A/N: And, BEHOLD! Chapter two! This is longer than the first chapter and also has more things happening and another, very important character!

Warnings: Post-series, various references to various pairings, and please excuse any typos.

Chapter of the Raven
AKT 2: An Awry Story
By: Nuit Songeur

Once upon a time, there was a woman who died. The woman's job was the finding and returning of feelings to a handsome prince. However, once her duty was requited and the prince regained all of his emotions, the woman's purpose had been fulfilled and she could no longer be part of this world she knew and had come to love. Even after she had passed, remnants of her existence still thrived as she left marks on those she left behind. In a desperate attempt to have her back, a young man, in his grief, took the first chance he could to revive her. However, did the woman really return to him? Or rather, was she an empty shell, lost to him forever since he was not her true, original purpose for life?

The early morning was foggy and silent with the exception of a few birds chirping and twittering their morning greetings. There was a figure, a girl that walked among the forest who stopped once she reached the bank of the pond. She peered below at the water's surface, seeing her reflection looking back up to her. She smiled at herself, her bright orange hair falling down past her face in wild locks. Without a word, she lightly stepped out on the water's surface, barefoot and clad in a white dress.

She stopped when she reached the middle of the pond. The birds stopped in their chirping to watch her as her arms began to slowly move around. Suddenly, she was dancing, slowly and gracefully. She raised up on her toes, dancing en Pointe barefoot. But, she did the action without trouble, seemingly already mastered the art of ballet. The girl twirled, extending her arms out as she spun and reaching out for her nonexistent partner. But the lack of a companion did not seem to worry her for she was used to this. Subconsciously, she knew he would come soon enough.

She stopped twirling and put one foot in front of the other, toe turned down. She looked ahead and saw a frog peacefully sitting on a lily pad, just a few feet away. She smiled at him, circled her hands above her head and held out her right hand in front of her.

"Hello, Mr. Frog," she said. "Would you like to dance with me today?" The frog stirred, shifting on the lily pad, and croaked. Within moments, the frog's form shifted, first glittering into a cloud of red smoke that stretched out and took the shape of a male. Then, the figure became more definitive and transformed into a brown-haired youth wearing a green velvet ballet costume. He looked down at himself, slightly stunned, and transferred his gaze back to the ballerina's outstretched palm. Cautiously, he took it and began dancing with her.

She let him lead them through the dance and her movements complemented his. He guided her, dancing to music with unknown origins. He danced beautifully, gracefully, but the girl's bones still echoed with an aching, unfilled hollowness.

Mr. Frog dances wonderfully. He lets his movements be guided by the serene surroundings of the pond. But I fear he is not the dancer for me. My limbs want to dance to a different choreography, they want to bend depending on feeling and emotion I'm experiencing. No, I do not believe he is the partner for me.

She pirouetted into a final pose, the penultimate chord ringing dissonance in the air. Mr. Frog had stopped as well. He took her hand and, dipping his head, kissed it. She smiled at him as he pulled his head back to look at her.

"Thank you for dancing with me, Mr. Frog." He tilted his head and smiled, his brown eyes shining. But then, a sharp wind cut across the pond and everything darkened, turning black beneath a feathery cover. A chorus of cawing pierced the pond's silence. Terrified, Mr. Frog transformed back into a frog and hopped away. The only thing the girl could do was raise her arms protectively in front of her face until the wind died down. She looked around and saw flocks of crows everywhere, sitting in trees, bushes, on the ground. Everywhere except the pond. There, the girl was all by herself. But she stood there, afraid of the sudden appearance of the ravens.

"Crows?" she said to herself, looking around at them. The other animals of the morning had disappeared with their arrival. In front of her, there was another whirlwind of black feathers. She stepped back when a figure began taking shape before her. It was a male. A male that donned the black color of raven feathers.

"Who are you?" she asked him, fear easily displayed over her features.

"I am your partner, the Prince of Ravens—"

"NO!" shrieked Fakir, surging out of bed and awakening suddenly. He looked around his bedroom, positioned above Charon's shop, panting and blinking furiously to clear his blurry vision. After he had calmed himself for a few moments, Fakir looked across the room where his desk was. The paper and duck feather quill still lay abandoned for the night. Ink blotches dotted the face of the paper weighted down by an ink well. Without a word, Fakir got out of bed and walked over to the desk to see that the story he had been mindlessly writing out earlier that evening still remained, unfinished.

The story he remembered writing, so similar to his dream, was halted at the first mention of ravens. For some reason, his subconscious decided to build on further, filling in the blank sheets of paper he'd left on his desk. To his surprise when he looked, his handwriting had stopped at the word 'ravens' and didn't continue on like his dream did.

It was just a dream, he reminded himself. The candle stump sitting on the edge of the desk was still lit, burning soundlessly in the once-still room and promising Fakir there was nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed and realized he was sweating as his night shirt was sticking uncomfortably to him. He went to the nearby window and opened it in order to cool the room.

A soft breeze blew into the room, instantly chilling his sweaty body. Fakir shivered, rubbing friction into his arms, and briefly looked out onto the cobble-stone streets of Gold Crown Town. The night was quiet and not a single thing stirred below. The picturesque view of the street made Fakir turn away and return to his awaiting bed, uncomfortable with the eerie stillness.

It was a while before sleep was granted to Fakir who was disturbed with the unpleasant dream he just had. And even when he fell to unconsciousness, such thoughts continued to plague him so as he tossed and turned fitfully throughout the night.

The night progressed into the wee hours. Unbeknownst to him, another small breeze entered the room, its gentle tendrils first extinguishing the candle on the desk and throwing the room into darkness. Then, the duck feathered quill was lifted, as if by the wind, and poised perfectly over the unfinished story as it began scratching out the completion of the tale.

The Gold Crown Town Academy was filtered through a layer of early morning fog. The sound of a few twittering, early morning birds chirped around the morning air. The fountain spewed and sputtered in the plaza of the dormitories. In the master suite of the girl dorms, the two inhabitants sat awake and mostly silent. Every now and again, one would say something to the other but mostly they remained silent for the newest roommate of the suite was a quiet, blank girl. Almost emotionless. Perhaps emotionless.

"Why do you keep me from Fakir, Rue?" Duck asked, sitting on the bed with her knees pulled in close to her chest. She was cradling a yellow pillow, a duck-shaped, yellow pillow. Rue, who had been brushing her hair over by the mirror, paused in her morning duties, setting the wooden hairbrush down, and turned slightly to the sitting girl.

"You're wanting to study ballet?" Rue intervened, asking her own question. She watched through the mirror as Duck transferred her gaze downward as she responded.

"Yes, I believe so. I don't feel very many things but Fakir says I like to dance." Almost angrily, Rue spun around to face Duck. Yet, her words did not evince any anger that her sudden actions suggested.

"Don't listen to Fakir about such things; he's not here to control you any more. You can make your own decisions now, with me. Now, tell me what it is you want." Duck looked back up to Rue again but her eyes were unfocused, her mind lost in her myriad train of thought.

"I think so. Yesterday, when I practiced for the first time, it felt… familiar, somehow. My arms and legs seemed to recognize the movements, even if only slightly. I felt… a hollowness in my bones that longed to echo the movements that I watched you do. But I can't physically do that, yet at least. Maybe if I practice enough, I'll be able to in the future. But that feeling— that hollowness— I don't know what that is. Do you, Rue? Fakir says it will come to me in time." Rue crossed the room to her, placing a hand on Duck's cheek and staring intently into her eyes.

"Fakir doesn't know what he's saying. You're eager to learn ballet— that's all. Come on, the sooner we get ready, the sooner you'll be able to practice and get better." Duck nodded and stood up from the bed. Rue went to retrieve a school uniform for her and Duck silently put on the uniform she was handed. Within a few short minutes, Duck was dressed. She turned away from Rue, heading toward the door. Rue watched her but, upon noticing the state of Duck's hair, stopped her with a surprised exclamation.

"Wait!" Duck froze in her footsteps, turning her head slightly back to Rue.

"Yes, Rue? What is it?" Rue came to her, closing the small distance between them. She took the tip of Duck's braid between two fingers and examined the messy and knotted locks disapprovingly. She clucked her tongue.

"Who did your hair like this?"

"Fakir usually fixes my hair. He tries very hard to put it into a braid. He says I used to wear my hair like that." Rue shook her head.

"Fakir doesn't know what he's doing," she said. "There is no way in all of Gold Crown Town you would have allowed yourself to walk outside with your hair looking like that. Go sit over there by the vanity mirror." Duck did as she was told and Rue set to work. First, she started on the extensive job of unknotting the braid, picking at the woven locks with meticulous fingers. Moving swiftly and carefully, Rue was able to loosen Duck's hair within a few short minutes. Her next, more complicated task was brushing through the long, orange hair. She grabbed the wooden brush sitting on the dresser that she had previously used on her own and began pulling it through Duck's with rapid and jerking motions. Duck, who had been silent when Rue had undone her braid, now squirmed slightly in her chair, periodically emitting squeaks or small gasps of pain.

Rue continued to mercilessly attack Duck's hair despite her protests of discomfort. Eventually, the orange hair had been brushed thoroughly without any sign of a tangle or knot. She then began to intricately weave Duck's hair back into a braid, starting from the scalp and working her way to the bottom. She left a few strands of hair loose at the top since it naturally fell down to frame her face. When all but a small tuft of hair was left at the bottom, Rue tied it with a hair band. She stepped back to examine her work and saw, with a small tinge of familiarity, that when properly braided, Duck's long hair fell past her knees. It was pretty long.

"Your hair is quite long," Rue noted. "Maybe you should have it cut," she suggested. Duck turned to face her, taking the tip of her own braid between her fingers for consideration.

"Do you think it would be more convenient for me to do so?" she asked. "That it would be best?" Rue only shrugged.

"It's whatever you want to do." Duck only stared, looking lost in her vacant gaze. Impatiently, Rue pursed her lips. "Come on, let's go. You don't want to be late." Duck nodded and followed her out of the suite.

Meanwhile, across the plaza, a princely figure was watching the quiet streets below from the master suite of the boy dorms. He surveyed the empty courtyard with a placid expression, waiting and studying. Soon, he caught sight of two girls leaving the other building and heading towards the Fire Arts Academy. One, the taller one, walked with a grace unknown to her time, her lavish locks of raven-black hair swaying with a slight breeze. Obviously the works of a prima donna. His perhaps? The other one was a smaller, still somewhat undeveloped creature. Her blank expression struck a familiar chord within him, but he dismissed it as he analyzed her face.

"Tutu," came his soft whisper.

Another boy was quickly rushing towards his house. Some late-night research at the school library caused him to fall asleep over the book he had been reading. When the alarm on his watch alerted him that it was six in the morning, the bespectacled boy had jumped up and gathered all the books around him. Why he had fallen asleep, he had no idea. Even with late-night research, he'd always managed to leave just after midnight, no later. Besides, he didn't expect that the librarian could be too pleased that he'd spent the night there. It was odd, very odd.

And, just what exactly was he researching, anyway? He didn't have any sort of begrudging literature or history assignment to contend with. Why could he not remember? He felt that it was very important, extremely crucial. He looked down at the book he was carrying. German Authors after the Nineteenth Century. That didn't make sense, so he stopped rushing for a moment and thumbed his way to a bookmarked page. Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he scanned down the list of names until one particular one caught his attention.

Drosselmeyer.

Drosselmeyer? But that didn't make any—

And then he had bumped into someone.

"Excuse me?" demanded a stiff, feminine voice. Autor stumbled back and glanced up to apologize.

"My apologies, Miss—" Autor gaped at the woman before him.

"Rue," she said for him.

"Yes, I know," he responded, gathering the askew stack of books into his chest. "You were… You were here yesterday," Autor realized aloud, recalling that he had seen her in the ballet practice room. Rue gave him a quizzical look.

"Of course I was. I attend the Academy just like you every day."

"What about the story with Mytho—"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she dismissed softly. "And, quite frankly, you're beginning to get on my nerves. Come on, Duck." Rue pushed past him, another girl in tow.

"Duck?" Autor repeated, prepared to hold his nose. "Who—?" Then he caught sight of the orange hair, and the memories came flooding back to him. He glanced at the book in his hand and remembered his topic of research. Rue wasn't supposed to be here, not now, not yesterday. The story had ended…

Something had gone wrong.

Then, the chiming of the seven o'clock bell reminded him to hurry on his way.

"Now, class," Mr. Cat said, clapping his hands together. "In addition our newest student, Miss Duck, we now have a transfer student. I'd like to welcome, Mr. Siegfried!" The students who all sat on the floor gave a polite applause to the new boy standing before them. Fakir could only stare numbly. It was… Mytho. But what was he doing here? As Mytho took his seat among the other students, Fakir could only think, What have I done?

Rue was still clinging to Duck ever so protectively, wit her arm draped around the smaller girl's shoulders. It made Fakir's fists clench as he watched so helplessly close by. He barely paid attention in the next few minutes as Mr. Cat prattled on about weekly performance tests and called upon someone to do theirs first.

"Hello, Fakir," Mytho issued under his breath. Fakir glanced sideways to see the prince sitting next to him.

"You… you remember?"

"Of course."

"What are you doing here, Mytho?" What happened to your story? And, Rue—"

"Please, call me Siegfried. And I have some questions for you as well. We'll talk later."

"Please, boys," Mr. Cat called out to them. "Remain silent while others are performing their weekly placement test."

"Yes, sir." Fakir turned to see who was performing now and saw, to his annoyance, it was Rue. Upon this realization, Fakir felt a hand brush against his and looked down to see that Duck had scooted her way next to him. Fakir gently squeezed her hand back.

"Rue thinks I should get my hair cut," she told him quietly. Fakir's eyes widened at the suggestion.

"Absolutely not," he told her stiffly. "You hair is fine the way it is."

"Ahem, Mr. Fakir," Mr. Cat warned, clearing his throat. Fakir's mouth tightened into a thin line, his eyes forced onto Rue's slim figure. She was a good dancer, Fakir had to give her that.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Mytho whispered under his breath. Fakir glanced at him, wondering at the longing in his voice. Mytho's golden eyes appeared lost to some distant memory, so Fakir didn't respond. Otherwise, he would have disagreed.

"I think she is," said Duck who was watching attentively. Fakir scoffed.

"Well, I don't."

"Mr. Fakir, please don't make me call you out again," Mr. Cat said sharply. Fakir's shoulder's slumped.

When Rue's performance was finished, she demanded that Duck sit with her. So, Fakir was once again left alone with Mytho who sat silently for the rest of the class without another word. Fakir had so many questions for him and couldn't wait to get him alone to ask him. With Mytho here, he didn't feel quite so alone since he wasn't the only one to share the memories of all that happened before.

"You seem surprised to see me, Fakir," he said once their class had been dismissed and they were strolling back to the dormitories.

"Given the circumstances, I don't think it's not understandable." Mytho gave a rue smile.

"Everything was fine. Rue was happy, content even. At least, I thought so. And then, one day she disappeared. I came back here to look for her. I found her, of course. But now, she acts as if none of it has ever happened. Like she doesn't even remember me." Fakir empathized in his own characteristic way.

"She had it all— the ideal life. A fairytale, what any girl would want. You'd think that she could be a little more grateful to you for choosing her as your queen." Mytho stopped walking.

"I don't think that's it. I think that there's something else. But what about you? What happened to Duck?" It was Fakir's turn to look away.

"I… I tried writing her a story, tried turning her back human. Then this happened. I don't know what I did exactly. It's almost like you, when you were heartless. It's like she's become the heartless one this time." Fakir looked back up to meet Mytho's gaze. He seemed to be thinking deeply about something.

"I don't think she's… heartless. Even without a heart, she would stay in her true form as a duck. I think she's… almost like she's suspended in time. Like, she can't do anything until something cataclysmic happens."

"What could that be?"

"I don't know—"

"Excuse me, Fakir," said a voice from behind. He turned to see Rue approaching, Duck following her.

"What? What is it?" he snapped, annoyed. Rue crossed her arms.

"I would like an apology for your behavior earlier," she told him, her nose upturned slightly. Fakir grit his teeth and raised an eyebrow.

"For what, exactly?"

"You were talking during my performance. It was quite rude."

"You were dancing during my conversation. I'd say that was quite rude of you." Rue gave a noise of disgust.

"I shouldn't expect any different from you."

"Excuse me," Mytho said, moving past Fakir to Rue. "What Fakir means is that he's very sorry for speaking during your dance, and he promises not to do it again." Fakir merely crossed his arms and watched Mytho carefully. "I'm Siegfried, by the way," he said, holding out a hand. Rue looked at the outstretched hand curiously but did nothing with it.

"Yes, I know. You were introduced to the class."

"Might I say that your performance was quite exquisite. Are you in need of a partner?" Fakir noticed Rue blushing as Mytho drew back his hand.

"You're quite forward," she said. Her tone sounded uncertain, as if unsure of what to make of him. "What makes you think you're worthy of dancing with me?"

"I guess the only way to prove that to you is to show you." Rue thought for a moment and then smiled. Though, Fakir could have sworn it looked like a smirk. Perhaps she was flirting back with Mytho.

"Meet me tomorrow morning at six in the Advanced Practice Room, and you shall prove your worth there." Mytho smiled back.

"I would be delighted." Fakir felt as though he could have been sick. Rue turned back around to her shadow-like companion.

"Come on, Duck, let's—" She stopped, and Fakir peered around Mytho to see why.

Duck wasn't there.

Anger suddenly flashed through Fakir. He felt as though he could have grabbed Rue, shook, and then slapped her. However, he managed to refrain himself by clenching his violently shaking fists. He could get angry with Rue later; finding Duck was more important.

"Duck? Duck!" he called, looking around wildly.

"She was just here… Where could she have gone?" Rue said timidly. Fakir turned to her angrily.

"So much for taking care of her," he snapped at her through clenched teeth. "She's managed to run off twice in the past few days under your watch."

"Maybe because she was trying to get a way from you," Rue mumbled under her breath. Fakir lunged at her but was cut short by Mytho jumping in between them.

"This is no time to fight. Right now, we have to focus on finding your friend." Fakir straightened up and nodded curtly at Mytho's words. Without another look at Rue, he darted off toward town, calling Duck's name.

"Can you help me?" Duck asked him. Autor gave a small jump and turned around to see her standing quite close to him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, confused.

"Fakir's in trouble and I can't help him. Can you help me?" Her inflectionless voice slightly concerned Autor. But, Fakir was in trouble?

"Does it involve the Story, again?" Duck nodded. He watched her carefully, studying her features as she reached toward him. Autor slightly flinched back but it didn't stop her advance as she took his hand.

"You helped him before. Will you help him again, please?" Her voice, so impassive and detached, still sounded heartbreakingly tragic. How could he refuse her wide, pleading eyes?

"How can I help?" he asked, somewhat uncomfortably. There was still the matter of what she expected of him. She tugged lightly at his hand. The physical contact made him blush and he wanted to pull away from her grasp so desperately.

"You know stories. Fakir started another story."

"He started another story?" Autor felt stunned, almost betrayed.

"He's in trouble. The Raven… The Raven is after him."

"But, how can that be? The Raven is dead. Prince Mytho slew him." She tugged at his hand again.

"Please help Fakir," she repeated, almost impatiently. Autor sighed. She seemed anxious, as if not wanting to stay where they were at, which was right outside the Music Building.

"I suppose I'll see what I can do. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to defeat the Raven—" saying that the evil entity existed sounded false even to his ears. He wasn't sure if he believed it. "—but I'll take a look at Fakir's story."

"Thank you, Autor. Can we go to your house?" He turned beet red at the suggestion.

"Wha-What?" he stammered, trying to remain calm.

"I'm staying with Rue, and boys aren't allowed in the girls dorm."

"Oh," he said. "I suppose that makes sense. Shouldn't we go look at Fakir's story, first?"

Duck only nodded.

Fakir flew by the house without a thought. It was only until he was halfway down the street did he pause and look back. It seemed rather unlikely but it was worth a try at least. As he slowly ambled back to the house, Fakir wondered if he remembered, if Autor remembered anything. His knock on the wooden door was loud and deliberate and was answered within a few seconds. The bespectacled boy opened his front door enough to where a sliver of his face peered through a crack.

"Autor!" Fakir exclaimed anxiously. "Have you seen Duck anywhere?" Autor opened his door enough to where Fakir could see the full body standing before him.

"She came by earlier, asking for my help," he said. The slightly pinched voice reminded Fakir of the time he had spent here, when they were defeating the Raven and Drosselmeyer.

"So… so you remember her? You remember everything that happened?" Autor crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"Of course I do," he sniffed. "I'm still sore from tackling that Bookman into the front door. I purchased this new one not too long ago." He rapped his knuckles on the wood.

"Duck was here?" Fakir repeated. "Do you know where she's at now?" Autor shrugged his shoulders.

"She seemed pretty worried, and she's changed quite a bit from what I remember of her."

"She asked you for help?" Fakir asked, stunned upon remembering what Autor had first said.

"She's concerned for you and about some story she said you were writing." Fakir blinked.

"My story?"

"She said the Raven was coming back," Autor said, dipping his head forward a bit to better analyze Fakir's reacttion.

"The Raven? But that can't… Mytho defeated him." Autor shrugged.

"It didn't make much sense to me either, but I told her that I would help her."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know, Fakir. She ran off somewhere," Autor explained patiently. "What's this story about? What have you been writing?" Fakir was taken aback by the slight accusatory tone in Autor's voice.

"Nothing. It's none of your concern," Fakir dismissed.

"It is my concern if it affects the whole town again. You were supposed to be finishing Drosselmeyer's story, not start your own. You know how dangerous that power is, Fakir." Fakir's temper flickered.

"I have been finishing Drosselmeyer's story. And so I started writing one story— one story. What is that to you? I'm not trying to control the entire town. Didn't you say once how you wished you had the power to make your own stories into reality?"

"That's not the point, Fakir," Autor said, getting closer. "You're tampering with something dangerous. Can you not see it? Rue's back, Duck's now a girl who's completely… inflectionless. Do you not see it? You're not making your own story; you're picking Drosselmeyer's up again—" With a fist clenched, Fakir backed a step away, preventing himself from shoving Autor.

"I didn't finish it, okay?" he said through tight lips. "I know what I'm doing. Don't preach to me, Autor." He sighed. "Let me know if you if you see Duck again." Fakir turned on his heel and hurried away.

"Fakir!" Autor called out to him, but he was already gone. Autor sighed, pushing his glasses up his face and turned back to the house. Duck appeared from nearby.

"Fakir…" she said mournfully.

"I've done everything I can," Autor told. "I just tried reasoning with logically, but he won't listen. I'm afraid I can't do much else." Duck gave him a faint but encouraging smile.

"I think that there's more you can do," she told him. Autor only gazed down at her dubiously.

Rue had searched anxiously all over town. But there had been no sign of Duck anywhere, so she dismally returned to her room at the girl dormitory. Duck had only stayed there for one night, and yet the master suit felt so lonely. Or lonelier. As she slipped her shoes off, Rue thought back to Fakir's hurtful words from earlier.

"Fakir doesn't know what he's talking about," she said, falling heavily on the bed. "I can take care of Duck."

You can't take care of anything.

Rue shot up out of bed.

Not even yourself.

"That's not true!" Rue defended, yelling out to the silent room.

You're so helpless, it's pitiful, pathetic even. Rue anxiously looked around the room, but she could not detect the source of the rumbling voice, the all too familiar voice. She heard the slight scraping of glass and turned to see a crow pecking at her window.

"Go away!" she told it. The pecks grew more incessant.

It shall begin tomorrow morning with the prince.

"Tomorrow morning?" Rue repeated weakly.

You can't do anything without me, and you know it. The crow disappeared in a cloud of dark feathers.

His conversation with Autor troubled Fakir. Autor seemed determined that the Raven was coming back. But that couldn't be right; the Raven was a character of Drosselmeyer's invention. Since he was writing the story, the Raven couldn't come back because it wasn't his character. Besides, Mytho had defeated the Raven…

Fakir wasn't able to find Duck anywhere. He searched the entire town in every crook, crevice, and tree, but there was no sign of her. It worried Fakir, made him anxious and stressed. What if she managed to get herself in trouble again? What if she was in danger? He was helpless to defend her. As he passed the dormitories for what seemed like the millionth time, he saw Rue returning to her room. He scoffed at her uselessness. As if she cared for Duck when she gave up on her so easily.

But why couldn't he find her? Why would she go to Autor? What did Autor ever do for her, except treat her contemptuously? Maybe Autor was lying, and she was still with him. Everyone seemed to want to take care of her lately.

The idea that Duck was hiding from him hurt. But the thought that she was hiding from him with Autor hurt even more.

He pushed the jealousy aside and tried focusing on something more logical. Duck was worried about the Raven, and if the Raven was coming back, Rue above anyone else would have something to do with it. Duck had been with Rue for the past few days. Maybe Duck had seen something, and Rue had taken her because of a plot with the Raven. Perhaps Rue's "searching" was a ruse.

By the time Fakir had deduced that much, he had physically exhausted himself to the point where he was shaking and near to collapsing. He wanted to desperately demand Rue what was going on, but his face found the road's cobblestone pavement before his foot could take another step.

"What… what is wrong with me?" he mumbled before his heavy eyelids subdued him. His mind went blank, and his thoughts were numb, buzzing things, incoherent even to him. It seemed hours until he was stirred.

"Fakir? Fakir!" Someone was shaking his shoulder. Blearily, he blinked, trying to discern the figure hovering over him.

"Wha…" came his disjointed mumble. The figure straightened up as he became more definitive.

"You're going to have to stand up. I won't be able to support all of your weight." Without thinking about what he was doing, Fakir somehow managed to get on his feet. It was an unsteady movement, however, that sent him lurching forward. But, before he fell on his face again, a firm hand reached out and grabbed him. Fakir weakly looked up at the companion.

"Autor…" he said, rasping out the name. Autor didn't look down at him as he lugged Fakir to Charon's house.

"What happened to you Fakir?" he asked. "I don't believe I've seen you in such bad shape since the Tree incident."

"I… was… looking… for Duck," he managed to stammer. Autor sighed.

"All night?"

That was a stupid question, so Fakir didn't bother to answer. Autor sighed, again. Fakir was starting to become annoyed with all the sighing.

"It's nearly six o'clock in the morning," Autor said. "I hope you don't plan on attending class today—" Fakir paused and stopped moving, making Autor halt in his steps.

"What time did you say it was?"

"It's five-something." He consulted his watch. "It's five forty-eight, to be exact." Fakir remembered something from a conversation from yesterday. In the Advanced Practice Room.

"Mytho," he whispered under his breath. Kraehe wouldn't spare him. "I have to go to the Academy." Autor looked stunned.

"What? In the condition you're in? You wouldn't make it to the front door." Fakir grit his teeth in annoyance. Autor was so oblivious sometimes.

"If the Raven is coming back, like you really said it was, then I have to go to the Academy." Autor studied him closely, and for a moment, Fakir wondered if he even really believed in the Raven's resurrection.

"The fact still remains that you're physically unable to do—" Fakir shoved himself off of Autor with his remaining strength. It wasn't much, but after he had passed out last night, some energy had managed returned to him.

"I'm fine," he grunted. Autor was unconvinced.

"Fakir, I really don't think—"

"I'm fine," he repeated. Without waiting for another response from Autor, Fakir managed to force his legs to run— albeit not very fast— in the direction of the Fine Arts Academy.

Rue still had the Raven's blood flowing through her veins, as did Mytho. Was that it? Was that how Kraehe planned to bring the Raven back?

It seemed to take Fakir an excruciatingly long time to reach the Dance Building. Nevertheless, he heard Autor chasing after him, so he must have been running faster than he originally thought. That, or Autor was extremely out of shape. As he ran, Fakir anxiously glanced all around him but saw no sign of Mytho. Where would he be? Was he already there?

As he heard the town bell chime six times, Fakir was just reaching the door to the Advanced Practice Room. His heartbeat quickened; he hoped he wasn't too late, while he flung the doors wide open.

The next few moments were indescribable, even to him, a writer that could usually describe so eloquently. The only thing he could discern was his body erupting in small tremors and an ethereal, seductive whisper in his ear.

My prince, you belong to me. For I am your princess.

The words didn't make sense to him. He wasn't any prince. All he knew was that he hated that voice, more so its owner even though he could not exactly place its identity for the moment.

"Fakir?" This was Autor.

"Fakir!" This was… Duck. Had he found her?

"Fakir?" This was a snarl, a snarl of Kraehe. She had been taken by surprise. Obviously, she had not been expecting him. Fakir tried blinking, even though he was not conscious of sight. But then, he felt the pain, searing across his right wrist. It wasn't agonizing, just enough to make him beyond uncomfortable. It was when he was aware of that feeling that he could become aware of his other senses. He saw Kraehe in her nest of raven feathers that had overrun the practice room. And he also saw Autor, but standing beside him was Duck, her eyes shining.

He knew, subconsciously, that she had been set free. But he wondered if the price for it was his imprisonment.

Whew! There we are! I hope you enjoyed this latest installment! Please review!

-NuitSongeur