Fic: The Treachery of Images (Princess Tutu, PG)
For Yuletide this year, I wrote fic for 
octopedingenue. As usual, I was certain that this year was the year it would all go wrong, and the I could never fill the request, and I wouldn't get it done, and I'd default, and never be able to participate again. And, also as usual, none of that came to pass. (But next year, man, next year.)
Title: The Treachery of Images
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Wordcount: 1,180
Rating: PG
Characters: Paulamoni, Edel, Autor, Monster Raven, Drosselmeyer
Notes: Written for Yuletide 2013 for
octopedingenue.
Summary: In Gold Crown Town, the line between what is and what should be is faded and blurred, and can be traversed.
It’s not always easy, having an electric eel for a troupe leader, Paulamoni thinks, though they do save a lot on electricity.
(Was he always an eel? Yes, of course, he must have been. It’s not strange to have an eel for a leader. The ballet teacher in this town is a cat.)
Paulamoni has quickly grown to love Gold Crown town. If there’s any place for her perfect Aurora, the girl who dreams even while awake, then it's here, though Paulamoni couldn’t say why.
(And yet she is afraid. So afraid, the fear nestled in her heart, whispering to her. Why is she so afraid?)
Gold Crown town is so quiet and charming. It’s like no other town Paulamoni has seen.
(She has seen other towns. She knows she has. They’re a traveling company. There were towns before. There will be towns after. And yet when Paulamoni tries to imagine the world beyond the gates of Gold Crown Town, nothing is clear, and she sees only fleeting, vaguely defined shapes.)
Paulamoni thinks of Sleeping Beauty, the castle, and the wall of thorns. The story fills even her sleep, so that she dreams of magic, of true love, and a captured prince.
(No, Sleeping Beauty is about a princess. Silly mistake.)
Paulamoni dances and dreams, and she does not hear the cawing of the crows, or an old man’s creaking laugh.
(Or does she?)
***
“May those who accept their fate find happiness. May those who defy it find glory.”
But for Edel there can be neither happiness nor glory. Puppets are not happy.
(On the other hand, puppets are not sad. Edel tells herself this is for the best.)
A puppet does not have the option of defying her fate, and without the possibility of rebellion, there can be no true acceptance. Edel is what she is, what she was created to be.
(Edel does not pass judgment. She does not make decisions. She does not need to. She should not want to. Puppets do not want.)
Ahiru cries, laughs, loves. Edel can do none of these things things. She cannot rage like Fakir or spit scorn like Rue.
(Puppets do not want, and yet Edel wonders what it would be like, to feel as they feel.)
Edel passes her wooden hand over her many jewels, pausing only for an instant over the jewel called “self-realization.”
(Was that there yesterday? Edel shouldn’t question it, because puppets do not ask questions. But she does.)
“May those who accept their fate find happiness. May those who defy it find glory.”
(Edel thinks it might be glorious, to burn.)
***
It’s a cliché, but a true one: knowledge is power. Autor knows this better than anyone. It’s why he’s devoted his life to all things Drosselmeyer. The stories control the town, so to understand the stories is to take some of their power.
(And he has tried so hard and worked so long. Hasn’t he earned it?)
It was easy enough to find Fakir. It took Fakir much longer to find him. Autor assumes this is proof of his superiority. Fakir may be a direct descendant, but Autor is the better storyteller.
(Or was that all part of the story, and Autor was just playing the role assigned to him?)
Autor has read all the stories that Drosselmeyer wrote. He’s even tried to write new endings for them, although those endings have never come true. He understands style, voice, metaphor, rising action, and denouement.
(And yet knowing that love at first sight is a cliché, does not keep him from falling in love with her. He sees her pride, her sorrow, her immense if tainted heart, and he loves.)
What is the point of his struggle if it all turns out to be for nothing? Shouldn’t this be his story? His glory?
(The stories do not obey him because he is not the story spinner. Rue does not love him because he is not the prince.)
He is only Autor, and he was never meant to be the hero.
(But maybe he can still be heroic.)
***
The Raven is waiting. He has been waiting a very, very long time. Trapped within the pages of the story, fighting the Prince in a battle that would never end, could never end, until he grew bold and fled. He fled to this world, which cannot be called the real world. And now, once more, he waits, but this time he waits with purpose.
(He will win. He will eat the Prince’s heart. It is good, to be the villain in a tragedy.)
The others do not see, not the Prince, not the Knight, not Princess Tutu, certainly not the ugly, squalling thing that fashions herself his daughter.
(He is confident in a way that none of them can dare. He knows his purpose. He glories in it.)
He is trapped but powerful. He will rise again. He will shatter the walls of this tiny town. The minor setbacks he faces do not matter. The incompetence of the raven Prince and his false daughter is infuriating, but will not stop him.
(This is his right, his destiny.)
Princess Tutu and the Knight can fight him. The Prince can resist his influence. The girl can doubt him. None of it matters. He already tastes the sweetness of triumph.
(Deep, deep within him, where his heart would be, if he had one, the Raven feels a twinge of some unfamiliar emotion. It makes him wonder if everything will truly play out the way he wants. It makes him wonder if Tutu, the Knight, the Prince, the girl, might be stronger than he knows. He ignores this feeling and does not name it fear.)
***
Drosselmeyer sits behind the scenes and watches. He is as comfortable as a dead man can be.
(They thought death would finish him. They thought they could save themselves. But the stories have power beyond what men know, and the stories will have their ending, will have Drosselmeyer’s ending.)
It’s a delightful story he’s written, full of twists and turns. He never thought that Princess Tutu, who was only in the original story for a few lines, could add so much. She’s so brave, so sweet, and so determined. It will make her eventual tragedy all the sweeter.
(The stories are his, and they will do as he wishes.)
It’s a challenge, writing real people. Drosselmeyer hadn’t intended the Knight to survive, much less become a story spinner. But those are the kinds of twists that keep the readers in suspense.
(And it’s still his story, in the end.)
His story, his beautiful tragedy, is reaching its close. The characters are moving into their final places. The curtain is about to come down. It will be a glorious ending, in which no one is saved, and no one is happy. The very best kind.
(His kind.)
Drosselmeyer sits and waits, comfortable. He worries, a little. Suspense is good. But it will go his way in the end. He’s sure of it.
(Either way, the end is coming.)
This entry was originally posted at http://veleda-k.dreamwidth.org/355331.html. Please consider commenting there.
octopedingenue. As usual, I was certain that this year was the year it would all go wrong, and the I could never fill the request, and I wouldn't get it done, and I'd default, and never be able to participate again. And, also as usual, none of that came to pass. (But next year, man, next year.)
Title: The Treachery of Images
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Wordcount: 1,180
Rating: PG
Characters: Paulamoni, Edel, Autor, Monster Raven, Drosselmeyer
Notes: Written for Yuletide 2013 for
octopedingenue.
Summary: In Gold Crown Town, the line between what is and what should be is faded and blurred, and can be traversed.
It’s not always easy, having an electric eel for a troupe leader, Paulamoni thinks, though they do save a lot on electricity.
(Was he always an eel? Yes, of course, he must have been. It’s not strange to have an eel for a leader. The ballet teacher in this town is a cat.)
Paulamoni has quickly grown to love Gold Crown town. If there’s any place for her perfect Aurora, the girl who dreams even while awake, then it's here, though Paulamoni couldn’t say why.
(And yet she is afraid. So afraid, the fear nestled in her heart, whispering to her. Why is she so afraid?)
Gold Crown town is so quiet and charming. It’s like no other town Paulamoni has seen.
(She has seen other towns. She knows she has. They’re a traveling company. There were towns before. There will be towns after. And yet when Paulamoni tries to imagine the world beyond the gates of Gold Crown Town, nothing is clear, and she sees only fleeting, vaguely defined shapes.)
Paulamoni thinks of Sleeping Beauty, the castle, and the wall of thorns. The story fills even her sleep, so that she dreams of magic, of true love, and a captured prince.
(No, Sleeping Beauty is about a princess. Silly mistake.)
Paulamoni dances and dreams, and she does not hear the cawing of the crows, or an old man’s creaking laugh.
(Or does she?)
***
“May those who accept their fate find happiness. May those who defy it find glory.”
But for Edel there can be neither happiness nor glory. Puppets are not happy.
(On the other hand, puppets are not sad. Edel tells herself this is for the best.)
A puppet does not have the option of defying her fate, and without the possibility of rebellion, there can be no true acceptance. Edel is what she is, what she was created to be.
(Edel does not pass judgment. She does not make decisions. She does not need to. She should not want to. Puppets do not want.)
Ahiru cries, laughs, loves. Edel can do none of these things things. She cannot rage like Fakir or spit scorn like Rue.
(Puppets do not want, and yet Edel wonders what it would be like, to feel as they feel.)
Edel passes her wooden hand over her many jewels, pausing only for an instant over the jewel called “self-realization.”
(Was that there yesterday? Edel shouldn’t question it, because puppets do not ask questions. But she does.)
“May those who accept their fate find happiness. May those who defy it find glory.”
(Edel thinks it might be glorious, to burn.)
***
It’s a cliché, but a true one: knowledge is power. Autor knows this better than anyone. It’s why he’s devoted his life to all things Drosselmeyer. The stories control the town, so to understand the stories is to take some of their power.
(And he has tried so hard and worked so long. Hasn’t he earned it?)
It was easy enough to find Fakir. It took Fakir much longer to find him. Autor assumes this is proof of his superiority. Fakir may be a direct descendant, but Autor is the better storyteller.
(Or was that all part of the story, and Autor was just playing the role assigned to him?)
Autor has read all the stories that Drosselmeyer wrote. He’s even tried to write new endings for them, although those endings have never come true. He understands style, voice, metaphor, rising action, and denouement.
(And yet knowing that love at first sight is a cliché, does not keep him from falling in love with her. He sees her pride, her sorrow, her immense if tainted heart, and he loves.)
What is the point of his struggle if it all turns out to be for nothing? Shouldn’t this be his story? His glory?
(The stories do not obey him because he is not the story spinner. Rue does not love him because he is not the prince.)
He is only Autor, and he was never meant to be the hero.
(But maybe he can still be heroic.)
***
The Raven is waiting. He has been waiting a very, very long time. Trapped within the pages of the story, fighting the Prince in a battle that would never end, could never end, until he grew bold and fled. He fled to this world, which cannot be called the real world. And now, once more, he waits, but this time he waits with purpose.
(He will win. He will eat the Prince’s heart. It is good, to be the villain in a tragedy.)
The others do not see, not the Prince, not the Knight, not Princess Tutu, certainly not the ugly, squalling thing that fashions herself his daughter.
(He is confident in a way that none of them can dare. He knows his purpose. He glories in it.)
He is trapped but powerful. He will rise again. He will shatter the walls of this tiny town. The minor setbacks he faces do not matter. The incompetence of the raven Prince and his false daughter is infuriating, but will not stop him.
(This is his right, his destiny.)
Princess Tutu and the Knight can fight him. The Prince can resist his influence. The girl can doubt him. None of it matters. He already tastes the sweetness of triumph.
(Deep, deep within him, where his heart would be, if he had one, the Raven feels a twinge of some unfamiliar emotion. It makes him wonder if everything will truly play out the way he wants. It makes him wonder if Tutu, the Knight, the Prince, the girl, might be stronger than he knows. He ignores this feeling and does not name it fear.)
***
Drosselmeyer sits behind the scenes and watches. He is as comfortable as a dead man can be.
(They thought death would finish him. They thought they could save themselves. But the stories have power beyond what men know, and the stories will have their ending, will have Drosselmeyer’s ending.)
It’s a delightful story he’s written, full of twists and turns. He never thought that Princess Tutu, who was only in the original story for a few lines, could add so much. She’s so brave, so sweet, and so determined. It will make her eventual tragedy all the sweeter.
(The stories are his, and they will do as he wishes.)
It’s a challenge, writing real people. Drosselmeyer hadn’t intended the Knight to survive, much less become a story spinner. But those are the kinds of twists that keep the readers in suspense.
(And it’s still his story, in the end.)
His story, his beautiful tragedy, is reaching its close. The characters are moving into their final places. The curtain is about to come down. It will be a glorious ending, in which no one is saved, and no one is happy. The very best kind.
(His kind.)
Drosselmeyer sits and waits, comfortable. He worries, a little. Suspense is good. But it will go his way in the end. He’s sure of it.
(Either way, the end is coming.)
This entry was originally posted at http://veleda-k.dreamwidth.org/355331.html. Please consider commenting there.