Once upon a time… "Kaah! I can't open the story like that; it has to be something more impressive!" Fakir tore the page out of his notebook, crumpled it up, and threw it over toward his two other rejects. He looked down at the bare white paper in front of him and frowned.
[The young man thought back to the day that changed his life forever, the day that he saved, yet at the same time lost, his beloved little Duck.]
"Karon says it hasn't even been a year yet, but it feels like forever, "Fakir said to himself as he leaned back against the tree, reminiscing of that day. "She returned the last of Mytho's heart to him and saved everyone from the Raven. Mytho returned to the story with Rue in tow, and they lived happily ever after. However, Duck, the real heroine, just barely escaped the genre of tragedy." Fakir sighed. "It's just not fair." He looked out across the lake and saw the beautiful little duck, peacefully bobbing up and down with the gentle waves. "And what have I accomplished in these few months since then?" Fakir asked himself aloud. "Nothing. I've written countless attempts at stories, but I can rarely ever finish one. And the ones that I do manage to write through to the end never come true." He gazed sadly out at Duck. "I know I was the one who said that we should all return to being our true selves, but it just feels so lonely without her. Its definately not the same seeing her as a duck, and I know she isn't happy this way either," he said as he looked out at Duck, who, at a glance, appeared to be floating on the water the same way any other waterfowl would. He knew her too well to believe that, though. She had her head tilted down, staring at her own reflection as if it would change any minute. Rather, she was hoping it would change. "I wish I could do something for her. I want to save her!" He fisted his hand and slammed it against his notebook.
Duck floated across the water, letting herself be carried whichever way the wind took her. She didn't really realize it at first, but a duck's life is actually pretty boring. At least it is once you have tasted the sweet fruit called 'humanity'. While on the water like this, she would often think such thoughts- thoughts that an average bird would never be capable of realizing, and thoughts that an average human would never be inspired to dwell so deeply on. The hardest part for her was accepting the new reality. She knew going into it that once she endowed her own heart shard to Mytho, she would revert to her old form of a duck. "It's just one of those things that's a lot easier said than done I guess," she looked up toward the sky, trying to welcome some happier thoughts into her mind. Figures that it would be overcast today. "Well, I wonder if Mytho is okay, after he got his whole heart back? Now he can be truly happy and he can love Rue... Actually, now that I think about it, it didn't really bother me as much as I thought it would when the Mytho went back into the story with Rue as his princess. In 'The Prince and the Raven', Princess Tutu was in love with the prince, and she even confessed her love to him," she tried to forget the part when her past persona disappeared as a flash of light. Even though she never experienced it herself, it was still like a bad memory to her. "But if that's true, then shouldn't I have been heartbroken? Was that truly love that I felt for Mytho then?" As Duck thought contemplated this, she glanced over at Fakir, who looked like he was trying to trace the shapes of the amorphous clouds with his quill. "And if it was love for Mytho I felt, then what is this I feel when I'm thinking of Fakir?" A rosy blush found its way across the yellow feathers of her cheeks. Then the harshness of reality hit her. She scolded herself, "No-no-no-no-no! I'm just a duck now so it doesn't matter anyway," then in a depressed tone, "I can't love anyone…" Duck sighed as she looked back down at her reflection.
[The poor little Duck has become quite depressed. Her unhappiness will only grow stronger from here, until the moment which she is finally unable to take anymore…]
After sitting at the lake for over an hour and a half doing nothing, Fakir decided it was about time to get something accomplished. He went home to ask Karen if he needed anything, and of course he asked Duck if she wanted to come with him. Usually, she would come along and hitch a ride on one of Fakir's shoulders. This time, however, she only looked up at him, shook her feathered head, and looked back down. Heartbroken at the melancholy reaction he got from the previously bubbly and overly enthusiastic red-head, Fakir packed up his things and left toward the town.
The young man was well on his way to the market when he heard a faint drumming coming from behind him. He stopped, unsure if he wanted to look behind him. Could it really be possible? He turned around, and his suspicions were confirmed. A little green-haired puppet girl was running full force toward him. "Fakir! I found you, zura!" "Uzura," he said as he crouched down to catch her. "What are you doing here? I thought you went- well actually, where did you go?" Uzura looked up at him with her big blue enameled eyes as she answered, "Mr. Drosselmeyer said that since I'm his puppet the rules were that I had to go with him, zura. I don't know what that means, though, zura." Fakir didn't even hear half of what Uzura said; as soon as he heard the name, 'Drosselmeyer', he felt his stomach drop through his feet and a trickle of sweat run down his neck. Then, as if on cue, the already overcast sky grew thirty shades darker. Even though the slight breeze in the air had ceased, Fakir felt a chill creep over him. Time had stopped moving.
A tall antique grandfather clock appeared out of nowhere, likely in the exact spot that Uzura had come from. As the front of the clock slowly opened like the door to a haunted house, an old man's voice scolded, "Uzura, I told you not to run ahead! What fun is it when a character can already expect what's coming to him?" As a worn out brown boot connected with the ground, the clock opened the entire way, exposing a gaudily dressed old man. He opened his arms in an overly dramatic manner as he said, "I was planning a much grander entrance for myself." His bright red cape swayed with his movements, then came to a rest across his back, under the shadow of his kaleidoscopic hat.
Fakir had risen to a stance that made it clear he was ready to attack at a moment's notice. "Drosselmeyer. What the hell are you doing here?" Fakir asked, although it sounded more like a threat than a question. Drosselmeyer took a few steps forward as he spoke, "Now, I expected a much grander welcome as well." The old man took a step forward, about to make another criticism, but Fakir cut him off, "I asked you what you're doing here. You have no business with any of us anymore." A smirk crept across the Drosselmeyer's face. "Oh, but I do have business here! Actually, I have an offer that I must suggest to you." Fakir once again cut him off. "I don't need anything from you, you demented old man." Drosselmeyer gasped as dramatically as he could and replied, "That is so hurtful! To think I would be hated so bitterly by my own blood!" "Then why don't you go home and cry about it?" Fakir wished that that would be enough to send Drosselmeyer away, and he almost thought that his wish was granted when the old man disappeared from before him. The old man's voice, however, was not gone, and it was actually coming from behind Fakir, "So back to business." Fakir spun around as fast as he could without falling over, becoming face to face with his ancestor. He quickly took a few steps back, trying to keep a safe distance. Drosselmeyer started speaking again, "It's actually more like a favor that I want you to do for me. See, it's something that only you can do." He stopped and took a second to look straight at Fakir, to make sure he was paying attention to him. The younger of the two didn't want to hear anything the old author had to say, but he figured that he was getting nowhere like this. Drosselmeyer would hold him hostage in his gap-in-time until he got what he wanted out of him. "Fine," Fakir sighed, "What is this magnanimous offer of yours?" "I'm glad you asked!" Drosselmeyer once again disappeared, but this time, he instantaneously reappeared right next to Fakir, wearing a pair of cracked reading glasses and holding a large leatherbound book in both hands. "This is the only book that I have yet to finish. But I couldn't figure out the rest of the story because of this damn hindrance called 'writer's block." The old man cackled as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. Fakir gave Drosselmeyer an apprehensive look. "So what exactly does this have to do with me?" Drosselmeyer let go of the book to throw his hands up in the air, however, the book stayed floating in the same place it had been, "I want you to go inside this book and finish my story for me! And of course you'll be taking little Duck with you."
Fakir thought back to the times when Drosselmeyer had had anything to do with Duck. The Lake of Despair. The crows attacking Duck's defenseless bird body. No, nothing good ever happened when Drosselmeyer and Duck were together. However, if it wasn't for the old man, Duck would have never become a girl, and he never would have met her. But that also means he never would have grown so attached to her and so miserable now that she's no longer human. Fakir figured it was best not to trust the man after all of that. "Duck has nothing to do with this. Leave her out of it and I'll help you," Fakir said, immediately regretting it, but if he didn't agree, the old man might try to go after Duck. And Fakir absolutely would not have that. Drosselmeyer spoke, "Sorry, but it seems that Duck has to be involved. See? She's already in the story." Drosselmeyer flipped the old book open and showed it to Fakir. He skimmed the page in front of him.
'The young man wrote story after story… the unhappy duck… both crying in their own way… go to the lake and sit by the tree… thought back to the day that changed his life forever… beloved little Duck… became quite depressed...'
"This last part… all of this happened today!" Fakir grew angrier as he thought about it, "You have been interfering with our lives! You made Duck unhappy! You made each of my stories a failure! It's all your fault!" Drosselmeyer calmly replied, "Now, now. I had to make it so that you were able to help me with my story," a shadow grew over his face, "and to show you what I could do if you decided not to."
Fakir realized that he was completely screwed. If he and Duck went into Drosselmeyer's story, who knows what would happen to them, with the old man in charge. Fakir didn't even know what kind of story it was. But did it really matter, because if they didn't go, they would likely be tortured by the lunatic writing the story of their own real lives. Fakir thought about it for a few moments, then decided, "I… I guess we'll help you with your story. Duck and I." Drosselmeyer's smile grew as wide as an ocean liner. "Magnificent! I knew you would make the correct choice!" He began scribbling in the old book.
[The little yellow duck that he loved so much appeared.]
Drosselmeyer took off his hat, reached in, and pulled out a very familiar duck.
[The young man took her into his arms, and held her tightly.]
Fakir walked over to Drosselmeyer and let Duck jump into his arms. He held her protectively, close to his chest.
[A cloud of silver smoke began pooling around them, and as it grew bigger, consuming the two, they disappeared without a trace into the story.]