Fall From Grace, Chapter 5, by insaneladybug/Lucky_Ladybug (Princess Tutu, #1)
Title: Fall From Grace, Chapter Five
Author: Lucky_Ladybug/insaneladybug
Theme: #1 - A Cappella (Alone)
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Warnings: A canon character gradually going off the deep end/behaving as though he has a split personality? ...
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and the story is!
Summary/Comments: Rue receives and accepts an invitation to perform in a new ballet, believing that Autor is involved somehow.
Cross-posted to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5844337/5/ and ladybug_tales.
Notes: Some of Fakir's thoughts in the first scene may sound similar to something he thinks in chapter 17 of LunaSphere's story This Pendent Heart, but I came up with the concept independent of her fic, and before I'd ever read it. I also think this chapter gives off hints of both The Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast. Both are unintentional.
Prompt #1 - A Cappella (Alone)
Autor was not found the next day, or the next, or for an entire week of days. And with each day that passed, more people throughout Kinkan and the whole world fell under the power of his music. Though they went around town each day in the hopes that something had changed for the better, it never did. Ahiru was overwhelmed and heartsick, as she knew the others were as well.
Fakir was growing tense and bitter over the whole mess. She often found he had shut himself up in his attic room, and amid the frustrated curses she could sometimes hear, she discerned that he was trying and failing to write a Story that would bring the problem under control and save Autor.
“I know you’re worried about him, Fakir,” she had told him one night after dinner.
He had rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. “I used to think we were comrades,” he had said. “But I was just fooling myself. Autor never really cared. And before you bring it up, the only reason he saved my life at the end of Drosselmeyer’s Story was because he knew I was the only one who could write it. He saved me so I could try to ensure a happy ending for everyone.”
Ahiru’s eyes had filled with tears. “I don’t believe that,” she had replied. “Sure, that was probably part of it, but he cared about you, Fakir.”
Fakir had just snorted. “I took away what he considered to be his only purpose in life,” he had said. “Why should he care what happened to me?”
Ahiru had leaned across the table, looking firmly at Fakir. “Because that’s the kind of person he is,” she had said.
Many conflicted emotions had flitted through Fakir’s eyes. He had believed that once, but seeing Autor as he was now made him doubt everything.
Ahiru could not help doubting herself sometimes. But when the unpleasant thoughts began to creep into her mind, she tried to push them away with the memories of how Autor had used to be-helpful and kind deep down, in spite of the arrogant way he had usually behaved. She clung to those memories, praying that there was still a way to bring that Autor back.
****
It was two days after that conversation when she and the others arrived for their daily inspection of the academy only to discover something shocking. The students and teachers were walking around the grounds, just as before, but now their eyes were clear. They were talking and laughing as if nothing had ever been wrong.
Ahiru could only stop and stare, her mouth hanging open. “They’re okay!” she gasped. “Did Autor release them?!”
“It certainly looks that way,” Mytho said, his speech slow and cautious. In spite of how things appeared, he did not trust the seeming return to normalcy. Something did not feel right.
Fakir agreed, tensing as Piké and Lilie noticed them and headed their way. Piké was holding an envelope as she ran, excited about something.
“Ahiru!” the girls called.
Still stunned from seeing everyone animated, Ahiru only managed a mechanical half-wave. Then the duo was glomping her, Piké still displaying the letter above her head.
“Oh, Ahiru! We have wonderful news!” Lilie exclaimed.
Piké nodded with enthusiasm. “This letter was just brought today from the academy’s mysterious benefactor!” she said.
Ahiru pulled back, dazed from the hearty glomp as well as the news. “What mysterious benefactor?” she said in amazement.
Fakir’s eyes narrowed. This was news to him, too. Mytho and Rue looked likewise puzzled.
Lilie just patted Ahiru on the head. “Oh, you’re so cute when you’re clueless!” she said.
“Our mysterious benefactor has been sponsoring our programs for ages now!” Piké said. “He started by improving the library, then went on to the music and ballet divisions!”
“Autor,” Fakir muttered under his breath.
Ahiru swallowed hard. “Oh. . . . Well, that’s . . . nice. . . .” She blinked. “Why do you have the letter, Piké?”
“We asked for permission to deliver it,” Piké said, smiling big with her announcement. She stepped back, looking to the surprised Rue. “It’s for you, Miss Rue!”
“Me?” Rue took the envelope, her thoughts racing. If it was from the mysterious benefactor, who must be Autor, what could it possibly say?
“We kind of heard what was in it, because the benefactor’s representative was talking with the administrator,” Piké admitted. “But we won’t say! We’ll let you see for yourself, Miss Rue.”
Mytho glanced at Rue, who had opened the flap and was removing a set of papers. “What is it?” he asked.
Rue’s expression only became more surprised as she read over the contents of the first page. “Basically, this benefactor is putting together a ballet he’s been writing,” she said. “He wants me to be in it.” She thumbed through the other sheets. “The rest is a contract.”
“That’s why his representative was talking to the administrator,” Lilie said dreamily. “To see if that was alright with the school! Of course the answer was Yes!”
Rue folded the letter. “Thank you for delivering this,” she said.
“Of course, Miss Rue!” Piké said. “And we should hurry; we’ll be late for class!”
Ahiru winced. “I’ll be right there,” she said. “Just go on ahead.”
“I hope you come late!” Lilie squealed with a wave. “The teacher will be so angry, he’ll probably give you cleaning duties again!”
Fakir grunted as he watched them go. “I don’t know what you see in them,” he said to Ahiru. “At least in her.”
Ahiru shrugged and gave an uneasy chuckle. “Well . . . they have been my friends,” she said. “I mean . . . Drosselmeyer wrote it that way, but then I really ended up thinking of them as friends. Lilie has her good points, too. . . .
“Hey, what are you going to do about the ballet, Rue?” she asked, looking to the older girl.
Rue glanced over the letter’s contents again. “If this actually is from Autor, it’s strange that he would give me an opening like this to see him,” she said. “We shouldn’t pass up the chance.”
“You mean to accept then,” Mytho said.
Rue nodded. “We need to investigate,” she said. “This must be Autor’s doing; his sponsoring of the school sounds like his pattern, judging from what happened in our kingdom. And I don’t remember the academy having a mysterious benefactor before.”
“It hasn’t,” Fakir said, his tone flat.
“There’s an address here,” Rue noted. “I’ll go after afternoon classes.” She gave Mytho a meaningful look. “And I should go alone, since I was the only one invited. I might have a better chance of learning something.”
“Of course,” Mytho said, though he looked concerned. “But be careful, Rue.”
Ahiru was more positive. “Something really happened to Autor when he saw you before, Rue!” she declared. “If anyone can get through to him, I’m sure it’s you!”
“Maybe,” Rue said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. “But I couldn’t keep his personality from shifting.” And that bothered her, though she did not fully understand why. Had she really thought she would have success where the others had failed, because of Autor’s feelings for her? Or was it something else?
Fakir glanced at his watch. “You really will be put on cleaning duty if you don’t hurry,” he said to Ahiru.
Her eyes widened in horror. “I’ll see all of you later!” she exclaimed with a wild wave, tearing across the sidewalk with enough speed to create an actual breeze.
Mytho chuckled quietly with a fond smile.
Fakir deadpanned as the nearby bushes and his hair blew about. “We should go too,” he said, looking to Mytho and Rue.
Mytho nodded. It was going to be a long day, both during school hours and afterwards.
****
At the end of the day’s classes, Rue returned to Charon’s to change into casual clothes. She also packed her leotard and toe shoes in a small bag, just in case she would need to give a demonstration or dance through a scene. Then, taking the letter from where she had placed it on a borrowed table, she headed out once more.
The address was across town and led her to what had once been an abandoned building. She could not recall what had been there before, but as she approached it in the late afternoon light, a marquee out front proclaimed it the Kinkan Town Theatre and Performing Arts Center.
She sighed, pulling open the glass door. It had been difficult for her to concentrate on her classes that day, which had prompted concern from the teachers since it was unusual for her. But considering the task that she would very likely be accepting, it was not unusual today.
What would she say to Autor when she met him? Ask why he was doing this? Why he wanted her to be part of it? No, she surely knew that, at least. Or she thought she did. Actually, it would depend on his reasons for doing this, wouldn’t it? He had occasionally been asked to accompany the ballet students on the piano, but had never shown much, if any, interest in the art itself. Why would he suddenly decide to compose a ballet?
Her eyes widened in surprised shock to see someone quite different from whom she had expected standing in the entryway. “Miss Rue, from Kinkan Academy?” A short, elderly man with an eerie smile looked up at her.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “I came about this invitation to perform in a new ballet.” She held up the envelope.
“Very good,” the man said. “I am handling all of the business affairs for the composer.”
Rue frowned. “I was expecting to speak with him in person,” she said.
“He speaks with no one,” was the smooth reply. “I was asked to give you the tour and all possible information and then allow you to make your decision on whether or not you wish to be involved in the production.”
Rue’s expression darkened further. “Alright then,” she consented. Was Autor doing this on purpose, hoping to further force her hand so that she would join in the hopes of someday being able to catch him? Was he just trying to keep her close to him? What was going on?
Taking no heed of her storm cloud visage, the old man led her down a short, well-carpeted hallway. “The complete score hasn’t yet been released,” he mused. “If you agree to join the company, you will rehearse for each scene as it is finished.”
“That’s unheard-of,” Rue said. And the news made her stomach drop. What, exactly, would she be dancing to? More of Autor’s world-conquering songs? Would the very element of her performance bring something treacherous into being?
But no, surely not. It seemed to be the music alone that wrote Stories, whether or not anyone was dancing to it.
“He is an eccentric one,” the man replied, again with the unsettling smile.
He pushed open one side of a set of heavy wooden double-doors. “This is the theatre, where you will rehearse and eventually perform in front of an audience,” he said.
Rue peered inside. It was certainly impressive, from the rows of red padded chairs to the fancy, overhanging balcony to the large orchestra pit and the well-lit stage. It looked like theatres from large cities that she had only seen depicted in books and magazines. It was certainly a place such as where she imagined Autor would have dreamed of performing his music.
The man stepped into the room, indicating for her to come with him. “The dressing rooms are backstage,” he said. “They are very well-furnished.” Leading her to the left side of the stage, he went up the steps and pushed the heavy curtain aside. Rue followed, going past him to the backstage area. Noticing one dressing room door open, she stepped closer for a better look.
He was right about it being well-furnished. There were soft couches and chairs, as well as a large mirror and makeup table and several racks of costumes.
She turned away, her lips pursed in an unreadable smile. “And I thought this building was vacant only several days ago,” she said.
An unconcerned shrug. “He was merely keeping secret that he was getting it ready,” her host said. “He isn’t the type who wishes for crowds to see him working.”
“He just wants them to see the finished product,” Rue concluded.
“Yes.” The man leaned against a table backstage, crossing his arms. “There have been other ballet dancers hired already. They will be meeting here tonight to test one of the completed scenes.”
“I see.” Rue looked to him steadily. “And there isn’t any chance of the composer coming to watch their performances?”
“Oh, he will be watching,” was the reply. “He just won’t let anyone see that he is doing it.”
Rue nodded. “Would it be possible to examine the scene before I decide what to do?” she asked. “I don’t like signing on without knowing what’s expected of me.”
“Of course you may.” The man gave a nonchalant gesture. “He especially told me to allow you however much time you need to decide . . . within reason, of course. He was very adamant about wanting you to participate.”
“What time will the other dancers arrive?” Rue asked.
He glanced at the wall clock. “It won’t be long now,” he said. “They should start to arrive within thirty to forty-five minutes. That will give us enough time to complete the tour first.”
“Then we should keep going,” Rue said, her tone smooth and betraying none of her inner feelings. She stepped away from the dressing room door, her shoes gently resounding over the hollow wooden floor.
As the two of them continued their journey backstage, another figure turned away from a tinted window, half-hidden in the shadows behind a black curtain. “It’s all falling into place now,” he said quietly to no one in particular. “She’ll be present at the dawning of the new world.”
“I can’t believe you’re associating with those repugnant filth,” Drosselmeyer growled from his dimension. But then he sneered. “Of course, it was terribly clever and treacherous of you, Autor, my boy. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, eh? As long they are under your spell, they will serve you and not consider cutting off your hands and effectively ending your reign. But . . .” He paused as his wicked grin widened. “You’d better hope they stay under your spell! You never can tell with Stories, especially these days.”
****
He watched as she danced, staying concealed behind a different window that overlooked the front of the stage from high above. The others had all been on the stage at first, but then had paused, moving to either side to allow her to enter. She was the prima donna, after all. He would not have it any other way. Now, though all the ballerinas were swirling across the stage, he could only watch her.
“Rue,” he whispered, placing his hand on the one-way glass. She did not love him, yet still she had come. Naturally she was certain he was behind the invitation. And of course, she was only here in the hopes of finding a way to stop him. For the moment, however, such technicalities did not matter. She was out there, so close and so far, as she had always been.
This had really been a brilliant plan to bring her near him once more. Ballet was not an interest of his, unless she was the one performing it. During his long years of watching and loving her from afar, he had studied ballet just to try to learn more about her world. He knew the techniques well enough now that he had been able to put this idea together. Originally he had considered an opera, or even an opera with ballet, for his music’s public debut. But in the end he had known it could only be ballet all the way through, because of her.
The rehearsal ended to mostly positive feedback. The ballerinas approved of the scene and the choreography. One by one, they all departed, until only Rue and his business manager remained.
That old fool. He had no idea what he was even doing. Autor considered himself quite brilliant for getting the idea to have the Bookmen work for him. They had been growing close to determining that something bizarre was happening in Kinkan Town, and of course, that simply could not be allowed. It was safest this way.
His lips turned up in a satisfied smirk as Rue brought out the contract. After looking it over, as she had done several times before the performance, she laid it on the nearest table and took a pen, signing her beautiful name on the proper line.
He had known she would.
Well, said the voice in his head, now you have her right where you want her. But you know that if things get too intense with her trying to stop you, you’ll have to end the situation. For good.
He froze, the color draining from his face. What? That had not been part of his plan at all. He would never, could never . . . !
You threatened Fakir and meant it. Why not her? If you can’t consent to that, you’re weak. A weak man will never reign over this world.
He sank into a chair, his fingers digging into his scalp. “I didn’t mean it with Fakir,” he gasped. “I couldn’t have meant it. And I won’t hurt Rue!”
You told him you meant it.
What was that he could see out of the corner of his eye? He looked up, shaking. Then his mouth dropped open in shock and disbelief. A translucent image of himself was standing in front of him, cruelly smirking as it adjusted its glasses.
His lips parted as he fought to find words. “Who . . . what . . .”
“I’m you,” the spectre answered. “The you that was awakened by the Story. The you that is the Story. The true you.” It stepped forward, reaching out a transparent hand to the horrified boy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Autor cried. Trying to leap up from the chair, he instead knocked it and himself backwards to the floor. And the figure was still coming over to him. He scrambled away, his eyes wide in sheer terror. “Stay away from me!”
“But you’ve accepted and listened to me all this time,” was the smirking reply. “Even if the Story dulled your senses so you didn’t realize.”
“No!” Autor shook his head, his glasses slipping down his nose. “That isn’t true!”
“Why are you so afraid of me?” The phantom stopped, looking down at its other self. “Why have you always been afraid? We could have worked together years ago to bring this about.”
Autor stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over the chair in the process. Coherent speech would not come. “I . . . I . . .”
The transparent form took the chance to float over and embrace him in its chilled arms. “You’re actually quite pathetic,” it said. “You always claimed to not fear power, but that’s what I am-the side of you that craves power so much that you will do anything to have it.”
Autor trembled. But even though he was being held by only a . . . well, he was not sure what it was, only that it should not be able to keep him rooted to the spot. Yet it could and was; it was as if the part of his brain that knew how to send signals to move had suddenly frozen. He could not budge. The spectre’s touch was becoming colder with each passing second.
“Just remember,” the phantom said, leaning over to whisper in Autor’s ear, “you can’t get rid of me. I am you, whether you’re willing to accept it or not. And the Story makes me stronger. It makes you stronger. Never forget, Autor, that’s what you want. Even if you deny it to yourself, even if you fight against my guidance, it is always what you want. Because deep down, you know the truth. You know that I am the true you. You know that your heart is black.”
With that the apparition became a dark orb, easing itself back into the left side of the boy’s chest. The moment it was inside, the ability to move returned. Autor was completely ashen. His legs gave out, sending him to the floor in a crumpled heap.
****
When Autor regained consciousness he was still on the floor, having fallen halfway onto the toppled chair. For a moment he lay where he had collapsed, his clouded mind bewildered and stunned. What on earth was he doing down there? Had he fallen backwards in the chair and rendered himself senseless? That seemed unlikely; his head was not hurting.
He pulled himself upright, sitting on the backrest of the chair. The last thing he remembered was Rue signing the contract. Yes, that was what he had predicted and wanted to happen. She would be close to him, just like the Bookmen. They were all his enemies now. He had to make sure none of them stepped out of line. Rue could not be controlled by his music, as the Bookmen were, but she was still a marionette all the same. If she made one attempt to try to stop him, or tried to call Fakir and the others in on it, she would regret it dearly.
After all, she had betrayed him. She had betrayed his deep and sincere feelings. And he would have none of it. He would feel no pity, no mercy, towards the girl who had thrown his words in his face and laughed at him. If she trusted him enough to believe that she was safe around him, she was wrong. He was the most dangerous person she could have left herself with.
The knock at the door startled him back to the present. “What is it?” he demanded.
The wooden slab opened a crack. “I have come with a request from the young lady Rue, Master,” was the reply.
Autor sneered. It felt so good, to hear the Bookmen’s leader address him as such. He had made such a mockery out of the Bookmen’s entire existence by having them blindly follow a new kind of Story-Spinner.
He got up, bringing the chair with him in one motion. “And she wants to see me, is that correct?” he said as he set it on all four legs.
“That would be the request, Master.”
“Tell her it’s denied.” Autor pushed his glasses up as they slid down his nose. “None of the performers are allowed to speak with me. You know that.”
“I already informed her of the rules, but she asked again.”
Autor smirked. “She would,” he said. “She doesn’t give up. Let’s show her that not everyone will give in after being asked a few times. I have no intention of altering my will. She had no interest in seeing me when all I wanted was to see her. I will not honor her request now.”
The old man nodded. “Should I send her away, then?”
“Yes. She should be getting back.” Autor half-turned, his arms crossed. “And I trust that there will be no need to bother me with any more of her requests. You have the authority to deny them yourself.”
“Very well, Master.”
The door closed. But as it clicked into place, Autor’s eyes flickered.
“What . . . what was I just saying?” he gasped. Trembling, he stared down at his hands. “What was I thinking? I . . . I know I don’t want to hurt Rue. I don’t want any kind of revenge on her for her rejection of me!”
Or had he thought it, somewhere deep in his heart? Had he been so hurt he had been angry, at least? Maybe he had never wanted to harm her, but he had been upset that she had not even given him a chance.
No, he had always known he had never had a chance with someone like her. Yet when she had found him and taken him with her to that old building, he had allowed himself a spark of hope.
He leaned forward, clasping his hands as he stared at the floor. “I want power, it’s true,” he whispered. “But do I really want it at such a price?”
“Bravo. Bravo!” An eerie clapping filled Drosselmeyer’s dimension. He grinned in sadistic glee. “You’re having such a battle over which side of yourself will win out. And no matter how you try, you’ll never break free from it, because the Story itself wishes to take you down this dark path. You invited the power in and now it’s seizing control of you, a little bit at a time. This good side of you is too weak to withstand both your darkest dreams and desires and the way the Story is twisting and expanding on them. Soon you will be consumed by them both. And when that happens . . .” He gnashed his teeth. “You will personally try to be rid of Rue and the rest.”
Author: Lucky_Ladybug/insaneladybug
Theme: #1 - A Cappella (Alone)
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Warnings: A canon character gradually going off the deep end/behaving as though he has a split personality? ...
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and the story is!
Summary/Comments: Rue receives and accepts an invitation to perform in a new ballet, believing that Autor is involved somehow.
Cross-posted to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5844337/5/ and ladybug_tales.
Notes: Some of Fakir's thoughts in the first scene may sound similar to something he thinks in chapter 17 of LunaSphere's story This Pendent Heart, but I came up with the concept independent of her fic, and before I'd ever read it. I also think this chapter gives off hints of both The Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast. Both are unintentional.
Prompt #1 - A Cappella (Alone)
Autor was not found the next day, or the next, or for an entire week of days. And with each day that passed, more people throughout Kinkan and the whole world fell under the power of his music. Though they went around town each day in the hopes that something had changed for the better, it never did. Ahiru was overwhelmed and heartsick, as she knew the others were as well.
Fakir was growing tense and bitter over the whole mess. She often found he had shut himself up in his attic room, and amid the frustrated curses she could sometimes hear, she discerned that he was trying and failing to write a Story that would bring the problem under control and save Autor.
“I know you’re worried about him, Fakir,” she had told him one night after dinner.
He had rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. “I used to think we were comrades,” he had said. “But I was just fooling myself. Autor never really cared. And before you bring it up, the only reason he saved my life at the end of Drosselmeyer’s Story was because he knew I was the only one who could write it. He saved me so I could try to ensure a happy ending for everyone.”
Ahiru’s eyes had filled with tears. “I don’t believe that,” she had replied. “Sure, that was probably part of it, but he cared about you, Fakir.”
Fakir had just snorted. “I took away what he considered to be his only purpose in life,” he had said. “Why should he care what happened to me?”
Ahiru had leaned across the table, looking firmly at Fakir. “Because that’s the kind of person he is,” she had said.
Many conflicted emotions had flitted through Fakir’s eyes. He had believed that once, but seeing Autor as he was now made him doubt everything.
Ahiru could not help doubting herself sometimes. But when the unpleasant thoughts began to creep into her mind, she tried to push them away with the memories of how Autor had used to be-helpful and kind deep down, in spite of the arrogant way he had usually behaved. She clung to those memories, praying that there was still a way to bring that Autor back.
****
It was two days after that conversation when she and the others arrived for their daily inspection of the academy only to discover something shocking. The students and teachers were walking around the grounds, just as before, but now their eyes were clear. They were talking and laughing as if nothing had ever been wrong.
Ahiru could only stop and stare, her mouth hanging open. “They’re okay!” she gasped. “Did Autor release them?!”
“It certainly looks that way,” Mytho said, his speech slow and cautious. In spite of how things appeared, he did not trust the seeming return to normalcy. Something did not feel right.
Fakir agreed, tensing as Piké and Lilie noticed them and headed their way. Piké was holding an envelope as she ran, excited about something.
“Ahiru!” the girls called.
Still stunned from seeing everyone animated, Ahiru only managed a mechanical half-wave. Then the duo was glomping her, Piké still displaying the letter above her head.
“Oh, Ahiru! We have wonderful news!” Lilie exclaimed.
Piké nodded with enthusiasm. “This letter was just brought today from the academy’s mysterious benefactor!” she said.
Ahiru pulled back, dazed from the hearty glomp as well as the news. “What mysterious benefactor?” she said in amazement.
Fakir’s eyes narrowed. This was news to him, too. Mytho and Rue looked likewise puzzled.
Lilie just patted Ahiru on the head. “Oh, you’re so cute when you’re clueless!” she said.
“Our mysterious benefactor has been sponsoring our programs for ages now!” Piké said. “He started by improving the library, then went on to the music and ballet divisions!”
“Autor,” Fakir muttered under his breath.
Ahiru swallowed hard. “Oh. . . . Well, that’s . . . nice. . . .” She blinked. “Why do you have the letter, Piké?”
“We asked for permission to deliver it,” Piké said, smiling big with her announcement. She stepped back, looking to the surprised Rue. “It’s for you, Miss Rue!”
“Me?” Rue took the envelope, her thoughts racing. If it was from the mysterious benefactor, who must be Autor, what could it possibly say?
“We kind of heard what was in it, because the benefactor’s representative was talking with the administrator,” Piké admitted. “But we won’t say! We’ll let you see for yourself, Miss Rue.”
Mytho glanced at Rue, who had opened the flap and was removing a set of papers. “What is it?” he asked.
Rue’s expression only became more surprised as she read over the contents of the first page. “Basically, this benefactor is putting together a ballet he’s been writing,” she said. “He wants me to be in it.” She thumbed through the other sheets. “The rest is a contract.”
“That’s why his representative was talking to the administrator,” Lilie said dreamily. “To see if that was alright with the school! Of course the answer was Yes!”
Rue folded the letter. “Thank you for delivering this,” she said.
“Of course, Miss Rue!” Piké said. “And we should hurry; we’ll be late for class!”
Ahiru winced. “I’ll be right there,” she said. “Just go on ahead.”
“I hope you come late!” Lilie squealed with a wave. “The teacher will be so angry, he’ll probably give you cleaning duties again!”
Fakir grunted as he watched them go. “I don’t know what you see in them,” he said to Ahiru. “At least in her.”
Ahiru shrugged and gave an uneasy chuckle. “Well . . . they have been my friends,” she said. “I mean . . . Drosselmeyer wrote it that way, but then I really ended up thinking of them as friends. Lilie has her good points, too. . . .
“Hey, what are you going to do about the ballet, Rue?” she asked, looking to the older girl.
Rue glanced over the letter’s contents again. “If this actually is from Autor, it’s strange that he would give me an opening like this to see him,” she said. “We shouldn’t pass up the chance.”
“You mean to accept then,” Mytho said.
Rue nodded. “We need to investigate,” she said. “This must be Autor’s doing; his sponsoring of the school sounds like his pattern, judging from what happened in our kingdom. And I don’t remember the academy having a mysterious benefactor before.”
“It hasn’t,” Fakir said, his tone flat.
“There’s an address here,” Rue noted. “I’ll go after afternoon classes.” She gave Mytho a meaningful look. “And I should go alone, since I was the only one invited. I might have a better chance of learning something.”
“Of course,” Mytho said, though he looked concerned. “But be careful, Rue.”
Ahiru was more positive. “Something really happened to Autor when he saw you before, Rue!” she declared. “If anyone can get through to him, I’m sure it’s you!”
“Maybe,” Rue said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. “But I couldn’t keep his personality from shifting.” And that bothered her, though she did not fully understand why. Had she really thought she would have success where the others had failed, because of Autor’s feelings for her? Or was it something else?
Fakir glanced at his watch. “You really will be put on cleaning duty if you don’t hurry,” he said to Ahiru.
Her eyes widened in horror. “I’ll see all of you later!” she exclaimed with a wild wave, tearing across the sidewalk with enough speed to create an actual breeze.
Mytho chuckled quietly with a fond smile.
Fakir deadpanned as the nearby bushes and his hair blew about. “We should go too,” he said, looking to Mytho and Rue.
Mytho nodded. It was going to be a long day, both during school hours and afterwards.
****
At the end of the day’s classes, Rue returned to Charon’s to change into casual clothes. She also packed her leotard and toe shoes in a small bag, just in case she would need to give a demonstration or dance through a scene. Then, taking the letter from where she had placed it on a borrowed table, she headed out once more.
The address was across town and led her to what had once been an abandoned building. She could not recall what had been there before, but as she approached it in the late afternoon light, a marquee out front proclaimed it the Kinkan Town Theatre and Performing Arts Center.
She sighed, pulling open the glass door. It had been difficult for her to concentrate on her classes that day, which had prompted concern from the teachers since it was unusual for her. But considering the task that she would very likely be accepting, it was not unusual today.
What would she say to Autor when she met him? Ask why he was doing this? Why he wanted her to be part of it? No, she surely knew that, at least. Or she thought she did. Actually, it would depend on his reasons for doing this, wouldn’t it? He had occasionally been asked to accompany the ballet students on the piano, but had never shown much, if any, interest in the art itself. Why would he suddenly decide to compose a ballet?
Her eyes widened in surprised shock to see someone quite different from whom she had expected standing in the entryway. “Miss Rue, from Kinkan Academy?” A short, elderly man with an eerie smile looked up at her.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “I came about this invitation to perform in a new ballet.” She held up the envelope.
“Very good,” the man said. “I am handling all of the business affairs for the composer.”
Rue frowned. “I was expecting to speak with him in person,” she said.
“He speaks with no one,” was the smooth reply. “I was asked to give you the tour and all possible information and then allow you to make your decision on whether or not you wish to be involved in the production.”
Rue’s expression darkened further. “Alright then,” she consented. Was Autor doing this on purpose, hoping to further force her hand so that she would join in the hopes of someday being able to catch him? Was he just trying to keep her close to him? What was going on?
Taking no heed of her storm cloud visage, the old man led her down a short, well-carpeted hallway. “The complete score hasn’t yet been released,” he mused. “If you agree to join the company, you will rehearse for each scene as it is finished.”
“That’s unheard-of,” Rue said. And the news made her stomach drop. What, exactly, would she be dancing to? More of Autor’s world-conquering songs? Would the very element of her performance bring something treacherous into being?
But no, surely not. It seemed to be the music alone that wrote Stories, whether or not anyone was dancing to it.
“He is an eccentric one,” the man replied, again with the unsettling smile.
He pushed open one side of a set of heavy wooden double-doors. “This is the theatre, where you will rehearse and eventually perform in front of an audience,” he said.
Rue peered inside. It was certainly impressive, from the rows of red padded chairs to the fancy, overhanging balcony to the large orchestra pit and the well-lit stage. It looked like theatres from large cities that she had only seen depicted in books and magazines. It was certainly a place such as where she imagined Autor would have dreamed of performing his music.
The man stepped into the room, indicating for her to come with him. “The dressing rooms are backstage,” he said. “They are very well-furnished.” Leading her to the left side of the stage, he went up the steps and pushed the heavy curtain aside. Rue followed, going past him to the backstage area. Noticing one dressing room door open, she stepped closer for a better look.
He was right about it being well-furnished. There were soft couches and chairs, as well as a large mirror and makeup table and several racks of costumes.
She turned away, her lips pursed in an unreadable smile. “And I thought this building was vacant only several days ago,” she said.
An unconcerned shrug. “He was merely keeping secret that he was getting it ready,” her host said. “He isn’t the type who wishes for crowds to see him working.”
“He just wants them to see the finished product,” Rue concluded.
“Yes.” The man leaned against a table backstage, crossing his arms. “There have been other ballet dancers hired already. They will be meeting here tonight to test one of the completed scenes.”
“I see.” Rue looked to him steadily. “And there isn’t any chance of the composer coming to watch their performances?”
“Oh, he will be watching,” was the reply. “He just won’t let anyone see that he is doing it.”
Rue nodded. “Would it be possible to examine the scene before I decide what to do?” she asked. “I don’t like signing on without knowing what’s expected of me.”
“Of course you may.” The man gave a nonchalant gesture. “He especially told me to allow you however much time you need to decide . . . within reason, of course. He was very adamant about wanting you to participate.”
“What time will the other dancers arrive?” Rue asked.
He glanced at the wall clock. “It won’t be long now,” he said. “They should start to arrive within thirty to forty-five minutes. That will give us enough time to complete the tour first.”
“Then we should keep going,” Rue said, her tone smooth and betraying none of her inner feelings. She stepped away from the dressing room door, her shoes gently resounding over the hollow wooden floor.
As the two of them continued their journey backstage, another figure turned away from a tinted window, half-hidden in the shadows behind a black curtain. “It’s all falling into place now,” he said quietly to no one in particular. “She’ll be present at the dawning of the new world.”
“I can’t believe you’re associating with those repugnant filth,” Drosselmeyer growled from his dimension. But then he sneered. “Of course, it was terribly clever and treacherous of you, Autor, my boy. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, eh? As long they are under your spell, they will serve you and not consider cutting off your hands and effectively ending your reign. But . . .” He paused as his wicked grin widened. “You’d better hope they stay under your spell! You never can tell with Stories, especially these days.”
****
He watched as she danced, staying concealed behind a different window that overlooked the front of the stage from high above. The others had all been on the stage at first, but then had paused, moving to either side to allow her to enter. She was the prima donna, after all. He would not have it any other way. Now, though all the ballerinas were swirling across the stage, he could only watch her.
“Rue,” he whispered, placing his hand on the one-way glass. She did not love him, yet still she had come. Naturally she was certain he was behind the invitation. And of course, she was only here in the hopes of finding a way to stop him. For the moment, however, such technicalities did not matter. She was out there, so close and so far, as she had always been.
This had really been a brilliant plan to bring her near him once more. Ballet was not an interest of his, unless she was the one performing it. During his long years of watching and loving her from afar, he had studied ballet just to try to learn more about her world. He knew the techniques well enough now that he had been able to put this idea together. Originally he had considered an opera, or even an opera with ballet, for his music’s public debut. But in the end he had known it could only be ballet all the way through, because of her.
The rehearsal ended to mostly positive feedback. The ballerinas approved of the scene and the choreography. One by one, they all departed, until only Rue and his business manager remained.
That old fool. He had no idea what he was even doing. Autor considered himself quite brilliant for getting the idea to have the Bookmen work for him. They had been growing close to determining that something bizarre was happening in Kinkan Town, and of course, that simply could not be allowed. It was safest this way.
His lips turned up in a satisfied smirk as Rue brought out the contract. After looking it over, as she had done several times before the performance, she laid it on the nearest table and took a pen, signing her beautiful name on the proper line.
He had known she would.
Well, said the voice in his head, now you have her right where you want her. But you know that if things get too intense with her trying to stop you, you’ll have to end the situation. For good.
He froze, the color draining from his face. What? That had not been part of his plan at all. He would never, could never . . . !
You threatened Fakir and meant it. Why not her? If you can’t consent to that, you’re weak. A weak man will never reign over this world.
He sank into a chair, his fingers digging into his scalp. “I didn’t mean it with Fakir,” he gasped. “I couldn’t have meant it. And I won’t hurt Rue!”
You told him you meant it.
What was that he could see out of the corner of his eye? He looked up, shaking. Then his mouth dropped open in shock and disbelief. A translucent image of himself was standing in front of him, cruelly smirking as it adjusted its glasses.
His lips parted as he fought to find words. “Who . . . what . . .”
“I’m you,” the spectre answered. “The you that was awakened by the Story. The you that is the Story. The true you.” It stepped forward, reaching out a transparent hand to the horrified boy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Autor cried. Trying to leap up from the chair, he instead knocked it and himself backwards to the floor. And the figure was still coming over to him. He scrambled away, his eyes wide in sheer terror. “Stay away from me!”
“But you’ve accepted and listened to me all this time,” was the smirking reply. “Even if the Story dulled your senses so you didn’t realize.”
“No!” Autor shook his head, his glasses slipping down his nose. “That isn’t true!”
“Why are you so afraid of me?” The phantom stopped, looking down at its other self. “Why have you always been afraid? We could have worked together years ago to bring this about.”
Autor stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over the chair in the process. Coherent speech would not come. “I . . . I . . .”
The transparent form took the chance to float over and embrace him in its chilled arms. “You’re actually quite pathetic,” it said. “You always claimed to not fear power, but that’s what I am-the side of you that craves power so much that you will do anything to have it.”
Autor trembled. But even though he was being held by only a . . . well, he was not sure what it was, only that it should not be able to keep him rooted to the spot. Yet it could and was; it was as if the part of his brain that knew how to send signals to move had suddenly frozen. He could not budge. The spectre’s touch was becoming colder with each passing second.
“Just remember,” the phantom said, leaning over to whisper in Autor’s ear, “you can’t get rid of me. I am you, whether you’re willing to accept it or not. And the Story makes me stronger. It makes you stronger. Never forget, Autor, that’s what you want. Even if you deny it to yourself, even if you fight against my guidance, it is always what you want. Because deep down, you know the truth. You know that I am the true you. You know that your heart is black.”
With that the apparition became a dark orb, easing itself back into the left side of the boy’s chest. The moment it was inside, the ability to move returned. Autor was completely ashen. His legs gave out, sending him to the floor in a crumpled heap.
****
When Autor regained consciousness he was still on the floor, having fallen halfway onto the toppled chair. For a moment he lay where he had collapsed, his clouded mind bewildered and stunned. What on earth was he doing down there? Had he fallen backwards in the chair and rendered himself senseless? That seemed unlikely; his head was not hurting.
He pulled himself upright, sitting on the backrest of the chair. The last thing he remembered was Rue signing the contract. Yes, that was what he had predicted and wanted to happen. She would be close to him, just like the Bookmen. They were all his enemies now. He had to make sure none of them stepped out of line. Rue could not be controlled by his music, as the Bookmen were, but she was still a marionette all the same. If she made one attempt to try to stop him, or tried to call Fakir and the others in on it, she would regret it dearly.
After all, she had betrayed him. She had betrayed his deep and sincere feelings. And he would have none of it. He would feel no pity, no mercy, towards the girl who had thrown his words in his face and laughed at him. If she trusted him enough to believe that she was safe around him, she was wrong. He was the most dangerous person she could have left herself with.
The knock at the door startled him back to the present. “What is it?” he demanded.
The wooden slab opened a crack. “I have come with a request from the young lady Rue, Master,” was the reply.
Autor sneered. It felt so good, to hear the Bookmen’s leader address him as such. He had made such a mockery out of the Bookmen’s entire existence by having them blindly follow a new kind of Story-Spinner.
He got up, bringing the chair with him in one motion. “And she wants to see me, is that correct?” he said as he set it on all four legs.
“That would be the request, Master.”
“Tell her it’s denied.” Autor pushed his glasses up as they slid down his nose. “None of the performers are allowed to speak with me. You know that.”
“I already informed her of the rules, but she asked again.”
Autor smirked. “She would,” he said. “She doesn’t give up. Let’s show her that not everyone will give in after being asked a few times. I have no intention of altering my will. She had no interest in seeing me when all I wanted was to see her. I will not honor her request now.”
The old man nodded. “Should I send her away, then?”
“Yes. She should be getting back.” Autor half-turned, his arms crossed. “And I trust that there will be no need to bother me with any more of her requests. You have the authority to deny them yourself.”
“Very well, Master.”
The door closed. But as it clicked into place, Autor’s eyes flickered.
“What . . . what was I just saying?” he gasped. Trembling, he stared down at his hands. “What was I thinking? I . . . I know I don’t want to hurt Rue. I don’t want any kind of revenge on her for her rejection of me!”
Or had he thought it, somewhere deep in his heart? Had he been so hurt he had been angry, at least? Maybe he had never wanted to harm her, but he had been upset that she had not even given him a chance.
No, he had always known he had never had a chance with someone like her. Yet when she had found him and taken him with her to that old building, he had allowed himself a spark of hope.
He leaned forward, clasping his hands as he stared at the floor. “I want power, it’s true,” he whispered. “But do I really want it at such a price?”
“Bravo. Bravo!” An eerie clapping filled Drosselmeyer’s dimension. He grinned in sadistic glee. “You’re having such a battle over which side of yourself will win out. And no matter how you try, you’ll never break free from it, because the Story itself wishes to take you down this dark path. You invited the power in and now it’s seizing control of you, a little bit at a time. This good side of you is too weak to withstand both your darkest dreams and desires and the way the Story is twisting and expanding on them. Soon you will be consumed by them both. And when that happens . . .” He gnashed his teeth. “You will personally try to be rid of Rue and the rest.”