Fandom: Princess Tutu
Title: Edel's Organ
Author: lostinabook
Genre: General/Fantasy
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu does not belong to me; it is the property of Ito Ikuko.
Summary: A fairy-tale rendition of how Edel got her organ. Written for the Princess Tutu Gift Exchange on Livejournal.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who collected beautiful gems.

Every day, she would take her jewelry box and sit under the huge old oak tree in a secluded part of town and look at her treasures, humming a tune from a ballet under her breath. The gems would sparkle in the dappled sunlight as she held them up one by one to examine them. With her brown eyes shining and curly pigtails bobbing she would carefully hold a new addition up to the light, smiling in delight when it shone as well.

Her name was Ida. She wasn't sure why she always came to the oak tree, of all places. There were rumors and half-whispers starting to circulate around town that there was something wrong with the tree; strange things happened when people went near it at night. There was apparently even a group of people who were obsessed with obtaining the tree's "power." Ida wasn't sure what to believe when it came to town gossip, but she couldn't deny that she felt something when she went near the tree.

However, Ida was somehow unaware that she talked to the tree.

One day, she had simply started greeting the tree as if it were a person, although to Ida, this was only in her thoughts. What she didn't know was that the tree had slowly worked it's magic on her, integrating itself into her story, because it was so curious about the girl that came to visit it every day. As Ida would look at her treasures, she wouldn't notice the tree's thinner branches moving above her, in such a way that someone passing by would think that it was just the wind, reaching out to the sparkling stones but never getting close enough to touch them. Ida would have noticed something like that.

By this point in the town's story, the tree was already very old. However, she had remained steadfast, watching silently as stories spun themselves into existence. Because of the tree, this place was a favorite haunting ground for writers of all kinds. Words flowed easily here, since the tree was a steward of story itself.

And stories were everywhere.

But the tree couldn't remember the start of her own story, and longed to be part of one. She existed to give the gift of storytelling, but that wasn't really a role, or, at least, not the one that she wanted. People only came to her looking for power, which she readily granted, but not without regret.

And then Ida appeared.

The tree became fascinated with her. Never before had a human come this close without the sole purpose of discovering the secrets of story-spinning. She became more mesmerized with her as Ida returned, day after day, looking at the beautiful gems.

Never before had the tree realized that she had such emotions lying deep in her bark, left behind by the many stories she had silently watched being spun into existence. Wonderment and curiosity were the most dominant, and it wasn't long before the tree softly worked its magic, causing Ida to speak whatever she was thinking when she was near the tree. Ida herself wasn't aware of this, and the tree basked in her thoughts, and quickly learned that the townspeople thought that the tree was "strange" and should be left alone. But it didn't matter much to the tree anymore; now she had a human that went to her with no expectations, no desires of power. The tree was content.

It occurred to her one day that she should repay Ida for letting the tree be a part of her story, even though Ida wasn't aware of the tree's gratitude. So she reached out with her magic and, taking some of the deeper emotions and human-like characteristics that she recently discovered on the fringes of finished stories, poured them into the gems, so that they sparkled even brighter. The best part was seeing Ida's delighted face when her precious collection now shone even without the light. And what made the tree even happier still was that Ida seemed to have understood what had taken place, even though she didn't know how.

"It's like they're alive, almost," Ida said one day. "I get a different feeling from each of them…

But the tree, in her contentment, had made a grave error. If she had been paying attention, she might have noticed the cold feeling coming from the realm of stories; someone who she had given power to was using it improperly. The tree was neglecting her true role.

But all she cared about was Ida, all she waited for was Ida, even though for the girl, the tree meant nothing, and the gems were starting to bore her. She was growing up, and the simple sparkle of magic wasn't enough for her anymore. Ida was becoming restless, and wanted to leave the tiny town behind and write the next chapter of her story across the world's stage.

Eventually, Ida came less and less, and even on the days that she did arrive, she was silent, because her mind was blank, with nothing to say. One day, Ida left the jewelry box behind her at the foot of the tree, and never came back.

However, more than one thing was about to end for the tree.

Not long after Ida's final departure, a man who the tree barely recognized, his eyes mad with the power that she herself had granted him, many years ago, appeared before her with an ax.

"And so it seems that I was right!" the man cackled. "My stories are now powerful enough to ensnare its source! And now you're just another character in my story."

The axe chopped at her side and the wood sent up a silent scream as the shock ripped the tree's consciousness in two; the side that held remnants of human feeling from stories in one part, and the side that quietly tested story-spinners into the other. And the old man laughed as the tree's second part lost sense of what was happening and fell deep into her roots, waiting to be awakened by the stroke of midnight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Blink once, twice. Look around. Look human. Puppets are meant to look human, to mimic them, to follow their strings.

"Good, good! Splendid! I knew that wood could be usual for something, someday…"

Her creator laughed and she continued to stare, not blinking at the right intervals. Puppets don't know when their stings have gone wrong.

"And now… the finishing touch, left so gratefully by another story."

With a flourish of his cape, her creator produced what looked like a jewelry box, with a large horn attached to the side. No, not a jewelry box… It was an organ. The wood she was made of prickled suddenly, whispering to itself about the absurdity of the modification in a voice her creator couldn't hear.

He pressed it into her hands with a cackle. "A physical manifestation of emotions… in the hands of a soulless puppet! How fitting for a story of scattered feelings."

Her strings pulled, and obediently she turned the lever… and a song came out. The wood's murmuring grew louder until it was almost shouting.

Ida… Ida… Ida…

She still turned the lever, as her strings commanded, and the voice began to fade away until all was silent, and the wood was just wood. The song still played. Her master grinned.

"Everyone always wants to play a role different to the one that they were given. Remember, puppet, it's dangerous when you do not know your place, simply dangerous!"