Mar. 20th, 2010 07:34 pm
fairytaleknight: (everything comes to One)
[personal profile] fairytaleknight
"Princess Tutu," Fakir gasps, with what remains of his breath. "You must see to Mytho's future."

Good. That's the last thing. The Prince's sword is broken; Mytho won't lose his heart, and Tutu will keep him safe. Fakir can fall now.

The lake closes over him.

(Happiness, to those who accept their fates.)


It's quiet down here, lit by a strange and peaceful turquoise light. Fakir knows he's wounded in a dozen places, but he doesn't feel pain. Perhaps he's past pain altogether. Fakir doesn't care very much either way, as he drifts slowly downward. The light is getting dimmer, and the water around him becoming a deeper and deeper shade of blue.

...Shouldn't I have drowned by now?

Date: 2010-03-21 02:55 am (UTC)
authorsbypass: (Edel: ghost in the gears)
From: [personal profile] authorsbypass
The author's attention is elsewhere. Drosselmeyer is in his rocking chair, cackling in delight at the tragic unfolding of his story. Tutu and Kraehe fighting over the prince they both love; the knight fallen, his greatest deeds not enough to save him, and Tutu doomed to never speak her love.

Edel should be on the shelf. She's only a puppet, of course.

(And this time,)

She's not.

(don't start taking an interest in the hearts of humans!)

She's walking instead, tireless as only an automaton can be, halfway between the story and its gears; cobblestones click under her heels, but passersby ghost through her, and with painted wooden eyes she watches the story unfold.

Miss Edel, thank you,, said Duck, who shouldn't have said anything of the sort. I guess we'll be going now.

Drosselmeyer is watching his tragedy unfold. Of course he's laughing.

(And this time...)

Date: 2010-03-21 03:28 am (UTC)
authorsbypass: (Edel: the gem of friendship)
From: [personal profile] authorsbypass
There ought to be light.

Edel is a puppet. She's never had feelings; she carries them in her jewel box and gives them away, and they never belong to her. She has no heart for them to rest in.

But there's something in her anyway, some unfamiliar swelling where a heart should be, some desire that says I want to help them. That says, I want to be worthy of Duck. That says, My friends.

It won't last, Edel knows. She's a puppet. She's not made for this. She's made to serve the author's story. Drosselmeyer will reshape her into what she's supposed to be, the moment he realizes, and she should welcome that. But somehow--

Somehow she doesn't want it to go away.

It'll only last a little while.

She slips between the gears of the story -- it's easy when you know, when it's what you're made to do, and Drosselmeyer never even glances away from his triumph -- and into Duck's room.

"Lamp," she says softly, to the oil lamp burning with a low warm glow by Duck's bed. "I want to shine for someone too."

"Will you help me?"

Date: 2010-03-21 04:43 am (UTC)
authorsbypass: (Edel: just like a real girl)
From: [personal profile] authorsbypass
"Thank you," says Edel to the lamp, smiling a little, as her hands fill with fire.

It seems appropriate to say.

Another slip sideways between moments of the story, and she's in an open courtyard. Somewhere a jester is laughing, fixed in stone, but Edel only smiles at her hands as the flame crackles higher.

Already her paint is a blistering ruin.

Date: 2010-03-21 11:04 am (UTC)
authorsbypass: (Edel: ghost in the gears)
From: [personal profile] authorsbypass
And yet, somehow -- somehow Fakir's breathing, deep underwater, and somehow he's floating.

And somewhere, far ahead of him, there's a glow, and the dimmest suggestion of warmth.

Date: 2010-03-25 03:22 am (UTC)
authorsbypass: (Edel: on the shelf)
From: [personal profile] authorsbypass
"To those who accept everything comes happiness," says the tree's gentle voice.

There's a rustling sound behind it; a dry crackling, like dead leaves underfoot.

"To those who fight everything comes glory."

There's a glow in the distance, brighter now than it was. Bright enough to shine as a spot of red through Fakir's closed eyelids.

"What is the relationship between the story and its setting?"

Edel has learned something, she thinks, and with the thought comes an unfamiliar feeling in her heartless wooden chest. She thinks it's called satisfaction.

What she's learned: dying is slow, but it's easy. You just accept the flames, and you fall to pieces among them. And Drosselmeyer hasn't even noticed.

She's a bonfire now, rich and hot, and the flames rise like a Midsummer celebration.

Date: 2010-03-25 04:01 am (UTC)
authorsbypass: (Edel: ghost in the gears)
From: [personal profile] authorsbypass
Edel is inside the story, and outside of it, and slipping free of it with every bit of her that turns to charcoal and ash. Her jewelry box is burning with her, the barrel organ's wheel and trumpet heaped untidily atop it. It's empty now; the gems belong to the story, and the author.

It's so easy, now that she's already burning. All she has to do is draw him in: from one stage set to another, and into the light. They're very nearly the same.

She smiles, even though her face is gone.


fairytaleknight: (Default)

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