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31_days2007-04-23 11:56 pm
haleysings.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-04-23 11:56 pm
[April 23, 2007] [Princess Tutu] The Flight of the Nightingale
Title: The Flight of the Nightingale
Day/Theme: April 23: Real happiness within reach
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Johanna (OC), Autor
Rating: PG
Freedom…
No. Death was not real freedom.
She would not allow herself to be a puppet anymore! She’d find a way to leave the story—and then she’d come back for her family!
She pushed herself away from the edge of the bridge, ignoring the sudden breeze that blew her hat away and down to the river bank. Leave it! What damage could it do? What mattered now were her life and her family. That was all that mattered.
Through the streets of the darkened city she ran, stopping for no one, hardly daring to even think lest Drosselmeyer’s story once again take hold of her. She ran as though being chased by demons, paying no heed to the few people up in the town, ignoring the sounds of barking dogs as she flew past their posts. Nothing mattered, nothing but escaping. Freedom!
Soon, she reached the gates. She pushed against them with all her might, but they refused to budge. She started to feel the strangling feeling of the story begin to pull her back. In desperation, she pulled on the gate, screaming for any possible gate keeper to hear. No answer.
The story was pulling her back to the river, but she refused it. Something to write with…she needed something to write with…!!
She bit her finger until she tasted blood. Wincing, she began to quickly scribble out a story upon the gate in her own blood:
‘When the Nightingale reached the door of her cage, she found that it had been locked and barred by her master. Although the master called sweetly to her, promising her safety and his version of freedom, her spirit was too resolute to respond to him. Instead, she called out to the spirit of the door, begging him to her hear prayer for help.’
“HELP ME!” she cried. “I want to leave this place!!”
“Why?” said a voice.
“I want to protect my family!”
“That may come at a high price to you. Are you determined to follow this course of action?”
“YES!”
Johanna hadn’t actually expected there to be a spirit in the gate—yet, as she responded to the whispered question, a glowing figure of a boy in royal clothing appeared before her. He glowed red, but his hair was snowy-white. He smiled at her.
“Your determination is admirable,” said the spirit.
“...I…any woman would do anything it takes to protect her family.”
“Not all,” said the princely spirit with a shake of his head. “Not to this point. …I believe that with your powers, I can take you out the gate, but I must again warn you that it may come at a heavy price to yourself. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. As long as it stops Drosselmeyer from pursuing my family.”
“You are to be commended, my lady,” the spirit said with a bow. He held out his hand. “Shall we go?”
Johanna only hesitated for a moment before taking the spirit’s hand. He strongly grasped her hand and began to pull her through the gate.
The passage through the gate wasn’t easy. She could feel the story desperately trying to drag her back, she could almost hear Drosselmeyer’s words trying to force her back. And the sensation of going through the gate itself felt painful. She wasn’t meant to do this. This gate wasn’t made to be a passage. But she pushed on—she had to leave. Then she’d find somewhere safe, and then she would come back for—
*********************
They found the woman wandering in an empty field. The people of the surrounding communities generally stayed away from that field—legends said that, long ago, a town had stood there before it mysteriously disappeared. It was highly unusual to see anyone wander that area, much less a woman by herself.
Fortunately, two of the more adventurous youths had been roaming on the edge of the field and saw her, draped in brightly colored clothes, dazed and confused. They took her back to their town and to a doctor.
When they asked her what her name was, she responded “Johanna.”
“Do you have any family, Johanna?” they asked.
“Watchmaker. Author,” she responded.
“A watchmaker and an author? Who?”
“Watchmaker. Author,” she repeated again.
“Do you know where we can find them?”
The woman shook her head, frowning. “No.”
“Do you remember where you’re from?
“…No.”
“Can you describe it?”
Johanna pulled her shawl about herself tightly. “A book. A storybook.”
The town was abuzz with questions and gossip the next day. “Did you hear?” they said, “they found a woman out in the Vanishing Field. Poor thing has lost her memory, and rambles on about stories and puppets and watches…why, the poor thing sounds like she may be insane!”
But after a few days of rest, the woman’s strength recovered, as well as the majority of her mental health—yet, she still had no memory. All she could remember was that her name was Johanna, and she was related to a watchmaker and an author.
That was fine, however. It soon became obvious that the woman was—besides her memory—completely healthy, and a capable housekeeper. She gained a job in another city at the house of a wealthy family, taking care of their children and teaching them to play the piano.
After a year had passed, it no longer mattered to people where the mysterious woman came from. She was a member of the community now, and like family to them all.
She became known in the city for her beauty and musical talent—which, naturally, meant that she also became known for her large amount of suitors. However, to every one she gave the same response:
“I’m sorry, but no. Someone is waiting for me.”
Years passed, and the woman grew older, and people became used to her being the musical spinster that took care of the children in the mansion on the hill and taught music to anyone that was willing to learn. To say Johanna was completely happy wouldn’t have been correct—she felt that she was missing something, even if she couldn’t remember it. But she was content, and that was enough.
Then, ten years later, she woke up in the middle of the night with a stunning, but confusing revelation:
The story had ended.
At first, she couldn’t place what story this was, or why it was so important. But in the following days, everything had fallen into place—she came from a town trapped in a story, but the story controlling the town had ended
And her husband and son were waiting for her.
Within a week, she was saying her goodbyes to the townspeople. She took the first cart she could find going in the direction of Kinkan Town—a town that nobody seemed to remember as the disappearing town. It took her two months to reach the town, but soon she was stepping through the gates of the town she had been born in.
And there she met a surly young man and a duck, and they pointed the way to a boy with blue-violet hair and glasses perched on his nose. A boy—a man?—that was now clinging to her, openly beginning to sob. “I knew you would come back,” he choked out.
“Thank you for waiting for me,” she responded, gently wrapping her arms around him and studying his face, at once both familiar and foreign to her.
“What else would I do?”
She smiled, pulling him away from her slightly to take another look at him. She once again noticed that he was taller than her…although not as tall as his father, not yet.
His father…
“Autor…where’s Uhrmacher?”
Dead silence. Autor froze in place, emotion retreating from his face as he turned to study the books on a shelf. Outside, the distant rumble of thunder warned of an approaching storm.
“Autor?” Johanna asked again, a growing sense of dread growing in the pit of her stomach.
A darkened house when Autor was at the library, although her husband worked from his home and didn’t often leave on his own. Her son, Autor, was the answer when she asked for the man that lived at her home.
“…I’ll take you to him,” he responded. Leaving behind the piles of books without a second glance, he walked out of the library and began to take Johanna to the church.
Day/Theme: April 23: Real happiness within reach
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Johanna (OC), Autor
Rating: PG
Freedom…
No. Death was not real freedom.
She would not allow herself to be a puppet anymore! She’d find a way to leave the story—and then she’d come back for her family!
She pushed herself away from the edge of the bridge, ignoring the sudden breeze that blew her hat away and down to the river bank. Leave it! What damage could it do? What mattered now were her life and her family. That was all that mattered.
Through the streets of the darkened city she ran, stopping for no one, hardly daring to even think lest Drosselmeyer’s story once again take hold of her. She ran as though being chased by demons, paying no heed to the few people up in the town, ignoring the sounds of barking dogs as she flew past their posts. Nothing mattered, nothing but escaping. Freedom!
Soon, she reached the gates. She pushed against them with all her might, but they refused to budge. She started to feel the strangling feeling of the story begin to pull her back. In desperation, she pulled on the gate, screaming for any possible gate keeper to hear. No answer.
The story was pulling her back to the river, but she refused it. Something to write with…she needed something to write with…!!
She bit her finger until she tasted blood. Wincing, she began to quickly scribble out a story upon the gate in her own blood:
‘When the Nightingale reached the door of her cage, she found that it had been locked and barred by her master. Although the master called sweetly to her, promising her safety and his version of freedom, her spirit was too resolute to respond to him. Instead, she called out to the spirit of the door, begging him to her hear prayer for help.’
“HELP ME!” she cried. “I want to leave this place!!”
“Why?” said a voice.
“I want to protect my family!”
“That may come at a high price to you. Are you determined to follow this course of action?”
“YES!”
Johanna hadn’t actually expected there to be a spirit in the gate—yet, as she responded to the whispered question, a glowing figure of a boy in royal clothing appeared before her. He glowed red, but his hair was snowy-white. He smiled at her.
“Your determination is admirable,” said the spirit.
“...I…any woman would do anything it takes to protect her family.”
“Not all,” said the princely spirit with a shake of his head. “Not to this point. …I believe that with your powers, I can take you out the gate, but I must again warn you that it may come at a heavy price to yourself. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. As long as it stops Drosselmeyer from pursuing my family.”
“You are to be commended, my lady,” the spirit said with a bow. He held out his hand. “Shall we go?”
Johanna only hesitated for a moment before taking the spirit’s hand. He strongly grasped her hand and began to pull her through the gate.
The passage through the gate wasn’t easy. She could feel the story desperately trying to drag her back, she could almost hear Drosselmeyer’s words trying to force her back. And the sensation of going through the gate itself felt painful. She wasn’t meant to do this. This gate wasn’t made to be a passage. But she pushed on—she had to leave. Then she’d find somewhere safe, and then she would come back for—
*********************
They found the woman wandering in an empty field. The people of the surrounding communities generally stayed away from that field—legends said that, long ago, a town had stood there before it mysteriously disappeared. It was highly unusual to see anyone wander that area, much less a woman by herself.
Fortunately, two of the more adventurous youths had been roaming on the edge of the field and saw her, draped in brightly colored clothes, dazed and confused. They took her back to their town and to a doctor.
When they asked her what her name was, she responded “Johanna.”
“Do you have any family, Johanna?” they asked.
“Watchmaker. Author,” she responded.
“A watchmaker and an author? Who?”
“Watchmaker. Author,” she repeated again.
“Do you know where we can find them?”
The woman shook her head, frowning. “No.”
“Do you remember where you’re from?
“…No.”
“Can you describe it?”
Johanna pulled her shawl about herself tightly. “A book. A storybook.”
The town was abuzz with questions and gossip the next day. “Did you hear?” they said, “they found a woman out in the Vanishing Field. Poor thing has lost her memory, and rambles on about stories and puppets and watches…why, the poor thing sounds like she may be insane!”
But after a few days of rest, the woman’s strength recovered, as well as the majority of her mental health—yet, she still had no memory. All she could remember was that her name was Johanna, and she was related to a watchmaker and an author.
That was fine, however. It soon became obvious that the woman was—besides her memory—completely healthy, and a capable housekeeper. She gained a job in another city at the house of a wealthy family, taking care of their children and teaching them to play the piano.
After a year had passed, it no longer mattered to people where the mysterious woman came from. She was a member of the community now, and like family to them all.
She became known in the city for her beauty and musical talent—which, naturally, meant that she also became known for her large amount of suitors. However, to every one she gave the same response:
“I’m sorry, but no. Someone is waiting for me.”
Years passed, and the woman grew older, and people became used to her being the musical spinster that took care of the children in the mansion on the hill and taught music to anyone that was willing to learn. To say Johanna was completely happy wouldn’t have been correct—she felt that she was missing something, even if she couldn’t remember it. But she was content, and that was enough.
Then, ten years later, she woke up in the middle of the night with a stunning, but confusing revelation:
The story had ended.
At first, she couldn’t place what story this was, or why it was so important. But in the following days, everything had fallen into place—she came from a town trapped in a story, but the story controlling the town had ended
And her husband and son were waiting for her.
Within a week, she was saying her goodbyes to the townspeople. She took the first cart she could find going in the direction of Kinkan Town—a town that nobody seemed to remember as the disappearing town. It took her two months to reach the town, but soon she was stepping through the gates of the town she had been born in.
And there she met a surly young man and a duck, and they pointed the way to a boy with blue-violet hair and glasses perched on his nose. A boy—a man?—that was now clinging to her, openly beginning to sob. “I knew you would come back,” he choked out.
“Thank you for waiting for me,” she responded, gently wrapping her arms around him and studying his face, at once both familiar and foreign to her.
“What else would I do?”
She smiled, pulling him away from her slightly to take another look at him. She once again noticed that he was taller than her…although not as tall as his father, not yet.
His father…
“Autor…where’s Uhrmacher?”
Dead silence. Autor froze in place, emotion retreating from his face as he turned to study the books on a shelf. Outside, the distant rumble of thunder warned of an approaching storm.
“Autor?” Johanna asked again, a growing sense of dread growing in the pit of her stomach.
A darkened house when Autor was at the library, although her husband worked from his home and didn’t often leave on his own. Her son, Autor, was the answer when she asked for the man that lived at her home.
“…I’ll take you to him,” he responded. Leaving behind the piles of books without a second glance, he walked out of the library and began to take Johanna to the church.