Disclaimer: I do not own the School for Good and Evil or its related characters. All is the property of it original author, Soman Chainani, and Harper-Collins Childrens Books, a division of Harper-Collins Publishers. Likewise, I do not own Princess Tutu or its characters. It is the property of Ito Ikuko and Studio Gansis. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.
(A/N: This is really more of my new head-canon than an actual story. To fully understand it you need to have watched the complete anime of Princess Tutu and read at least the first book of the School for Good and Evil. In my mind, the two have become one in the same.)
Storian
Once upon a time there was a man who died.
The man's profession was the writing and telling of stories. But his stories were special, for the things that he wrote down had an uncanny tendency to become real. Gentlemen and Ladies, Princes and Princesses, the wealthy and the elite al flocked to the man, begging him to write stories for them. Of their hopes, and dreams, and wishes.
But just as the man had the ability to write fantasy into reality, so to did his gift of story go hand and hand with a love of tragedy. The stories he wrote for his noble patrons quickly turned dark. Full of craft villains and hopeless endings.
The man's noble patrons soon turned on him.
In fear of his great power, they stormed his home, dragged him out to meet the mob and answer for the horrors he'd written into truth. They cut off his hands so that he could never write again and buried his still living, bleeding body far from them.
Little did they know that the man had foreseen this. Knowing his doom was coming, he made a machine that would continue writing long after he had died. Writing a story written in his own blood…
Once upon a time, there was another man.
This man was a decedent of the first and like his ancestor, he also enjoyed the art of story telling. And, also like his ancestor, the stories he wrote were full of light and hope. Together with his own Princess, bearing Hope like a crimson jewel, they defeated his ancestor's wicked story machine so that it could torment the world nevermore.
The wicked story machine was torn down and destroyed. Every cog wheel and tumbler burned or melted back down. Every string and hammer cut and chopped to kindling. The was destroyed. All but the pen. Made of solid steel, shaped like a knitting needle, and fatally sharp at either end. Tough terrible in its purpose, in monstrous in its execution, this pen had accomplished wonderful things. Terrible. But wonderful.
The man could not bring himself to destroy it.
Instead he kept it. Hidden away in a secret compartment of his study. Hidden away next to a yellow duckling feather -the last keepsake of his True Love whom he'd never see again in human form.
Years passed. And one day, that man too died.
As all men must…
Once upon a time, there were two brothers. Twins.
The son's of the Hero whom had defeated the monstrous tragedy machine. After their father's death, they went throughout his study in search of one of his writing to read at the funeral. Instead, they found a secret compartment, locked away beneath his desk. Inside, they found a single yellow duckling's feather, and a sharp steel pen. One of the brother's cut himself on it, and in that moment, he knew that his destiny and this pen would be forever intertwined.
The brother's dubbed the pen, the Storian.
In attendance at their father's funeral where two people the brother's had never met before. A King, fair skinned and fair haired, clad in shimmering white, blue, and gold, along with his dark haired Queen, dressed in hues of ivory and cream. The brothers did not know them, but the King claimed to have been acquainted with their late father when they were at school together.
The King offered the brothers a single gift to ease this time of grief. One gift for the both of them.
He expected them to choose gold, or jewels, or any other similar worldly riches. Instead, what they asked for was a haven. A place to keep their father's Storian safe and hidden away from the world. A place where it can be free to do its work, unhindered. A place where it could write.
Upon hearing this, the Queen frowned. Clutching a yellow duckling's feather to her breast, a feather almost identical to the one in their father's study -her final keepsake from her best friend- she warned the brothers not to trifle with stories. Even a happy ending might be accompanied by a bitter-sweet element of tragedy. A Princess might finally gain her Prince at the loss of her best friend. A man might save his best friend at the loss of his True Love.
Everything has its price.
But the brothers insisted and so the King agreed. He commissioned the construction of a tower deep in the heart of the woods. Far from any village or town. Hoping distance would dampen the influence of the pen.
But it did not.
If anything, the Storian's influence grew wider.
Seeing this influence, the King constructed two houses on opposite sides of the Storian's tower. Remembering his old schooldays with his friend, he thought it best to keep those chosen by the pen quarantined from the rest of the world. To keep the Story's influence apart from the rest of the world. Lest everyone spiral into tragedy as he himself once had.
The two houses became an academy. A school for those chosen by the Storian. To train them how to survive the Tales they would be written into. And the two brothers watch dover this school. Each one claiming a house as their own. To train their students as they see fit.
A healthy competition arose between them -as is often the case with competitive school events. With one house winning half the time and the other house winning half the time.
But then one day, one of the brothers got the idea that he could control the Storian and make his house invincible.
…And the rest, they, is history…
Once upon a time.