She passed by a few chatting servants on their way back to the castle. A wooden carriage with a burly man at the reigns and three shrieking children standing in the back waved to her. A few knights -- and she pulled her hood a little closer at this realization -- on horseback passed her on their way to the forests’ edge, faces stoic.

The town on the other hand, was wild with excitement. Ahiru quickly found herself thrown into the crowd, chatting, laughing, hurrying to and fro, and despite finding it hard to keep her balance amidst all the shuffling forms, she couldn’t help but laugh as well.

Having spent so much time with so few people, with such familiar sights over and over again, it was impossible to not be overwhelmed by all there was to see. Colorful buildings lined both sides of the street. Tall stands rested before each open door, decorated with food, with tools, with trinkets of all shapes and sizes to buy. Up ahead, she could see a small band in the center of town, playing short, soft melodies, their tunes picking up with righteous joy when someone stopped to throw a coin at their feet.

Ahiru wasn’t sure where to begin; took to walking the length of the path, unwilling to miss even one sight to be seen.

“Hot meals!” An overzealous woman towered over her, holding a steaming dish. “Would you care to try a hot meal? You must be hungry!”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you,” Ahiru raised a cautious hand, nodding as she hurried past, only to find a handful of colorful flowers thrust under her nose.

“A flower for you?” A beautiful blonde girl said, plucking a daisy from the bunch and holding it out. “No charge! Flowers should be shared freely with everyone!”

“T-That’s very nice!” Ahiru took it from her, threading the stem through her fingers, but promptly dropped it a few seconds later when she stumbled on a mess of rose petals strewn along the ground.

“Bonjour, mon cherie!” A sighing man sat at his own stand, the words ‘kissing booth’ etched into the wood. Glancing around, Ahiru realized this was the only area in town that seemed truly deserted. “I see you have found yourself drawn to me, as countless others before you! Do not despair, my lady! For only a single coin, you may lay your lips across my own, and all of your longing shall disappear in lieu of my riveting perfection!”

“Ah, no thank you! I really don’t have any money, I’m very sorry,” she stammered. In her haste to back away, she bumped into a nearby stand, sending a few items clattering across the wood. A man standing nearby dove to catch a lamp just before it tumbled off.

“Careful there! This stuff’s expensive!”

“Sorry!” Ahiru squeaked, taking a moment to catch her breath and make sure her hood hadn’t fallen in all the chaos. With wide eyes, she turned back, glancing over countless heads and the fringes of the forest. The castle looked so small all the way back up the path, and she couldn’t help but smile, feeling quite exhilarated.

Where was she? She glanced over the items on the open table -- a few ornate lamps, a collection of feathered quills, three stacks of thick books -- then up at the little building it belonged to, a few milling forms visible through the open window. Bookstore.

She had always liked to read. Edel had a wonderful collection of myths and fairytales she had shared with Ahiru as child, who had in turn read them to Uzura, even performing funny voices and acting out climatic scenes, much to the little girl‘s delight. She grabbed a book from one of the stacks and thumbed through the crinkling pages. She didn’t have any money with her now, but maybe there would be a way to sneak back at a later day. There were only so many stories in the castle, and to have a new tale to share, a new happy ending to smile about would be wonderful.

None of the books on the stand were of the sort, though. Maybe inside, she thought. Through the open window, a vaguely familiar voice said “not today,” but she didn’t think anything of it, stepping up to the door --

-- and promptly jumping away, catching her gasp in the folds of her hood as the knight from the day before - Fakir - stepped out.

He didn’t notice her, looking up to the sky for a moment before descending down to the path with a few quick steps. It looked as though he was going to join the crowds, but then he turned back to the table, and Ahiru, blind with panic, did the only sensible thing she could think of: duck beneath it.

What was he doing here? He hadn’t followed her, had he? No, that wasn’t possible, no one had seen her leave, she was sure of it! If she was caught now, she’d never hear the end of it, not from him, not from Edel, not from the entire Council… so what should she do!?

Pulling her hood as tight as possible, she peered over the edge of the table to see if he had left yet. He hadn’t, and she watched as he picked up the same book she had just a second ago and flipped it open. It didn’t seem like he was looking for her. He didn’t seem as angry as he had the other day, either. He didn’t look particularly happy either, granted, but he did seem…calmer, in a way. He put the book down after a moment and moved over to the feathered quills, fingering a few of them.

What would he need a quill for?

She shook the thought out of her head. What was she doing!? It wasn’t the time to be sitting here and pondering pointless questions, it was time to run away!

Gathering up her trailing skirt beneath her knees, she crawled as quickly as she could to the end of the stand before rising as calmly and innocently as possible. Just a few steps, she thought, and turned.

Turned a little too fast, it seemed, because her hip banged against the edge of the table, sending the same lamp straight off the edge. The man watching the stand cried out, miraculously managed to catch it once more. He fixed Ahiru with a murderous glare.

“What did I just tell you, kid!?”

She should have done something more, but Fakir was turning behind him, looking to see what was going on, and she gathered her skirt in her hands without so much as a second thought.

“If you can’t be less than clumsy, then you best get the hell out of --”

“I’m so sorry!”

That was all Ahiru managed to squeak out before turning and running back onto the length of the street, too afraid to look back and see if he’d realized, too startled to stop even as the houses on either side grew more slipshod and spaced out, as the crowd around her shrunk and eventually disappeared altogether.

In fact, she didn’t even think to stop until there was no more road to travel on. The dirt thinned, giving way to wild grass beneath her feet, and she finally skidded to a stop, steadied on her knees, breathing hard. Finally feeling brave enough to glance back, she did so, praying that she hadn’t been followed. There was no one. In fact...

She stood up straight and blinked once, twice. There was no one at all. A few dark houses. A handful of green leaves scattered on the ground. If she squinted back up the path, she could make out a few blurry forms moving in and out of buildings in the distance -- but as far as the stretch of road she found herself standing at the edge of, she was alone. Just how far had she come?

Ahiru turned back to face the front again; found her vision flooded with green, with countless towering trees, stretching past one another for what looked like an eternity.

The forest, she realized. She was standing at the very edge of town, so close that she could practically reach out and touch the jagged bark. She found the thought both terrifying and exhilarating: after all, she’d heard enough horror stories about the forest surrounding the town to last her a lifetime. How villagers would venture in to hunt and never be heard of again. How ghosts took on the innocent forms of children and led unsuspecting passerby to torturous deaths. How trees oozed not sap, but warm blood.

She would have never thought in a million years she’d be so close. For a brief, irrational moment, she almost wanted to step off the path, to stand in the shadows beneath the nearest tree’s gaping branches and be able to say that yes, she had ventured into the horrible forest, and been just fine!

In the end, though, Ahiru found the idea a little too daring for her liking and turned back towards the rest of the town. When would it be safe to go back? She had no idea, and looked to the sky, searching for the sun amidst the gigantic forms of the trees. It seemed to have sunk much further than she’d bargained for. Had she really been in town so long? Time was running out. If she couldn’t make it back before nightfall...

...she was absolutely not going to think about what would happen. She would make it back in time, she would.

It was then that Ahiru, with her wandering gaze, realized something peculiar. One of the houses, the last on the left, had a stand sitting in front of it.

That was strange. There was no one around to partake, to even spare a glance. Why wouldn’t they take their merchandise closer to the center of town? Curiosity getting the better of her, she ventured over.

There was nothing very exceptional to see. A few books with worn covers. A tea set, the cups and pot decorated with painted flowers and faded gold trimming. A pair of red shoes, so ratty that whoever had worn them last must have never stopped moving. She held them in her hands for a moment, but set them down just as easily. Maybe whoever owned this stand was embarrassed because their goods weren’t of the best quality?

A red glint caught her eye, then, and she glanced further down the table. A round red stone -- no, not stone, it looked more like glass -- rested all alone at the edge, attached to a simple chain. There was nothing special about it, it was just a simple necklace, but still Ahiru found herself reaching out a careful hand to touch it and hold it the palm of her hand for just a moment...

“Caught your fancy, has it?”

She nearly fell over, startled by the booming voice. Calming down, she realized, rather sheepishly, that she hadn’t been alone all this time. There was a man resting at the door of the house, seated in a chair that softly creaked as he shifted to straighten his stance. She squinted in an attempt to see him more clearly, but his awning cast him in thick shadow. There was a pair of legs and the curling ends of a white beard, but that was all she could make out.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why, the pendant! Lovely thing, isn’t it? A stone to frame that empty neck of yours!”

Ahiru traced two fingers down the curve of her neck and looked to the pendant once more. It almost seemed like it was glowing: a trick of the sun, she was sure. Maybe she would try it on, wear it for just a moment...

“I feel compelled to issue a sound warning, though!”

The man almost seemed to be chuckling, gasps of sunlight catching along portions of his vast beard and his wide face. A breath away from touching the stone, Ahiru hesitated, looking to him once more.

“That trinket bears something quite...extraordinary. Just what it is, I cannot say! Perhaps it will make all your lovely dreams come true. Perhaps it will bring about quite the opposite. Who can say? The surprise is what makes it fun! Of course, the price --”

That was all Ahiru needed to hear; brought her hand back into the folds of her cloak at once, suddenly uneasy. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money...”

“My dear, who said that I wanted money? That trash is pointless in the end, utterly pointless to all involved!” He paused, and even through the darkness, she could see his lips parting, teeth flashing in a wide grin. “There are much more valuable things to
take from a person than mere money.”

But Ahiru was already moving further down the table, overcome with a sudden, strange wish to put as much distance between herself and the pendant as possible. “I don’t have anything to trade --”

The man easily cut her off. “I see. Your need is not quite great enough yet. Very well, a little more waiting won’t kill anyone -- least of all, myself!“ He seemed to find this hilarious, his hoarse cackling sending an unwelcome shiver through Ahiru. Her gaze drifted over to the pile of weary books completely by accident, something he seemed to notice. “A story, then? Do you like stories?”

“Yes, very much,” Ahiru murmured, picking one up and flipping the cover open. She caught her breath at the incredible illustration threaded across the first page. She had never seen anything quite like it; there had been a few simple sketches squeezed between the lines in some of Edel’s books, but nothing quite like this. The softest of strokes curved within one another to form the fluttering gown of a long-haired, smiling girl with a silver crown upon her head, a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. A figure stood in the distance, as though watching -- her prince, perhaps? Ahiru ran a careful finger across the page, as though to prove that it wouldn’t smudge away.

The man cleared his throat. “Tell me, what are your favorite kinds of stories?”

Maybe a few moments ago, Ahiru would have felt too uncomfortable to answer -- but now, as she flipped through the wondrous book, glimpsing drawing after drawing of far-away lands, of dancing couples, of battles with mythical creatures, all her hesitation seeped away, and she found her mouth opening without a second thought.

“Oh, all sorts! I like fairytales, mostly. That must sound silly, I know, I should be reading more grown-up things since I almost am one, but it’s just nice to have happy endings to look forward to! Don’t you think?”

The man didn’t answer. He almost seemed to be pondering something, and his wooden chair creaked as he swayed back and forth. Ahiru, embarrassed, wondered if she’d startled him with her rambling. She spoke up once more, if only to fill the silence. “Um, what about you? What are your favorite kinds of stories?”

She could see his grin again. It was like a curved light amidst all the shadow. “Why, I have to say that I can’t agree with you, my dear! Happy endings may be pleasant and warm, but where is the true artistry? Where is the sting of betrayal, the poignancy of sacrifice, the agonizing pain of losing what matters most when all is said and done? I have to say, I’ve always found myself more partial to...darker tales.”

Ahiru couldn’t think of a response to such a strange statement, and buried her gaze in the illustrations once more. It was as if the man had tainted them with his words, though, for they too grew darker with each turned page. Black skies over a cowering crowd, a screaming woman tumbling from a great height, a weeping man cradling a broken body -- she shut it at once, palms trembling against the covers.

“In fact,” the man drawled, “there is a tale I’ve been following for quite some time now. Terribly long thing, full of heartbreaking calamity -- but also hope, so much worthless hope!” He sighed. “However, it’s only half-completed, and I’ve been waiting for the second act for such a long time now.”

Ahiru placed the book back on the stack, but found herself straightening it feverishly, wondering why she hadn’t made a move to leave yet, why she was still here listening to this man rattle on and on about awful things. A lingering moment passed, and she realized he was waiting for her to say something, to ask to know why. A quiet sort of fear was rising up within her, but still, she spoke. “W-Why can’t you finish it?”

She didn’t look up. She could still feel his grin on her, wide and bright.

“Why don’t you tell me, little Ahiru?”

Whatever breath she had died away. Her hands wrenched against the stack of books, sending them scattering across the wooden table, knocking countless trinkets clean off the edge. She took a few quick steps backwards, gripping her cloak tight as though it would protect her.

“How do --- how do you know my name?”

He said nothing, but merely chuckled, a trembling shadow in the darkness. Ahiru meant to yell and demand he tell her, but a sudden screeching distracted her. She bolted her head around to face the forest’s edge.

A lone raven sat perched on a high branch with ragged wings spread wide. It was staring straight at her.

The same irrational fear as always gripped her hard. On instinct, Ahiru attempted to console herself -- it’s just one, one can’t do anything, they’ve never hurt me, they won’t, all that scary stuff isn’t true -- and determined, she turned back to face the man.

He was gone.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes, nothing that a few books and trinkets were still sprawled in the dirt. The table remained unchanged, but the man had vanished. Ahiru found herself staring at little more than a silent house, an abandoned porch. Had she just imagined that entire conversation? Was she losing her mind?

At a loss, she glanced back to the trees, just to make sure the lone raven had stayed in place --

Her body grew still, cold. Both hands tensed, and she gripped them together within the folds of her cloak.

Five ravens now perched on the same branch.

She had to get back up the path, back to where all the people were. Why had she thought it was a good idea to be alone here at the forest’s edge? Why?

Her feet started moving without her, blindly carrying her backwards up the incline. Her body was still turned, eyes held to the gathering ravens, and she prayed once more that they were just watching, that they would all stay there on the forest’s edge, like they were supposed to…

A collective screech rang out, and five pairs of wings spread wide, rose high into the sky, high enough to blot out the sinking sun -- and Ahiru was running, shoes slipping on the fringes on her dress, hands trembling so fiercely that she couldn’t even use them pull it out of the way. She could see people up ahead, milling in doorways, chatting with others met in the street. Violent cawing echoed overhead, and she kept telling herself it was only a little further, a little further until someone could help…

But then the crowds stiffened at the sound and turned to look in her direction. With frantic cries, they gathered up their purchases, their merchandise, their children and disappeared inside buildings without a second thought, failing to even notice the small form coming up the path. Out of breath, her lips formed to move the word ‘help’ --

-- widened in a scream instead as talons tore a clean scrape across her back.

She fell, too stunned to even cry. Another dove towards her, but only managed to seize a handful of her cloak and rip it clean off. Her crumpled braid pooled next to her face, freed. She looked to the sky with dazed eyes, watching as it shifted from black to blue to black, blinking over and over again as though it might all fade away, as if it all could just be another nightmare.

They all descended at once, then, beaks open and pointed, monstrous claws poised, and with a gasping cry, she lifted her arms over her head, clenched her eyes shut ---

-- but felt no pain, instead only hearing an anguished screech echoing above her, then beside her. Ahiru turned her head in its direction, eyes fluttering open once more. A raven’s twitching form lay only inches from her face, trails of black blood gathering in the dirt. One of its wings sliced clean off.

She shifted her head over, catching her breath as she finally saw the figure poised over her, sword gleaming in the faint sun. He turned his head to look at the dying raven, and she saw his eyes for the briefest of moments -- narrowed, emerald.

Fakir!

The remaining ravens flew frantic circles over the two for a moment, but finally seemed to throw caution to the wind and dove once more, aiming for Ahiru -- but Fakir was quick, and in a few swift motions, had sliced through two more without even taking a breath.

He raised his weapon against the one flapping just above, but failed to notice the raven who dove behind him, talons curled. “Look out!” Ahiru cried, and he turned, but stepped aside a hair too late. His sleeve split just above his elbow, a thin line of red gathering under the fabric. Ahiru noticed the injury, alarmed, but if it hurt him at all, she couldn’t tell. Fakir turned once more, gritted his teeth, and with one sweeping motion, tore into the last two cawing birds, sending their separated bodies to the ground at her feet.

Silence.

A few nearby doors creaked open, curious faces appearing in windowpanes. Fakir wiped the few spots of dark blood clean with his sleeve and sheathed the sword.

Ahiru found herself at a loss for words. She tried to stand, but easily fell down once more, the scratch across her back aching with fresh pain.

She didn’t have much time to mull over her options, though, because suddenly Fakir was standing over her. He bent down, so close that his knees brushed her shoulder.

“W-What are you doing?” she managed to squeak out, frightened. What was he going to do? Would he yell again?

He didn’t even look to her face, his own stoic. He bent both arms underneath her trembling form, lifted her into the air, and she promptly found her head pressed to his chest. “Ah, you don’t have to -- I can -- it‘s --” she stammered, reddening, wriggling her legs in a half-hearted attempt to pull free.

He was strong, though, and held her so tightly that she could barely move. He started walking, back up the path towards the castle, all without saying a word. Realizing it was hopeless, Ahiru gathered her arms in her lap, curled her feet so that they wouldn’t hit unsuspecting passersby, and reluctantly settled in for what she hoped would be a short trip.

- - -

Near the forests’ hushed edge, within a gap of road few dared to travel, the tired chair creaked as a familiar man settled against it once more. Withered fingers gathered in the swell of his beard; wide eyes traveled up the beaten path. The knight was little more than a shrinking shadow amidst the faint light, the princess all but hidden in his arms, but still, he watched them go, worn face pulled tight with a grin.

One hand unclenched. The thin chain settled along the lines of his palms, the pendant glowing a dim crimson against the pale color of his skin.

He gripped it hard and allowed himself a hearty laugh.

Another time, perhaps.

- - -

Mytho couldn’t forget it.

It had to have been a mistake, a dream, a hallucination brought on by the moon -- anything but real. Swans didn’t swim at night, didn’t dance, and certainly didn’t turn into beautiful women. He had to be losing his mind to actually think such a thing had happened...

But that night, he’d slept fitfully, his dreams filled with feathers and wings and red beaks that turned into red eyes, red lips. He had woken time and time again, convinced someone was watching him as he slept, only to be greeted with an empty room.

All afternoon, he’d found himself distracted, almost jittery -- while eating, while reading, while walking. He’d spent all day poised before countless windows, eyes focused on the pond as the ducks swam innocent circles around one another. He was waiting for something magical to happen -- but of course, nothing of the sort would.

The black swan was not there. It did not return all day.

And now here he was, standing before yet another window, watching with half-lidded eyes as the sun disappeared far beneath the trees, sky thick with dusk. He watched as the ducks gathered themselves up and nestled together on the edge of what was obviously a normal pond.

Why was he wracking his mind so desperately over this? Why did it feel so important, so dire to know what truth, if any, there was in the sight he’d seen?

He wished he knew.

Resolving to think on it no longer, he turned his gaze towards the town, little more than a dimly colored blur in the distance, the path to the castle spread out before it like an unraveling thread. Usually, there would be no one traveling along it at this time of day: night was quickly descending, and to be caught between shelters in the dark had become dangerous over the years, for the ravens, when desperate enough, made quick work of those foolish enough to try. Still, he could see what looked like a man slowly approaching the castle -- Fakir, he was able to tell a moment later, close enough to glimpse the shape and color of his hair -- with a strangely-shaped bundle in both hands. It seemed to tremble, faint light catching along what looked like a gathered braid, setting it aflame.

Ahiru?

He started down the nearest stairwell at once.

- - -

Apparently a short, painless trip back to the castle was too much to ask for, Ahiru quickly learned. It was already embarrassing enough that she was being carried, of all things. Countless requests to be put down had no effect on Fakir, who appeared to either be deaf or just very good at ignoring her. To make matters even worse, he saw fit to stop and have a conversation with each of the other knights they passed, including those on horseback patrolling the forests around the castle. He told each of them the same story: the attack, the number of ravens, the part of the forest they’d risen from. They all seemed alarmed, asking if she was all right, but when Ahiru opened her mouth to answer, Fakir easily overpowered whatever voice she had with a curt, “she’s fine,” before setting off again. By the time they were finally in the sinking shadow of the castle itself, the sun was gone, dusk heavy in the sky. Still a little bit of time, she reminded herself, wary. But I have to hurry.

“Can you walk?”

They were past the guards now, standing just within the sloping walls. It took her a long moment before she met the emerald eyes looking down at her, and with that she realized he was actually talking to her this time.

“A-Ah,” she fumbled with her words for a moment. “Yes, I think so--ah!”

Her sentence looped off into a startled cry as the arm under her legs suddenly gave way, the other pulling up hard against her shoulders, and she found herself practically thrown to her feet, stumbling a few steps further into the room before finally gaining her balance.

For a fierce moment, twirling back around, she aimed to give him a piece of her mind -- why, he’d just practically dropped her -- but realized, a second later, that there was something else she probably needed to say first. Despite his awful way of going about it the other day, the fact remained that he had been right and she had been wrong. She’d gone outside (he’d said to not), the ravens had attacked (he’d said they would), and despite how frightening it was to consider such an outcome, they would have probably torn her apart if he hadn’t stepped in (which he did, despite her refusal to listen.)

What should she say? I’m sorry? Thank you?

Instead, Ahiru found herself focused on the tear in his sleeve, the fabric stained dark red.

“You’re bleeding,” she said softly, reaching out. “Let me --”

But Fakir pulled away from her touch and fixed her with a glare.

“I’ll only say this once more. Stay inside.” he said, voice so cold that she took a hasty step backwards. He turned from her, began walking away. “Next time, I won’t bother.”

And he was gone, having disappeared into the darkening landscape before she could even think to call after him.

She took a deep breath instead, but barely had a chance to gather up all her jumbled thoughts before her name echoed down a nearby stairwell. A familiar form appeared around the curve of the stone, and she felt better already.

“Mytho,” she called, hurrying over to meet him. He looked worried, his steps towards her hasty, his eyes brimming with obvious concern.

“I saw Fakir carry you in from a window. What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

He was worried -- about her! A thread of heat fluttered across her cheeks, and she managed a sheepish smile. “Oh, it’s nothing, really, just a little scratch on my back, I’m fine --”

“Why were you out there?” A thought flickered across his face, and his lips twisted into something of amusement. “Did you sneak into town?”

She nodded, and he laughed. “I‘ve done that a few times. Fun, isn’t it?”

There really was no reason to tell him about the ravens, she rationalized. “Y-Yes, lots of fun!”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” he asked, and took one of her hands in his own, lifting it up into the air between them. “I’m sure the cooks wouldn’t mind providing with a simple dinner. Are you hungry?”

Dinner? Tonight? Just the two of them?

A nervous, much too loud giggle erupted from her mouth at the welcoming thought, and she quickly smothered it with her free hand. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered through her spread fingers, too mortified to look him in the eye, gaze frantically moving from their clasped hands to the smooth floor to the stone steps to the dark window. “I’d love to --”

Dark?

The realization hit hard, so hard that she wrenched her hand out of his at once and spun in a violent circle as she searched for the fastest escape route possible. The stairwell behind him seemed the safest bet. “I-I can’t, Mytho, I’m so sorry, I really am,“ she stammered, gathering her skirt up over her shoes in two trembling clumps, “but I, I have this awful allergy and it’s about to start acting up, and I really wish I could stay, but I can’t...”

Bewilderment flashed across his face, and she felt so awful in that moment that she wanted to cry. This was the second time in two days she’d run from him like a crazy person. He had to be thinking the most horrible things about her, that she was confusing, irrational, rude...

That’s okay, she insisted to herself, because if he saw what was to come next, he’d think something much worse.

And then she was running once more, doing her best to ignore the spasms of pain in her back as she hurtled up the stone steps, down the shadowed hallways. Each window she hurried past allowed her a desperate glance at the sky. All she had to do was make it to her room…

But there was the moon, curved and blinding in the sky, and she realized in horror that there was not enough time. Hadn’t she been reminding herself all day to keep an eye on the sun? Hadn’t the whole point been to make it back to her perfectly safe room with plenty of time to spare? Stupid, stupid, stupid...!

Miss Edel and Uzura’s room!

The thought struck her like the brightest of beacons, and she turned a sudden corner, reenergized. It was near here, wasn’t it? The quarters of a few noble families, then a handful of storage rooms, then ---

Yes!

The familiar red door loomed ahead of her like a long-lost friend, and skidding to a stop, she clenched her fist and managed one solid knock before ---

The handle turned slowly, deliberately. The door creaked open a few inches, revealing one of Uzura’s blue eyes. “Who’s there-zura?”

The little girl’s wary gaze searched all around the quiet hallway, from the sloped ceiling to the stone walls to the smooth floor -- where a dress rested in a heap, empty.

“Ohhhh,” Uzura murmured, and hurried out to see. Little hands gripped at the soft fabric, pushing fold after fold aside. The open neck hole remained buried beneath the swell of the skirt and she pulled it closer, pressing the fabric around it flat to the stone. Her eyes widening when she saw what lay beneath.

A small, sighing duck sat amidst the massive dress, feathers ruffled.

Uzura smiled. With a laugh, she grabbed both bird and dress up in her little arms and hurried back inside to show her mother.

“Ahiru’s here-zura!”

- - -

A/N: Well, that's it for today~! This is the first I'm not updating in princesstutu, so I'm a little nervous about people sticking around. If you're out there and reading, it would be lovely to hear from you. <33

Comments are appreciated, as always! New chapter next week! :D

~

beyondfate — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 08:08:24 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Chapter One ~ 7650 words. [Prologue]
Summary: A princess meets her prince, a grand ball approaches, and a secret lingers just beneath the surface.

A/N: Ah, the dreaded first chapter, where all the characters and situations must be introduced. Therefore, I apologize in advance if this chapter proves a little boring. IT GETS MORE EXCITING IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, I SWEAR. Also! Please make sure that you've read this post before starting. It's pretty vital background information. Anyway, enjoy! <33

- - -

Ravens.

They appeared at once, feathers swallowing up the sky in endless black, red eyes glittering like thousands of blood-colored stars. Her eyes watered, her legs trembled, her body felt heavy -- far too heavy -- and someone was crying out “run!”, but the screeching creatures clamored in vicious unison; tore into her skin as though it were nothing more than lace. Help, she prayed, the word clawing its way through her a thousand times over. Blood soaked the ground beneath her body, bubbled in her throat, and she was drowning, drowning in it all --

-- but then she was warm, enveloped in a pair of monstrous wings. For the briefest of moments, she found comfort in the embrace, only for crooked claws to emerge through all the feathers and grip her by the wrists.

Your heart, a voice rumbled, and the tip of one wing traced a cold line down the curve of her chest. Give it to me.

No. No!

She found her voice, and it echoed as an endless roar. The ravens above cried out in fear, scattered, revealing forbidden gasps of blue sky overhead. The wings around her trembled, dragged her closer -- give it to me, the voice demanded once more, desperate -- but she wrenched away. The wings crumpled away beneath her and then she was falling, falling, falling --

- - -

“Ahiru-zura!”

-- falling right off the edge of the bed, so fast that she didn’t even have enough time to cry out before her back hit the floor with a thud.

Silence.

She blinked, once, twice, the ceiling wavering in her hazy gaze. Her hands were still clutched to her chest, she realized, as if her heart would steal right out of her skin if she dropped them, and for a frightening moment, she was sure the wings were still wrapped around her, trapping her, suffocating her -- but as she glanced down, she realized it was just the sheets, tangled around her legs. With a sigh, she unclenched them and lifted both up above her head in a stretch. Thank goodness.

She had about two seconds of peace before a large face with blinking, wide blue eyes overshadowed her own.

“Time to wake up-zura!”

Ahiru groaned, yanking the sheets up over her head. This, of course, never did any good in deterring Uzura, who merely maneuvered her toy drum in front of her and began banging away.

“Ahiru!” she yelled, matching each word to a stern beat. “Time to WAKE UP-ZURA!”

“I am, Uzura, I’m awake, I’m just,” a yawn betrayed her words, “a little tired. I had a bad dream --”

“Ohhhh.” Without any sort of warning, Uzura gripped a small hand on the sheet’s edge, pulled hard enough to reveal a mane of red hair. “About what-zura?”

Relenting, Ahiru sat up straight, her braid pooling down the curve of her shoulder. “No, you don’t want to know, it was scary, too scary for little -”

“Was it about ravens-zura?”

Ahiru stiffened; searched Uzura’s wide eyes for some kind of deeper understanding, but the little girl just stared back, innocent. “How did you know that?”

She shrugged and rapped a few quick beats on her drum. “Ravens are scary-zura!”

Ahiru opened her mouth to say something more, but the creaking of the door as it opened caught both girls’ attention. Uzura ran to greet whoever it was; Ahiru stood and gathered up the sheets around her thin form, trying her best to shake the last few fringes of the nightmare away. No reason to keep thinking about it, she told herself, and put on a warm smile as her caretaker and closest confidante of the past twelve years stepped into the room. Morning light gathered in her curled hair.

“Ahiru won’t get up,” Uzura whined, tugging on her mother’s colorful skirt. “She fell on the floor-zura!”

Ahiru giggled into her hand, then threw the crumpled sheets back onto the bed, smoothing the creases to the best of her efforts. She knew the servants would take care of it once she left, but she didn’t like to burden them with more work than necessary. After all, it’d been her own clumsy fault in the first place. “Good morning, Miss Edel,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster.

“Now, now, Uzura, calm yourself,“ Edel said, patting the swell of her daughter’s hair before moving towards the closet. “Though you are running out of time, Ahiru. Mustn’t be late.“

Her elegant fingers quickly selected a garment, laid it out on a nearby chair for Ahiru to take. This was the routine, after all -- wake, dress, and out into the castle for daily activities. It had been that way for as long as Ahiru could remember, and she grabbed the dress without complaint. “You’re expected in the ballroom soon.”

“Really?” Ahiru sighed, her feet already aching at the mere thought. “But Miss Edel, everyone always comes to watch me practice, and I’m -- I’m not very good --”

“Now don’t say that. You’re improving every day. After all, dancing is an art --”

“The last time I practiced with someone, I nearly broke one of his toes,” Ahiru lamented, half-smiling as she tugged the dress up and over her head, smoothing the creases down the front as it fell against her chest. Edel waved towards the mirror, and Ahiru moved into place as Uzura banged away blithely on her drum across the room, watching the chirping birds gathering outside the window. “He still can’t walk without limping. Maybe I should go and apologize again --”

“A very complicated art,” Edel insisted, smoothing Ahiru’s bangs, tucking away stray tendrils of hair. “Don’t worry. A little practice won’t make anything worse.”

She fingered Ahiru’s thick braid briefly. “So long,” she commented, almost to herself, and Ahiru couldn’t help but grin at her reflection in the mirror.

“I like it long,” she said. “I think I’ll just let it grow forever. I can use it for measuring, or for a pillow, or--” she noticed the window casting a glint along the floor beside her and laughed as a thought came to mind, “--I could throw it out the window and people could climb up.”

Edel just sighed, nose wrinkling as she twisted the braid down Ahiru’s neck. “That’ll have to do, then.”

Ahiru aimed to move, but was startled by Edel’s gentle hands on her shoulders, holding her in place before the mirror. A brief moment passed, and a ghost of a smile appeared on the woman’s lips.

“You make a lovely princess,” she whispered.

“The birds want to come in-zura!” Uzura cried out, lifting up her drumstick to tap on the glass panes. A handful of chirping birds hovered just outside.

“Oh, of course,“ Ahiru squeaked in response, reaching for the bowl of seed beneath her chair. “They must be starving! I’ll be right there, Uzura…”

“Yes, wait until I’ve left, please,” Edel said, a little paler as she took a few hasty step backwards. “Let us go, Uzura…”

But the little girl nudged the pane open herself with both drumsticks, laughing all the while. “They want to say good morning-zura!”

Both caretaker and princess turned with identical looks of surprise, but it was far too late to stop the handful of boisterous, hungry birds that invaded the room, obviously meaning to wish Ahiru a very good morning.

- - -

“One, two, step, one, two, step, one, two…wait, that‘s not….”

“Keep going, you’re almost there!”

“Don’t give up, Ahiru! Even if you never actually improve, it’s wonderful watching you fail and try and fail again!”

“Now dip!”

Ahiru did, wobbling on the balls of her feet as she bent back. For a brief, shining moment, she held herself in the air, so stiffly that it really felt as though strong arms were holding her, supporting her -- but then her shoes squeaked and slipped on the ballroom floor, and she fell, landing in a heap.

After a hazy moment, Pique appeared over her, nose wrinkling. “Uh, I didn’t actually mean for you to dip back by yourself. I was just calling out the next step.”

“Oh,” Ahiru groaned, pulling herself upright with a hoarse laugh. “That’s right. I probably need a partner to hold me for that, huh?“ Sighing, she lifted her skirt to reveal white slippers, sliding one off and stretching her toes. “Did it look any better?”

Pique hesitated, but whatever she meant to say next was soundly cut off by Lillie’s gasp as the blonde rushed forward and caught Ahiru in a painful embrace.

“Oh, not at all, Ahiru, not at all! Don‘t fret, though, I’m here to comfort you over your complete lack of ability!”

“Ah…thank you?” Ahiru gasped in response.

Truth be told, after Edel and Uzura, Pique and Lillie were Ahiru’s closest friends. They were two daughters of noble families living within the castle walls with whom she had played alongside through childhood. They could sometimes be a little too excitable (and in Lillie’s case, a little too depressing), but they were her friends, nonetheless, and Ahiru was sure the ballroom would seem much too big and lonely at that moment without them there.

“Maybe I should take a break,” Ahiru sighed, but was unceremoniously dragged to her feet in Lillie’s iron grip.

“Yes, yes, a break, some time for your fragile heart to heal! I brought biscuits!”

So the three girls carefully bent their long skirts beneath their knees, sat against the marble wall, and ate. Pique and Lillie chatted, round mouths filled with bread, but Ahiru instead found herself staring out into the endless length of the ballroom, sunlight casting elegant shadows along the floor, so clear and smooth that she could see her own face reflected in its surface. What would the ballroom look like, filled with people in fancy clothing, with music, with dancing? For a lingering moment, she could almost see it -- women laughing, lifting their gowns as they were pulled into their partner’s arms, led in a sweeping circle. And there she was even, in the center of it all, feet tiptoeing through the steps, dancing with...

“Say,” Pique spoke up through mouthfuls of biscuit, and the image faded away, leaving only a quiet room once more. “Why doesn’t he ever practice with you?”

“Who?”

Pique and Lillie shared a startled look. “Your lovely prince, of course,” Lillie chirped, waving a flamboyant hand in the air.

Ahiru flushed a soft red and quickly became enamored with the half-eaten biscuit in her hands. “I don’t know. I’m sure he doesn’t need to practice, he’s probably really good --”

“He’s probably really good at everything,” Pique piped in. “Have you seen him? He‘s perfect --”

“Perfect enough to balance out all of Ahiru’s imperfections! Surely a match made in heaven!”

“I passed him in the hallway the other day. He even talked to me --”

“Really?” Ahiru spoke up at once, curious. “What is he like?”

It was only after both girls shot bewildered glances in her direction did she realize how strange that question sounded. With surprising speed, she averted her eyes back to her last few bites of biscuit and laughed as she lifted them to her lips. “These are really good, Lillie, who made--”

“You don’t know?” Pique’s mouth was hanging open. “You’re getting married in a few months, and you don‘t know what he‘s like!?”

“We just --” Ahiru faltered briefly. “Everything’s just been really busy, and he lives all the way on the other side of the castle, so we don’t pass each other in hallways, and we -- well, we haven’t exactly had a chance to speak just yet, but soon --”

“You haven’t spoken to him?”

“No, I did! I have! Once, I said, ‘good morning’, and he said ‘good morning to you too’ and it was very nice...”

“Bound eternally to a handsome stranger for the sake of the kingdom! Oh, Ahiru, you really are a true saint --”

Just then, footsteps echoed outside the ballroom’s entrance. A handful of voices melded together, sounding excited. Lillie pressed a hand to her mouth, and all three girls looked to one another, unsure of what to say, all too aware of who it could be. Ahiru averted her gaze to her lap, praying that just this once, it could be an innocent servant passing through or a group of children playing chase...

The figures hurried in, little more than a blur of frenzied color across the room.

“Let’s pretend we’re having an enormously important conversation,” Lillie whispered, leaning forward, and the other two girls followed suit. Still, out of the corner of her eye, Ahiru watched as a man standing towards the front lifted a hand and pointed straight at her.

“Yes, that’s her. The one with the braid.”

“She looks so small! So hard to believe she’s sixteen.”

“I never thought I’d live to see her blessed face!”

“It’s really quite miraculous. I never did lose faith like the others.”

“Her name is Ahiru? So unique...”

“Yes, I’ve heard it means ‘duck’. Hardly a fitting name for a princess, really. The Queen, bless her soul, would never have selected such a thing, so who--”

“It is the name she gave as her own when she was brought here as a child, I’m told. They feel it would be wrong to try and convince her to take another...”

“Is it true, what they say? That she spent the first five years of her life as a prisoner of the ravens?”

“Yes, quite true. It doesn’t seem to have had any strong side-effects on her, though.”

“Quite good, quite good --”

Eventually, the group filed out and quickly disappeared down another hallway, leaving only silence. The three girls leaned back against the wall with similar sighs; only after a moment did Ahiru realize how tightly her fingers were gripped on the loose cloth of her skirt.

“They‘ve got some nerve,” Pique muttered, shoving the last piece of biscuit into her mouth. “Treating you like some kind of sideshow attraction.”

“It’s okay. I‘m used to it,” Ahiru waved it off, half-heartedly wiping away a few crumbs from the corners of her lips. What had they been talking about before being interrupted? She tried hard to remember, desperate to be distracted from the less-than-desirable thoughts racing through her head. Lillie, bless her, finally spoke up, smiling once more.

“Oh, the prince,” the blonde gasped, clapping her hands together. “That’s right! The wonderfully unknown stranger!”

“I still can’t believe it,” Pique piped in. “What have you been doing all this time? If I was you, I‘d be following him around night and day --”

“I, ah -- I don’t know!” Ahiru shrugged, her face a pleasant pink shade. “I’ve been learning, and practicing dancing, and…lots of other things! There hasn‘t been time!”

“Well, there will be soon, what with the ball in a few days. You’ll be dancing --”

“-- and maybe he’ll learn to forgive you when you step on his feet!”

“And then you’ll get married, and all the ravens will disappear --”

“ -- as the wonderfully bleak prophecy foretells!”

“It’s pretty great, really, all beautiful and epic --”

“-- not to mention all the colorful ways it could end in heartbreak!”

“What?”

Ahiru stared at Lillie, who merely stared back with wide eyes, eyelashes fluttering as she blinked once, twice. “What do you mean?” She asked, startled by the word.

Lillie smiled, as brightly as a normal person would if talking about an adorable kitten or a field of flowers. “You don’t see it, Ahiru? So many lovely possibilities for ruin! What if the prince turns out to be dreadful, and you, the poor princess, are doomed to spend forever at his side?”

“That’s not --”

“Or what if the prophecy is mistaken and the ravens are to stay forever, destroying so much beautiful, meticulous planning as though it were little more than flimsy paper?”

“I don’t think --”

“Or...oh, oh! What if you were to fall madly in love with someone else? Destined never to be with the truest love of your life, your fate forever tied to the prince! Oh, I’m getting chills!”

Lillie fell on her back, erupting in a fit of gasping giggles. Ahiru and Pique shared a skeptical look.

“That’s...I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Ahiru finally managed to say. The thought danced around in her head, so silly, so ridiculous.

Pique nodded in firm agreement. “Why would you ever want someone else?”

She’d been taking a break for long enough, Ahiru realized. She pulled her skirt up to her ankles, slid her slippers back over the pale tips of her toes, and stood. The ball was only a few days, she realized. She had to be ready, had to be wonderful and perfect and everything the prince had ever dreamed of. With a deep breath, she lifted her hands into the air, gripping a man’s imaginary hand and shoulder once more. One, two, step, one...was that right?

Her two friends rose up as well to watch, crumbs tumbling off their skirts to the floor. Lillie still looked enthralled with her bleak thought, eyes bright. “Oh Ahiru, you’re just so cute when you’re being an optimist,” she cooed, reaching her arms out as though to catch her in another back-breaking hug when she danced by. “When another man steals away your fragile, fragile heart, I’ll be sure to comfort you!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Pique said, eyes narrowing. “Go on, dance!”

Ahiru did, all the while imagining the room filled with a sea of smiling faces, encouraging her on. She imagined her prince, guiding her ever so softly, holding onto her as she fell back in his arms. Perhaps for moment, just a moment -- she’d even feel graceful.

One, two, step, one, two, step...

- - -

It was true, Ahiru realized, alone with her thoughts as she traipsed through hallway after hallway. After another few hurried rounds of dance practice with Pique barking commands, Lillie clapping at every misstep, and so much spinning that her head had felt fit to explode by the end, her two friends had been met by their respective servants and asked to return to their rooms so as to join their families for an afternoon meal. Ahiru knew Edel and Uzura would be sitting down to eat around this time too and wondering where she was, but at the moment, she didn’t have much of an appetite. Instead, she chosen to go for a walk.

Because even though she’d never thought about it, never even considered how strange it really was, her friends’ words had been true: she was getting married in a few months to a complete stranger.

It wasn’t as though she had necessarily been kept away from the prince. Their paths just hadn’t had the chance to cross all too often. It didn’t sound strange when you knew why, she insisted, as though having to defend her behavior to some unseen voice of reason. The castle was enormous beyond belief, with countless other families making their homes within its massive walls, and the prince’s quarters just happened to be on the opposite side of the building. Besides, they were both kept busy, what with daily lessons of history and numbers and language, with fittings and dance practice and all sorts of other things!

And even though she didn’t quite know him, she knew of him. Edel had told her many things over the years, about snippets she had gathered from various servants or nobles who were familiar with him. For instance, he was soft-spoken, but always sure. His favorite time of the day was early morning. He enjoyed reading, had all sorts of interesting books.

His name was something elegant and royal, but apparently he had never liked it, so he didn‘t answer to it if it could be helped. He preferred to be called something simpler -- Mytho.

She said the name out loud, listening to the way it echoed along the sloping walls, taking note of the way it felt in her mouth. Nice, she thought, and smiled without meaning to. Sunlight was pooling on the floor before her from an open window, and she stopped to listen to the birds’ pleasant chirping for a moment. It looked like there was a nest just above, she realized. A flash of woven brown poked out at the top of the window, and she leaned out to see further, excited at the idea of babies --

-- and almost if she had called the prince into existence herself, there he was, beneath her, white hair blinding in the afternoon sun. He stood upright in the grass, perched at the edge of a small pond towards the edge of the forest. A few splashing ducks were gathered in the water next to him, she could see, and she realized that he was feeding them, watching how their little wings rose up and skidded the water with excitement as he drew his hand over them again and again.

Ahiru smiled. How sweet of him, she thought, but realized just a moment later how strange it was that he was outside. Weren’t neither of them allowed to leave the walls of the castle alone? That had been a rule she’d been told too many times to count over the years.

The thought lingered uneasily for a moment before she shook it away, too caught up in the fact that her prince was close enough to see, to hear. She could talk to him, she realized. All she had to do was go outside and say ‘hello’ or ‘how are you doing?’ or ‘nice day, isn’t it?” or something equally pleasant, and then they would begin to talk, get to know each other, maybe even…

She hurried back the way she’d come at once.

- - -

Of course, this was easier said than done, for when Ahiru finally made it to the grassy clearing, watched as the prince crumbled a piece of bread in his hands and dropped it over the water, laughing when the ducks fought over it -- her eloquent introduction was suddenly gone, replaced by nothing more than a string of rambling thoughts in the back of her head. What was she supposed to say? She didn’t want to look silly! This was going to be her first real impression on him, after all!

She stood still for a minute, hands twisting in the folds of her dress. Mytho didn’t seem to notice he wasn’t alone; he only kneeled down to pat the head of one of the smaller ducks, oblivious to her. What should she do? Should she tap him on the shoulder? Just say hello? No, that might startle him, she didn’t want to do that, he could trip and fall in the water, and then he’d be all wet and angry and he’d hate her before she even had a chance to say anything else, that would be really bad, but what should --

“Hello.”

She looked up from her mess of tangled fingers to see Mytho standing straight, turned towards her, and she realized in that moment, blood rushing to her face, that she had been mumbling under breath the entire time. He met her gaze, and the sun caught in his eyes, coloring them such a brilliant gold that she found herself at a loss for breath.

Five long seconds later, she realized that she was staring.

“I-I’m sorry!” she managed to choke out. “I didn’t mean -- I can see you’re busy, really busy, I’m probably disturbing -- I’m definitely disturbing you, you were having a nice time here alone and I just had to go and ruin it and I’m really sorry, so I’ll just --”

“No,” Mytho said, voice warm. “Stay. It’s nice to have company.”

He gestured her closer, and at a loss, she walked to the water’s edge. The ducks began to quack in unison at her presence, clamoring at the tips of her shoes. “They seem to like you,” Mytho commented, throwing the last of the bread into the water. “Do you like animals, Ahiru?”

Words were having a difficult time reaching her tongue, instead getting jumbled in the deepest part of her throat over and over again. “Um, I -- that is, I -- yes. Yes, I do, of course,” she finally choked out, and as if to cement it, bent down to smooth a few brown feathers on the back of the duck closest to her.

Mytho seemed pleased. “Now I can say that I know something about you.”

Desperate words sprung from her mouth of their own accord, unable to refrain from apologizing for another moment. “I, um, I meant to talk to you all these times, but I’m always too far away and you usually look busy, and I just didn’t want to bother you if that was the case, but now that sounds so silly, because here we are and you don’t know me and I don’t know you --”

Her voice trailed off as Mytho took hold of her hand, gripping it gently.

“Well then, let’s start now,” he said, bringing it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ahiru was fairly sure if she grew any redder, her head was going to implode.

Mytho turned back to the pond, then, and looked up as if to watch the clouds passing overhead.

“We’re not even supposed to be out here, you know,” he chuckled. “The rules and such. Sometimes, though, I just need to see the sky.”

Ahiru nodded; realized for the first time just how nice the sun felt on the back of her neck, how soft and calm everything seemed out here in the open. Why weren’t they allowed to leave the castle again? She couldn’t remember.

A wave washed over the pointed tips of her shoes, and beside her, Mytho stiffened but soon relaxed just as easily. “Look,” he whispered, gesturing a careful hand towards the pond. Ahiru did, and promptly caught her breath.

Ash-colored wings curled up and out, feathered tips tracing spiraling shapes on the water’s surface as the creature landed. For a moment, as its quivering form bent to meet the pond, Ahiru thought it some sort of dark angel. Looking closer, though, she could see a startling red beak amidst all the feathers, a pair of blinking, beady eyes and realized, as the ducks shied away from the newcomer, that it was a swan -- as black as a moonless night.

“Oh my,” Ahiru breathed. Beside her, she could see that Mytho was just as entranced. The swan lifted its long neck towards them and almost seemed to shyly wonder over to their side of the pond. Mytho fumbled in his pocket, finally producing a handful of bread crusts.

“This swan has been coming here for a few years now,” he commented, letting the crusts fall from his palm onto the bank. “I like to think it keeps coming back to see me, however silly that might sound.”

“No, no, it’s lovely,” Ahiru whispered, not wanting to disturb the swan as it began to peck at the crusts. She had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke its glimmering feathers. “I’ve never seen a black swan before. I didn’t know they even existed --”

“I’ve never seen another. Almost makes me think it’s one of a kind.” Mytho held out his hand, then, and after a moment, the swan closed the gap between them and allowed him to pet its curved head. “It’s very gentle.”

Ahiru nodded, and having finally worked up enough courage, reached out a careful hand to stroke one its wings -- only for the swan to pull away from her touch, honking almost apprehensively before fleeing to the other side of the pond.

“Well, I like animals,” Ahiru laughed. “But I guess they all don’t like me!”

That wasn’t funny in the least, she realized, embarrassed. Why had she said that? Stupid, stupid, stupid...

She opened her mouth to say something less silly; her first breath easily overpowered by a sharp voice from behind.

“What are you doing?”

Both Mytho and Ahiru turned, startled. A man stood towards the edge of the clearing. Ahiru noted the type of clothes he wore, the sword sheathed at his side -- one of the knights, she realized. He met her gaze for the briefest of moments: he looked almost startled by her presence -- his eyes were a deep, riveting green -- but then his expression quickly soured, and he approached the two so quickly that Ahiru stumbled a few steps backwards, frightened.

Mytho frowned. “We were just --”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” the man cut him off. “You weren’t thinking, as usual.”

“A few minutes out in the open aren’t going to be the death of me, Fakir.”

The knight turned, then, fixing Ahiru with a cold stare.

“H-Hello,” she stammered, gathering up her skirt in a pitiful sort of curtsy. “I’m --”

“I know who you are,” he snapped. “And apparently, you’re just as idiotic as he is.”

Ahiru found herself at an utter loss for how to respond to such a comment; could only blink up at him, eyes wide as she searched her thoughts for a suitable retort. Mytho, thankfully, interjected.

“Stop it, Fakir,” he said, placing a cautious hand on Ahiru’s arm. “We’re less than twenty feet from the doors. We’ve only been here for a few minutes. Your protection isn’t necessary for such simple trips outdoors, I’m sure.”

“Y-Yes, he’s right!” Ahiru suddenly found her voice, forcing her lips to curve into a comforting smile in the hopes that it would calm his anger. “We only wanted to feed the ducks. We’re right here! What could happen?”

She had said it so pleasantly, but the knight’s scowl deepened, if that was possible, and with two quick steps, he had closed the gap between them, so close that his tall frame blotted out the sun.

“What could happen?” He repeated, voice low. Before she could say a word, he’d taken her by the wrist and yanked her in a stumbling circle so that she was facing away from him, out into the endless groves of trees, leaves large and curling in the heat of late summer. “Those,” he said, gesturing a stiff hand towards them.

All Ahiru could see was a mess of green and brown. Besides, she found herself much more concerned with his painful grip on her arm. “You’re hurting me --”

“Look,” he demanded.

She did, reluctantly searching every inch so that she would be sure not to miss anything. Nothing but trees, trees, more trees -- but then a speck of black amidst all the color caught her attention, and she squinted, trying to make it out. It seemed to tremble, shifting to and fro, and she noted there was more than one: identical dark blurs near it. It wasn’t until one of them rose out from the green, spreading its wings, that she understood.

Ravens.

At least five of them, lingering near the tips of the trees. They shifted the folds of their wings from time to time, curved heads all turned the same direction. They were all watching, and the notion of it struck a cold fear from the fringes of her thoughts all the way down to her quivering feet.

They were staring straight at her.

They’re so far away, you can’t even tell what they’re looking at, she insisted, begging herself to calm down, but it didn’t matter, not at all, because she could feel their startling eyes intruding on her own, could feel their claws tearing at her skin, just like the dream, always like the dream --

The darkening thought was shattered as the knight wrenched her back around to face him once more.

“Ravens don’t give a damn what you think,” he said, and Ahiru felt her heart give a vicious heave. “They don’t give a damn if it’s only been five minutes. They’ll rip you to shreds, and the only one you’ll have to blame is your moronic self.”

“Fakir, that’s enough --” Mytho insisted, but the knight ignored him. He took the prince’s wrist with his free hand and proceeded to drag the two back across the length of the clearing, back to the door alongside the massive castle walls, still left ajar with Ahiru’s hasty exit.

Ahiru’s wrist, meanwhile, ached under his iron grip, and her terror dissipated just as quickly as it’d appeared, replaced instead with bubbling indignation “Why are you saying such awful things? You can’t -- you can’t talk to us this way,” she insisted, dragging her heels in protest. Beside her, Mytho seemed to have relented, keeping pace. “I’m the princess, and he’s the prince, and you -- you can’t treat us like this! I‘ll tell the Council, I will--”

They reached the door, and with a stiff yank, the knight sent both of them stumbling across the stone floor of the hallway; stepped back out into the sun.

“We deserve an apology,” Ahiru heard herself say, anger forcing words to her mouth, her free hand massaging her wrist. “You have no right to --!”

He turned away, one hand on the metal handle. “Stay inside,” he ordered, and pulled the door shut behind him with a resounding thud.

“Wait!”

Furious, Ahiru yanked on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge, and she resorted to pounding her fists against the wood. “Wait! Come back here and apologize! Come back!”

Nothing. With a shrill sigh, she slumped down to her knees, shirt crumpling against the gray stone beneath her. What was his problem, anyway?

Only when Mytho stepped up to a window further down the hallway, his form overwhelmed by sunlight as it flooded in, did she remember he was there. At once, she rose again, embarrassed by her hasty behavior.

“Don’t mind him,” Mytho said, obviously noting her angry look. She tried to allow her face to soften, but couldn’t, still looking to the door over and over again, unable to let the incident go. Never, never in her entire life had she been treated so horribly, like she was an idiot, like her opinion didn‘t matter in the least! Just who did he think he was to say such things to her?

She had to ask. “Who was that?”

“His name is Fakir. I’ve known him a few years now. He and a few other knights were assigned by the Council to watch over us while the others are busy keeping the ravens themselves away.” Mytho smiled. “So you can imagine his reaction when I began sneaking outside. He’s usually not that...volatile, though. Perhaps because now he thinks you’ve gotten into the act as well.”

“But we were right there,” Ahiru insisted, gesturing a stiff finger out the window. “We barely left! I don’t see why he has to be such a jerk about it --”

“Don’t let it get to you. He means well, I promise.”

Ahiru didn‘t say anything to that, so she crossed her arms instead, shaking her head as though maybe all of her anger would sink out through her ears.

For a quiet moment, she stood there beside Mytho as he lingered at the window, watching the black swan swim circles around the length of the pond. Ahiru couldn’t bring herself to look further on towards the forest. She couldn’t bear to see if the ravens were still waiting, watching, an unsettling fear clinging to the fringes of her every thought.

“There’s a bright side,” he said, and his hand grazed her shoulder. “Just think. In a few months, they’ll be gone. We’ll be able to go outside whenever we want.”

He was right, Ahiru remembered, a whole new wave of fresh nervousness and excitement flooding in. The marriage. In a few months, they would be married, and the ravens, they -- they would be gone!

“And meanwhile,” Mytho continued, and as he turned, she realized just how close they were to one another, “we have the ball in two days.” He took her limp hand, but didn’t lift it, instead rubbing his finger on the low of her wrist. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“M-Me too!” Ahiru squeaked, refusing to think back on her slew of failed dance lessons. It wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t perfect the waltz before then, would it? Her prince was everything everyone had told her he was: kind, gentle, understanding. He would understand, right? They would dance, and everyone would say how lovely they were, and even if she stepped on his toes, he would be sure to forgive her, because in a few months, they’d be living happily ever after…

Mytho took her other hand, then, and rose both up into the shallow air between them: almost as if he was preparing her to lead her in a dance that very moment, there in the hushed hallway. “We’ll dance the night away,” he said, and Ahiru nodded, face pink with excitement, thinking that for once, everything was perfect, just--

Night?

She took a step back, her heel digging into a curve within the stone.

“Did you say night?”

Mytho blinked. “Yes?”

“But we won’t -- the ball’s not at night. It’s during the day.”

His grip on her hands loosened. “They told me it was to be at night. After all the shops in town have closed.”

A dull horror was beginning to swell in the back of Ahiru’s head. “N-No, my caretaker, Miss Edel, she told the Council that it had to be during the day, she spoke to them about it, I’m sure --”

“The last I heard of it, the invitations had already gone out, and it’s not meant to begin until after sunset.” Mytho looked perplexed. “Is something wrong?”

Is something wrong? This was it, wasn’t it? The question she’d been fearing for as long as she could remember; the enormous problem she’d been struggling to escape ever since she was first told just what a dire problem it was. She'd managed to hide it away in the back of her mind for quite some time, too caught up in this dreamlike first meeting, in her elaborate fantasies of costumes and music and dancing...

But if the ball was to be at night...

...then she would not be there.

“Ahiru? What’s the matter?”

She looked up, then, to her prince, with eyes golden and wavering, with genuine concern evident in every part of his face. He would understand, wouldn’t he? If he could forgive her for taking so long to approach him, if he could forgive her for bad manners, for awful jokes, for poor dancing, then surely he could accept something she couldn’t help, a...deformity she’d been born with and had lived with for so many years...right?

Just say it! At night, I --- at night, I always am --

Her throat closed up. The words died away.

Both hands slipped easily out of his grip, and she backed away. Her footsteps clattered and echoed all through the hallway.

“I can’t,” she murmured.

“But why?” Mytho asked, approaching her with arms open -- but once more, she stepped back and turned away.

The words rattled out, incoherent. “I can’t come -- I won’t be -- please tell them -- I’m sorry!”

And then she was running, skirt bunched in the trembling lines of her palms, each breath heavy in her lungs. She ran as fast as she could, as far away as was possible -- because no matter how wonderful Mytho was, no matter how lovely any ball would be, no matter how miraculous and freeing and world-saving their marriage would prove in the end...

He would never be able to see her at night.

She didn’t look back.

- - -

Well, that had been a pleasant conversation.

That was Mytho’s first thought as he slipped out of the conference hall, still rumbling with angry voices, with slamming books and fluttering papers and fists pounding on tables. He leaned against the decorated door for a moment and ran his hands through his hair as he waited to see if they would calm down.

The rumblings grew even louder, if that was possible. Mytho sighed, took to walking the darkening hallways instead. It seemed like he’d been spending his time there a lot lately, unwilling to stay for very long in his prison of a room while unable to find too many opportunities for sneaking out into the open.

The Council wasn’t usually prone to such explosive bouts of anger. He’d always thought the group of men to be as wise and rational as they come -- and why not? They’d been placed in charge of the kingdom ever since his mother‘s death, and it would stay that way until his eighteenth birthday, when he would finally assume control himself. In fact, they’d seemed downright quiet recently, their time spent keeping the castle safe by appointing knights and guards to various positions of security, keeping a watch on the ravens in case of any suspicious patterns or appearances. Things had been relatively calm for some time, though. There hadn’t been a major attack in over five years. The land hadn’t seen blood since then.

That had to be why, Mytho realized. The Council had gotten so comfortable over time that one small bump in their plans -- such as, the princess being unable to attend the festivities meant to serve as her grand introduction to the kingdom -- sent them into a wild fit.

He’d tried to explain. He’d told them Ahiru’s words: her caretaker, Adel or something of the sort, was supposed to have informed them of the need for the ball to take place during the day. Apparently, the Council hadn’t bothered to listen, going through with their original plans and sending out the invitations for after sunset. Many of the prominent villagers that wished to attend wouldn’t close their shops until then.

What would they do? Probably storm up to Ahiru’s room first thing in the morning and demand that she be present. After all, his explanation for the refusal had been vague -- and how could it not have been?

I can’t come -- I won’t be -- please tell them -- I’m sorry!

The thought plagued him. Just what was keeping her away? His mind had considered all sorts of possibilities, ranging from rational to magical. In the end, though, nothing really made sense. Nothing would until he heard the true reason from Ahiru herself.

Could it really be so bad that she couldn't bring herself to tell him?

He didn’t want to consider it to be anything negative. He decided, with a sigh, to put it out of his mind for the time being.

It was only then that he noticed the darkening hallway, and he paused a moment to glance out a small window. The sun had become little more than a purpling line on the horizon, the sky cold with swirling blue. Down the road, the sloping roofs of the village all seemed to settle beneath the groves of trees, every dirt path empty. Directly beneath him: the still pond, a perfect half-moon reflected in its surface.

A dark form obscured the light; looking closer, he saw it to be the swan. It was still there, tracing its wide wings over the surface, kicking up water as it lifted its body once, then again, almost as if it was playing a game with itself, almost as if it was dancing --

What happened next, Mytho could never explain to anyone.

The swan began to shake, so violently that the moon’s reflection was shattered into a thousand blurry fragments. For a frightening moment, he thought the animal to be growing in size, the wings curling in on themselves, curved head and beak lifting up to the sky almost in desperation, and then --

Black feathers trembled then parted, revealing alabaster skin, the gentle curves of a back, and two heaving shoulders. Feathers melted into a head of raven-colored hair. Both wings crumpled in on themselves, and, as if nothing but a scrap of loose clothing, slid off the skin into the shallow pond, giving way to two thin arms that rose to the sky, hands open, fingers splayed.

Mytho found himself unable to move.

The swan -- no, woman, it was a woman -- turned, then. In one fluid motion, her arms had dropped to her side, her body outlined by little more than moonlight. Her head rose, and she looked to the castle, to the windows. To him.

He had to be dreaming.

He stumbled back away from the window, rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Short of breath, he approached once again, gripping the stone edge hard with both hands, leaning out as far as he could to see the pond once more --

-- empty.

Mytho blinked, scanning the surrounding forests.

Nothing.

Nothing but an illusion.

Yes, he thought with a weak laugh, hands held so tightly to the stone that his knuckles gleamed white. That was it. After all, he really hadn’t been getting enough sleep as of late. That was the problem. That was why he saw magical, impossible things. It would have to be remedied at once, of course. More sleep. He wouldn’t wait a moment longer.

He hurried to his room without another thought.

The water rippled. A black feather floated on its surface, lingering in the moon’s outline before being whisked away by the wind, lost to the night.

~

A/N: That's all for today! Remember, I won't be posting the next few updates at princesstutu, so if you want to keep up with future additions this story, please friend beyondfate (this journal)! New chapter next Friday! <33

As always, comments are very much appreciated. :D

~

beyondfate — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 08:11:07 GMT

The Heart of Everything. A Princess Tutu AU fic. (check out this post to learn more!)
Rating: PG-13/T
Prologue ~ 1588 words.
Summary: Every story must begin somewhere.

~

Once upon a time, there was a man who did not die.

Those around him grew; infants to adults, adults to elders, elders to dust. Their children followed. The children of their children followed. Still, he lived.

This is not possible, the greatest of doctors told him. Your last day is near.

Still, he lived.

Incredible, they said. Men gathered close, consumed with longing. Women reached out elegant fingers to cup his cheek, to stroke his storm-colored beard. Children were pressed to his palms in the hopes that maybe this magic would reach them as well. Good sir, they said. Why do you not die?

He could only watch with wild eyes as their breaths grew cold and painful, as their bodies crumpled against the earth like all those before them.

He could only laugh.

In truth, the man laughed because death, in all its apparent, dreadful finality, had failed him. He had watched once-great leaders wither away and crumble like collapsed monuments, all but forgotten in the dust beneath his feet. He had watched tragedy claim coughing infants, pale-faced children and bloodied soldiers. These instances commanded sympathy, but how could he continue to feel such a thing after watching thousands suffer the same tedious predicament before them? If death could not touch him, then why should he pity those who fell before its whims?

Perhaps I have gone mad, he thought, but better to laugh at their pain than to wallow in their misery.

So he did. He chortled at the onset of illness. He grinned at the brutality of crime He applauded war, in all its forms. Over time, he began to find such incidents artistic, even poetic in their brutal simplicity. Tragedy, he realized, was beautiful -- and he hungered for more.

Perhaps this was how his gift came about.

It began simply, quietly. He spoke of a broken marriage hours before it became fact. He gestured to buildings, announced the dates they would collapse, fall victim to arson, or be abandoned. He will be blonde, he told a woman heavy with child, and will not survive the winter.

It is fated, he told them. And so it shall be.

At first, people thought him mad. They kept their distance, frightened by his wild eyes, his frantic laughter. Soon enough, though, crowds began to form -- small at first, then larger as talk of his gift spread. They asked to know of their futures, of their families, of their demises, so seemingly distant. He answered such questions without fail, did not bother to hide his glee when despairing paths unraveled at each stranger’s feet.

The specifics of what he said did not matter. Every word bled into countless lives, painfully correct. Whether he had either become so accustomed to life that he could predict the varying, elaborate patterns it could take, or instead had grown so hungry for fresh tragedy that he had developed within himself the ability to call it forward, one could not be sure of. He was never wrong; that was all that mattered to the masses who fell at his feet, humbled.

Such an ability was talked of endlessly, spread from eager mouth to mouth for miles around, and eventually, the man who would not die found himself summoned to a nearby kingdom. For one hundred years, the kingdom had been ravaged by murderous ravens. Surely a man of so many years, of such great power could discover a solution, they reasoned, too ragged to think otherwise. They pleaded for his help, desperate to escape the torment of the ravens. Tell us what to do, they asked

And the man?

The man cast one look upon the newborn prince in his cradle, hair the color of fresh snow, and proclaimed, with irrational certainty, that if he did not marry on the day of his eighteenth birthday, the kingdom would be doomed to languish under the cruelty of the ravens forevermore.

Not just any marriage. A princess would be his bride, one whose heart brimmed full and deep; one whose image bled within the darkened lines of fate.

Her love would prove selfless, he told them.

An act of love would save their land, he told them. Nothing more, nothing less.

There are no princesses living at this time, the people lamented.

Not yet, the man said, and settled in to watch. He watched his words sink their claws deep into the brittle land, taking hold so simply. Ah, he thought. Beginnings are glorious things.

Sure enough, the queen of a distant kingdom soon sent word that she was with child. Months of fervent prayer passed, and at its end, salvation seemed closer than ever; the infant was female, perfect in every way. Celebrations erupted throughout the land, and the Queen and her miraculous child were summoned at once to the castle, where they could be guarded in perfect safety.

So with twenty noble knights, ten brave escorts, and her most beloved handmaid, the Queen set out in her carriage towards the ravaged kingdom, the hope of all the world nestled against her breast.

The carriage traveled for nearly a months’ time. The escorts were weary. The knights were weary. The child was weary, screeching day and night. But then the castle rose up in the horizon, so close that all spirits were lifted, assured of success -- when, only hours from arrival, the carriage was attacked by a thousand red-eyed ravens. The knights fell before its doors, their eyes torn out by vicious claws. The escorts took up their weapons, but were themselves split in two. The beloved handmaid, moments before death, touched the face of the infant princess, told the Queen, I will give up my greatest treasure so that this child may live --

What those words may have meant is unknown; a scrap of the story lost to time.

What is known is that when the carriage did not approach the gates on the awaited day, scores of wary men ventured out to discover what had become of it, only to be greeted by a sight imagined in the most horrific of nightmares. A sea of blood and flesh remained, stretching throughout every length of forest. Ten escorts, halved, their separated eyes full of frozen fear. Scraps of skin wrapped in royal purple littered the ground, the only pieces left of the queen and her beloved handmaid. Blood matted the grass where the knights had fallen, but their bodies were absent. The child was gone.

The kingdom mourned. The ravens flourished. Even the castle, once the last true stronghold, began to deteriorate in the face of such hopelessness. No other princess was born. There would never be another.

There must be something, the people cried out as they threw themselves before the man. Tell us what to do, they pleaded.

Wait, he told them, unable to bite back a grin. Pray.

So they did.

Five long years passed, and suddenly, a miracle occurred. A passing boy discovered what he first thought was a young duck along the edge of town. However, as he bent down to look, he realized that it was not a young duck, but a young child; a girl, naked in the grass.

The royal seal rested in the curve of her neck.

The kingdom erupted in euphoria. The princess, found; the future, bright. How had she survived? Five years had felt like five eternities -- but five years beneath the ravens seemed unimaginable. The child could speak, but she spoke only of birds, of ravens and ducks and swans. What could such a thing mean?

In truth, the people thought little of it, for they lingered in despair no longer. Having found their fated princess, they locked her deep within the walls of their impenetrable castle. They would teach her to forget such awful memories. They would keep her safe for twelve short years, the prince and she would marry, and the land would be free forevermore.

Or so it would seem.

For, you see, the man did not like to keep his prophecies sparse, even with this perfect ending set in motion. In only a year’s time, he told the people of yet another dismal outcome -- that if the Monster Raven (a force long thought as merely myth) were to devour a heart of royal blood given freely upon the Depths of Despair, all hope would be lost. Only a royal heart would do, but if the Monster Raven could accomplish such a thing before the fated marriage, he would live eternally, with his power over the land unbreakable.

Preposterous, the people said. The only living royal blood left were the destined prince and the miraculous princess, kept safe within the castle walls. The Depths of Despair was a thing of fairytales, a place that could never actually exist despite how people spoke of it. And most importantly, why would the prince and princess ever think to doom themselves by giving their hearts freely to the Monster Raven? Impossible, the people said.

Sick of the man‘s bleak words, they banished him from the castle. Amused, he took up a simple home on the edge of the forests. The ravens blinked wide eyes upon his presence, but did him no harm.

Thus, he was easily forgotten, and preparations were begun for what would surely be the greatest day that had ever been.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Didn’t they?

We shall see. After all, the story is far from over.

~

Notes: And so we begin~! This prologue is not very long, but coming chapters will be much lengthier, I promise. I hope it's intrigued you, and that you'll look forward to the first chapter, which will be posted next Friday! I'll post an alert in princesstutu for the next update, but after that, I will not be posting notices for every single addition, so please friend beyondfate (this journal) if wanting to keep up with updates! <3

Comments, as always, are very much appreciated! :D

~