Once upon a time there was a little girl. This little girl was alone for as long as she could remember. Until, one day, she wasn't. Somehow the little girl had found a family. For a time, the little girl was happy and long forgot what it was like to be alone. Eventually, however, after her new family had all mysteriously disappeared, she was forced to wonder if she was meant to be alone after all.

For years, Fakir struggled with his feelings towards blacksmithing. He never hated the work, but never found it particularly interesting either. Regardless, Charon, who had so selflessly taken Fakir in when his parents were killed by his lack of control over his own powers, was a blacksmith. Fakir had and continued to live off the fruits of blacksmithing labor. Despite this, even when he hadn't yet come to terms with his interests—albeit historically disastrous—in writing, Fakir had never seen himself taking over Charon's smithy when he was an adult. Yet now, even with his hesitant pursuit of writing, Fakir found himself spending more and more time in the smithy. Even so, Fakir knew in his heart he'd never want to inherit Charon's role.

So why was he here in the library, the closest thing he had to a sanctuary, researching how to become a better blacksmith?

Okay, so he sort of knew why: Because he was a coward and had been avoiding her for the past few weeks or so. He couldn't face her, not after taking advantage of her for a second time. The way she avoided his gaze, how quickly her eyes became glassy when he was anywhere near her—she probably hated him, and rightly so. He was horrified with himself. So, Fakir did what Fakir did best: hide in the library and avoid his problems.

But now, ever since she had asked him that innocuous question… It had been such a simple string of words, innocently tied together as a question.

'Like could you make a sword?'

It was no secret that Fakir's relationship with swords was a difficult one. He had a deep interest in them since childhood and studied sword fighting in his free time. Charon even showed him the some of the basics and supplied him with a practice sword—any sword but that sword. In the end, it didn't matter. Charon caved and gave him the blade, something Fakir had always been too afraid to ask if his father remembered.

Ultimately, none of it mattered. Fakir had been too immobilized by his fear of death, too feeble to do any good with a sword. He was fated to wield a pen. Ever since, Fakir hadn't so much as thought of swords… until her little question.

Now it was all he could think of.

He could. He could make a sword. If he wanted. He had the skills. All he had to do was learn how. It was like he was possessed by the notion—and his avoidance of her only helped. He couldn't think of her, and how much she undoubtedly hated him, when he was researching sword forging techniques. He couldn't think of her when comparing the benefits of a lower carbon steel versus a higher carbon steel—or, perhaps, a spring steel? He couldn't think of her when trying to decide what type of blade would be best. So, to continue to not think of her, he immersed himself in swords.

Every piece of scrap metal Fakir got his hands on when working the smithy was quickly turned into knives for practice. Even small pieces were turned into tiny blades. One thicker piece became a practice crossguard. If Charon noticed the sudden increase in their knife stock for sale, he didn't say anything.

Fakir would probably never use a sword again, he knew this, but that didn't stop him from spending sleepless nights in the stable, practicing his swings again, trying to analyze what variations in build he preferred. Because if he stayed busy, if he kept his mind occupied, then it wouldn't wander.

Because that's all it wanted to do.


Ahiru watched the scattered shards of rainbows dance upon her floor in the aftermath of the slight spin she gave the prism attached to her window. The science behind the light refraction splaying all the colors across her bedroom floor was beyond her, but she adored it. It gave everything a dreamy kind of look, like a fairy tale with a happy ending.

Frowning, she tapped her finger against the prism again, causing the entire window ornament to swing back and forth. Not everything had a happy ending. Sometimes the princess was fated to turn into a speck of light if she confessed her feelings to her beloved, and sometimes said beloved thought the princess was a disgusting freak and wanted nothing to do with her—Ahiru steeled her finger against the window ornament, forcing it to stop swinging—and sometimes, sometimes the princess was just a duck.

With a sigh, Ahiru turned her attention away from the window ornament and tucked her legs under her. The leaves had started changing colors and the air was becoming chillier every day. She didn't have much time left—a couple months at best—and with the way things were going, it seemed like she would spend that time alone.

It was hard not to wonder what her death would be like, with her deadline looming over her. What did Drosselmeyer have planned for Ahiru's grand exit? She doubted he'd let her fizzle out peacefully with no fanfare. Whatever he had planned, she just hoped Fakir would find it in himself to forgive her. For everything, really. For the lines she crossed. For the suffering she caused. More than anything, Ahiru hoped he'd forgive her.

Even if she wouldn't be alive for it.

And, if she was being honest, she kind of hoped it wouldn't be painful. It was difficult to conceive of: just not existing anymore—and a bit scary. Biting her lip, Ahiru leaned her head against the wall and tried not to think about it anymore. Though, all other trains of thought that seemed currently available to her weren't much less morose.

Ahiru forced herself to stand up. The best thing she could do right now was distract herself, and taking a brisk walk in the chilly autumn air was the best way to do that, she surmised. She quickly threw on a sweater, some warm tights, a skirt, and a pair of thigh-high socks before heading out.

The air was cold enough Ahiru found herself tucking her hands inside her sleeves, which was perfect for keeping her distracted enough from her thoughts. Outside of the temperature, it was a perfectly lovely day. The sun was out. Not many clouds. The town was abustle. It was pleasant. Easy to melt into the background. She wasn't anyone important or special. She was just another someone.

Just another faceless someone you pass on the street, fading into nonexistence the moment you turn the corner. There was something comforting about that feeling. To be seen and unseen all at once. Your problems feel so much smaller when no one even knows they exist.

Flexing her fingers, Ahiru clutched the ends of her sleeves, effectively sealing them off from the cold. With a slight shiver, she nibbled on her bottom lip. She wasn't far from the Oak Tree ruins. It felt like it had been a lifetime since she had last been there.

Her cheeks flushed as she wandered towards the clearing. Last time she had gone, she collected a fragment from the tree—and it had been Fakir who had saved her. Still early on in her adjustment to being Princess Tutu again, she hadn't yet built up a tolerance to the pain she felt as the fragment entered her pendant and she had passed out on the snow-covered ground. During a snowstorm. It was nothing short of mortifying looking back on all the worry she caused Fakir and Charon, but at the same time, in a weird way, it was nice. It was nice to remember a time when Fakir worried about her. Now that he hated her guts and wanted nothing to do with her...

And she wasn't going to dwell on that.

Freeing her fingers from one of her sleeves, Ahiru brushed them along the rocks in the clearing. They were cold from the air and a tad rough. She stopped once she reached where the Oak Tree once stood. It felt like such a long time ago he had knelt here, listening to the whispered wisdom the Oak Tree would share with him. For a horrifying moment, she thought she had lost him forever. But he came back. He always came back.

Except this time.

She frowned. Perhaps coming here was not the best choice. Forcing herself to push all negative thoughts from her mind, Ahiru turned away and continued on her walk.

This turned out to be much harder than she had expected. As it turns out, everything reminded her of Fakir. They had walked so many streets together—fought so many battles together. Here was Autor's house where he began his journey to become more serious about writing. Here was where Fakir and Mytho had fought with swords when Mytho was still under the influence of Raven's blood. Here Fakir had laughed at an imitation she did of Mr. Cat a few months ago. Here's the road they took, hand-in-hand, after Ahiru confessed she was Princess Tutu again. Here was the theater where they danced their first pas de deux—albeit an aggressive one. And here…

Here was where she had tried to kiss Fakir, and he pushed her away.

Trying to ignore the stinging of tears in her eyes, Ahiru pressed onwards. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about this. She was supposed to be thinking about anything but this. Balling her hands into fists inside her sleeves, she came to a stop by the Warrior's Fountain. Despite her best efforts, it seemed she couldn't get her head out of this funk. With a bitter glare at the ground, she flopped down on to the edge of the fountain. Resting her elbows on her knees and her forehead on palms, Ahiru groaned.

That's when she felt the familiar, dreadful static on her skin that made her hair stand on end. Freezing, Ahiru listened. Not a sound filled the air—not the soft chatter of the townspeople, not the sound of the wind, not a stray titter from a bird. Not even the trickling of water from the very fountain she sat upon. Peeking up from her hands, she confirmed what she already knew to be true: time had stopped.

Straightening her back, Ahiru frowned, mentally preparing herself for her inevitable parley with her least favorite dead writer. Her irritation grew each silent second that ticked by. Was he really going to force her to start the conversation?

Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she began "Alr—"

"I found Ahiru, zura!" a loud voice announced from behind her.

Startled, Ahiru's body reacted of its own volition. Flailing, she sputtered out a "Quack!" before teetering back into the fountain. Disquieted by the lack of water displacement as she fell into the fountain, and the sudden outburst, Ahiru blinked dumbly up at the mint-haired girl grinning back at her.

"I came looking for you, zura, and I found you!" The girl climbed up onto the fountain ledge as she spoke.

Collecting herself, Ahiru stammered, "U-Uzura?"


Fakir rubbed his temples. He had finally reached a point where he did it not out of necessity because his head hurt, but simply out of habit. Or perhaps it had become a tic. He didn't know how he felt about that. The library was quiet—beginning to border on unnaturally quiet—and uncomfortably still. He had been pouring over a dense tome on metallurgy for the past few hours and the words were beginning to blur together in their monotony. His skin prickled when he finally shut the book in front of him. It really was painfully quiet, almost deafeningly so. He frowned and glanced around the area—surely he wasn't the only one who felt it—but no one else was within sight. It felt wrong to make a noise when it was so quiet elsewise, Fakir painstakingly pushed his chair back trying to be as noiseless as possible. Standing up, he wandered the stacks, hoping to run into someone else, and feeling more and more like he was losing his mind the longer it took. Finally giving up, he headed to the front desk, knowing at least a student worker would have to be there.

Relief flooded through him when he saw the librarian hunched over at the desk.

"Hey," he whispered as he approached the desk, still reluctant to make too much noise and break the oppressive silence. But the man at the desk didn't respond. Warily, Fakir tried again to get his attention by clearing his throat—which, given that he was still unwilling to make too much noise, didn't sound like much of anything outside of a sudden exhale.

'This is ridiculous,' Fakir thought, cursing himself. Swallowing the awkwardness, he reached out and tapped the librarian on the shoulder. "Excuse me." This he managed to say a bit louder.

Nothing. A jolt ran through Fakir and his brow furrowed as he reached out again, tapping him a little harder. He wasn't moving. Shivers danced up his spine. He hadn't been making it up; it had been unnaturally silent and still.

Taking a step back, his thoughts raced before coming to a standstill on one thought: Ahiru. This stillness, this silence, he had only experienced once before. Chills skittered across his body as he remembered Drosselmeyer and his damned clock, taunting him, sneering at Fakir's attempts to be responsible with his powers, using him to write Ahiru into a depression. A beam of pain throbbed in his right hand as if it, too, remembered the last time this had happened.

Unwilling to waste another moment, Fakir bolted from the library. He had to find Ahiru. He didn't know what nefarious schemes Drosselmeyer was pulling her in to at this very moment, but Fakir would be damned if he let her fight it alone. He didn't know where she was, but he would find her—whatever it took.


"I found you, zura!" Uzura half sang, half chanted for the tenth time as she marched along the ledge of the Warrior's Fountain beating her drum.

Ahiru tried to physically shake her stupefaction from her head. She hadn't seen Uzura in ages, and here she was impishly making a ruckus in the solitude that hung in the air. Mouth agape, Ahiru tried to stammer again, "Uzura… you're… how are you… where have you… wha—"

Uzura pivoted towards Ahiru, kicking her leg out to the side and swiftly pulling it back to the other with great purpose. "I was with Drosselmeyer, zura!"

Ahiru closed her mouth at this. She always sort of knew that had been the case, that Uzura had joined Drosselmeyer in whatever misdeeds he was up to. It was difficult to hold it against the little girl—after all, Uzura had been made from the ashes of Edel, who had served under Drosselmeyer. In some weird way it made sense that Uzura had done the same.

"Oh?" Ahiru mumbled as she stood up. She was surprised to find her clothes still dry, despite falling in the fountain and proceeding to sit there like an idiot for a good few moments.

"Yeah!" Uzura beamed at Ahiru. "He was all like 'all in due time, Uzura!' and I was all like 'No thanks, zura!' and came here, zura!"

Carefully stepping around Uzura, Ahiru got out of the fountain. "Where is Drosselmeyer?"

"I don't know, zura!" Uzura gleefully announced, as if this were the best news she could possibly be delivering.

Ahiru went to twist her braid to remove any excess water it had soaked up by habit but was again surprised to find it completely dry. Consternation marred her features as she let go of it. "How did you get here, though?" The thought of Drosselmeyer running around freely in Goldkrone Town made her queasy.

Uzura, having turned around to face Ahiru, leaned forward conspiratorially. She looked every bit like she was going to whisper something but instead loudly proclaimed, "I took his transport-y clock-y thingy, zura!"

"What?" Ahiru reeled back slightly in surprise—equally from the unexpected loudness of the delivery as from the information shared. Uzura had managed to steal the clock? She could just do that? The feather like strands atop her head bobbed wildly as she looked around the opening, trying to catch a glimpse of the accursed clock Drosselmeyer sometimes stuffed himself into just to come bother them.

"Yup!" The little girl grinned widely, beating loudly on her drum as if she were announcing her victory to the world. "And now I'm here to fix the story!" Her voiced trilled with excitement and she punctuated her sentence by throwing her arms in the air.

Just as always, Uzura was full of surprises. Turning her attention back to Uzura, Ahiru kneeled down in front of her, "Hey, Uzura, what do you mean? You're going to 'fix the story'?"

A mischievous curl tilted her lips, "You'll see, zura!" And, with a practiced ease, Uzura swung the strap holding her drum so it spun behind her back and sprinted from the fountain with a surprising amount of speed for such a tiny little body with short little legs.

"U-Uzura!" Ahiru gawked after the nimble girl, blinking stupidly as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. A moment passed before she caught her wits and she clamored to get up and follow after her. "Uzura, wait!" It didn't make any difference in the end, however, the girl had been too fast and had too much of a head start on Ahiru. It didn't help that sound worked… differently when it was like this.

"Well, that's not good," Ahiru said matter-of-factly. It was probably very bad, actually, the more she thought about it. Did Drosselmeyer know Uzura was here? That she had taken the clock? Where was the clock? Was time going to be stuck like this until she found Uzura and the clock and shoved Uzura back to whatever hellscape Drosselmeyer resided in? And what the heck was Uzura going on about? "Fixing the story"? What was she up to? Questions upon questions poured into her brain, weighing her mind down with growing anxiety until a sparkle caught her eye and her heart stopped.

The pendant was glowing.

"Does Uzura…?" Cupping the white gem in the palm of her left hand, Ahiru stared uncomprehendingly at it as it glinted with a telltale magical light.

A beat.

"Aw, nuts."

So, time was stopped; Uzura was running around doing god knows what; Ahiru had no idea where Drosselmeyer or his stupid clock was; Uzura had a freaking fragment; and she had to fix all of this by herself because, again, time was stopped and she was the only one who was still moving! Ahiru's shoulders sagged. This was not going to be fun.

"I guess I better find Uzura…" Ahiru groaned and trudged along the street.

She hated the suffocating silence that came with this little prestidigitation of Drosselmeyer's. It was as if it were a thick fog that could choke you. She almost half-wished he'd show up in one of the longer-than-normal shadows and say his little vague riddles or taunts just to break it up—almost. But, as Ahiru jogged along roads trying to catch hide or hair of Uzura, she found the worst part was how utterly otherworldly it made the world become. It was like someone had upped the contrast while downing the saturation and everything was either nearly painfully bright or unnaturally dark. And it all seemed so empty. Like the people might be there paused in whatever they were doing, but it almost seemed like they were in an entirely different dimension from her, and they were simply overlapping. It really felt like isolation.

Ahiru made it to the watermill on the other side of town before she decided she needed a break and sunk into a crouch by the riverside. Panting, she rested her forehead against her crossed arms which were perched upon her knees. "Is this what I've been doing to people?" Ahiru gasped for air, remembering a time where Fakir bemoaned her stamina and speed.

Fakir. He'd certainly be helpful right now. Not that it mattered—even if he wasn't frozen like everyone else, he made it pretty clear he hated her. Sighing, she let herself collapse onto her back.

"Everything really is a mess, huh?" Ahiru moaned out loud to herself.

Fakir had a good head on his shoulders. He'd know what to do. He'd tell Ahiru she needed to stop running around thoughtlessly and think about where Uzura might go. He'd tell her to look at Uzura's favorite spots. … Did Uzura have a favorite spot? She just kind of popped up in random places.

Frowning, Ahiru forced herself to sit up. Even the Fakir in her head was tainted with her own shortcomings. She screwed up her lips in frustration and stood up. Laying here was not likely to get her anywhere, and clearly trying to pretend Fakir was giving her advice wasn't working, so she best be on her way or she'd be stuck in this lifeless prison for god knows how long—and time was one thing she especially did not have a lot of.

Ahiru compelled herself to keep moving by letting every nightmare scenario run through her head. Frankly, the fact that she had no idea what was going on only served to help feed her imagination. With time frozen, Uzura would probably not run into anyone with ill intentions, and with having spent so much time with Drosselmeyer with no event, Ahiru doubted he would do any harm to the little girl. Outside of the fragment, Uzura's safety wasn't a concern. Drosselmeyer, however, was always a concern. What was he up to?

It was the reverberation of her name, rolling through the air like thunder that drew her from her reverie.

"Ahiru!"

Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to pinpoint the source. It was no use, though, sounds just traveled so differently here. Moments later her name buzzed in the air around her and she instantly recognized the voice. "Fakir?" It was definitely him. But where was he? Or, perhaps more worryingly, why was he here in Drosselmeyer's time-stop?

Her name rolled around her once again and Ahiru repeated his name louder in response, "Fakir?!" She could almost—or perhaps she imagined she could—hear the sound of footfalls. He was hopefully nearby.

"Ahiru!?" An urgency spilled into her name this time, suggesting he had heard her own call.

"Fakir!" Ahiru repeated, as if trying to assure him she really was there.

"Where are you?!"

Ahiru slowed her pace as she tried to get a good descriptor to pass on—she was never really good at this. Though she knew where she was, her thoughts whirled uselessly as she tried to grip the best way to tell him.

"Ahiru?!" The urgency returned this time, perhaps she had paused too long. "Where—" Fakir's voice came to an abrupt stop and Ahiru heard what sounded like a skidding to her… left? Turning, Ahiru found nothing only to suddenly be pulled backwards. A startled quack escaped her lips but she instantly relaxed when Fakir sighed into her hair, "Oh, thank god."

As if everything from the past two weeks or so had never happened, Ahiru squirmed in his arms until she could properly return his hug. She was tired, she was worried, she felt lost, but he was there. If Fakir was with her, Ahiru was certain that together they could figure this out.

So, they stayed like that for a moment, allowing themselves to soak in the other's presence and their shared relief. It was Fakir who broke away first.

"What's happening?"

Ahiru bit the inside of her cheek and stared to the left, both perturbed and unsure. "I don't… I was by the fountain and everything just…" Ahiru gestured around them.

Fakir nodded. "I was in the library."

"But…" Ahiru sighed through her nose before continuing, "Uzura was there."

"Uzura?"

"Yeah. I thought it would be Drosselmeyer, because, well… y'know, but… it wasn't. Uzura just showed up out of nowhere, said she was here to fix the story and then… ran off." Ahiru threw her hands up in annoyance. "I've been chasing after her ever since, but she's really fast for having such little legs!"

Fakir bit back chuckle, but a smirk blossomed on his lips all the same.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just…" He laughed a bit this time, perhaps it was the relief, but having chased after Ahiru himself a fair amount of times, it was quite funny to imagine her meeting her match.

She gave a little huff and pouted. She should've known he'd react like this—she did have a similar thought just earlier, too. "That's not the point. She said she took Drosselmeyer's clock."

The mention of Drosselmeyer's clock was enough to wipe the smirk from Fakir's face. "Did she say where he was?"

Ahiru shook her head. "No… she said she didn't know. Y'know… she kinda implied that she came here herself, but…"

"Can Uzura operate it by herself?" Fakir finished her line of thought. He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his chin pensively. A moment passed as he thought. "Drosselmeyer has never been one for subtlety, at least when it comes to his presence. If he were here, I think we would know by now."

"So you think Uzura really did come here by herself?" Ahiru looked up at him curiously. Uzura certainly always had been a mysteriously capable little girl, it wouldn't be so surprising if that were the case.

Nodding, Fakir looked down the street. "But I don't know what ramifications this could mean for this world. Drosselmeyer had only been here for a small amount of time—at least in my experience. I have no idea how much time has passed since Uzura has gotten here."

Ahiru sucked in her bottom lip pensively. As he stared in the distance, Fakir was absently rubbing his scarred hand and she couldn't help but stare. She was tempted to reach out and grab it herself, to reassure him he'd be okay. When he glanced at her she quickly averted her eyes. "Yeah… Drosselmeyer was never here for very long with me, either."

"We need to find Uzura."

Groaning tiredly, Ahiru hugged herself. "I've been looking for her for what must've been hours. I haven't heard her for a good long while and I don't know if she's just darting around, so she could be somewhere I've already looked. And—" her voice cut off here. She was still uncertain if she wanted to mention the fragment to Fakir.

"And…?" He looked at her expectantly.

She blew her bangs out of her face, steeling her resolve. "And… I think… Er, rather, that is to say… Uzura has a fragment."

"She what?"

"Well," having let the cat out of the bag, Ahiru launched into an explanation, "one moment Uzura is drumming circles around me singing about how she's going to fix everything, and the next she's running off. It was all a bit stunning, okay? And then I look down and I notice my pendant is glowing, but she's already long gone!"

"Okay." Fakir's voice took on a slight authoritative tone, causing Ahiru to stop. "This doesn't change anything; we still need to find her."

Ahiru nodded. "But where do we start?" She wasn't exactly keen on the idea of splitting up and hoped Fakir didn't suggest it.

"Did you check her favorite places?"

Ahiru felt a small swell of pride that the Fakir in her head was accurate in this aspect—even if it hadn't helped her back then. "I don't… really know what her favorite places were?"

"Hm." Fakir thought on this. Uzura wasn't really inclined to stay in one place long. She flitted around, always trying to find something new to entertain her. But… "Did you check home?"

Ahiru shook her head, slightly embarrassed she hadn't thought to check there in the first place. Uzura had lived with Fakir and Charon the entire time she had been here, after all. Sharing a resolute nod, they both broke off in a sprint towards the house. Both were out of breath by the time they reached the house, and, after they threw open the door, they stood panting in the doorway. Hesitation stilled Ahiru, remembering how little her calls had done to persuade Uzura to return to her when she started chasing her; however, Fakir had no such qualms.

"Uzura!" he called out, moving from the doorway and checking the closest rooms. Ahiru gave herself a second longer before bounding up the stairs and checking the rooms up there.

"She's not here…" Ahiru groaned as she flopped on her bed—the last place she checked.

"She's not in here either?" Fakir rested against her door jamb, having just left Charon's room.

"No." Sighing, Ahiru pushed herself up with her elbows. "Now what?"

Fakir crossed the room and offered her a hand. Pulling her up he replied, "You know…" he paused, as if considering his next words carefully, "Uzura really cared about you." Cocking her head to the side, Ahiru stared up at him, waiting for him to continue. "Maybe," he paused again, unsure of the hunch growing in his gut, "well, we don't have any other lead. Perhaps we should try the pond."

"The pond?" Ahiru pondered it for only a moment before nodding, "Yeah, okay. May as well, right?" Not waiting to hear his answer, Ahiru bounded down the stairs and out of the house—Fakir following closely behind.

They skidded to a halt on the outskirts of the pond, relief flooding both of them as the familiar figure of the mint-haired little girl hopped playfully around on the dock.

"Uzura!" Ahiru cried out, said relief evident in her voice as she sprinted over to the girl.

Uzura turned her wide-eyed curious stare to them before grinning and triumphantly throwing her hands in the air. "You found each other, zura!"

"Uzura," Fakir's tone was slightly reprimanding, though his apparent relief removed any sting from it, "you shouldn't run off like that. You made us worry."

Ahiru drew Uzura into her arms, enveloping her in a tight hug that Uzura returned as best she could with her little arms, gripping tightly at Ahiru's sweater sleeves. Pulling back after a moment, Uzura grinned up at them innocently.

"If I hadn't, you wouldn't have found each other, zura!"

Fakir crouched down next to the two of them, giving an affectionate muss to Uzura's hair. "What're you talking about? No one was lost."

Puffing up her cheeks indignantly, Uzura glared up at him meaningfully. "No, you weren't being lovey-dovey like you're supposed to, zura!"

The pair glanced at each other in surprise, only for a second, before both looked away, their faces a bright, burning red. Ahiru's eyes were as wide as saucers and Fakir stared at the water to the left of the dock as if it contained all the answers to life's questions.

"No!" Uzura insisted before standing on her tiptoes and smashing a tiny hand on either side of Fakir's face, forcing him to look at her. "You've been spending too much time in the library, zura!" She frowned stonily at him, trying to get her point across, before turning to Ahiru and doing the same to her. "And you!" Uzura smooshed Ahiru's cheeks together almost comically while trying to pull her face lower. "You're not supposed to be crying so much, zura!"

"What?" Fakir looked over Ahiru in alarm.

Simultaneously, Ahiru blurted petulantly, "I-I haven't been!" She quickly averted her eyes, feeling Fakir's stare burning into her.

Easing her grip on Ahiru's face, Uzura gently patted one of her cheeks. "You're supposed to be lovey-dovey, zura, that way you won't be so lonely."

Fakir wanted to tell Ahiru he was sorry, that he regretted taking advantage of her and making her cry. He wanted to tell her that she should never feel lonely. That she didn't deserve to ever cry another tear again in her life. Thousands of words fought to pour out of Fakir, stumbling over each other and getting caught in his throat. Instead, he addressed Uzura. "Uzura… relationships are more complicated than that—just being in one won't magically protect you from negative feelings. I know you want us to be happy, but…" But what? He wanted to give some grand platitude that would assuage the young girl, but his own feelings seemed to be getting in the way. "… you can't force things." That was it, wasn't it? Just like he couldn't force things, neither could Uzura.

Uzura let her arms fall to her sides and frowned. "Why not?"

"Uzura…" Ahiru turned her attention back to the girl in front of her, cocking her head sympathetically.

Shaking her head, Uzura took a couple steps back. "That's how it's supposed to work, zura!" her tiny voice quaked as tears started welling up in her eyes. "You're supposed to lovey-dovey zura because I can't be here and we're supposed to—supposed to—" Uzura glared down at her feet, trying to blink away her tears.

A moment passed before Fakir gently urged her to finish, "Supposed to what?"

Her lip trembled as she tried to comprehend the feelings that had been churning in her chest for a long time now. Her mind shot back to the hazy images she saw in the not-flashback cog not too long ago. Of Fakir and some faceless children playing some pretend game with Ahiru. Tears began falling faster now, and Uzura rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand in frustration. Finally, she mumbled, "a fmbee."

"What?"

"We're supposed to be a family, zura," Uzura repeated louder this time.

Ahiru's heart shattered. As if the sight of a sobbing Uzura wasn't enough, her statement was like an arrow to her heart. "Uzura…" gently, Ahiru reached out and wrapped her hands around both of Uzura's tiny ones. "Even if Fakir and I hated each other, you would still be like a little sister to me—nothing could ever change that, not even distance. And I'm sure Fakir feels the same." Her own lip trembled slightly. As much as she wanted to promise Uzura she and Fakir would always be there for her, she couldn't. She wasn't going to be here, not for very much longer, and perhaps Uzura was even aware of that fact. More than anything she hoped Uzura knew that even in death Ahiru would always love her.

Fakir placed a hand atop of Ahiru's as they clutched Uzura's. "Ahiru's right, we are family."

"But you're fighting, zura," Uzura sniffed.

"Sometimes people fight, that doesn't mean they don't care about each other," Fakir reassured her. "Besides, we're not fighting this time. Not really." He glanced over at Ahiru, meeting her eyes before he spoke again, "It's not Ahiru I'm mad at."

Ahiru stared at him a moment, blinking as she processed what he said. "You're not mad at me?"

"Of course not! I was the one who—" Fakir looked away, not really wanting to go further in depth in front of Uzura. "Just—I'm not mad at you."

"I'm not mad at you either… for what it's worth." Ahiru bit the inside of her cheek nervously. Of course she wasn't mad at him, he had done nothing wrong.

Fakir gave Uzura a gentle smile. "See? We're fine. You don't need to be worried about us, okay?"

Uzura frowned at them thoughtfully, blinking hard as she regarded Ahiru, and for a horrible moment Ahiru feared Uzura would spill her greatest secret. The moment passed when Uzura sniffed and pulled her hands from their grasp to rub away the last of her tears. "So we are a family? Even if Uzura isn't here?"

The two of them nodded.

Uzura sniffed again and looked up at them with pleading eyes. "Then… will you dance together, zura?"

"Oh," Ahiru scratched the back of her head. She hadn't danced ballet as herself in ages, there was no way she could pull off anything even remotely resembling a graceful dance. "I don't know, I'm no—"

"Sure we can," Fakir interrupted her. Standing, he offered a hand to Ahiru.

Ahiru stared up at him in surprise, "But I—"

Not letting her finish, Fakir grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Trust me."

Ahiru swallowed before dumbly nodding. This wouldn't be the first time he had led her through a dance, and she knew he had the skill to do so. If anyone could compensate for her lack of grace, it was him.

Fakir held her gaze as he walked backwards off the dock. Already his poise had taken a more refined note and his steps held more of a cadence. Ahiru bit her lip as she tried to match him. Once they were a decent distance from the dock, he bent his knees slightly as his hands fell to her waist and foisted her into the air as he turned both of their bodies away. Setting her back down, he kept one hand on her back as he led her into a dip. Barely a second passed before he was urging her back up again and drawing her along his side as they turned. When he pulled her into a brief embrace before pulling away from her, the choreography clicked in Ahiru's mind.

'I know this,' she thought as she, too, pulled away and leaned her body back in a mirror of his. 'This is the pas de deux from La Bayadère act one.' Tugging at the memories of the ballet, she watched as Fakir approached her once more before tentatively stepping forward and spinning around his kneeling figure. Flushing, she bowed her face close to his as she remembered the character, Nikiya, doing. A mere hair's breadth away from his lips, her heart pounding, she spun away. Why did he have to choose this one?

She felt his arm wrap around her middle as he supported her through some leg work that should've been done en pointe, all other thoughts started to fade to the background. He always made her feel so safe. Even as she stumbled through the steps, he didn't make her feel like she wasn't dancing well enough—it was so easy to just fade into the movements as he spun her and carried her as if she were lighter than air. Leaning her forehead against his, she smiled down at him and he lowered her into an arabesque.

Ahiru had missed this. Missed dancing as herself. Missed dancing with him. She knew she was far from ideal as a dance partner, but there was something right about dancing with Fakir as herself. Like this was the way it was supposed to be. Not even the unsettling and oppressive atmosphere from the time stop registered in her mind as they danced. As he spun her in his arms one last time before dipping her back, she couldn't help but feel utterly content.

It was not even a moment after Ahiru's arms had circled around his neck and shoulders and drew him to her chest that a flash of something drew Fakir's attention. It wasn't so much light as an absence of light, and it shot into the white stone his cheek rested upon. He pulled back slightly, startled, but Ahiru wrenched herself from his grasp.

"Uzura!" Ahiru cried as she rushed over to the crumpled form at the end of the dock.

Fakir gathered his wits quickly and rushed over to the two of them, falling to his knees in front of them. "Is she okay?"

Ahiru nodded, not looking up from the girl cradled in her arms. Her voice was a bit shaky. "Yeah, she's… she's fine." She laughed uneasily, "Y'know, you'd think I'd be used to this, but I'd never… I mean, not without being…" Exhaling shakily, she brushed a hand through her bangs, not meeting Fakir's eyes. "Uh, that is to say… That was her fragment."

Fakir studied Ahiru briefly before looking down at Uzura. "That… blackness," his voice filled with uncertainty at the word, not sure what to call what he saw, "was a fragment?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, it was. Yes." Biting her lip, Ahiru pulled Uzura closer to her. The girl was breathing fine. She had seen this before with every fragment she collected. Uzura was fine and she really didn't need to worry. But how could she not? And had she really just fixed a fragment without even becoming Princess Tutu? It didn't seem like that should be possible. She had never acquired and returned a heart shard without being Princess Tutu.

But these weren't heart shards. These were fragments—loose ends and unresolved feelings from the last story. Then… was Princess Tutu really necessary to bring the fragments to a satisfying denouement? Or…

Fakir placed a hand on Ahiru's arm, derailing her train of thought and prompting her to look up at in him surprise. "Come on," he urged with a head nod to the grass, "let's go sit down and wait for her to come to."

Nodding, Ahiru let Fakir take Uzura from her so she could stand.


Drosselmeyer leaned back in his chair as he watched the three sit quietly together in the grass. "Huh," he chuckled. "Well, well, my little protégé, brava." Things were looking a little dicey for a moment there. He had never expected Uzura to steal his clock, but he wasn't exactly surprised, either. Uzura marched to the beat of her own drum—often quite literally—and her defiance certainly made things more interesting.

The man leaned back in his chair, large, unblinking eyes focused on the image projecting from the spinning gear before him. He watched as the boy and girl leaned against each other, cradling the tiny figure between their laps. Uzura had demanded this romantic subplot develop faster, and it seemed she successfully forced it along, though neither spoke for the duration of her unconscious spell. He, personally, had never cared so much for the tender moments, but he wasn't a fool either. What good was a tragedy if there wasn't anything worth losing?

A small grin curled his lips, growing in size, as he watched Ahiru clutch the now conscious Uzura tightly, burying her face in the tiny girl's hair. Tears wetted both their faces as his progeny joined their embrace. Soft words were exchanged before Uzura put a hand in each of theirs and lead them to a discreet alley near the church where she had left Drosselmeyer's clock.

Uzura smiled warmly at the pair, hugging them each one last time before marching back to the clock and waved as she shut the door. Ahiru's arm curled around the boy's, her eyes still misty as she bid the small girl goodbye. Drosselmeyer, of course, couldn't care less about that detail. He leaned forward, his eyes crinkling in excitement as they trained in on the black gleam of Ahiru's pendant.

A line was being blurred—a very dangerous line at that. Once again, Uzura's meddling produced the most scrumptious of results. Grinning fully now, Drosselmeyer drummed his fingertips against each other.

"Brava, indeed."


The walk back to the house after Uzura left was a quiet one. Despite time returning to normal, that oppressive, unnatural feeling hadn't left Ahiru. Or, rather, it had changed. She still felt unnatural, out of place. Before it had been that everything felt out of place, but now, Ahiru was certain it was just her. She didn't belong. Uzura had left her, and soon she herself would abandon Fakir and Charon. But wouldn't they be better without her?

"Ahiru…" Fakir's soft voice drew her out of her reverie. Somehow, she had made it to the door of her room without even realizing it. She inclined her head slightly toward the sound of his voice, not fully turning to look down the hall at him, standing in front of his own door. "I know you said you weren't mad at me, but…" She lifted her head at this, staring at him wide-eyed. "I would understand if you had been. And… I'm sorry."

Fully turning to face toward him, Ahiru shook her head. "No, don't… I shouldn't have—" Hot tears suddenly poured down her face out of embarrassment, which only served to embarrass her more. Why did she have to cry so much? Fakir grew alarmed at the sight of her tears and started to say something, but Ahiru stopped him, rubbing at her eyes. "I-I'm okay. I get why you're so disgusted with me, I didn't m—"

"Disgusted?" Fakir strode over to her and tentatively pressed his hands to her face before urging her to look at him. His eyes searched hers for a moment before he spoke, "Perhaps I was disgusted, I can concede that, but not with you. Never with you." He dropped his hands from her face and let his head fall to his chest. Ahiru waited for him to continue, sniffling quietly.

He swallowed, trying to gather his nerves. She thought he was disgusted with her? He felt even worse now. He had taken advantage of her and left her feeling like he was disgusted with her rather than with himself—as he was, as he should've been. "You…" he finally spoke, "were obviously not yourself. The way you were acting, your body language, the words you said, all of it. I could tell something was off. But I—" He hesitated. He needed to confess his sins, make her understand that he was the repulsive one. She should revile him. But there was still a part of him that was afraid to see her look at him in the way he so deserved. Quashing these fears down, he forced himself to press on, "I had wanted so badly for it to be real, that I… I would have—I almost…" A wry laugh escaped his throat as he ran a hand through his bangs. "As if you would ever want to kiss me."

Ahiru stared at him in wonder, her tears drying on her lashes. A moment passed as a million thoughts raced in her head. Thoughtlessly, the words tumbled from her lips, "But I did want to."

Another moment passed before her brain processed what she had said. Her face immediately flushed a bright red as she slapped her hands to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Did she really just say that? Out loud? Was it a confession of her feelings, would she turn into light? Fear gripped her heart as she waited for the telltale signs that she was disappearing; it was all over because her stupid mouth couldn't keep itself shut.

"What?"

Fakir's soft inquiry barely registered in Ahiru's mind. She cracked an eye open, scared of what life as a speck of light would be like. Would her consciousness continue to exist, but her lack of physicality render her unable to interact with anything? Would she simply cease to exist? But Fakir didn't look horrified. She pulled her hands slightly from her mouth and glanced down at her fingers. They didn't look any different or see-through or anything.

"What do you mean?" Fakir spoke again, drawing Ahiru back to the actual consequences of what she said, rather than the potential physical consequences of what she said. The red staining what must be her entire body at this point deepened. "Ahiru?"

Had he heard her right? She wanted to kiss him? No, he must've misunderstood her. Fakir didn't want to hope. He didn't want to let himself even think she meant what he thought. She was beet red and looked bewildered at what she had said. Of course she didn't mean that. Yet that traitorous feeling bloomed in his chest.

After willing herself to not be in this situation didn't appear to work, Ahiru awkwardly lowered her hands away from her mouth, absently rubbing her left bicep with her right hand as she pointedly looked anywhere but at him. "Er, well, that is to say…" she swallowed. She hadn't disappeared yet, perhaps unfortunately, so maybe she ought to just come out and say it. "I… did want to… kiss… you."

"Because you were being… controlled…" Fakir supplied cautiously, speaking slowly.

A strange feeling bubbled up in Ahiru, and she was suddenly gripped by the urgent need for him to understand her. "No!" she insisted. "No. That's not at all it. I won't say that that was all me, I think we both know it wasn't, but—!" She breathed deeply for a moment trying to figure out how to get him to see that her actions weren't just a result of Drosselmeyer puppeteering her, but rather a perversion of what she truly felt. "I wanted to kiss you. I still want to kiss you." Okay, maybe she didn't need to go that far. That dark shade of red returned to her skin.

Fakir's heart leapt.

I still want to kiss you.

I still want to kiss you.

I still want to kiss you.

The words played in his head on repeat.

I still want to kiss you.

No, he couldn't hope. She had clearly not been in her right mind when everything had happened. How could he know for sure that she wasn't out of it now? He couldn't. "You weren't yourself. And I took advantage of that, again."

Exasperation overtook Ahiru and she stomped her foot in annoyance. "Stop it! You didn't! You didn't take advantage of me at all! You stopped me!"

"But I wanted to—"

"So did I!" Ahiru threw her hands up. "All that… caressing stuff and the-the" she gestured wildly "the staring or whatever, that wasn't me! I admit that! And you realized that, and you stopped me and we both misunderstood each other, but I did want to! I have wanted to! I—" she cut herself off this time. She was dangerously close to just telling him she loved him. She groaned and buried her face in her hands. Her embarrassment was catching back up to her. "Don't make me say it again," she requested pathetically. The thought of saying the word 'kiss' again made her almost wish she did turn into a speck of light. At least she knew expressing the desire to kiss him wasn't considered speaking her feelings, she supposed.

Fakir stared at her, his heart beating a mile a minute. It almost felt like too much to process. He wanted to believe her. Part of him did believe her. But part of him also feared that that was actually a selfish part of him, a part that would be willing to ignore obvious signs things weren't right. He gulped. What was he supposed to say? Do?

He started to open his mouth, his brain struggling to form words, any words, when the sound of the front door creaking open and closed travelled up the stairs. Charon was home. Ahiru lifted her face from her hands and glanced down the stairs. Fakir almost felt relieved at the prospect of the conversation ending. This would give him some time to think. He clearly was letting his feelings for her affect his judgement.

Then he felt her warm fingers wrap around his wrist. He stared down at her hand, dumbfounded. And before he knew it, she tugged him into her bedroom, closing the door behind them.

Ahiru stood with her back to him for a moment, staring her bedroom door. She exhaled then turned to face him, though she couldn't quite make her eyes meet his. "I… I want to finish this conversation." She murmured, chewing nervously on her lip.

It was Fakir's turn to turn red. They had been alone in each other's bedrooms before—he had even slept next to her in the same bed before—but with the context of the conversation, he couldn't help the stray thoughts zipping through his head. He definitely couldn't be trusted.

"Fakir," Ahiru took a step toward him, stopping short when she saw him take a step back. Hurt flashed across her features and he immediately regretted it as she shrunk into herself. "You didn't take advantage of me," she repeated her earlier sentiment softly. "You had stopped me. You even threw me away from you so quickly, I…" she trailed off sadly.

Fakir sighed. "I wasn't throwing you away from me, I thought I had hurt you." He hesitated a moment before approaching her and pulling her into his arms. "I had been so disgusted with myself, that I hadn't stopped it sooner, that I was doing it again, I was afraid I had been too rough with you. I thought you were scared of me." He leaned his forehead against the top of her head. "You had every right to be."

Ahiru shook her head. "I was scared, but not of you." She wrapped her arms around his middle. "I wasn't in control and everything was distorted." She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory of the horrible things she heard people say. She knew now there was no way they actually said them—much of it was information there was no way anyone could possibly know—but they stung nonetheless.

"So you… didn't—"

"Stop, please," Ahiru pulled back, resting her hands on his chest and looking up at him, "I already explained to you. I wasn't in control. And I'm sorry it all happened like that. It wasn't me; I wouldn't have done something like that. You deserve better. But that doesn't mean…" She sighed. "Why won't you believe me?"

Fakir studied her face, she held his stare for only a moment before she averted his eyes, though she didn't step from his hold. Her tiny hands still rested against his chest and he idly wondered if she could feel how hard his heart was beating. Her face was still flushed and he watched as she chewed at her bottom lip. He felt the last vestiges of his resistance melt away. This was his Ahiru. Awkward and bold and multiple shades of pink. And, a good sign as he's come to learn, the pendant was its normal pearlescent white. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, letting hope flood him completely. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I believe you."

Quiet fell over them as they stood there, foreheads pressed together, both unsure what to say next, but enjoying the moment regardless.

"I—"

"Wha—"

They both spoke at the same time, stopping at the sound of the other's voice.

"You go—"

"What wer—"

Again, they attempted to speak at the same time. They both stopped and laughed.

"What were you going to say?" Ahiru asked after a moment, hoping he actually had something to say unlike her.

He shook his head and smiled a small, gentle smile. "Nothing."

She hated that smile and by hated she meant loved. She adored that smile. It made her knees feel weak and her heart flutter. That sweet, soft, slightly lopsided smile. She remembered the first time he smiled at her like that. Back when she thought him a brute and he had thought she was just a simple duck that wandered into the academy. It was the smile that made her realize there was more to him.

"Would you…?" she whispered, trying desperately not to lose her nerve.

"Hm?" He directed his gaze back to her eyes and she almost lost it. But she pressed on.

"Kiss me?"

There. She said it. She closed her eyes, her nerve abandoning her completely now that it was out in the open. Surely, she would just be permanently red forever now. Why wasn't he saying anything? Did she botch it again? She didn't know how one was supposed to initiate a kiss. She's only been kissed once, and she's never done the kissing herself! Was she supposed to ask him if she could kiss him? That's what he had done at the fire festival. Maybe it was wrong to ask to be kissed, rather than to kiss!

His fingers caressed the side of her face and she snapped her eyes open. She could've swooned at the smile he was giving her. It was wider and entirely lopsided and his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They sparkled in amusement and happiness and glittered such a gorgeous deep green. How could he be so disarming?

"Okay."

Ahiru was certain her face would just burn off and her heart would explode as he drew closer to her. She squeezed her eyes shut again. She was nervous, but wonderfully so. They were finally on the same page. She could feel his hot breath on her face. He was so close now. And then, his lips touched hers.

It was… so much better than she had imagined or remembered. His lips were warm and soft, but also firm. Previously they had been slightly chapped, but they weren't this time. Her senses flooded with his scent: something indescribable but enveloped her in a sense of safety, of home—so undeniably him. It was chaste, but still lit a fire in her heart. It felt like such a natural continuation of all the affection they had shared up until that point. Snaking her arms around his neck, she sighed happily into his lips. He pulled her closer to him in response.

When they parted, he rested his forehead back against hers, a smile playing on his lips. He was certain he would wake up and find this had all been a torturously pleasant dream, but in this moment, he didn't care. He lightly rubbed his thumb back and forth along her jawline.

Ahiru could tell her face was still flushed by how hot it felt, but it didn't bother her. For the first time in she didn't know how long, no dark thoughts danced in the back of her mind. Everything felt at peace, everything was right, and her heart felt as if it were ablaze with the most comfortable of fires. If only she had realized her feelings sooner. If only she had been brave enough to say something sooner—so much time she had lost to her uncertainty. But no longer. She wouldn't waste any more time, for whatever amount of time she had left, she would spend it just like this. In his arms, her heart aglow with happiness.

They stood like that for a moment, neither feeling the need to say anything, both wanting to bask in the warmth of the other. Opening her eyes, Ahiru peered up at Fakir's face. He was so close to her. His dark myrtle hair brushed lightly against her cheeks. His expression was so tranquil and content. Her heart soared at the thought that being near her, kissing her, had been the cause of this expression. He cared about her. He cared so much for her, and she cared so very, very much for him. She may not be able to express her love for him with words, but she would do everything she could from now on to show him how she felt with her actions.

"Fakir," she murmured his name, finally breaking the pleasant silence they shared.

"Hm?" His eyes remained closed as he hummed in response.

Ahiru leaned her head further into his hand, closing her owns eyes as she relished in the soft feeling of his thumb grazing along her jawline.

"Would you kiss me again?"

And he did.


A/N: Sorry for the unintentional hiatus there. Last year was, well, it was very bad for me. I won't depress y'all with the details of all my misfortunes, but I will ask you make sure to take every opportunity to let your loved ones know how much you care. Unlike Ahiru we won't turn into a speck of light, haha. It took a while for me to get back into the mental space for writing and stay there, but hopefully this chapter will make up for that. I appreciate you all and thank you for your continued patience!