Once upon a time, there was a man who died. He had been writing a story; his death left incomplete. Since then, stories and reality intermingled in the town and made it a world where the fantastical was no longer fantastical. The people were controlled by a story and were powerless to break free.
But the narrative had an unexpected happy ending brought on by a knight and a duck. The man who died wasn't pleased with the outcome of the last tale and began to spin another story, pulling the duck and the knight into it. Once again, stories and reality mixed together.
...
"Ah, madam, that ring is quite lovely." A man stopped before a white goose who sat with a parasol on the bench, the large red stone on the tip of her wing sparkling in the sunlight. The warm rays slipped through the canopy of leaves to create an intricate pattern of shadows on the ground. A gentle breeze stirred the blades of grass and scattered dandelion seeds throughout the air. The day was bright and cloudy. Despite the heat and humidity, the man wore a heavy black cloak with the hood pulled over his face. Only his mouth was visible.
"Why thank you, kind sir!"
"If you would allow me to, may I please have it?" The man presented a bulging bag of money. "I would like to buy it from you."
The goose blinked, her eyes widening when he opened the bag to show the money. The gold coins glittered. Her mouth dropped open. Inadvertently, she leaned closer. Oh, there were so many of them! All that money for a single ring she'd found on her doorstep. She slipped it off and dropped it in the man's palm despite the nagging voice in the back of her head that begged her not to. His fingers closed around it like a claw snapping shut. He turned around and walked away without another word.
She watched him leave while stroking her beak. Why did he pay so much for a mere ring? The goose figured it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She opened the bag to count her money. But she pulled out the coins, their sheen dimmed and color darkened. The goose who once had a lovely ring now had no ring and a bag of sleek black feathers.
Drosselmeyer laughed when her satisfied look turned to one of horror. He rocked back and forth while he watched the story unfold from the large gear spinning before him. The goose let out a loud squawk and fluttered away, dropping the bag. A gust of wind came and carried the feathers high into the air. The bright blue sky was dotted with bits of black. Another breeze scattered the crow feathers across town, and they fell down onto the buildings and people. It was no longer a perfect summer day; now the clouds began to darken.
"What a wonderfully wretched fate! A beautifully imperfect character and a horrid end to a lovely day!"
The old man who was supposed to die cackled and rubbed his palms together. White, puffy clouds became black and ominous. Thunder alerted the townspeople of the storm's arrival, followed by a bolt of lightning. White-hot flashes appeared against the dismal gray. The feathers the man in all black had left behind grew into a murder of crows. Cawing, they swept across the sky and infiltrated the little town, landing on rooftops and settling into trees.
"Yes, you hideous little creatures, spread your misery throughout the town, for this is my tragedy, a cataclysm a tears in which no one shall receive a happy ending! Eh, eh, eh." His gleeful voice faded to a strained wheeze. Drosselmeyer heaved over in a coughing fit. "Oh dear, now this won't do. The dead don't get sick."
He snapped his fingers. A larger gear dropped down in front of the first, and a new scene unfolded. In the middle of colorful gardens and pristine evergreen grass stood an impressive building that reached up to the sky. In the highest tower of the academy, isolated from the rest of the building, in a small dusty room, laid a thin girl with bright red hair. She laid on the top bunk of her bed and stared up at the ceiling while clutched a duck pillow. At the window was her only source of light: a small red lamp.
Turning on her side, Ahiru rubbed the gleaming pendant between her fingers. It was as smooth as marble except for the chip near the bottom. Absently, she ran her thumb over it. The stone glowed and heated up, making the girl sit up with a gasp. Then the light faded, and it fell back against her neck, lifeless once more. Ahiru looked around but saw no one. Like always, she was alone in the tiny attic room. Walls met a haphazardly sloping angles, and the ceiling slanted sharply. Cobwebs hanging from the dark corners collected bits of dust and dead black bugs.
"That's right. I'm in the dorm again," Ahiru murmured. She rubbed her eyes. Her back was sore, and her muscles ached. Closing her eyes, the redhead thought back to the nights she had spent at Fakir's house. Fakir's foster father Charon was kind and welcoming. The food served was warm and delicious and gave her a joyous feeling inside. The beds were soft and the blankets were cozy and—
No, Ahiru couldn't ask Fakir if she could sleep over. Not again. After him losing half his heart to turn her into a girl, asking for a place to stay was asking too much. She climbed out of the bunk bed and stretched, her joints popping. Ahiru's unsteady betrayed her and caught on one of the ladder rings, sending her tumbling to the ground. She sighed. "Nothing's changed. I'm still a klutz." The girl fumbled with her white uniform top, which was wrinkled from being left on the ground.
The pitter-patter of the raindrops against the window made her look up. "Oh, it's raining." Frowning, she struggled to put on her jacket. It was stiff and scratchy. Ahiru had grown too used to having feathers. Once more, she felt as though she didn't belong. She shouldn't be wearing the drab gray uniform and attending ballet class. She should be swimming in her pond, hidden behind trees where no one knew of her existence. Ahiru was just a duck. A duck, and nothing more. Once she returned Fakir's heart to him, she would go back to being a bird and stop troubling him.
Someone knocked on the door. Ahiru sighed. She wasn't ready to handle Pique and Lillie. She hadn't talked to her former friends since she'd become a girl, but she figured that was how the story, or 'fan fiction' as Autor had called it, worked. The three were simply friends. There wasn't a good reason behind it.
"Hey, are you ready?" It was Fakir.
Another knock. This one was louder. "Idiot, hurry up."
"Ahhh!" Ahiru dived for her shoe and yanked it on. She hopped around on one foot to search for the other. She tripped and tumbled headfirst into the ground.
Ahiru heard footsteps fading away. "I'm leaving without you. Just don't be late, idiot."
"Waiiittttttttt!" She found her missing shoe and yanked it on. Grabbing her bag, she shoved open the door, nearly hitting Fakir with it. "Gah! I'm sorry!"
His eyebrow twitched while he folded his arms. "It's fine. Now let's go."
"Oh, okay!" She bounced alongside him on their way to the studio, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "Hey, isn't it really early?"
"Early for you. If you want even a chance of moving up a class, you need to start showing up on time." The ballet students were mainly divided into three different categories: beginner, intermediate, and advanced. There was one class, an extension of the advanced class, with only five spaces and composed of especially skilled female ballet dancers.
There was also probation class for the extremely troublesome students. Ahiru had found herself in the probation class too many times due to missing many classes from being late. In contrast, Fakir was devoted to ballet and spent hours practicing, even in the early morning when other students had yet to awaken, and was a well-respected member of the advanced class. With Mytho, the most sought-after boy and star danseur, gone, it was safe to assume to Fakir had filled the role. Their friendship was odd and unexpected; they were quite mismatched, but Ahiru preferred it no other way.
He stopped in front of the large double doors. "Beginner classes are first. I'll be in one of the practice rooms."
"Ah, that's a relief! I'm still not used to being a girl, and everything's changed." The redhead flashed him a bright grin, her blue eyes sparkling. She wrapped her arms around his torso, nuzzling her cheek against his chest. "But I'm really glad you wrote a story about me, Fakir!" Despite her guilt, Ahiru couldn't help but feel an extreme happiness at being a girl again. She hadn't realized how much she missed being human. But there was that thought that worked its way into her mind—she was never meant to be human.
At her embrace, Fakir's lips twitched into a small smile. "Don't be ridiculous," he said as his tanned skin turned slightly red.
Frowning, she looked up at his face. "I'm not being ridiculous. You're just being mean."
The smile widened. Ahiru blinked. Yes, her friend really was smiling. Even when Fakir had all of his heart, he perpetually frowned. To those who didn't know him well, he appeared intimidating and abrasive. His lack of a cheerful disposition tended to scare others away, but the people who grew closer to him were able to see Fakir smile from time to time. Somehow, seeing her friend in a relatively good mood made Ahiru happy.
A sharp pain at the back of her head made her look up. Fakir tugged on her braid. "Now go, moron, or you'll be late."
Pouting, Ahiru released him. What a jerk. He just had to go ruin everything, didn't he? When they turned the corner, a flash of red caught her eye, making her head snap to the side. Gasping, she checked her pendant to see that it was indeed glowing. Ahiru paused for a closer look. The red faded—the heart shard was moving farther away. Oh no! She had to catch up with the it before she lost it. Fakir needed all the pieces of his heart back as soon as possible.
"Bye, Fakir! I'll see you later!" she shouted, waving goodbye while she dashed down the hall.
"H-Hey, where are you going?"
"I'm getting your heart shards back!"
"Moron! Just don't be late."
Ahiru giggled. That was nearly impossible for her. The diminutive girl had a natural inclination for tardiness. Missing a lot of class time was one of the reasons why she was a terrible dancer. No doubt would she be put into probation again in her very first week. But even if Ahiru was not adept in dancing, she could surely do something to help her friends! She nodded and balled her hands into fists. Yes, she would find the rest of Fakir's heart shards and help Autor find happiness. Without his heart, Fakir would never be truly happy. And Autor, well, while the boy hid behind books and knowledge, Ahiru thought that he always seemed so sad. She wanted to help him too if possible.
The girl crashed into something hard and moving. She gasped when she and the mysterious thing both tumbled to the ground. Her elbow dug into soft fur while her chin smacked into the hard tile floor. A strained meow echoed throughout the school. Ahiru looked up. Her blue eyes widened upon seeing Mr. Cat, her former anthropomorphic ballet instructor who had an obsession with love. When Drosselmeyer's story had ended, he had become a regular cat with a litter of kittens and white cat as a wife. The feline's tail flicked back and forth like a metronome. His return further indicated that Drosselmeyer was beginning to stir up trouble. For the duration of the writer's stories, animals had walked the halls like people while no one batted an eye.
"Running through the halls is not tolerated!" the feline screeched. "If I wasn't already married, as punishment, I would have you marry—" Ahiru scrambled to her feet and lept away from the animal. She ran in the other directon as quickly as her legs could carry her. The teacher, meowing loudly, began to furiously groom himself by licking one leg. She looked around only to find that the red light had faded. There was no way she could find the heart shard. It was just her luck to run into Mr. Cat again. Sighing, Ahiru trudged to ballet class. There was no point in searching now.
A gust of wind made her head snap up. The whirl of papers lazily spun in circles before they landed at her feet. Biting her lip, the girl picked them up and smoothed them out. The edges were rough; the papers had been torn from a book. Looping cursive in blood-red ink filled the yellowed pages.
Once upon a time, there were characters controlled by a script that was not of their own. Two lovers in a quarrel, two shepherds in a dangerous game of make-believe. The shepherds reenacted a story in which two friends, consumed by greed and hatred, became enemies and eventually killed each other. They were characters playing other characters in a play within a play. Ultimately, they were powerless to escape from the story, a tale in which close relationships were driven to ruin.1
Her eyes widened as her breaths grew ragged and harsh. Ahiru's trembling hands clapped over her mouth to stifle a scream. Regaining her composure, she tightened her grip on the papers. When she flipped through the pages, a lone feather, sleek and glossy and black, slipped out. She flinched as though it had burned her. "What is this?" she gasped and looked around the hall, only to catch a glimpse of a murder of crows taking off from the school roof outside the window.
The redhead shoved the papers into her bag and ran to the practice rooms. She ducked her head into each of them and only found the rooms empty. She groaned, wishing she'd asked Fakir which room he'd be in earlier. After finding yet another room empty, Ahiru rested her head against the door. Stupid. Why hadn't she bothered? She needed him, and now, the knight was nowhere to be found. She really was an idiot. Ahiru never thought anything through—
"Hey, what are you doing here?" Ahiru turned around just when Fakir shut the door behind him to the one room she had yet to check. If she had just opened it earlier, she would've found her friend. Why did she waste time moping? Geez, she must be a handful for him to put up with.
His malachite eyes bore into Ahiru. Suddenly, she couldn't speak for the words refused to leave her mouth. "I-I..."
"What is it?" He folded his arms. "You better have a good reason for being here."
Ahiru all but flung the papers at him, earning herself an annoyed look. Upon seeing the pages, his expression changed to one of surprise: mouth falling open, eyebrows shooting up. "This is like from before..."
"B-Before? What do you mean?" she spluttered. Fakir hadn't told her anything. She felt a twinge of hurt and anger at his secrecy. Her hands curled into fists. Ahiru was embroiled in this mess as much as he was; he had no right to be keeping things hidden!
"Before I turned you back, Autor found music sheets for Swan Lake, but all the notes were in red ink."
"Swan Lake?"
"It's a ballet that was written... Never mind."
In 1875. Somehow, despite not being cognizant of the ballet, Ahiru knew the answer. She frowned. The date sounded so unfamiliar, the way an unprecedented year might. Was the ballet really from the future? The girl tried to recall the current year, but her mind remained blank. What was the date? Had the gears of time in the town remained motionless, suspended in the depths of nothingness, because of Drosselmeyer's stories? Or was it that she hadn't noticed simply because she was a duck? Ahiru wanted to ask Fakir, but she didn't press him. Instead, she told him about the heart shard and how she found the story.
"Don't waste time on trifles, idiot. You should've searched later."
"B-But you need your heart back as soon as possible."
"I can manage without all of it. Don't trouble yourself too much."
"Ugh, you're always like that!" Ahiru pouted, twisting her head to look up at him. "You're always so mean to everyone, especially yourself!" If she knew anything about Fakir, it was that he wore guilt like battle armor. It encased his body and prevented anything from reaching his heart. The redhead sighed. Her friend was acting so pessimistic because he'd given her the heart shard of hope. No matter. She had enough hope for the both of them, and because the heart shard resonated with the other pieces, she would use it to return the rest of the knight's heart.
Ahiru closed her eyes. The thought of ballet still harbored in the back of her mind, a weed of curiosity that threatened to wreck the thriving garden. But, oh! So curious was she that the girl bid goodbye to her friend and walked to the library. It was like a fish hook had tangled in her mind and pulled her closer and closer to the ambiguous source Try as she might, the girl couldn't escape it. The only thing she could do was play the role like a marionette. But as she drew closer to the library, the feeling only grew stronger. Ahiru found no relief.
Unsurprisingly, she was greeted by Autor. He almost seemed to be expecting her arrival. The pianist closed his book and walked over to her. His smirk only seemed to widen. "Ah, Fakir's duck friend. I assume you two have come to the same conclusion I have?"
"Fakir said that the music sheets from earlier, well, they were for a ballet that..."
"You don't think it has been created yet." Autor pushed up his glasses. "I figured as much. Due to my superior research, I've concluded that since the town has been trapped in stories for so long, time has failed to pass properly. Now you can't recall the correct year, can you?"
Ahiru shook her head. His suspicions confirmed, the musician unrolled a yellowed scroll. He set books on the ends to keep it flat on the desk. "Stories are timeless. As a result of being in one, the town is trapped in a period of abeyance."
She bit her lip, her teeth digging into the delicate skin. Ahiru's face scrunched in thought. Her nose crinkled, and her smattering of freckles momentarily disappeared. This wasn't the first time Autor had researched Drosselmeyer. No, he'd done so for years and even knew obscure bits of trivia, like the old man's favorite blend of tea. Though, knowing time didn't pass properly in the town didn't help matters. While extensive, Autor's knowledge was rarely useful.
The redhead opened her mouth to speak but found that the musician was gone. Her eyes widened when she looked around. Ahiru peeked behind every shelf and table in the little room; Autor was nowhere to be found. "Where did he go?"
"Who?" asked a faint voice.
Yelping, Ahiru jumped. The stubborn lock of hair that always stuck straight up twitched with her fitful movements. Her pendant flashed red, and she gasped. "Who's there?"
"Who's who?"
"You! The voice."
"Why?"
Her forehead creased. Her lips pressed together. "What do you mean 'why'?" The redhead toyed with the edge of her uniform sleeve.
"Why do you want to know?"
Ahiru laughed nervously, filling the room with shrill, forced giggles. "B-Because it's really creepy to hear a voice coming out of nowhere, don't you think? Tell me where you are."
"Why?"
Frowning, she ducked her head beneath the table. The space underneath it was empty save for a few cobwebs and dust bunnies. Looking back up, she found that, just as before, the room was empty. Nothing had changed, so where was the voice coming from? The pendant continued to glow, and its light brightened when she neared the corner of the room.
"Hello? Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
Ahiru stared at the bookshelf. The far end emitted a faint red glow that matched that of her pendant. "I'm Ahiru. I'm Fakir's friend. Maybe I'm friends with Autor too, but I'm not sure." She stepped forward. The light intensified.
"Why?"
A book shook then jerked forward and tumbled to the floor, falling open to the middle of the story. A small red shard rose from the pages and was suspended in the air, its glow beckoning her to come closer.
Ahiru touched her pendant and closed her eyes while the transformation took over. Her hair twisted up into a braided up-do while papers and dark green vines swirled around her body to form black pointe shoes and a silver tutu. Taking a dainty step forward, Ahiru beckoned to the heart shard. "Please come out now. This is not where you belong."
A faint red projection of Fakir materialized in front of her. Like the real Fakir, the heart shard's image had thick eyebrows that gave it a permanent look of seriousness. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail framed the front of its face and covered part of the eyes. "Where do I go then, Princess Ritter?"
"Back to Fakir so he can have all the pieces of his heart."
The image faded, replaced by the tiny red shard that slowly lowered before her. Gasping, Ahiru reached out with open palms then closed her fingers around the gem. The ribbons around her ankles loosened while her dress dulled. No longer needed, Princess Ritter's transformation came undone. "Another piece of Fakir's heart," she whispered with wide eyes. "The desire for knowledge."
Now she needed to actually find Fakir. He was probably annoyed that she would suddenly appear then run away. Upon heading out to the main section of the library, she found Autor with a nose stuck in a book. Down the cracked spine in flowing gold cursive was the author's name: Drosselmeyer. The girl laughed. How typical of him. He was as obsessed with the dead author as the girls had been with Mytho. Handsome and kind and mysterious, Mytho had loyal fan clubs dedicated to him when he attended the academy. But because Drosselmeyer's last story had ended and the prince returned to his fairy tale kingdom with Rue as his princess, no one remembered them. Mytho and Rue were two of the best dancers in the ballet division, and both were greatly admired by their peers. In fact, they had been the most adored couple. Now that the last tale had ended, they could finally have their happily ever after while Ahiru and Fakir were stuck with Autor.
Hands wrapped tightly around the heart shard, the girl walked through the library. She checked the shard every couple minutes to make sure she hadn't lost it. It was Fakir's heart! Unlike Mytho who had no heart for so long that he'd forgotten how it felt, Fakir vividly remembered the lost emotions. Or so Ahiru hoped. He kept telling her not to "waste time on trifles." Why, the lost of feelings was far from a trifle—it was a tragedy! The knight thought that because he needed to protect everyone, he had a right to tell her what to do. Ahiru refused to listen. She saw firsthand how Mytho suffered without a heart, and she refused to let her friend go through the same thing for too long.
Ahiru stumbled into something hard. The force of the collision caused her to fall backwards. Wincing, she braced herself for the impact, but hands set themselves on her shoulders to steady her. She looked up, gasping when she met Fakir's malachite eyes. Even now their dullness did not cease to startle her. Oh, how she wished for their vibrant color to return!
"What are you doing, idiot?" There was no malice behind his words, but the usual teasing affection was gone.
"F-Fakir! I'm not surprised. I should've expected to see you here. You like books, and the library has books. So you must like the library!" Ahiru covered her mouth with one hand to stop the overflow of words. Of course the library had books. No wonder Fakir always called her an idiot; she really was one. Sometimes.
He sighed. "Get to the point."
"I wanted to talk to Autor about what happened earlier. Since he's involved in this story, I figured I should let him know when stuff like that happens. But I also happened to find another piece of your heart." Unfolding her other hand, she held it out to him. The heart shard lifted up into the air and sank into Fakir's chest. His eyes widened. He raised his hands to his heart.
"This feeling, is it curiosity?"
Ahiru nodded. "The heart shard kept asking me questions. Even if I answered, it wouldn't stop."
"If doing so is too troubling, then—"
"Fakir, stop! You're always running around doing things alone and worrying about everyone. It's not fair! Let someone else worry about you."
Her friend rolled his eyes and walked past her. "How pointless. If you want to bother yourself with such useless things, go ahead. I won't try to stop you."
The duck girl pouted and grabbed Fakir's sleeve. "It's not useless! You saw how Mytho was—it's important for you to get back all of your heart."
"I know firsthand how Mytho has acted, but there is no need for me to have an entire heart. I know how to act accordingly, and I'd rather not be a burden."
"You're not a burden. I like helping you! I like being around you when you have all of your heart, even if you can be mean sometimes." She tightened her grip and stepped closer. Her hands trembled. Ahiru touched the pendant for support and took a deep breath. "It's no trouble at all! Please, Fakir, don't do this alone. We have to work together."
Silence. Minutes passed. Ahiru released him and dropped her arm. Fakir finally scoffed, "Idiot, tangling yourself in my mess. Don't you have any concern for yourself?"
Ahiru recalled a faint memory. Two hearts, one white and one red, dangled before her. Miss Edel, a green-haired puppet whom Drosselmeyer had sent to build exposition for his story, told her that she needed to work with someone. That courage required two people, two hearts. Back then, she thought the puppet meant Rue or Mytho. Back then, she only held contempt for Fakir. Ahiru realized that she needed to work with him all along and now more than ever.
She forced herself to meet his eyes. Their emptiness unnerved her. "I..." The words, fighting valiantly to escape, were on the tip of her tongue. I love you.
The heat rising to her cheeks, Ahiru clasped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes narrowed in determination. She refused to move her hands as though doing so would cause her to explode. No way could she say such a thing. Fakir was too level-headed to let such a confession affect their friendship, but the moment would be too bizarre. Besides, he already lost his heart. Ahiru didn't want to pile her feelings on top of his already heavy load of problems.
"What is it?"
"Never mind."
"Idiot. Finish your sentences."
Confidence renewed, she balled her hands into fists, head snapping up. "Helping you doesn't bother me at all! You promised to stay by my side forever, so it's only fair that I do the same."
Fakir's gaze softened. His usually harsh expression didn't look so cold. The ghost of a smile played at his lips. Ahiru couldn't help but stare while she tried to remember what how he would've looked when he had all his heart. A smile from Fakir was rare, even a Fakir with an entire heart. Considering the dire circumstances, that wasn't too surprising. The girl remembered a time when she'd walked home with him after another encounter with the Raven. They'd talked about something—she couldn't recall—and then, he smiled for her. A small genuine smile reserved just for the red-haired duck girl. It had sent a warm tingly feeling throughout her body. Even the thought of it now did.
Ahiru glanced back at up at Fakir. The curve of his nose, how his jaw tightened, how his eyebrows knitted together. He had enough emotions to be worried. Rightfully so. Ahiru couldn't do anything. She couldn't rewrite reality or fight like the knight could, but she could restore his heart. Once Fakir had all of his heart, he'd have his full power back and be able to properly resist Drosselmeyer. Yes, even if she couldn't do much else, Ahiru would definitely return the rest of his heart.
...
1 - Based off Aria da Capo: A Play in One Act by Edna St. Vincent Millay. It was originally published around 1920.