.: Doubt Dream Defy :.

.: Flower of Lines Unknown :.

Washes of mauve and pink enveloped the skies; remnants of the night chased away by common light. Scattered clouds of morbid grey lingered in the distance as an acrimonious winter chill settled in the environs. Bitterness gnawed at its company; trees cringed in secret, rabbits burrowed deeper into their homes and birds choked on their song.

Tired eyes which had tended to a little duck for quite some time shifted slowly from the sleeping form to the windows. The curtains, slightly ajar, let rays devoid of warmth flood into the young writer's room. Sunlight pooled in the crevices of the wrinkled quilt; pushed aside to make room for the feathered creature that stirred feebly as she was removed from lap to linen.

The writer shifted from his position bit by bit, taking care not to wake his companion. When, by a long while after he had successfully distanced himself from the bed, he concentrated not on aches that gripped at his frame. It was dawn; too soon.

Fakir drew the curtains aside; the thin glass behind it was covered in morning frost. Absent-mindedly, the young man brought a finger to the smooth surface and began tracing a pattern; it took the form of a duck. Liberated musings diminished as realisation swamped the conscious mind; the lines were quickly wiped clear.

Aware of the mistake made, Fakir let out a heavy sigh and opened the window. Caught unawares, he gasped at the chilly air that smacked him squarely in the face, stinging his eyes and invading his lungs. He stood there, unmoving; waiting patiently for the sun to rise.

A draught advanced unto the room. Unsolicited iciness tickled at Fakir's nose and throat prompting him to sneeze fairly loudly, waking Ahiru in the process.

"Quack, quack, quack…"

Ahiru's signature quacks seized Fakir's attention almost immediately; he turned just in time to see a yellow tail disappear into the depths of the white quilt.

Normally, the young man would return to his gazing, seemingly oblivious to Ahiru's discontent. Today, however, he chose to punish the little duck for her follies of the previous night or rather, share the experience of a tranquil moment with her.

Striding to the bed, Fakir lifted the quilt with one hand and swiftly reached for Ahiru with the other. Surprised by the second rude awakening, Ahiru flailed her wings vehemently at the writer. Her erratic behaviour hindered Fakir's ability to keep a firm hold on her and, within seconds, she was back on the bed again.

Slightly shaken and quite displeased, Ahiru quacked furiously, chastising Fakir as best she could despite the fact that she was still, just a duck. Her aggravation clouded her sense of direction; clumsy as she was, she tripped over her own feet and rolled off the side of the bed.

All the while, Fakir who had been expressionless up until now, dived for the little duck.

"Quuuaaa…"

A pair of hands moved under Ahiru.

When the anticipated encounter with the hard floor was not met, Ahiru opened one eye slowly, then the other. Instead of seeing a crushed beak between her and the wooden floor, she found herself staring into the emerald orbs once more. A flicker of emotions unknown passed between the two as a heavy silence settled amongst their surrounds.

Rising from his kneeling position, Fakir retreated to the window, bringing his dear companion with him. Still holding her firmly in his hands, he brought her up onto the window sill.

From the height of their home, Ahiru could see very clearly the beauty of the heavens and the rising sun. It was almost like a painting, if not more exquisite. Perhaps awe would have been the only word apt to depict the little duck's reaction. A smile came to her beak; a genuine one; a long-awaited one.

Fakir observed Ahiru and smiled a rare smile too.

The pair stood watching the sunrise together.

'This was what I wanted to show you…'

The thought was left unspoken.


Unpredictable weather conditioned the couple to remain indoors. Fakir, deep in thought, was drafting the beginnings of a new story, whilst Ahiru pecked restlessly at the very little birdseed left in her bowl. The silence between them was almost unbearable.

"QUACK!"

"WHAT!" Fakir yelled out; unaware that Ahiru had jumped onto his desk.

Startled, Ahiru fell backwards and knocked over the inkbottle that was being used. Black ink inundated the working surface; Fakir's latest draft spoiled in the process.

"AHIRU! How many times have I told you! DO NOT DISTURB ME WHENEVER I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING!" Fakir roared.

Ahiru froze. "Qua… Qua…" she stuttered quietly, before silencing herself and looking down at her feet.

A rush of guilt overwhelmed the writer.

"Ahiru… I'm, I'm sorry," Fakir said hesitantly, despite his efforts to sound like his usual self.

Ahiru looked up at the young man. The impression of a faint smile formed on her beak, "Quack."

Fakir returned the smile with softened facial features. "Perhaps…" he began again, "after this mess is cleared up, we could… we could take a walk… outside."

Cerulean eyes lit up at the suggestion. Very rarely did Fakir suggest leaving the house; the task was often left to Ahiru to persuade him to accompany her for walks in town or to the lake. The little duck concurred, nodding her head vigorously.

When the mess was cleared, Fakir put on his coat and followed Ahiru's lead out the door.

Once on the streets, a chilly breeze whirled around the couple. Ahiru, preferring to walk for the time being, waddled a few steps in front of Fakir. Together, they wandered aimlessly past shops and cafés; mostly empty.

Regrettably, their leisurely stroll was cut short. Grey clouds moved quickly into view; within minutes rain started to fall. The duo hurried their steps; rounding a corner and seeking shelter under a portico in front of a small but modest looking coffee shop. Ahiru fluffed her feathers whilst Fakir brushed off the droplets that were caught on his coat; neither noticing a young lady stepping out of the shop.

"Hello."

The couple turned, they were greeted by the young lady, whose long brown locks were swirled into a bun pinned high on her head. Her honey-brown eyes smiled warmly at them.

"It's a little nippy for you to be standing out here. How about a table for two?" she asked politely.

"Quack," Ahiru answered.

Fakir looked at the duck and nodded his agreement, somewhat doubtful of his decision.

The young lady showed them inside to a table nearby, "My name is Fidēs and welcome to my café: Vergissmeinnicht Café."

Fakir and Ahiru looked around. It was a cosy shop, quite elegantly furnished. The walls were ruby in colour with gold lanterns positioned evenly around the room. Tables were evenly spaced; each decorated with a white vase holding a posy of blue, pink and white flowers.

When the couple were seated, Fidēs proceeded to ask for their order.

"Coffee…"

"Quack, quack…"

"…and a hot chocolate, thanks," Fakir filled in for Ahiru.

"Very well," Fidēs said as she wrote in her notepad and moved off to get the drinks ready. "It won't take long," she smiled.

When Fidēs was gone Ahiru quacked her opinion of the young shop owner.

"You like her?" her companion guessed.

Ahiru nodded, expecting Fakir to agree. He didn't.

A few minutes elapsed as the duo waited for Fidēs 's return. Ahiru began to poke at the flowers with her beak. The flowers emitted a sweet fragrance that tickled Ahiru's senses and prompted her to sneeze.

Fidēs returned, beaming, "They're beautiful aren't they?"

She placed the coffee and hot chocolate on the table as well as a plate of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

"But we didn't…"

"Compliments from the café as my first customers," Fidēs interrupted.

"Quack!" thanked Ahiru as she started on one of the cookies herself.

Fidēs smiled, glad that the young man's friend was content with her baking. She saw, however, that Fakir was not all that keen to try them himself and stayed with sipping at his coffee.

"They're beautiful aren't they?" Fidēs repeated.

"What flowers are they?" Fakir asked, gesturing the young lady to sit, out of courtesy rather than want of company.

"Vergissmeinnicht, Forget-me-nots," Fidēs replied, sitting herself down, gazing at the posy and touching the petals of a pale blue bloom. "I named the café after them."

"Quack?" Ahiru started curiously, mouth still full of cookie crumbs.

"She means 'why?'" Fakir translated.

The girl's smile turned slightly melancholic. She was a lot younger than Fakir had first thought; perhaps only a year or two age difference between them, nothing more. She took the flower in her hand and looked intently at it.

"We were childhood friends and our dream was to open a little cafe of our own," she began slowly. "But one day he told me that he had to leave, he never told me why, the only promise was that he would return. I promised I would wait. We promised each other so much then," she said with a smile. "When we said our farewells, I gave him my locket. He had nothing to offer me, except a Vergissmeinnicht."

"Where is he now?" Fakir asked, despite his usual practice of keeping his questions to himself.

"I don't know, it's been three years," Fidēs replied sadly, "I haven't given up. I know he'll return one day. That's why I named this café 'Vergissmeinnicht,' so that he'll be able to find me when he does."

There was a slight pause.

"But enough about me, I don't even know your names yet."

"I'm Fakir and this is Ahiru."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Fakir and Ahiru," the young lady said returning to her former self again. "But I had better leave you two in peace. I think you've heard enough from me today," she smiled.

Fakir nodded his thanks and finished his coffee, Ahiru doing the same with her hot chocolate.

It had stopped raining. The two stood, said their goodbyes and were about to leave when Fidēs called after them.

"If you ever have time, stop by here more often," Fidēs said with a smile.

Fakir and Ahiru nodded, waving goodbye as they moved onto the streets once more.


The afternoon was spent quietly at home again, in front of a small fire burning in the fireplace. Ahiru sat on the rug and Fakir settled in his comfy armchair.

Night matured early. Ahiru was fast asleep by the time the stars were visible to the naked eye. Fakir watched her as he normally did.

Peaceful silence shattered when the sound of banging windows was heard; powerful winds and heavy rain pushed at the glass, intruding gusts disturbed the flames, distorting the shadows on the wall. However, instead of attending to the violence of the weather, Fakir's attention was ensnared by the appearance of the same raven he'd seen the night before. Its horrid form was perched on the mantelpiece. How it had come to be there was beyond any speculation Fakir could have conjured.

The crimson orbs bored into emerald ones. A chill ran down Fakir's spine, unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

There was a message the raven intended on delivering; Fakir knew not what.

Suddenly the bird took flight, out of the window and without thinking the writer followed it. Street-lamps lit his way as he ran. He followed the shadow, unsure where it would lead. The bird moved at incredible speeds, Fakir never really being able to see its actual form, though it seemingly waited for his presence before moving on.

Suspicious, Fakir pursued his chase after the bird. When finally the bird had eluded his sight, he found himself standing in front of the clock-tower. Memories of his nightmare flooded his thoughts; blood, parchment and clock. A peculiar feeling engulfed his better judgement and he forced open the heavy door. He proceeded up the winding staircase which would lead to the clinking, clattering gears of the timepiece. Every step he took furthered the anxiety concealed in the back of his mind.

Upon reaching the top, the raven which Fakir had thought had disappeared, swooped at his head. He ducked too late and the talons of the horrid bird grazed the side of his head, drawing blood. His hand moved to feel the wound; the writer flinching to some degree when his fingers touched the newly exposed flesh.

"What is it that you want from me?" Fakir yelled at the bird, his voice bouncing off the walls.

The raven merely narrowed its crimson-coloured eyes and pointed its beak in the direction of the west wall. The message was clear.

Fakir moved to the wall. Kneeling, he shifted closer to the worn surface so that his face was only inches from it. His hands coursed over it, feeling for something he doubted even existed. The raven observed his every move.

Minutes elapsed but still no find. He was about to give up when, by accident, he felt an unusual waxy texture beneath his fingers. He grabbed a broken piece of wood he'd found lying on the floor and began to scrape at it. The dried wax peeled away; a thin sheet dropped to the floor.

The thin sheet in hand, Fakir unfolded it. A mixture of dread and uncertainty pulsed through his veins.

On the parchment were maroon stains; blood which had dried from passing time. There was no title, no date, no name, only a few lines of writing. The emerald eyes scanned the calligraphic words:

Once upon a time... thus began again.
The sky that sparkled sprinkled not the rain;
Whilst full moon graced fields and forms - alone.
A wonder on the wave, water became bone;
Rage, did the winds, as spoken snow lay coy.
Silent tears fell - she - bereft of joy.

The shock of 'never' ripped through his being;
"How could she haunt my hours of waking?
It tears at my heart and gnaws at my soul.
Yet, as I observe my sphincteral flow,
Crossing vales of my own ignorance,
I've grown to savour her lingering glance."

Through hatred by love, and love thus defined.
When, by time his words were known; tell, he tried...
But - gods have no pity - who would have thought,
Lost was the chance and destiny would wrought,
Upon his unyielding path once more, of
Violent thrashings in the throes of death - hereof.

With furrowed brow, borrowed time, peril vied,
And unleashed upon the world - blood dimmed tide.
He, plagued by the lowly sense of failure,
Which masked the answer and hid the cure,
Deduced it clear of how he must be,
"The gods hath chosen; they hath chosen me."

"Should it be that sacrifice breaks the curse,
Think of it not with sorrow, woe or worse."

"This I do, not for myself but for you..."

The hand unconsciously crumpled up the parchment, yellowed from age. It was undeniably a beginning; lines unfinished.

Fakir turned to the raven again but it had disappeared; only a few black feathers graced the floor. Recalling that he had left Ahiru alone, he hurried down the stairs and onto the streets. The parchment was stuffed rather roughly into his pocket.

The young man who was soaked to the bone dashed past corners, oblivious to the stares of the townspeople under umbrellas and porticos. The discovery of lines by an unknown author did not comfort the thoughts racing though his mind. He was fearful of many things, but the worse being the threat of Ahiru's safety.

His heart was racing but his composure was still somewhat intact.

When he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Only meters away from the front door of their home laid Ahiru, not in the form of a duck but a girl. She was naked and lifeless.

Fakir swallowed the lump in his throat and ran to her, removing his coat and covering her frame with it as best as he could. He brought her into his arms, tears stinging his eyes.

"A… Ahiru!" Fakir stuttered overcome with urgency.

It was a momentary pause but for the terrified young man, it was comparable to eternity. He brought his arms tighter around Ahiru, his dark hair mingled with her own of bright orange. He leaned closer to her, whispering her name and choking on his fear.

"Ahiru!" Fakir cried out.

Suddenly he heard a cough. He loosened his grip a little, "Ahiru! Ahiru! You're alright!"

Her cerulean eyes met his own. He closed the distance between their bodies as he hugged her tightly, blinking back the tears.

The exhausted girl found herself in the embrace of the young man. Devoid of strength and unable to raise her voice, Ahiru moved her lips closer to Fakir's ear and whispered faintly, "I'm sorry. I only wanted to look for you…"


I hope that this chapter is not too badly written.

Special thanks to: anyone who has taken an interest in this story. The encouragement to continue this has been exquisite. So I apologise for the delay in updates.

Also Special thanks to reviewers: chao-chan101; Madelyn xD; ExoticLittleFlower411; Cassandra Mortilla; izumi-chan; Manda-chan; iNUYASHAS-onlylover-KAGoME; Dreamgirllogan; pookie-poo and Rashaka. (Your support has been unbelievable!)


Disclaimer: I've never had the honour of calling Princess Tutu, "Mine!" On the contrary, my younger sister prefers to believe it's hers… even when it's not!