[Revolutionary Girl Utena] "Bewitching the Witch (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for "fic_promptly"'s Revolutionary Girl Utena, Anthy, They call this the witching hour.. Mild Anthy/Utena and hints of Akio/Anthy, plus some musings over sapphic love. It's been a little while since I last watched the series, thus any canon deviations can be blamed on that.
They call this the witching hour, this hour when the darkness in the sky has deepened and the shadows under the roses have darkened. The first hour of the day, and to Anthy it often felt the most full and the most empty. The most full because of the memories of the day before that had passed and empty because of the things yet to come in the day that had begun.
Full because she lay beside the girl with the rose-colored hair, who had the determination to be her prince, the two of them lying yin-yanged apart yet together on the same bed. Empty because this was not the prince whom she wanted. Or thought she wanted. The girl's love was pure and she needed a love that was pure. Akio's love was not as it was: his devotion had devolved, now that his soul lay trapped elsewhere. She had gotten what she had wished for, namely the attention of a brother who had ignored her for so long while he championed the maidens of his kingdom, but was the spell she had cast worth the results, if it left her feeling used, misused and degraded?
Here was a pure love from a girl-prince who'd come under her spell, taking it on willingly but unwittingly; but was this a proper love? Was she not supposed to seek a man to give her the love she needed? Or was it better to seek and accept a love that was pure, not seeking its own gratification, regardless of who offered it and what people thought of it? Who was under the spell here? Herself? Utena? Akio? Or were they all under the same spell?
Nevertheless, she reached out into the darkness, laying a hand on Utena's cheek, feeling her warmth, the warmth of a girl who had bewitched a witch, feeling her move, sleepily into that touch.
They call this the witching hour, this hour when the darkness in the sky has deepened and the shadows under the roses have darkened. The first hour of the day, and to Anthy it often felt the most full and the most empty. The most full because of the memories of the day before that had passed and empty because of the things yet to come in the day that had begun.
Full because she lay beside the girl with the rose-colored hair, who had the determination to be her prince, the two of them lying yin-yanged apart yet together on the same bed. Empty because this was not the prince whom she wanted. Or thought she wanted. The girl's love was pure and she needed a love that was pure. Akio's love was not as it was: his devotion had devolved, now that his soul lay trapped elsewhere. She had gotten what she had wished for, namely the attention of a brother who had ignored her for so long while he championed the maidens of his kingdom, but was the spell she had cast worth the results, if it left her feeling used, misused and degraded?
Here was a pure love from a girl-prince who'd come under her spell, taking it on willingly but unwittingly; but was this a proper love? Was she not supposed to seek a man to give her the love she needed? Or was it better to seek and accept a love that was pure, not seeking its own gratification, regardless of who offered it and what people thought of it? Who was under the spell here? Herself? Utena? Akio? Or were they all under the same spell?
Nevertheless, she reached out into the darkness, laying a hand on Utena's cheek, feeling her warmth, the warmth of a girl who had bewitched a witch, feeling her move, sleepily into that touch.