Disclaimer: A story's birth is a sudden event, the start a happy accident, the end the fate for which it's meant. Princess Tutu is not my story.

Vignette One: Einleitung

Fakir clenched his fist so hard that his nails bit into the flesh of his hand. Why in the heck had he decided to transfer from the ballet division of the academy to the literature devision? The obvious answer was to help him better develop his powers as a Narrator, but so far all he was learning was that you needed to count much higher than ten if you were trying to keep your temper.

"It is VERY well written, Mr. Fakir." The teacher slid the manuscript contained within a manila folder across the desk to Fakir. "But I'm afraid I can't give you credit for it. The story of the Prince and the Raven and all related characters are the official property of Herr Droslemyer and although he left the story unfinished, I cannot except an ending to it as your independent writing project."

"You have no idea how hard I worked to write that!" He rubbed his thumb over the scar on his hand where he had stabbed himself in an attempt to stop Drosslemyer from drowning Ahiru.

"Effort doesn't count if the department head thinks your story is infringing on any copy write laws."

Fakir fought heard to keep his voice from slipping into the cold, quiet and threatening tone he used with Mytho. "Aren't fairy tales public domain?"

"Not Drosslemyer's"

"Why?"

"They just are."

"Stupid Book Men." Fakir muttered under his breath.

"What was that you said?"

"Nothing, Sir." Fakir grabbed the folder containing the ending of the Princess Tutu anime and stormed out of the teacher's office. "I'll have something different by the next review session." he said before slamming the door behind him.

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Altor sat at the piano in the music room. He had been sitting there, in fact, for the past hour and had, in fact, been playing the same key for that hour. He wore a dreamy bemused expression on his face as if he were watching a story unfold before his eyes, a story that none but he could see.

"Rue..." he muttered and continued his single key rhythm.

His left brain told him he should be proud of himself. He had helped Fakir write the fates of every one in Kinkon Town and save them all from the tragedy Drosslemyer had chosen for them. Saved every one... saved Rue...

Fakir had saved Rue, all he had done was stand there and be useless. Useless! It wasn't fair! He was a million times smarter than Fakir! It was he whom did all the research, he who had taught Fakir how to use his powers he who had so many plans and ideas for stories that his head was ready to burst! But he couldn't write. Well he COULD write but none of it would come true, he couldn't Write (with a capital W).

His left brain told him he should be happy. Rue had found her "happily ever after"... with Mytho and he should be happy for her not jealous of Mytho.

Mytho!

His right brain canceled out everything his left brain had just told him. He wasn't proud of himself at all, he was jealous of Fakir whom could Write stories when he himself was also a descendant of Drosslemyer, and he hated Mytho. Most of all he hated Mytho. Mytho whom every one had risked their own lives and fates to save, Mytho whom was everyone's hero, Mytho whom Rue loved, whom had taken her into the Story with him!

He wanted to hurt Mytho. Wanted to make him suffer all over again, suffer in ways and intensities that Drosslemyer had never even thought possible. He wanted Mytho to curse is own existence. And he could, if only he could Write, if only he had the power of stories.

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Fakir meandered along the bank of Kinkon Town's lake. She hadn't been waiting for him at the dock where he liked to write and although he didn't exactly need her presence to write she did help in a weird psychological way. The trees began to thicken as he walked farther from the dock and it occurred to him that he didn't even know where along the bank she made her nest. He felt a pang of guilt at relying on her so much as his muse and yet knowing so little about her.

He knew she was was Princess Tutu, he knew she was also Ahiru and he knew that she was in love with Mytho. WAS. Everything he knew about her was now in the pas-tense. She was no longer the human girl Ahiru, she could no longer turn into Princess Tutu and... Mytho... did she still love Mytho? He had chosen Rue over her, he had taken Rue into the story with him instead of her... did she still love him after a betrayal of feelings like that? And if she didn't still love him, who did she love now -if anyone?

He smiled at the mental image of the little yellow duck that was Ahiru blushing over a mallard or some other water bird. That would be just like her to, to fall flippers over feathers for just another pretty face. That's all Mytho was really: a pretty face without a smile. Girls did seem to like Emo boys these days... But wait a minuet! He was plenty emo! and he wasn't that bad to look at ether! Not quite a pretty as Mytho, but he wasn't real, so why was it that no girl had ever -ack!

His thoughts were cut violently short by him tripping over a little yellow pile of feathers and crashing earthward with a SMACK. The little yellow pile of feathers as it happened was a duck, a duck called Ahiru whom had just been jolted from her mid-day nap by an idiot who was not watching where he was going and had failed to notice her sleeping in the only place along the bank where a human could tread safely.

"A-HI-RU!" Fakir seemed livid for some reason.

"Quak?" Fakir?

"You are such a ditz!"

"Quak quak qua quak" Ahiru knew it was pointless to try to say anything to Fakir anymore. Sense she was no longer human she could no longer communicate through speech. And sense Fakir didn't speak Quak and neither of them knew telepathy neither of them could communicate very well much to their mutual disappointment.

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The candle light burned low making it harder to see the page in front of him, but Altor didn't care. It didn't matter, none of it mattered. He couldn't get his stories to come true, he couldn't make Mytho suffer, he couldn't make Rue love him! All he could do was write silly little... fan fictions! He threw the quill pen into a dark corner of the room and scattered the papers from the writing desk.

"Pointless!" He shouted to the empty room. "Useless, unimportant nonsense!"

Such passion in you.

Altor spun around fast enough to get whiplash. "Who's there?"

No one. There was nothing there but the empty room. But he was sure he had heard a voice. No... no heard... the words had sort of just entered his head without passing through his ears.

I could give you the power that you seek. It would be easy for one with passions as strong as yours...

"Drosslemyer?" He asked the darkness tentatively.

Heh. No.

"Who are you then?" He demanded quite boldly now that he knew it wasn't Herr Drosslemyer.

That's not really important to the story right now, is it? Let's just say I'm a plot tool offering you what you that which you desire...

"What I desire..." Memories of Rue pressing her ear to his chest floated to the top of his mind like marshmallows in hot chocolate.

For a price.

"What price?"

Nothing to difficult, just hurt Mytho!

Fin for now.