The weather is getting warmer and sunnier - great for sitting outside. Ahiru admires the neat line of the flying geese for another moment before turning her eyes at her name. Fakir is staring at his lunch.

"Have you thought about what you want to do when you graduate?"

Huh?

To be honest, Ahiru hasn't given much thought to anything other than stumbling through another day as a human girl - parentless, supposedly from an orphanage, nothing remarkable, but somehow gets a scholarship and an attic to stay at the local art school.

That question has caught her in surprise.

"I don't know." She tries to think, "...maybe I can teach, like, children?" She is good with children, and she would probably be good enough to teach novices in a few years, no? Mr Neko actually commended her style (not her technique, by no means) this morning, something about eco..evoc..emotive, that's the word.

"What does Fakir have in mind?" Fakir is in his last year already. He is the star student of Kinkan Academy, probably already received invitations from several dance companies in the region.

She tries not to think what school will be like when Fakir graduates.

But he replies with a question, "have you noticed students dropping out recently?" Oh. Yeah, she bobs her head. Something about the whispers of a war, and people moving further to the West, even out of the country, Lilie mentioned.

"Raetsel wrote to me; she performs in Lausanne now, do you know?" He glances at her. Oh? She didn't know the couple moved; she assumed they went to Hans' family in Bayreuth.

"Anyway, she knows the ballet company there has openings. I might have a chance to get in…they also allow dancers to develop their own projects, script-writing and choreography and stuff. I kind of want to try my hands in more things, you know…since…hmm…" Fakir is starting to ramble, so Ahiru tells him it sounds great, and that she is sure they will be happy to have him.

Fakir thinks so. He talks about interviews and the war and transports, drumming his fingers on his lunch box.

"So," he clears his throat, that gets her attention. "If I go…will you come with me?"

She is happy to go with him. In fact, it sounds very exciting! But Ahiru is also a little worried. She is no polyglot, unless you count duck speech. Maybe Fakir can write her into speaking French fluently? Anyway, she can learn. For a moment she was at a loss what to do, if Fakir would simply move abroad. But now that she thinks of it, it seems unlikely he will go without her. He did promise he will always stay by her side, and Fakir keeps his promises.


Hermia invites them to her wedding to Lysander. The donkey costume sits in the middle of the front hall. "I haven't found anyone to carry on my mission," she sighs, and then turns hopeful eyes to Ahiru, "or maybe Ahiru would…?"

Fakir hates to disappoint Hermia's hope, "Ahiru is leaving next year too."

They catch up with Hermia and listen to Lysander wax poems about love and joy and the beauty of life.

The wedding proceeds beautifully, and the guests cannot but get a bit emotional at the end of the night, stuffed with food, tipsy with wine, before the lovely couple dances a last dance, swaying in the dancing firelight and warm summer breeze.

"Do you think Rue and Mytho had donkeys attending their wedding? They do live in a fairytale, after all," Ahiru giggles against his shoulder, entertained by her own whimsies. "I hope they prepared good bird food; I mean, I would. Ducks must attend. And pigeons. And swans." She goes onto a list of her avian friends, whom she may or may not have been feeding every morning.

"Do you think we will ever see them again?" He asks the cowlick sticking up on her head. Ahiru stays quiet; he looks down at her.

She shakes her head.

They watch the fire die down and the guests leave. Fakir is reminded of another night, when Prince Siegfried and Princess Odette dance a pas de deux, for Miss Edel, for him.

"I miss him, Ahiru," he breathes.

She looks at him then and must have noticed the wetness in his eyes. "Oh Fakir," he himself be drawn into a hug, "I know. So do I."

Her frizzy hair tickles his chin, and he complains about it. "I like hugging you better when you are a duck", he tells her, "it's fluffier". She laughs.


The school year is drawing to an end. There are fewer letters for Fakir now, with more and more students leaving, and indeed, many finding their 'other halves' upon graduation, some even eloping to escape the approaching war together. Lilie left with her family last term, and Pique is also transferring to another school. Ahiru cannot help but become a bit sad at parting ways with both her friends so soon.

She might not see them again.

But currently Pique is eyeing the bundle of letters Ahiru carrying to Fakir's. Her friend winks, "Ahiru! Should I throw in mine? This seems like the last chance before I leave."

It seems so, and Ahiru knows Pique has admired Fakir since forever. Does she want to write one now? She doesn't have to go in a while yet.

Pique only raises her eyebrows, "...you think Fakir will reciprocate?"

Ahiru has to shake her head. Pique only laughs brightly and makes a funny face. "I will pass. Go, Ahiru!"

They have been invited to so many parties and weddings it's becoming a bit numbing now, even through the emotional rollercoaster from congratulating their elated townspeople to the sadness of saying more and more goodbyes.

Autor still manages to outdo everyone: he announces he is moving across the ocean to marry his one true love, despite his family's protest. Autor only met the person once, but they fell in love through correspondence, he says; they are soulmates, their hearts and minds are one, and together they will create the greatest written work of their generation.

Paddling around the lake with other ducks in the last heat of summer, Ahiru imagines leaving everyone she knows, to spend the rest of her life with a person. She tries to picture such a person, but draws blank. It sounds too dramatic, even though Ahiru doesn't have that many people (or birds) in her short life. But, thinking about it, that's what Rue's done, no?

She tries to imagine herself in Rue's shoes, marrying Mytho and leaving to live in his fairytale. It's not that she doesn't love Mytho, Princess Tutu would sacrifice herself for him without hesitation; she longs to be with him, to comfort him, and to protect him. But…she hasn't given much thought to…marrying him.

She thinks of Fakir. If he decides on one of the love letter girls (or boys), Fakir bringing both of them to Lausanne sounds a weird idea. Or her following Fakir and someone around the house during the weekend. Or her waiting both of them to make dinner in the kitchen on Friday night.

Actually, it just sounds weird that Fakir will take someone into his life like that.

"Have you thought of marrying someone?"

"...yes?" Fakir looks at her from the corner of his eye.

"I mean…not the wedding and stuff, but like, living with all the time, spending the rest of the life with, someone?" she scowls at her own paltry explanation, but she was a duck only two years ago, so she's not too harsh on herself. Maybe she should have listened more to Mr Cat's out-of-class lectures. Mr Neko and other teachers say nothing on these things.

She pulls her braid a bit, but widens her eyes in a clever thought, "...Mytho? You thought of being with Mytho forever, right? You have, I know you have."

When no forthright answer comes, she looks at Fakir. He is quite pink now. He is not looking at his book anymore, but not looking at her either. He huffs and turns his head away, "yeah," and after a beat, "have you not?"

"Hmmm, actually, not that much." She scratches her head, trying to explain to Fakir her earlier comparison of Princess Tutu and Rue, "and, I mean, ducks don't really marry each other? Not that I know a lot about that, I was a duckling. I was, well actually, I don't know how old I was before Drosselmeyer transformed me."

Fakir puts his chin in his hand, then hesitates, but finally settles on, "every relationship is unique. Don't worry yourself." and pats her on the head like when she's a duck.


When Fakir calms down enough to consider Ahiru's questions again, she has gone back to going through ballet positions in his living room.

"Actually, Ahiru, you can tell me when you think of marrying someone?" She bobs her head at him. "Or kissing someone, for that matter."

Ahiru blinks, like it's the first time the idea occurs to her. Well, maybe that is not too far from the truth; it's not like duck bills can do that. Fakir keeps forgetting the human-girl thing is actually quite new to her.

Some of his amusement must have shown, because Ahiru narrows her eyes at him.

"Have you ever kissed someone…Mytho?"

He coughs. Maybe he shouldn't have let her help around the house he (and Mytho) grew up in so much. She knows too much about him now, and is definitely using it to embarrass him at this moment. And she keeps using them as the reference points of human relations. It's a bit awkward. And funny. Especially considering his (past) object(s) of affection, and well, hers…

"...no." Not on the mouth, anyway.

"Sure," she gives him a suspicious look, but drops the matter, satisfied with her revenge.


The bookstore owner drums his fingers on the counter. Fakir has come to visit one last time, entrusting all the stories of Kinkan to him.

"The duck-girl is going with you?" The old man gruffs, and upon receiving Fakir's affirmation, commends their choice, "It's good that you don't need to mess with the town's story anymore on her behalf. Not that I am ungrateful to Princess Tutu, but you know what risks that power of yours involves."

The young writer is still unsure how his power works. Drosselmeyer left very little written on it, although judging by the extent of his manipulation, he was quite the master.

They agree that his power is tied to the Oak Tree, but that's about the only thing they are certain of. Doubts come to the young man; will his power wane and Ahiru turn back into a duck when they leave too far, too long?

The old man scoffs, "Rue gives her place in this world to her. What you need to worry about is not being able to turn her back to a duck, not the other way around." His power to influence reality, however, might wane. But that isn't necessarily bad news to either of them.

"You can write if you ever need to talk about it. What happened. Or your cursed ancestor. I am the only old one that remembers," he offers eventually, the young man has the audacity to act surprised. "It's hard to bear the past alone. What with that ungrateful brat chasing some stranger halfway across the world. You are much more sensible. I will come to the wedding if it's in town."

He has to pull down his dark hood to roll his eyes properly at his visitor when he blushes and stutters some nonsense about him and the duck-girl not being something. The old man has little patience for these youngsters and shoos him out in annoyance. Wait until the old man is dead to ask. No need to invite him. Brats.