Title: Afterword
Author: lostinabook
Genre: Angst/General
Rating: T (for references to violence)
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu does not belong to me; it is the property of Ito Ikuko
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Chapter Two: Cost of Dreams
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The Academy's library was only good for research, Autor concluded.
It was a stifling place, filled with dry tomes stuffed with even drier facts. One touch and the whole façade could collapse into dust. There was no possibility for imagination in a place such as this. The very atmosphere of the room seemed to suck out every last drop of creative juice left in the mind, leaving only a cold, silent, dusty reality.
Autor and the library had a lot in common.
He sat motionless at one of the tables, watching dust motes spin in the sunlight drifting lazily through the window behind him. A book lay open on the table in front of him, ignored. Autor didn't even know what he was reading; he had only grabbed it off the shelf so as to have an excuse for being in the library at all.
Autor had become numb. He went through the motions of everyday life, following his schedule exactly the way it had been before the ending… But his senses were dulled, his feelings nonexistent, his heart as still as the library air. He now viewed the world through soundproofed glass; he could see everything, but there was a barrier separating him and normal people.
People with dreams.
Autor had chosen his role. He would forget everything that he had aspired to be and live his life the way fate dictated it. Like any other supporting character, he would leave denying destiny to those who played a main role.
For a moment, Autor's mind rebelled against the idea of being a "supporting character," but was swiftly quieted as Logic reminded him that kind of thinking was what had destroyed the study.
And his dreams.
If he couldn't have both, then he would have neither.
Giggling sounded from behind a bookshelf and a couple came into view, both tall, one blond, the other brunette. Autor ignored them at first, turning vacant eyes back to his book.
One of the archetypes of fairy tales…
They wouldn't stop laughing…
The perfect couple…
Why couldn't they go somewhere else? There was no reason for them to be here…
The happily ever after…
"Will you please be quiet!"
"It seems that I've fallen in love with you."
"…Just go home."
The couple stared dumbly at him, both their faces an identical shade of red. Autor sat back down slowly, looking away from them, his eyes resting on the book's pages, but not reading the words. In another moment, they were gone.
I never should have shown Fakir how to end the story. There was still so much that I needed to do…
But it was my choice, and this is my own punishment. I have to accept what fate has given me.
"Autor?"
He blinked, but didn't bother looking up. He knew that voice… but hadn't heard it for some time.
"Hello, Malen."
The green-haired girl shifted her weight nervously, clutching her sketchbook to her chest. She bit her lip. "H-How are you?"
"Fine. Better than fine." I've lost all sensation of feeling. "You?"
"…N-Not bad."
Dust motes were still circling in the shafts of light, their numbers infinite…
"…Um…" Malen's glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose. "…Did something happen to you, Autor? You seem… different somehow."
Autor slowly looked up at her, giving her the same vacant gaze as the book. Malen's hands noticeably tightened around her sketchbook.
"Lots of things happen in the space of two years, Malen."
The silence of the library was ringing in his ears, as if the books were crying out for him to return, they had so much more that they wanted to tell him…
"You continued to focus on your art, and I my research. Siblings aren't meant to be joined at the hip forever, you know."
It was surprising how hollow his voice sounded…
"But Autor—"
Malen bit her lip again and sat down across the table from him with a sigh.
There was something missing in the silence…
"Please tell me what's wrong." Malen's eyes shone with genuine concern. Autor couldn't remember a time when she had looked so sad.
"Nothing's wrong. I can take care of myself."
"Autor, I'm not just going to leave you here. I'm your sister, and… I know that we haven't been on the best of terms since… But you've really been worrying me lately."
"You don't need to concern yourself with me." You deserve better than to get bogged down with my broken dreams.
"Why do you…"
Malen's wide eyes began glistening with tears. Autor felt a brief pang of guilt, but it was quickly swallowed up by the overwhelming numbness.
"You always change, Autor! Something happens, and you completely reinvent yourself!"
Autor blinked listlessly.
"You used to love your music, lose yourself when you played… and you played beautifully, Autor, you wrote pieces that could rival that of the masters! You told me that it was your dream to compose a ballet—remember that?"
The tears were still there, on the verge of spilling, but Malen kept her voice even and her volume low. She had always been passionate yet logical. Autor had forgotten about that. She was always the one who made him think…
"You started watching the ballet students, remember? You wanted to write music for them—you were the one that told me that I should use one of them as a model for my drawings." Malen rubbed the edge of her sketchbook lightly.
"But then—"
I found a piece of Drosselmeyer's records.
Everything that I needed to begin was there… He had been one of my favorite authors since I was a child, but I had never been able to appreciate the true genius of his work until I read his outside commentary on his process… the history of the story-spinners, the vague threat of the Book Men, and a fleeting mention of a man who would later become connected to my father…
"—And you became obsessed."
I was obsessed.
"You didn't want to be a pianist anymore. You wanted to be a writer. We'd never heard you say anything like that before."
I wanted to cement my place in the story.
"And now you're… you're just…lifeless. …Please, Autor. Tell me what happened."
In the end, everyone's a marionette.
Autor didn't want to talk. To be honest, he didn't know what was wrong with him. It wasn't until the study had been ruined that he realized how much his research had become a part of who he was.
Cutting out everything else… Nothing was left but story, where one could do whatever they pleased…
"…Do I have to guess, Autor?" There was genuine pain in her voice now.
I'm sorry. I don't have any answers for you.
"…Is it about a girl?"
Autor heard himself gasp. The shield surrounding his frozen emotions gave way as the memory of her resurfaced, leaving only pain in its wake.
"There's no way that I could stop from loving you now."
"…Just go home."
"Rue," he breathed.
A single tear fell on the open pages.
"Oh, Autor…!"
The next thing he knew, Malen's arms were wrapped around him. "It's okay… It's okay… You can cry…"
He was… crying?
"She's gone… she…"
He couldn't say it. Malen didn't know. Autor had only told her that he was researching their ties to Drosselmeyer, nothing more. There had been no need to tell her about the story-spinners…
"Who's gone?"
"Rue."
"…Okay, Rue. How long did you know her?"
How long did he… What kind of question was that? Autor roughly broke away from Malen's embrace.
"You know who she is!"
"Autor, wha—"
"She was the girl I used to watch perform! The one I told you to use for a model! She was—"
Perfect.
"Autor, you never…" Malen looked away for a moment and then spoke in a calmer, more even voice. "You never talked about anyone in particular from the ballet school. Who is this girl?"
His hands were shaking. All of his emotion had flooded back into him in that brief instant, right when he said her name…
There's no way I could stop from loving you now.
"Rue. From the advanced class. Raven hair and ruby eyes. She the best dancer that this school has… had." He fought back the lump that was rising in his throat. "…But she's gone now. She's not coming back."
The look of worried confusion had returned to Malen's face. "Autor, I've been observing the advanced class for over a year now for my drawing, and I… there was never a girl like that there."
The silence of the books now resembled a high-pitched screaming.
"What?"
"Autor, what's wrong with you?"
He wasn't listening anymore. His mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what Malen had just told him.
Is that why I haven't heard anyone even question her absence?
What happened to her when the story ended?
Did she truly return with the prince?
Or…
Autor gritted his teeth.
"Fakir."
He stalked towards the door; Malen blocked his path. Her eyes were frantic now—his rapid mood swings from numb to depressed to rage had apparently scared her.
"Autor, what in the world are you—!"
He shoved her out of the way, the echoing sound of her hitting the floor following after him like a ghost. It didn't matter right now. He would fix everything later. Right now, he wanted answers.
Maybe he didn't end it properly after all.
A strange smile crept across his face.
And I will fix it.