A/N: If you've kept up with this fanfic and read all 8 chapters, I am so grateful to you for having continued on with it. That means a lot to me. But I have noticed some issues with my writing, and I've gone back to edit some chapters. These first five have 'recently' been rewritten, but this site does not seem to give alerts that the chapters have changed. Some things have been changed, so you might want to reread some chapters so as to not get confused.

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Once upon a time, there was a pretty girl and a boy. Both loved each other dearly and were the best of friends. But shard of enchanted glass became caught in the boy's heart and poisoned it. Beautiful things turned ugly. The boy's heart turned cold and hard. He lost himself in the ice. The girl braved the cold and journeyed the great earth to look for him. In her search, her beauty faded away.1

...

Only when all clocks struck thirteen would Fakir think Drosselmeyer was a good man, but he would admit that the sadistic fossil was an incredible author. He could never hope to match the late writer's expertise despite having to ability to rewrite reality. Drosselmeyer had an entire section of the library dedicated to him even though decades had passed after his death. Magical and timeless, his dark tales captivated the townspeople and inspired many aspiring authors.

Fakir scanned the fine black print while he flipped through a book's yellowed pages. The text was as familiar to him as an old shoe yet he still searched its words for an solution to his problems. He perused the writing for any secret messages.

Damn Ahiru. After Fakir gave half his heart to her, he stopped visiting the library as often. What reason was there? He'd lost the devotion and desire to learn. But after Ahiru returned those shards, the knight couldn't spend long enough at the library. The appearances of crow feathers and odd writings also contributed to his desire for inspiration. Not to mention the issue of the town's ambiguous time. Fakir flipped to the front of the novel where its details were displayed. It contained information about the story's publishing and author but not a single date. His eyebrows rose, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. How had he not noticed this before?

"Ah, there you are."

He shut the book and looked up. "Autor. Is there an issue?"

"You're researching again," he said. Autor snorted and pushed his glasses up his nose. It was a constant habit that annoyed Fakir even more every time he did it.

"Do you have a reason for coming or do you just want to state the obvious? Don't waste my time."

The musician sniffed and folded his arms. "Here I believed you are actually intelligent enough to want to understand my findings. I should've known you are much too inferior."

Gritting his teeth, Fakir stepped forward, clenching his fists, his knuckles white. "What did you find?"

"Now you're interested." Autor sighed dramatically and leaned against the shelf, folding his arms. "I'm sure that girl has told you all about it? The feathers?"

"Ahiru doesn't know anything. No one has a clue what the hell is happening."

"The town is stuck in time because of the stories. I'm sure you've noticed the oddities? Nothing happens like it's supposed to. The last story ending freed it, but there wasn't enough time for Gold Crown to recover before another one started."

Fakir thought back to the music sheets for Swan Lake. It was first composed in 1875. Was that the future? Was that the past? His memory refused to separate the lies from truth. Drosselmeyer's writing had wormed its way into people's lives, twisting their minds, warping their personalities. They were all puppets trying in vain to break free of their strings. Knowledge—what good would it do? Knowing that the town was trapped in nothingness didn't help Fakir to figure out a way to escape. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Somewhere, locked tightly in the back of his mind, was the truth. When he was a boy, he remembered... Hell, what did he remember?

Machines. Black mechanisms with large wheels. They moved on their own, like horseless carriages, and only belonged to the important and wealthy. One couple, draped in lavish furs with expensive gowns, had rode through town in hers while everyone else watched in amazement. Fakir recalled clutching his father's hand while they stood among the crowd. That long ago, the town wasn't infested with crows, and his parents were still alive. Now he stayed with Charon, a kind blacksmith who had taken him in after their deaths.

The couple still lived in town, but they rode in carriages drawn by the finest horses instead of their black machine. Fakir was certain it had existed—he was sure of it. So now where had it gone? It had slipped his mind before. The boy had never stopped to think why the machine disappeared. A horseless carriage was an impossible thing. Its disappearance simply made sense. Until it didn't any more. Fakir felt like he woke up from a long, hazy dream. Slowly, the details of reality pieced themselves together.

"Autor."

"What is it now?"

"Do you recall things that shouldn't exist?"

"No." The musician raised an eyebrow. "Though I suppose you could put it like that. They did exist at some point, but the stories have twisted reality so much that those things vanished. For so long, I've believed that a higher power controlling this town. Now my theories have been proven correct with Drosselmeyer, but I also have reason to believe that an even greater force is controlling him. We're not just in any story—we're in a fanfiction."

Fanfiction. He had never heard of such at thing. Fakir struggled to comprehend Autor's statement. He couldn't see why such a detail was important to defeating Drosselmeyer. "What nonsense is this?" he asked sharply.

"Drosselmeyer rewrote reality, yes? Well, a fanfiction is meant to rewrite a reality that's already been rewritten, like how this author is doing."

"So more people have Drosselmeyer's power?"

"What a shame. I expected a descendant of Drosselmeyer to understand. It seems I've set too high expectations for you. I tried telling that girl, but it seems she's much too dense to comprehend anything." Autor smirked and pushed his glasses up his nose. The glare of the lenses hid his eyes so only his curved mouth was visible.

"She's not just 'that girl,' and she isn't that dense. Spacey at times, but you'd do best to remember that Ahiru saved us all." The words felt like they were being pulled out of his mouth by a rope. Fakir didn't know why he was defending the redhead, but oddly enough, it felt like he had to. "You're nothing more than a pathetic waste-of-space who can only hope to dream of Drosselmeyer's power."

Autor's cheeks burned red. "It was due to me and my aid that this wretched town survived!" The musician slammed his fist against the bookshelf. It rattled and even caused on book to fall.

"You keep saying that, but in the end, most of your information turns out useless," Fakir said coldly and brushed past him.

"H-Hey, wait! Where are you going?" Autor demanded, miffed at being called unimportant.

"That is none of your concern."

Fakir broke into a run. The buildings, people, trees passed by him in a blur. The soles of his white school shoes flew over the cobblestone street, barely touching it for more than a second at a time. His throat grew dry as his legs ached. Gritting his teeth, the knight forced himself to move faster and ignored the tightness in his chest. He showed to a jog when the looming brick walls surrounding the town came into view. Furrowing his brows, he reached out a hand.

The brick was rough, cold, and hard against his calloused skin. The wall definitely existed. Fakir's frown deepened. Somehow he knew that the wall shouldn't have been there. He recalled running outside of town to... Damn. What was it again? What the fuck was he going to do at that time? The thought ate away at him like acid. Fakir needed to know. The event was important. He'd done something important.

He groaned and pressed his forehead against the wall as though it would miraculously mend the holes in Fakir's mind. There was a bottomless lake not too far off from outside Gold Crown. And Ahiru. The girl was somehow involved. Damn his memory. The knight slammed his fists against the wall. It shouldn't be there. He shouldn't be trapped in this town.

A giggle made him look up. A girl stood a couple feet away from him with a python wearing a bright pink bow and frilly dress. Fakir's eyes widened. There had been no one when he arrived nor had he heard any footsteps. He stepped away from the wall and approached the two. The girl was slender with sleek white hair that flowed like water. The snake had elegant green scales that gleamed in the sunlight. Neither one looked familiar. Gold Crown wasn't very large; Fakir knew every face in it even if he'd never talked to all of them.

He cleared his throat. "Are you two new?

The girl smiled and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "My sister and I just arrived here actually. I'm Lethe." She shifted closer to him, her smile widening, and said, "We came here to study ballet, and I could use a dance partner,"

"I don't care." Fakir moved away, and her face fell. He glanced back at the wall with narrowed eyes. It stretched on and on, but there were no entrances. "How did you get in?"

Lethe raised a razor-thin eyebrow. "Oh, now what kind question is that? We just walked in."

"Look, idiot. There's no opening."

"Of course there is—" The girl's mouth dropped open when she turned back to the wall. Her cheeks turned a little red. "Well, there was one earlier."

"Sister dear, I don't remember always being a snake either," the python mused. "I suppose today is just a strange day."

"Yes," Lethe agreed. "It was nice talking to you, but we will be heading along to the academy now." The girl stopped to smoothed our her skirt and fix her hair. "You're free to join us. I hear the academy's beautiful."

"I attend school there. I have no need to see it again."

"Do you now?" She batted her lashes. "Then would you give us a tour?"

"No." Fakir walked away.

He decided to visit Charon. Maybe the elderly man would have some answers. He hadn't seen his foster father in a while despite living in the same town. For convenience's sake, the Gold Crown Academy students stayed in dorms on campus. Some chose to sleep at home for the comfort, but Fakir didn't like the hassle of walking back and forth if he could help it.

He entered the blacksmith's shop and walked down into the workshop, welcomed by the sound of scraping metal. Finely-crafted swords and gleaming suits of armor filled the tiny dark room. Charon sharpened a sword, head bent, beads of sweat on his skin.

"Charon."

The man stopped working and looked up. His eyes widened. He rose to embrace his son, pulling the boy against him. "You haven't visited in ages. Just what have you been up too?"

"Nothing." What was Fakir supposed to say, that he'd messed with reality and lost half his heart? Very fine conversation material.

"It's never nothing with you." The smith pulled back, looking him up and down with suspicion. "Have you been spending all your time with a secret lover? Who is this girl? Tell her I want my son back."

"There's no one."

"Of course there isn't." Charon clapped him on the back, the teasing smile never leaving his face.

Fakir scoffed. Between protecting Mytho and fending off Rue, he never had time for romance. Without a heart, Mytho had no concern for his own safety and would jump out of windows to save birds. Rue would take advantage of his best friend's obedient nature to force him into being her boyfriend. After the story ended and Mytho returned to his fairy tale kingdom with Rue, things hadn't improved. Fakir couldn't properly love someone with half a heart and now he had to worry after Ahiru. Did he love her? He felt that he once did, but without all of his heart, he wasn't sure.

"I know that look. It really is a girl, isn't it?"

"No." Fakir turned away. He picked one of the many swords laying on the table and flipped it over, testing out the weight. "Have you ever left the town?"

"Now where is this coming from?"

"Answer the question."

"No." Charon rubbed his chin, brows knitted together. "Actually, I don't remember even being on the outskirts of town. I've never felt the desire to leave."

Fakir gasped softly. So that was how no one noticed anything strange. Any oddities were simply dismissed, erased from the mind by the story's magic. "There's a wall."

"Is that so? I suppose it's for our safety." Charon looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You haven't come to see me in such a long time and this is what you want to talk about?"

"There's no entrance. Unless you climb over it, you can't get out of this town."

The smith sighed and moved to his son's side, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come now, what's troubling you? There's no reason to leave Gold Crown."

Fakir jerked away. He slammed his hands on the table. "Don't you see? We're trapped. Doesn't it seem that no one has ever seen the outside world? Do you even know what date it is?"

Charon sighed and rubbed his forehead. Fakir's forehead creased. It was clear his father thought he was mad. He tried to tell himself that it was an effect of the story. But the realization that the smith didn't believe him shot an arrow straight through his incomplete heart.

"Stop this foolishness," the man snapped. Charon gripped his arm tightly. "Please, I can't stand not knowing where you've run off to or what you're doing. Stay home at least for tonight."

The arrow became poisoned with guilt. The pain stained his heart, and guilt wrenched it with such cruelty that Fakir almost cried out. How selfish he had been! He spent all his time at school and the lake with Ahiru. Never once had Fakir stopped to think of the kind man who raised him.

"I'll stay," he choked out.

Charon's look of gratefulness made the knight's chest ache even more. How terrible the situation must've become that a father was overjoyed at the simple prospect of his son spending a day at home. "Thank you."

Drosselmeyer watched the scene with a dark scowl. The large gear spun lazily as it depicted the exchange between Fakir and Charon. It was a piece in the clock of a story. "How ridiculously dull," he lamented. "A fight to tear father and son apart would've been much more intriguing."

The sound of a beating drum echoed throughout the room. A little green-haired puppet bounced over to the two. "Uzura! Now what are you doing with them?" Drosselmeyer's eyes widened, almost bulging out of his face, and he leaned forward on the edge of his rocking chair. Losing his balance, he fell face-first on the horizontal gear platform. The clanging echoed the throughout the emptiness.

"I should've known she'd develop too much of a interest in human emotions. I can't never find good puppets these days," he grumbled. Drosselmeyer struggled to his feet. "Hmm, now where was I? Ah, yes!"

He snapped his fingers. Another gear dropped down in front of the first. This one showed a man dressed in all black. He had an angular face with sleek black hair peeking out from underneath the heavy cloak. The hood covered his eyes so that only his mouth was visible. The man's head was bent as he focused solely on the gleaming red gem in front of him. Holding it with the tips of his long black nails, he carefully submerged it into a pool of crimson liquid. The gem's lovely red rotted to a hideous black once it surfaced.

The man's head snapped up. A smirk spread across his face. "You're watching, Father. No worries. I'll give you the greatest tragedy you've ever seen. I won't let you down like that useless Kraehe."

"How bold of you to contact me," Drosselmeyer cackled. "Tragedy will happen whether you're involved or not. You fail this and you'll only be disappointing yourself."

The smirk turned into a frown. "Surely you want entertainment. You won't even aid a man with your own blood?"

"I hate very many men despite my precious blood running through their veins. But since you have been such a wonderful villain, I'll give you a stage." The deceased writer clapped his hands. A loud groan came from the suspended gears as they shifted into place. "Now Hrabanus, tell me a story. Tell me a cataclysm of tears in which happiness is destroyed and all hope is snuffed out. Tell it to me with no regard for your life!"

The man gasped and then he smiled. His teeth gleamed in the bright light. "Thank you, Drosselmeyer. I'll show you the tale you've been waiting for." He waved a hand and from the ground rose hundreds of crows with murderous eyes. "I send my murder right away."

Sighing, Drosselmeyer waved a dismissive hand. "How foolish. Do you think that the story reaches its climax just like that? No, no, that's very lazy writing. There needs to be a build-up to the tension and that is a important job I am entrusting you with."

"Then I'll listen to your every command." The man knelt on one knee to bow to the writer, lowering his head so that his neck was at Drosselmeyer's mercy. His flock of crows did the same.

The writer's eyes glowed. He rubbed his gloved hands together and bounced from gear to gear, powering up the odd machines that littered his written realm. A deep rumbling sounded from deep in the ground. "How odd. He's not made of wood but he makes a better puppet than my marionettes!"

"Now to make sure everything is in place..." At Drosselmeyer's command, the scene transformed to one of Ahiru. The girl raced down the cobblestone streets. Unbeknownst to the her, red eyes glowed in the shadows and followed her ever move. A crow flew into the sky from its perch in the darkness, its black soiling the clear blue.

"I'll leave it all to you. Don't let me down." Drosselmeyer gave a wheezing chuckle as Ahiru turned the corner.

Panting, she stopped to catch her breath and bent over with her hands on her knees. She clutched the pendant in her hand, finding comfort in its glowing warmth, and ran her thumb over the tiny chip in the shard. It flashed bright red then the light faded. Ahiru glanced up and looked around. She frowned. The heart shard was nowhere to be found.

"Come now. Don't you want to return the knight's heart?"

The girl's head snapped up. "W-Who's there?" She stepped back, one hand clasped around the pendant.

"I'm only here to help." A tall man with white skin and black hair stepped from the shadows. Despite being in the light, he seemed to command them; the darkness followed him and merged into his long feathered cape. The man's coloring reminded Ahiru of Rue, but the similarities stopped there. While Rue appeared graceful and dainty, the man looked hard and wiry. He had the kind of face that would have been handsome had it not been so sharp and all hard edges.

"O-Okay. How do you know about Fakir's heart?" His crimson eyes stared so intensely on the pendant that Ahiru's grip tightened on it.

"Hmm. I'm observant. You were muttering about it earlier."

She backed away. Her muscles tended. "You followed me."

"I wanted to offer my aid."

"Really?" Ahiru relaxed but remained guarded.

"Truly."

"How?"

The man reached into his poket and raised a closed fist. His fingers slowly uncurled before Ahiru's blue-eyed stare to reveal a crimson gem. She snatched it up. Her pendant flashed, resonating with the heart shard. The girl held it up to the light and examined it. It turned such a beautiful shade when the sunshine hit it just so that she smiled. Ahiru turned back around to thank the stranger, but he was gone. How odd. She tightened her grip on the heart shard. No one had ever found the shards before her. What powers did this man have?

Ahiru shook her head and decided to look for Fakir. The action made her life easier so it must've been out of kindness, right? Even when Eder, Drosselmeyer's puppet, claimed not to do things out of generosity, her actions still positively impacted the redhead's life. This man must've been the same. The late writer may have created another puppet since both Edel and Uzura failed him.

She headed over to Charon's house. The man warmly greeted her then excused himself to go to the shop. Fakir sat at the kitchen table reading while Uzura played her drum in the corner. He looked up and shut the book. His eyebrows raised. "What are you doing here?"

Ahiru showed him the heart shard. "A strange man gave it to me," she told Fakir.

"A...man? You didn't find it yourself?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I think he might be Drosselmeyer's puppet like Edel was."

"If that is true, then you must be cautious around him," Fakir ordered and placed a hand in her shoulder.

Ahiru shuffled closer to him and pressed her hands to his chest. The shard glowed and sank into his skin. The knight's eyes widened, and he clutched his chest. "What is this feeling?" he asked sharply.

She opened and closed her mouth, at loss for words. "I don't know! The man didn't tell me!"

"A-Ah!" Fakir gasped and bent over, his face twisting.

She lunged forward. "Is something wrong?"

He slowly relaxed, and he stood back up. He told her, "It's nothing. I'm fine now,"

Ahiru looked at him with uncertainty. Her forehead creased, and she frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, idiot."

Fakir shook his head and crossed the room to tend to the fire, his back to Ahiru. The girl stood alone. She watched her knight with sad eyes and clutched the pendant around her neck. He was lying. There was definitely something wrong.

A crow landed on the windowsill outside of the house. Opening its wretched beak, it let out a large caw.

...

1 - Based off of The Snow Queen, an original fairy tale written by Hans Christian Anderson.