Princess Tutu Fan Fiction ❯ A Forgotten Story ❯ A Forgotten Story ( One-Shot )

 

 

A pale hand, thin save for thick, protruding veins, reached and turned the handle of a phonogram. Powdered grime glittered in shafts of light that pierced the dark, taking leave of the phonogram that it had rested on for so long. Warped melodies slowly took new life the faster the hand turned, turning misshapen sounds into regal tones, filling the void of silence, darkness, and fragments of light.

 

There! On a particularly deep, solid sound, a foot moves forth from the tattered curtains of shade, arms raised above her head, stretching towards the broken ceiling where spectators in forms of crows and ravens peer their black heads and dark eyes inside the abandoned yet not forgotten theater. They hopped and squawked, cawing as the slim figure twirled along the fragmented stage, sunlight seeming to shield away from the pale dancer as the birds blocked the light.

 

The brooding, maniacal melody drove the girl to twirl, her tattered ballerina's gown blending with the shadows as crimson eyes turned upward, following the phonogram's song with her body as her mind lays dormant in the back of her skull. Let the song sing her motions. Let it be swallowed into the seemingly endless nothing that occupied the room, a room that had housed hundreds, enchanted with her dance, her glorious dance. Why could he not have been entranced too? She'd almost had him till—

 

Entering from beside one of the few remaining rays of light, another walks unto the stage. The crows and ravens take to the air, loud, harsh caws raining hatefully down but the newcomer only smiled, a dreamy, gentle smile. A not-all-there smile. Her pristine gown of white had taken on a pasty hue but it still remained a bright spot in the gloom. A stage light clicked on, the empty sound echoing, as it focused on the blue-eyed dancer. Startled from her own, individual dance, the other pauses to watch, the phonogram now singing out a gentle song.

 

Empty seats, plush velvet stained with age, began to creak, as though invisible people were taking their seats to watch. Wallpaper hung limply from the walls like used Christmas strings started to creep back into place, inching its way as the melody played. From the orchestra pit, a tuba wheezed, dust billowing out, spinning along with the girl, sparkling in the air as another light clicked on.

 

A boiling rage clawed at her insides as—once again!—the younger girl with ginger hair and white tipped fringes began taking over the stage. She'd stolen him from her, he'd been hers! This ugly, gangly, duckish girl had never posed a threat before but somehow, when Rue had not been looking, the girl had turned into a swan and whisked away her darkling prince. Now she thought to steal the stage?

 

Rue, whose tattered dress began to heal, fabrics mending, tore back into her dance. The music abruptly changed as drums boomed into life, clouds of black powder rolling upwards as though a small explosion had occurred. The Duck was taken aback, pulling her hands to her chest, small mouth parting as Rue forcefully spun, the jeering crows and mocking ravens cheering her on from distant perches. The darkness converged, the stage wearing and breaking under her feet with a force that sent splinters flying into the air.

 

More seats squeaked, other lights flared, the piano's keys flew rapidly, small hammers inside striking chords and mice fled with panicked squeaks, trying to avoid the blows of mini-mallets.

 

The Duck scuttled forward, balanced on toes, twirling her hands above her head as if they held unseen string. The drums died away, the piano's keys softly played the higher range and tinkled like butterfly bells. She gracefully reached her hand forward to Rue, beckoning to her as she put back on her smile.

 

“Come.” The same gentleness reflected on her face resurfaced in her whispered voice. “Dance with me.”

 

The bitter laugh that broke through her lips sounded harshly like that of a crow. Cymbals clashed, the drums boomed, the piano deepened with menacing intent and all the while the sickly hand turned the handle, keeping the phonogram shrieking with song that couldn't be heard yet still kept the whole thing going along. The chairs were squeaking wildly, as unseen watchers eagerly beheld the scene, the stage lights flashing on, illuminating the scenery. A cardboard castle stood at the back with false plants, all shaking at the hidden force dictating Rue's dance, the colors slowly coming back as on the stage walks a cat, walks a cat on two legs. Following come other girls, clothed in uniform attire. Looks like school attire but what is the anteater doing there, doing there in a skirt and blouse as though she was a student? She too on two legs does walk and twirl, miming the dance of the Rue girl. And now the students, with uniforms, dance and spin to their own song that the phonogram plays along. The Duck tries to keep up with the dance of Rue, the Cat, the Girls, the cymbals, the drums, and the strings but really should have focused on the phonogram and white hand. For if the white hand stops—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then the scenery goes back to nothing.