1: Silver

The silver utensils glistened under the bright kitchen light. Ahiru rubbed furiously at the fork with a wet cloth, cleaning it until it shined. Satisfied, she grinned at her distorted reflection. There was the sound of footsteps and turning around, she came face to face with Fakir.

"It's been an hour," he grumbled. "You're not even close to finishing the dishes."

Ahiru whined, "But there's a lot of them!"

"You only had to clean the silverware. That shouldn't be taking so long."

Pouting, she poked him in the cheek with a fork, spattering droplets of water on him. They slid down his face and left tiny wet trails. Giggling, the redhead reached into the sink full of soapy water and splashed more on her friend.

Fakir glared at her and folded his arms, the water plastering his long hair to his face and dripping into the floor. "Idiot, you can't even do chores properly."

"Mean! You can't even smile right, so you shouldn't be talking." Ahiru poked the edge of his mouth with her fork.

He raised an eyebrow. Then he took a handful of water and tossed it at her. She yelped in surprise and tripped, tumbling backwards onto the kitchen floor. His mouth twitches upwards into a smile, and Fakir began to laugh. Tossing another piece of silverware at him, Ahiru scrambled to her feet to retaliate with another water attack.

2: Motif

Ahiru tugged on her friend's sleeve. She knew she shouldn't be bothering him while he was studying, but she couldn't reign in her curiosity at the word she had stumbled across in her book. "What's a motif, Fakir?"

Fakir barely glanced up from his work. "We're in a library, moron. Search it up in the dictionary."

3: Flight

Fakir groaned as another flower was dropped on his head. It slid downwards and tumbled onto his book. He glared at the redhead above him in the tree, who was jumping from branch to branch. "What is so amusing about throwing plants at me?"

Ahiru pouted. "They were presents. You're being mean by not appreciating them."

The dark-haired boy sighed and returned to his book. No sooner had he turned a page did something else land on his head. This time it was hard—definitely not a flower. It rolled into the grass, and Fakir realized it was a pear. Silently, he reminded himself to find a different tree to sit under when they went out next time.

Ahiru laughed and swung onto another branch. "Look, Fakir, I'm flying!"

He shut his book and jumped to his feet. "Stop that, moron, you'll fall!"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "No, I won't." As she was about to climb to a higher branch, her foot slipped. She grasped in vain for a branch to hold on as she began to fall. Closing her eyes, Ahiru braced herself for the impact. Then she landed safely in Fakir's arms, and he staggered back under the sudden weight.

"Dammit, you moron, don't do that again." As he set her on the ground, he added, "Save the flying for when you're a duck."

4: Memory

Ahiru was laying on her stomach in front of the fireplace, gluing pictures into a scrapbook. She'd received a new camera and developed an interest in photography. Unfortunately, most of the photos had turned out blurry. The scrapbooking wasn't going well either. The glue stuck to her fingers and smeared everywhere, transferring to the pages, her face, her hair. Her eyes were narrowed, and her face was scrunched in concentration.

"What are you doing?" There was the sound of footsteps, and soon enough, Fakir was beside her.

"I wanted to make a scrapbook so there's a place to hold memories, but it's not going so well."

Fakir gave her a small smile, then gently took the photos. "You need to be careful not to get glue on your fingertips." He applied glue to the back of the photo, then pressed it onto the paper, rubbing over it to make sure it stuck.

Ahiru watched with her undivided attention, blue eyes wide. With a nod, she tried to paste the rest of the photos into the scrapbook.

5: Storm

Ahiru stared out her window, chin resting in her hands, watching the rain. Droplets of water slid on the glass and pooled at the windowsill, creating squiggly lines on the pane. In the distance, thunder sounded while lightning stuck the ground and streaked the sky with light. It lit up the earth, almost like a firework. She had always found it odd watching the storm as a girl and not a duck. Because Ahiru was now a human, she could safely watch it from the comfort of a warm living room rather than seeking shelter in her tiny pond. A tug on her braid quite literally yanked her out of her thoughts.

"Come on, idiot. The tea is ready." Fakir poured the steaming liquid into the little porcelain cups.

With a smile, Ahiru sat down to the table and inhaled the sweet aroma. "It's raining a lot, huh?" She glanced outside once more.

Her friend followed her gaze, frowning. "Yeah, it could flood."

The redhead coughed as she choked on her sip on tea. With a gasp, she spat it back out into the cup. Concerned, Fakir stepped forward. "Hey, calm down."

"Are we going to die?" she finally managed to ask.

A brief smile crossed his lips. "No, we'll be fine."

6: Change

Fakir stared up at the night sky while leaning against the tree. He could feel the cold rough bark through the thin fabric of his white uniform shirt. On the far end of the expanse was a small glowing sliver of white - a crescent moon, one of the last phases before the cycle would repeat itself.

Ahiru sat leaning against his eyes, her eyes closed and a serene smile on her lips. Her chest rose up and down. Fakir knelt and picked her up, deciding to head home. He paused to turn around, once more looking at the moon. Yes, changes were sure to come.

7: Story

Neither the duck nor the knight were pleased about the fates set for them. As the gears turned and a story was spun, words penned in blood pulled the entire town into a disastrous tale. But the characters were unwilling to be pulled along. So the knight laid down his sword and picked up a pen, beginning to write a story of his own, one full of hope.

It was his heartfelt words, bursting at the seams with every emotion, that turned the duck into a girl. No, ducks didn't become swans. The girl was no more graceful than she had been as a duck, always easily startled and clumsy. But that was good enough for the knight, for his story had its own kind of happy ending. He wasn't a prince or even that gallant of a knight, and the duck was by no means a princess. They were just a small town boy and girl, and that was good enough for them.