On a warm spring day, the duckling was hatched. It was obvious to everyone around her that she was different from the very start. All of her brothers and sisters were a lovely, golden shade of yellow that bespoke of sunshine, with soft fluffy down. The ugly duckling, on the other hand, was a dull grey, and her black beak and feet made her look even more dingy. Her mother was cold towards her, a fact that her siblings picked up on early in their young lives. They would frequently shun her, purposely leaving her out of their games, or calling her names and ignoring her when she spoke.
The ugly duckling didn't understand why she was being treated this way. She simply longed for a companion. And so, every day, she would wander along the banks of her pond home, hoping that a new friend would appear for her to play with.
One day, her mother tired of her, and chased her away from their farm home. In despair, she ran for a long time, until darkness fell and she was completely lost. She tried desperately to find her way back home, but to no avail. Eventually, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, she collapsed onto the ground in despair and cried.
As she sobbed, she heard the sounds of some ducks nearby. Sniffling, she rallied herself and moved towards the noise, hoping that her family had come back for her after all.
What she found, however, wasn't her family, but a flock of wild ducks settling in for the evening. The ugly duckling, afraid to approach them, bedded down for the night far enough away from the flock that they wouldn't notice her, but close enough that she felt some comfort from being near others. She eventually fell asleep, but spent the night resting fitfully.
In the morning, she decided to approach the other ducks. Slowly, timidly, she made her way over to where they were floating in the pond. Most of the ducks ignored her, although a few gave her disapproving glances and whispered among themselves. Nevertheless, she was allowed to settle on the pond a short distance from the group.
Thereafter, she spent her days on the fringe of the flock, generally ignored by the other birds, but vaguely tolerated nonetheless. But eventually, a small group of the adolescent ducks decided to take notice of her, and began to make comments about her appearance. They would loudly remark that such an ugly duckling had no right to be in their flock, and that she should just leave. This quickly escalated into more direct contact with her, and several times she was cornered by the other ducklings, who would yell at her and beat her with their wings. The abuse grew so bad that the duckling decided it was time to move on. Besides, winter was fast approaching, and it would do her no good if she was chased out of this flock in the middle of winter, like her mother had chased her away.
Resolute, she set off to find a quiet place where she could spend the winter by herself in peace. But every pond she came upon was already occupied by a flock of birds, and she didn't dare to try approaching any of them. Before she knew it, winter had set in, and yet she still roamed, hoping to find a safe haven.
During one particularly bad snowstorm, when the duckling had been unable to find any food for quite some time, she collapsed in the snow. When she awoke, she was inside of a small house, wrapped up in a blanket next to a fire. Startled, she looked around, and noticed that there was an old woman seated in a rocking chair next to the fire, nodding off to sleep. In her lap sat an orange tabby cat, who glared down at her from his perch. Quickly, the duckling looked away, but she still felt his eyes boring into her.
The old woman proved to be very kind. She had found the duckling when she had been outside looking for food, and had brought her back to the little house. Slowly, the duckling was nursed back to health, and although she basked in the attention of the old woman, the cat was always there in the shadows, watching. The duckling had come to recognize the look of hatred from others, and knew that one day she would have to deal with the hatred of the cat.
That day came as soon as she was fully healed and walking around again. The cat waited until the old woman had gone to bed in the evening before he cornered the ugly duckling and threatened to eat her if she did not leave and stop putting a strain on the old woman. Although she was sorry to leave such a warm home, the duckling was grieved at the thought that she might have caused the old woman hardship, and scared to keep staying with the clearly hostile tabby cat. Reluctantly, she agreed to leave, and trudged back out into the cold of winter.
She wandered aimlessly after that, eventually getting lucky and finding a cave on the edge of an uninhabited pond. There she waited out the winter in solitude, telling herself that it was better if such an ugly duckling as herself was alone.
Then one day she heard the familiar sound of bird calls out on her pond. Exiting the cave cautiously to investigate, she was startled to notice that the air outside was tinged with warmth, and the smell of budding flowers hung in the air. Without her even noticing, spring had come again. She peeked out onto the pond and saw that the bird calls had come from a flock of beautiful white birds. This must be their pond that they were returning to after the winter.
Despair overtook the ugly duckling. She couldn't face the prospect of giving up her home yet again. She looked again at the beautiful birds, and decided that she would approach them. They might allow her to stay on the pond with them, ugly though she was. Or they might kill her for being so distastefully malformed. Resigned, she walked to the edge of the water, gathered her courage, and stepped in.
As she entered, the water rose around her in rivets, streaming upwards to engulf her form until she was encased in an orb of water. Inside, she felt her body change, elongate, and grow. She was set back down gently at the edge of the pond, and the water fell away from her in cascades. Perplexed, she looked down at her reflection in the pond, and gasped.
She had long, gangly legs, and her wings had been traded for arms. Her feathers had fallen away, leaving her skin bare, except for a patch of fiery orange on the top of her head. She looked, in fact, not unlike the old woman and the farmer on the farm where she had been hatched.
She was human.
Fakir extracted himself from the story. The task was easier this time, since he hadn't been directly involved in it as a character. When he had recovered himself fully, he turned around, looking for the spot on the floor where he had left Ahiru.
She looked up at him, and quacked.
His heart sank. So this attempt hadn't worked either. Shoving down his disappointment, he smiled at Ahiru and bent forward to pick her up, depositing her in his lap. Leaning his head back against his chair, he sighed. He had thought that perhaps his involvement in the story had been what had gone wrong last time, but that didn't appear to be the case. Ahiru had been essentially the only character in the story, and her transformation still hadn't stuck when she returned to the real world. Honestly, Fakir was a little relieved. He had been very anxious sending her into a story alone, and since that hadn't worked, it meant he was free to accompany her next time. Although he wasn't a knight anymore, the insatiable need to protect Ahiru reminded himself why he had been cast into the role in the first place. It was similar to the need he had felt to protect Mytho, but deeper, more tangible.
At first that need had confused him. He hadn't understood why he would feel such a deep desire to protect one particular girl, especially such an annoying and nosy girl. Eventually, he had come to understand why as his feelings for Ahiru had developed, until he had realized shortly before their final battle with the raven that he was hopelessly in love with her.
The realization did him no good, though. He knew that she still loved Mytho. The reminder was there every time she became Princess Tutu, a physical manifestation of her love for another man. Fakir had steadfastly sealed his love away in his heart, and focused on the battle before them, until the day he had sent Mytho and Rue back into their story. And every day since then, he had sealed his feelings under a new lock, in the name of turning Ahiru back into a human. Even after he managed to do that, he probably wouldn't say anything, though. After all, it wasn't as if her feelings for Mytho were going to evaporate. She had been willing to die for the prince, willing to turn human and back for him. There was no way she would ever have feelings for Fakir, and he knew it. Still, he couldn't help but love her fiercely, a love that drove him to frantically search for a way to make her human again
His thoughts were interrupted by a small quack from his lap. Looking down at Ahiru, he smiled and said, "I'm sorry it didn't work this time, either. I thought if I sent you into the story by yourself the transformation would stick. But it looks like that wasn't the problem, so I'll be going with you again next time. You know, just to keep an eye on you." He looked away from her, hoping she wouldn't sense the desperate feelings behind his declaration.
Softly, she butted her head against his arm, and he looked back down at her, feeling himself smile against his will. "We'll try again really soon," he murmured.