Disclaimer: I do not own Princess Tutu.

If anyone wishes to take part in illustrating this story, please contact me, and if you wish, your artwork will be submitted to my site, where this story will also be uploaded. Links to previews of what the site will be like can be found at my profile.

When Fakir entered the library, all was quiet - as expected. He walked around, hunting for Aotoa. Of course he wouldn't be here…now that he's become the next Drosselmeyer, why would I be so stupid as to look for him here? All the same, Fakir hoped he might bump into Aotoa. But if I do meet him, what would I do?

Each of the isles between the tall shelves filled full of books were empty. There was no one at all in the library. Very few students went to the library, and if they did, it was usually on the weekends. Fakir's brow furrowed. Just to be sure…he thought, as he headed towards the store room. Shaking, he opened the door and switched on the light.

Empty.

Fakir sighed and went to the checkout desk, carrying the book on writing which he had found on a table. "One book-" Fakir froze mid-sentence.

Behind the desk, lying on the floor, was a pair of broken and blood spattered spectacles. Lying next to it, was a motionless body.

---

Ahiru shivered as a warm afternoon breeze swept past. She didn't shiver from being cold, though. Ahiru felt a feeling of trepidation as she stared at the dark building in front of her. She was scared of what she might find inside the used bookstore. Mustering courage, Ahiru took a deep breath and opened the creaky door of the building.

Once she was inside, it was completely pitch black compared to the sun outside. She stood still for a minute, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. As soon as they had, Ahiru could make out the outlines of old bookshelves on every side of her, stacked with battered books. Curious rustling sounds could be heard from behind the shelves, and the shop was filled with a musty smell. When Ahiru took a step forward, a small cloud of dust rose from the contact her foot made with the floor.

Do they really live here? It seems unused. she wondered. It sounds like there are people whispering, though. Ahiru silently urged herself to move on towards what looked like a faint bit of light emanating from the far corner of the store. I must do this to stop Aotoa.

"Umm…" she called out in a shaky voice as she approached the light. As soon as she was close enough, Ahiru could see it was coming from an oil lamp on an ancient-looking wooden desk. Behind the desk, sat a still figure.

"Are you one of those who stops stories from becoming reality?" she whispered.

The figure reached out for the oil lamp and moved it so it illuminated both of their faces. "Why do you seek us?" he said in the voice of a very old man.

"I-" Ahiru paused as she stared at the familiar face of the old man which she had seen by the lake on the day all the little cloaked and hooded men had gotten butted by Femio's bull.

The old man's eyes widened. "You!" he exclaimed. Immediately, the rustling became louder, and Ahiru could have sworn that the shadows around her moved in closer.

"Wait!" she cried. "I want to discuss something with you! Can we help each other out?"

"How?" he looked doubtful.

"We want to help…defeat Aotoa. Fakir and I don't know the story that he's writing," she said. "Please…we want to change it."

The old man sighed. "You don't know very much." He scratched his chin. "We don't know what the story that Aotoa's writing is either. How could we? It's still being written, and we haven't found anything similar."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. If he has truly become the next Drosselmeyer, then all we can say for sure is that he's dead, traversing time and space of his own free will."

"Dead?!" Ahiru's voice was louder than she anticipated.

"Yes. That is the only way for him to master all of Drosselmeyer's tricks and skills."

"Then how does he write? Is he using a story maker too?"

"You figured that out pretty quick. All we can do now is search for the story maker and destroy it. That is the only option available to us. And you and your other friend would be of great use to us. Of course if we destroy the story maker," he continued, his eyes boring straight into Ahiru's wide blue ones, "that would mean you will have to turn back into a duck again."

Ahiru's eyes widened even more. "I-" she stared at him. Then she relaxed. "We will help you. But on one condition." The corners of the old man's mouth turned upwards.

After she had come out of the used bookstore, Ahiru looked back dolefully at the old used bookstore she had just come out of. I can't believe it. But at least they promised not to ever bother Fakir again in exchange for our help. The old man wanted us to try and fight against the story. He seemed to want it very much. But I…

---

"Aotoa!" Fakir clamped his hand to his mouth and took a step backwards. A gruesome sight lay before him: the body of Aotoa lying in a dark drying pool of blood. His glasses had fallen to the side and shattered. Aotoa's right hand gripped the handle of a blood-spattered knife. Not wanting to see any more, Fakir ran out of the library.

"Fakir!"

Fakir looked towards the voice of Ahiru, who was running towards him.

"Fakir?" she said worryingly, stopping in front of him. "Are you alright? You're breathing so hard, and your eyes are really wide."

"Aotoa-" he said in a hoarse voice.

"You saw him?" For a minute, she doubted the words of the old man who had said Aotoa was dead. "Where is he?" She glanced towards the library and would have run into it, but Fakir grabbed her arm.

"Don't go," he panted. "He's dead."

"Huh?! That's what the old man said!"

"Old man?"

"In the used bookstore. I went to see him."

"What?! Did he do anything to you?"

"No, Fakir. I said that we would agree to help them." Ahiru then proceeded to tell Fakir about the story maker that they would have to find, and what the old man had said about Aotoa.

"So he killed himself," Fakir finished. He was still in shock. "How are we supposed to find the story maker? Would it look like the one Drosselmeyer made?"

"I guess we'll have to look. It has to be in this town, right? Aotoa can't bring it back to…can he?" Ahiru didn't know what to call it. Was it a different dimension? Or was it simply the sliver of in-between-time?

Silence from Fakir. He seemed to be lost in thought.

"We should start searching!" said Ahiru, balling her fist in resolve. Concentrating hard, she focused her thoughts upon Princess Tutu's transformation. After she had managed to transform, she looked down at the necklace she wore. "It's not the same," she whispered disappointedly.

It was true that the necklace wasn't the same. The red pieces of jewel that had been held in place by the gold wire frame weren't as red as before. They seemed a little more transparent, and the wings that were fixed onto the lower half of the pendant were a different shape. They looked like butterfly's wings, rather than a dragonfly's; the wings' widths were wider, and the tips were sharp and pinched together.

"Is this the shape of my heart?" wondered Ahiru aloud, bursting Fakir's bubble of thought.

"Why do you need to become Princess Tutu to search?" asked Fakir, cocking his head to one side.

"Because I thought my necklace would help me find it," she muttered.

Fakir shook his head looking frusturated. She's really dumb. Why would her necklace help her find it? It's not part of Mytho's heart anymore, and it doesn't have anything to do with the story.

Someone down the street laughed coldly, making Ahiru and Fakir both look up. "Princess Lucille." Fakir spat.

Stay tuned for the next episode!

Don't worry - I'm not straying off topic. The things I mentioned in the previous part of the story will come into play soon.