(no subject)
Fakir falls.
Kraehe smiles.
And Tutu knows what she needs to do to finish the story. She knows.
But there's an spark lurking at the core of her, beneath the layers of story that tangle around her, guiding her and binding her to grace and kindness and self-sacrifice. And as she stares at Kraehe - (only you could accept Princess Tutu's fate so smilingly, Fakir had said, admiring and scornful at once, but he's not here now to stop her doing anything) - it fans into sudden flame.
The gears click-click-click slowly. The story presses around her.
This is the feeling called defiance.
"No," she says.
"I refuse to vanish."
And, as Kraehe stares in blank incomprehension - Kraehe, the raven princess, who has chosen to be everything the story tells her she must be - Princess Tutu smiles, in silence, and lifts her arms over her head. Her hands revolve, and extend towards the red shadow of Mytho's love.
Will you dance with me?
The story takes a breath, and plunges smoothly down a new pathway.
The familiar smile settles back onto Kraehe's face, as she begins to understand, though there's a hint of uncertainty behind it. "So you mean to transcend words, and convey your love through dance, thereby keeping yourself from vanishing," she remarks, for someone's benefit - not Tutu's, and not Mytho's. Herr Drosselmeyer's, perhaps, or the audience's. "How very interesting. I wonder whose dance will charm the heartshard?"
And then it is the two of them, two storybook princesses, dancing on a stage that they hardly notice is meant to be the surface of a lake. Two princesses, or, perhaps, two girls, or perhaps - "Ultimately," Kraehe says, in dulcet tones, "You're only borrowing the power of Princess Tutu. You're only a sham of a princess - eh, Duck?"
It shakes her, and she stumbles, thrown off-course. Princess Tutu was supposed to vanish; she didn't vanish, so what does that make her now? Is the one dancing now Tutu? Duck? Or just a bird? It's Tutu's phrasing, it's Duck's fear; the two are starting to blend together. It's Tutu's love that saves the prince; by daring to change the story, has she lost her only chance?
The ghostly heartshard of Mytho's love starts to descend, walking into Kraehe's arms as the raven princess tells him (love saturating every syllable) how she'll forever remove his heart. By the rules of the contest, she's practically already won.
But the defiance - Duck's defiance - curls up inside Tutu again, and she thrusts out a hand before she can think, imperious. "Wait!"
"Give up," says Kraehe. "It's over."
Defiance and love, intermingled. Tutu's love, and Duck's love . . . or maybe just Duck's love and does it really matter? Perhaps she's only borrowing the power of Princess Tutu. But the story doesn't dictate how Duck feels.
Fakir knew that. He knew, and that's why he asked -
Fakir - I won't give up.
Princess Tutu's power blazes inside her as she lifts her arms, as she arches her foot. Princess Tutu's power, and Duck's feelings; that's all it was, and that's all she needs.
Because my feelings are my own!
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful swan princess who loved a handsome prince. But the princess was cursed, and she could not speak her love.
The princess had a double - another princess, clad in black feathers, who came to the prince and tried to cast a spell on him, dancing him away.
Though the swan princess could not speak, she came to her prince and danced before him, willing with all her heart for him to see what she could not say, and leave the black-clad princess before he lost his heart to her forever.
The swan princess danced alone, and the prince's heart went out to her. His noble feeling broke the spell, and he came back to the swan princess, abandoning the black-clad princess.
And they danced together happily ever after.
(For a given value of ever after.)
Kraehe smiles.
And Tutu knows what she needs to do to finish the story. She knows.
But there's an spark lurking at the core of her, beneath the layers of story that tangle around her, guiding her and binding her to grace and kindness and self-sacrifice. And as she stares at Kraehe - (only you could accept Princess Tutu's fate so smilingly, Fakir had said, admiring and scornful at once, but he's not here now to stop her doing anything) - it fans into sudden flame.
The gears click-click-click slowly. The story presses around her.
This is the feeling called defiance.
"No," she says.
"I refuse to vanish."
And, as Kraehe stares in blank incomprehension - Kraehe, the raven princess, who has chosen to be everything the story tells her she must be - Princess Tutu smiles, in silence, and lifts her arms over her head. Her hands revolve, and extend towards the red shadow of Mytho's love.
Will you dance with me?
The story takes a breath, and plunges smoothly down a new pathway.
The familiar smile settles back onto Kraehe's face, as she begins to understand, though there's a hint of uncertainty behind it. "So you mean to transcend words, and convey your love through dance, thereby keeping yourself from vanishing," she remarks, for someone's benefit - not Tutu's, and not Mytho's. Herr Drosselmeyer's, perhaps, or the audience's. "How very interesting. I wonder whose dance will charm the heartshard?"
And then it is the two of them, two storybook princesses, dancing on a stage that they hardly notice is meant to be the surface of a lake. Two princesses, or, perhaps, two girls, or perhaps - "Ultimately," Kraehe says, in dulcet tones, "You're only borrowing the power of Princess Tutu. You're only a sham of a princess - eh, Duck?"
It shakes her, and she stumbles, thrown off-course. Princess Tutu was supposed to vanish; she didn't vanish, so what does that make her now? Is the one dancing now Tutu? Duck? Or just a bird? It's Tutu's phrasing, it's Duck's fear; the two are starting to blend together. It's Tutu's love that saves the prince; by daring to change the story, has she lost her only chance?
The ghostly heartshard of Mytho's love starts to descend, walking into Kraehe's arms as the raven princess tells him (love saturating every syllable) how she'll forever remove his heart. By the rules of the contest, she's practically already won.
But the defiance - Duck's defiance - curls up inside Tutu again, and she thrusts out a hand before she can think, imperious. "Wait!"
"Give up," says Kraehe. "It's over."
Defiance and love, intermingled. Tutu's love, and Duck's love . . . or maybe just Duck's love and does it really matter? Perhaps she's only borrowing the power of Princess Tutu. But the story doesn't dictate how Duck feels.
Fakir knew that. He knew, and that's why he asked -
Fakir - I won't give up.
Princess Tutu's power blazes inside her as she lifts her arms, as she arches her foot. Princess Tutu's power, and Duck's feelings; that's all it was, and that's all she needs.
Because my feelings are my own!
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful swan princess who loved a handsome prince. But the princess was cursed, and she could not speak her love.
The princess had a double - another princess, clad in black feathers, who came to the prince and tried to cast a spell on him, dancing him away.
Though the swan princess could not speak, she came to her prince and danced before him, willing with all her heart for him to see what she could not say, and leave the black-clad princess before he lost his heart to her forever.
The swan princess danced alone, and the prince's heart went out to her. His noble feeling broke the spell, and he came back to the swan princess, abandoning the black-clad princess.
And they danced together happily ever after.
(For a given value of ever after.)