By day, Elsa was a swan.
When the morning's first rays of sunlight washed over her, she watched her fingers become feathers, her arms become wings. It was a graceless transformation, from woman into bird. Every sunrise stole from Elsa her form, imprisoning her into the body of a swan princess, a half-forgotten creature of ancient mythos. By day, she was an enigma, a mysterious being whispered about in even the farthest corners of the kingdom.
By night, Elsa was a girl. She was not a true princess by birth, though born of noble blood. The privilege of her station meant that a locked door from sunrise to sunset was sufficient to protect her identity, and even those with prying eyes remained unaware of her transformations.
They must have suspected, of course. But they never saw it with their own eyes.
Her peculiar ways earned her few friends. When night fell, Elsa emerged from her room alone, and she walked down to the lakeside alone, and there she lingered alone. Perhaps Elsa had once contemplated sharing her secrets with another, but she could not recall ever thinking too deeply on that matter. She sat in solitude for many nights before she was ever disturbed.
The man who approached the lake was not a familiar face to Elsa. He was tall and lean, a sinewy figure with dark eyes. His clothes had once been fine, but they were worn ragged, tearing at the seams. The sword belted at his hip reminded Elsa of the ever-present danger during these dark days. He looked startled to see her sitting there.
"Apologies, my lady," he said. "It was not my intent to intrude."
"You've done no wrong," Elsa said, looking out over the water. "You are welcome to stay and sit with me, if you please."
He came to her side hesitantly, a lingered there a moment before sitting. "The water is calming," he said softly, "even in these troubled times."
"No," Elsa disagreed. She narrowed her eyes at the softly rolling waves. It reminded her of her other form, of feathers and wings, and too-long days spent floating on this lake. She found it anything but calming. "I rather despise the water."
"Then I must wonder what you are doing out here." The man's lips twitched into a small smile.
Elsa looked past the water, towards the far shore of the lake. On the other side, the king's castle rose up, tall and proud against the night sky. Sometimes, between the castle's purple stones and the deep blue of the lake, a distant figure could be seen dancing on the grasses. When he danced, the young Prince was like a spectre in the night, dressed in brilliant white, almost glowing in the darkness. He did not dance that night, or even most nights, but Elsa came every evening, always hoping.
"A gentleman should know better than to ask a lady such a thing," she sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Forgive me," he said, barely concealing a grin. "I had no idea it was such a sensitive matter."
"I do not appreciate your mockery," Elsa complained. She glowered at her feet.
"I am not mocking you," he said pleasantly, "but I shan't tease you any more, if it has angered you."
With that matter so resolved, a strange silence fell between them. Elsa pouted a moment longer before speaking again.
"There are few visitors on this side of the lake," she said. She was attempting to sound conversational, but she detected a slight accusation in her own voice. "I, too, wonder why you have come here."
The man hesitated a moment. Then he leaned in closer, speaking in a low voice. "You have heard the rumors of the swan woman?" he asked quietly. Elsa's heart caught in her chest, but she refused to allow her fear show on her face. She nodded solemnly, and the man continued. "They call her Princess Tutu. I have heard that she is seen often by this lake."
Elsa hesitated a moment. It was the briefest fraction of an instant, a fleeting notion of revealing her identity to the man. And yet, without any real reason, the idea was chased out of her mind nearly as soon as it occurred to her. Instead she said, "You would seek out that wretched creature?"
"Wretched?" He furrowed his brow. "That's not what the Prince thinks of her."
"The Prince?" Elsa's heart skipped, and she pressed a hand to her bosom. A faint flush colored her cheek. "Just who are-"
"That I cannot answer," the man said sharply. Elsa drew back, and he immediately looked apologetic. "I cannot answer that," he repeated, softer this time. "Ask me anything you will, but do not ask my name."
This man, who spoke of the Prince, wore a sword and clothes that had once been fine. Elsa did not like games of secrets, but that was the way of the courts-and she realized now, of course this man was from the King's court. He was a young lord, or an untitled noble. Perhaps a knight. Whatever task he was on, he did not want it widely known.
"I see," Elsa said. She rose to her feet, and brushed off her skirts. "My name is Elsa," she said, bobbing in a small curtsey. "Perhaps we shall meet again, man with no name. For now, I must beg my leave."
The courtier made his polite goodbyes, and Elsa retired to her home. The household staff whispered when she passed, but gave every appearance of courtesy to her face. She wanted to be angry with them for it, but found that she could not find it in her heart to hold anything against them.
Once in her chambers, she locked her door. She had four more hours until sunrise, and she would lie in her bed until that time, but she would not sleep. She rarely did. Instead she would run her fingers over her smooth, featherless arms, and dream of what it would feel like to have the sun's warmth on her human skin.
When sunrise finally came, she stumbled clumsily out from under her sheets. Elsa fluttered up to her bedroom window, and flew away to the lake. There she lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Prince, but she only saw a dozen lords and ladies, huddled together in their fineries, whispering ominously.
It was a bright day, with scarcely a cloud in the sky, but it was dotted black with crows. They swarmed overhead, seeking out their next victim, gathering on rooftops and tree branches. Only rarely did they strike out, and even more rarely did they emerge victorious. But there were still days when the evil Raven feasted upon hearts, and that had struck fear into all the people of the land.
Elsa did not fear for her heart. Of course, the Raven was not interested in eating the heart of a swan. But besides that, he only approached those who were susceptible to his words. The crows' victims were those who loved deeply, and were loved deeply by others. They sought out those who had good hearts and pure souls, and preyed upon their every weakness. The Raven would use their own doubts, fears, and regrets against them, to dye their hearts black with despair. Only then would he devour them.
There was just one thing Elsa did not abhor about her curse. When she took the form of a swan, the people revealed their hearts to her readily, and they regarded her without suspicion. People full of grief often lingered on the shores of the lake, contemplating their own doom, and Elsa would swim to them. The innocent sympathies of a mere bird brought some measure of comfort to the tortured souls. Elsa would stay by their sides and listen to their stories, and she could see on their faces how this simple thing slowly unburdened their hearts. When they left, they were full of hope.
It was perhaps a foolish belief, but Elsa imagined that when she came to people, she was saving their hearts from the Raven.
She did not see the man with no name during those daylight hours, but he returned to her come nightfall. This night, he approached without hesitation, joining her again at the water's edge.
"Are you still seeking your swan woman?" she asked without preamble.
"Indeed, I am," he said. "And shall you still conceal your reasons for coming to the lake you claim to despise?"
"I shall," Elsa said haughtily. The man laughed, and she felt her face redden. "And it is no stranger than a man who refuses to share his name!"
"Fair enough, Lady Elsa," the man said, bowing his head politely.
Elsa had no more to say to him. A strange silence fell over them once again, making her wriggle uncomfortably. On the far side of the lake, no one dared tread out-of-doors, and the Prince remained safely locked away in his castle. She had half a mind to hastily take her leave, as she had the previous night, but she refused to be chased away again.
"Tell me more about this swan woman," she prompted, her voice carefully nonchalant. "This Princess Tutu."
The man gladly acquiesced. "No one knows who she is, or where she comes from," he explained. "They say she has the body of a woman, the wings of a swan, and the grace of a prima ballerina. They say she dances across the surface of this very lake, appearing in her true form only to those who have need of her. To others, she has the appearance of a great white bird."
"The people say many things," Elsa agreed dryly, privately wondering how such rumors could have started.
"They say she appears before the people, and saves them from the sadness in their hearts," he continued. "She helps them know their true selves, and leads them away from despair."
Elsa hid her smile behind her hand. "How wonderful," she said. As much as she hated her swan form, she was glad to know that she had truly helped people.
"It is," the man agreed. "The Prince hopes that if he can find her, together they can rescue the people from the Raven."
Elsa's heart fluttered in her chest. "The Prince wants that?" she asked breathlessly.
"Very much," the man said, nodding sagely. "But no one knows how to find her."
"And so that's your role in this story," Elsa said, trying to calm her racing heart. "The knight of swans, questing for the elusive Princess Tutu."
"I suppose you might say that."
"Hmm," Elsa said ponderously. "I suppose that's what I shall call you, then. My Swan Knight."
"Your Swan Knight?"
Yes, her Swan Knight. It was almost as though a part of her wanted to reveal everything to him. But she recovered herself, saying, "I shall claim you as my own, for as long as you deign to loiter along my shore."
"You are a very possessive woman, Lady Elsa," her Swan Knight commented. Despite this, he looked rather pleased with the moniker. He leaned back on his arms, legs crossed, surveying the lake with a small smile.
"You are a rather silly knight," Elsa teased. "Do you suppose that if you come here every night, you might finally find your Princess Tutu?"
"Perhaps," the Swan Knight said. "Do you think that might work?"
Elsa looked away from him. "One would hope," she said, and left it at that.
He did indeed come back every night, and he even spent many days at the lake. While the sunlight still shone, Elsa never flew too close to her Swan Knight, and he never looked too closely at her. He was looking for a mythical creature, not an ordinary swan.
Sometimes she wondered if she should trust her identity with him.
In the meanwhile, the crows became ever more aggressive. The Raven ate more and more hearts, and even as Princess Tutu, there was little Elsa could do to help the people. She tried her hardest, but there was nothing more she could do.
The day came when one of the souls lingering on her shores was the Prince himself. Nervously, Elsa paddled up near the shore, and the Prince smiled weakly at her. He seemed sad, but not yet defeated. Elsa did not quite manage the courage to waddle out on land, to get any nearer to the Prince.
He was beautiful. The Prince was the most handsome person in all the kingdom, and Elsa loved him dearly. In truth, they had only met a few times, and he had spared her barely more than a few words of courtesy, but those words had been more than enough to capture her heart. Indeed, the Prince had captured the hearts of all those who lived in the kingdom, and he was loved by everyone.
But Elsa was forbidden to speak her words of love aloud to him. That was part of her curse, to vanish in a speck of light if she ever told the Prince of her feelings for him. So she stayed a careful distance away from the Prince, even when he called to her, fearing that she might lose all sense of herself and confess her love.
That evening her Swan Knight came to sit and talk with her, as he always did. He was just as ragged the first night Elsa had met him, but now he looked dreadfully weary. He was a man at the end of all hope. This night, he had no smiles for her.
"I fear for the Prince's life," the Swan Knight confessed. There was a defeated slump in his shoulders. "The Raven wishes to eat his heart, and I do not know if I will be able to defend him."
"Surely the Raven cannot eat the Prince's heart?" she asked, fearing what her Knight might answer. "He only eats hearts that are freely given to him, and the Prince would never do such a thing."
"He might, if it were to protect the people," her Swan Knight answered grimly.
Elsa shuddered. By consuming pure and good hearts, the Raven gained strength and power. Were he to eat the Prince's heart, which loved everyone, then it was thought that he would gain immortal life. "The Prince must know that no good could come of such a thing," Elsa said, but her words lacked conviction.
"The Prince will do what he thinks is best," the Swan Knight said.
"I suppose that is true," Elsa agreed quietly.
She thought about what the Prince might do. She thought about her curse and the knight's quest, and the Prince's deep love for all living creatures. For a moment, she thought she had a flash of insight, a tenuous connection to the mind of God. The Prince would sacrifice himself for the people. The Knight would die for his liege. One day, her curse would overcome her, and she would vanish in a speck of light. These were the inescapable fates laid out before them. Unless...
"What is your name?" Elsa asked, her voice quiet and serious.
The Knight looked startled. For a moment, Elsa thought she saw comprehension in his eyes-we could work together. They were natural allies; if they could find a little trust in themselves, they might yet avoid their dooms. They could find a new way to fight against the Raven. But then his eyes cleared, and he said, "You know I cannot answer that."
"Of course not," Elsa said weakly. The moment was broken-God had vanished, and fate was once more inevitable.
She did not ever see her Swan Knight again, after that night. She never knew who he was, and he never knew that she was Tutu. Not once did she again contemplate asking his identity, or confessing to him her own.
As if guided by an invisible hand, she spent the rest of her days happily dreaming only of the Prince, and never once wondering why.