[March 29, 2007] [Princess Tutu] Volumes Upon Volumes

[haleysings.livejournal.com]

Yes, I know it's three minutes until midnight, but that's still three minutes.

Title: Volumes Upon Volumes
Day/Theme: March 29. take my blood and my body for your love
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: One-sided Autor/Rue, mention of Fakir
Rating: PG

 

“It seems I’ve fallen in love with you.”

 “With me?

 “Yes.”

 “…Enough to sacrifice your life?”

 “Yes, if it is for your sake.”

She laughed.

Autor stumbled out of the building she had taken him into, his mind swirling with questions. What had he done wrong? He had done everything she had asked him to, answered every question without hesitating or stumbling over his words. In fact, he had surprised himself with how clearly he was able to speak, although his heart had been racing and his mind had been cluttered with disconnected observations about her.

(Her hair smelled like cinnamon, probably a shampoo. He felt silly for noticing that, but he did. Her expression was confident, her eyes filled with some sort of purpose, but the way she walked was hesitant. Why?)

It was all foolish, really. He couldn’t explain why he felt the way he did when she looked at him. He couldn’t explain how it had happened. Maybe he really was just being controlled by the story.
But he didn’t feel like he was being controlled. What he felt wasn’t a lie. It didn’t feel like a puppeteer tugging on a string. He had felt controlled often in his life, and the feeling had always made him uneasy. But that familiar feeling of being pulled along by the story wasn’t there. Maybe it’s something the story had decided for him, but if it was, he had gladly gone along with it.

(Was he that lonely?)

He gritted his teeth at the thought. The idea was absurd. He didn’t really need any companionship. All he had throughout his life were books. And that was enough. Books never made people feel the way he was feeling now.

(But the books he had read had never kept him from noticing that there was nobody to ever bother him as he read them.)

He saw a glint of light out of the corner of his eye and turned towards it. Sitting on a rock nearby a lantern, he could see a figure bent over in deep thought. So, he had gone to Drosselmeyer’s grave to write? But he still couldn’t write, could he?

At least he could comfort himself in knowing that he wasn’t nearly as pathetic as Fakir.

(That was a lie, and he knew it. Even if he wanted to write down the swirling emotions he was feeling at the moment, he would have never been able to.)

He forced a smirk on his face, straightened up, and pushed his glasses up his nose. He’d forget about her.

(I don’t want to! the voice in his head screamed, but he pushed it aside.)

 After all, he still had to help Drosselmeyer’s pathetic descendant write his stupid little story.

(Damn him, what I wouldn’t give to be in his position. I’d write a story only for her, about a man that would take out his own heart for the love of a Princess. Maybe then she wouldn’t laugh. )

“And to think, at this moment I have volumes upon volumes that I want to write. It’s ironic.”