AN: Chapter eighteen!
Sorry for the lateness – life kinda got in the way…
As always, everything you recognize isn't mine.
…And there was one filled with Drosselmeyer's tragic fairytales, Fakir noted. The rest of the world faded around him as he focused on that bookshelf, examining the different volumes with guarded interest. At the before last book, he frowned. The Prince and the Raven, it said in gold script. At the last one, he froze: Princess Tutu. He pulled the book down and flipped through it. The book seemed to be written in blood – Drosselmeyer's blood, Fakir recalled, this one was written after the Book Men cut off his hands. Fakir finally turned to the last page.
"And so, the prince and princess may have lived happily ever after, but the duck and the writer, in spite of their physical proximity, were doomed to be forever apart."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Fakir vowed in tandem with a determined quack from the duck on his shoulder.
AN: See you next update! Same duck-time, same duck-channel!