The night was cold and sharp, with only a thin strip of the moon providing pale and sickly light for Kraehe as she wandered in search of her Prince. She was more than used to the cold from all her years spent underground, but up above, where the perpetual warmth of Gold Crown Town had always been and never changed, it seemed so very wrong and unnatural, and it filled her with dread. Every night, she felt the air beginning to feel and smell more and more like it did down below, where her Father hungered and waited.

Maybe summer was finally coming to an end, and a midnight winter was about to emerge and chase it down, and destroy it. And in the middle of this cold and unforgiving night, her Prince was lost – in so many ways.

She had to find him. Even if she was afraid of what exactly she might find, she still had to reach for him. It was all she could do – just find him, watch over him, and be with him, and...and it would be over soon. It had to be. His pain would end very shortly now, she was sure, and so would hers. All he needed was more time. And until that time finally came, she would stay with him. He might be lost, but he would never be alone.

Still, she yearned for that time to come quickly and take away his anguish. She'd never wanted him to suffer so much, and never imagined that her Father's blood would change him so terribly. Kraehe knew better than to question her Father's wisdom, knew she was too foolish to understand it, but things weren't supposed to happen like this. This wasn't how it was meant to be. All she'd wanted was to make him a prince who loved no-one but her. He was always destined to be the prince who would marry her and save her from her loneliness, until Tutu had interfered and tried to snatch away her happy ending, and almost ruined everything. She'd only set the story right again, she told herself over and over. Her Father had helped her and saved her, when she'd been on the verge of losing everything. His blood would only distort the Prince's view a little, so that he could see her as beautiful, so that he'd notice her and her love for him at last, and would never look at Princess Tutu again.

Her Father had promised this, and she cradled his words to her heart. Like treasures, she guarded them, smoothed them, kept them warm, and then breathed them in, deep and desperate.

Her Prince would soon find beauty in all that was ugly and vile, like her. He'd hate everything he used to love and love everything he was supposed to hate. He would soon find Princess Tutu repulsive, and give all his love to his true and intended princess instead. Everything good and pure would be diminished, flawed and hideous in his eyes now, and all that belonged to darkness and the blood of ravens would stand out clear and true. He would be a prince who loved ravens, and a son to her Father. That was the real happy ending; the only one Kraehe believed in.

But now he had vanished, and she'd searched everywhere for him, flying from one secluded place to another, disappearing and reappearing in her tornado of black feathers as she revisited every memory, every old haunt, and every secret and precious place she'd ever taken him to back in the time when she was Rue. How long ago that time seemed, and seeing each sacred place where they used to spend their days together, now hauntingly quiet and lifeless without him, the memories seemed even more distant. It hurt to think of those simple and happy days, but even worse was failing to find her Prince. With each familiar and poignant place she visited, she found nothing. The Prince was gone, and she was running out of memories and places to look.

It was humiliating, but she'd even searched the areas where she'd spied him walking and talking with Fakir years ago, and all the places where she knew he'd met Princess Tutu – the river's edge, the gazebo, the stone ruins. Could he possibly be with Tutu and Fakir now? The thought struck her like a blade to the heart. What if they'd found him, taken him to Fakir's house, and found a way to reverse her Father's influence? Could it really be done?

No, it wasn't possible. There was no way anyone could stop the blood of the Raven once it took hold of a heart, she knew too well. And as much as her Prince tried to resist its power, he wouldn't let anyone try to rescue him from it, not now. It was too late. Fakir and Tutu – or was it Duck? – had no chance, and nothing else either. Once her Father's blood dyed the Prince's heart completely, he'd be hers at last and everything would be perfect. Soon enough, he'd forget about everyone and everything, except her. What need would he have of them?

But the Prince was nowhere to be found – not at the Academy, not in the town, and not with either Fakir or Princess Tutu. And she'd already searched all the places close to her heart; all save one. With that thought, Kraehe turned away from the town lights and entered the woods. Ignoring the growing cold, she walked through the thinly-forested glade, her thoughts all fixed on one tiny, remote spot. At last, she knew where he was. There was only one place left, one last happy memory of Rue.

x-x-x

She knows she's just an ugly crow, but today she pretends to be a girl and calls herself Rue. It's a lie, but she wants so badly to believe that it might be real, and when her dear Prince looks at her and holds her hand, she truly can. She doesn't even need to close her eyes.

They sit together in the sunshine, a strange little girl and a strange young man, and rest in silence at the edge of a secluded pond. The sunlight sparkles on the water, and no-one can find them here. Nobody can come and take her Prince away from her. He sometimes wanders to this place, and she always follows him and contemplates the calm water with him. It's so strange to look down at her reflection there – the only mirrors she's ever seen before are her Father's red eyes, and in them she always looks ugly, shrinking and pathetic. But staring down into a pool of fresh water, she looks so magically different – wide-eyed, eager and smiling. It must be the Prince, she thinks to herself. It's because he's with her that she can change like this – from crow to human, from Kraehe to Rue, from ugly to pretty.

The water holding her image doesn't stay still for long though, and soon a ripple distorts it, because a family of ducks are nesting at the pond's edge. She and her Prince are quite familiar with them, but today Rue notices something new and special.

"Prince, look!" she calls out, full of pride and wonder. "The ducklings have hatched!"

They look so small, no more than a few days old maybe, but they're already swimming and playing in the water, and she watches them with giddy enthusiasm. Just looking at them makes her feel warm and light inside somehow, and she likes them already. She likes this day and this feeling too. The ducklings' tiny calls fill her ears and colour the summer with life and song she's never felt before, and Rue beams with excitement as she tugs again at her Prince's hand and points at the small family, and can't help the small laugh that bubbles out of her. She's never seen anything so sweet and cute, and she's so pleased to have been the one to first find them for him.

He says nothing back to her, even as she urges him to look, and his face never changes its sleepy, faraway expression, but she can make-believe that he's impressed with her and glad to be here. Maybe if he could, he'd smile at her.

Slowly and dreamily, he edges closer to the water, looking faintly interested, the way she's seen all small and helpless things interest him. The curve of his mouth is soft and his eyes are warm with fascination as he extends his arm towards the ducklings just a little, and opens his hand – unfolding it like a snowy flower, she thinks in a rush of admiration. He remains there, not beckoning, but gently offering, and Rue wonders how could anything ever turn away from him. The baby birds all chirp merrily together and flock to him, and as they swim across the water and into his arms, she suddenly feels frightened, jealous, and full of sick tension, and wishes they'd never come here. It hurts to think that he might love them more than her, and she can't bear it. But the dark feeling goes away quickly and her hate dies before being fully born, as she hears their joyful squeaks and quacks as he lets each of them sit in his open palms. All the birds and animals love him, and welcome a chance to be picked up and held in his arms. And he does hold them – he doesn't know what to do with them once he has them, but he does pick them up and hold them close.

Shy and hesitant, she draws close to the group of ducklings now gathered in her Prince's lap, and badly wants to hold one too. Just one will be enough. She likes birds best when they're newly-hatched because they can't fly away from her, the way grown birds and animals often fly and scatter at her approach. She trembles as she inches closer and tries reaching out her arm, wanting them to like her and worrying about scaring them. But she can't do it. She doesn't want to see it when it happens, doesn't want to see them freeze and shrink back when she gets too near, she doesn't want to have to look at that...

But then her Prince notices her and opens his arms, simply allowing her to take one from him. And the little duckling lets her, it moves easily into her grasp because it trusts him. And then it's in her hands, letting her stroke a single tender finger across its back and wings, then brush it to her cheek and breathe in its scent. It's so warm and soft, and chirps happily at her, and she feels as if her smile is too big, too wide, too full, and might break her, but she can't stop. She can only look at her Prince, and try to show everything in her heart. This is what it feels like to be happy.

It gives her hope too. If an egg can turn into a bird, then maybe she can turn into a beautiful princess one day. And if she can change herself, she can find a way to change him as well. He's mostly asleep now, even when he's awake, but she'll bring him back to life.

Soon, the other ducklings take interest in her too, and waddle over to her, and she smiles in wonder and delight. A whole group clusters around her as she sits on the grass, all of them letting her play with them, pick them up, and stroke their feathers. Rue and her Prince hold the birds together, and it doesn't matter to her that she feels joy and enthusiasm while he only feels dim obligation; it's simply a quiet and warm moment. He can only give her scraps of feeling, but to her lonely and hurting heart, it's the world, the sun, and the sky.

"They love you," she says, with a free and open smile, and handing him back a duckling.

"Do they?" he echoes, and other people might see and hear only emptiness in him – but not her, never her.

"Yes," she answers, very quiet now. "And um, I..."

Her heart yearns to say: I love you, I love you, I love you.

It throbs and aches with the need, but the words stick in her throat, too much for her, too huge and incredible to ever dare let out. Instead, she takes his hand and holds it to her tiny cheek, and gives him a fragile kiss. Softly, she murmurs the words into his skin, too fearful that he and the world might shatter if she ever speaks them out loud. It could ruin everything, and hurt this perfect golden day. So ugly and unworthy she is, maybe she'd lose him and he'd leave her. But this way, he can't possibly hear.

Nuzzling against his hand as if he can make all the world and all she is go away, she says, "Tell me you love me."

x-x-x

She shouldn't go back to him, she knew. If he was even there at all, it was probably safer to keep her distance. He was different now, and not the kind and gentle boy she remembered, and she couldn't understand it. He didn't even dance the same any more. Her Prince was suffering, and had changed. He was frightening now, and she never imagined it could be possible and hated herself for even thinking it, but he frightened her too. And he hurt her – he'd hurt her, and that was even more unreal.

He was cruel to her, said terrible things, even though she loved him with all her soul. He demanded her love and then dismissed it as worthless, and she should have had more pride than that, but she let him. It was just progress, she reminded herself again, trying hard to scorn all doubt in her Father's promise. It would all be worth it in the end. The Prince wasn't to blame for her weakness, and once he stopped resisting, then the change would be much smoother. He was confused and in pain, but it wouldn't last forever. It only hurt because the need to be loved was painful and cutting, and sometimes it made people do cruel and selfish things. She understood that well enough, and forgave him.

But still, the way he'd lashed out at her in front of the Beginners' Class a few days ago had left her badly shaken, and she couldn't rid her mind of the awful memory. If she was an ordinary human girl, with ordinary human blood, there would still be bruises on her body, and she couldn't stop thinking about it. It was wrong, so wrong. His face had been so twisted and ugly with anger. She'd never seen him like that, never imagined that her Prince could ever look at her with such hate and fury, or that she could ever be afraid of him. Kraehe could never have thought of him as brutal or savage before, but she could still feel the strength of his hand as it twisted her wrist and then threw her to the floor – his hand that had always meant safety and reassurance, and had always seemed so elegant and gentle, now burning and grasping her like the claw of a monster. He was a terrifying stranger, and Kraehe almost couldn't recognize him – and yet, he was still her Prince. He always would be.

He'd horrified her so much that she'd fled in fear and confusion, and since then she'd tried to stay away. She couldn't go back to him, couldn't face him, couldn't bear to see him as he was now and think that she had done it to him. She was too afraid. All she could do was shut herself away in shame, drown in tears, and cling ever-tighter to her Father's words. In misery, she'd returned to her own dorm, her own bed, and willingly gave up the tangled and twisted nights she'd spent lying next to him, winding her arms around him, planting kisses where she could, whispering her love to him, smoothing her cool hands over his burning heart, and affirming that he was hers and no-one else's – and paying any price.

Kraehe had always thought that nothing could ever drive her away from him, and with mute horror, she realized it really was true. A few days alone were all she could manage.

But she was worried about him. And very worried about how she might find him. For the past few days, he'd been alone too, and had plenty of time to find a beautiful heart to sacrifice. Perhaps that was the reason he'd wandered so far away from the town and Academy grounds, and all their familiar places – perhaps he'd found a girl and had taken her somewhere where no-one could interfere. Maybe it was already done, and she was about to stumble across the aftermath and see what it really meant to take an innocent heart and offer it to her Father. She tried to imagine it, tried to picture her beautiful Prince covered in blood and death, and only felt sick.

It was ridiculous. Even if he did take some silly girl's heart, then it was fine. It was good. That would be exactly what she wanted most. The people of this town were nothing more than hearts waiting to be eaten, and if her Prince succeeded, both his suffering and her Father's would be greatly eased. Surely, if the Prince would only take a heart as his blood demanded, he'd begin to belong only to her, the way he was supposed to. It was only her own pathetic weaknesses that made her quake a little now when thinking of it.

The last girl he'd tried to rob of her heart wasn't a girl at all, but a grown woman. Her name was Raetsel, and Kraehe remembered her well from long ago – remembered looking at her from afar and hating her, hating her age, her beauty, her kindness, and how fine she had looked next to the Prince. How like a princess she had seemed through a child's hurt and envying eyes. How like a princess she seemed even now, through eyes that had learned to envy even more bitterly and fiercely.

But she only hated because she was awful, selfish and wretched, and because she could see people more deserving of the Prince's love wherever she looked. The Prince himself wasn't supposed to hate anyone, much less the young woman he'd practically shared a home with for so many years. Kraehe could remember often wishing that he'd suddenly hate Raetsel and never want to see her again, but she'd understood why he never would. And after so many years of memories, he should have loved her and wanted to protect her, but instead he manipulated her and sought to take her heart. Empty-headed schoolgirls she could accept, but Raetsel had been close to him. Even Fakir had drawn his sword against the Prince, no matter how useless it was, and tried to fight against him to prevent that. Even the foolish knight openly challenged the Prince now, and fought in desperation, disgust and dismay – and he wasn't wrong. She couldn't believe her Prince's actions either, and didn't know what to think.

If she went back to him, he might hurt her again. He was fast and clever now, and unpredictable. But she had to find him. The trees were thinning and her surroundings were becoming more and more familiar, even by moonlight, and she knew she was very close. She couldn't turn back, or turn away from him. Just like she couldn't turn away from the path she walked down, as it broke through the glade and led down to an old, familiar pond, where she knew her Prince was waiting for her.

x-x-x

Her only name is Rue, and she's an ordinary girl who knows nothing unusual about crows or ravens. Her life may not be filled with contentment, but it has plenty of happy moments, and she believes her own illusion completely. The years have changed her body, her voice, and her heart, but everything in him remains the same, frozen in time. Nothing has changed, and yet everything is different.

They're sitting by the duck-pond again, where she and Mytho always seem to drift towards this time of year, just as the new ducklings hatch. A lot of summers have passed this way, and she doesn't mind. It's a strange ritual of theirs, but for as long as she can remember, they've always come here together to watch the ducklings hatch and enjoy their first few weeks of life. Right now, they're just old enough to play and swim in the water. They're silly little things, but there are worse ways to spend an afternoon. She'd much rather be dancing at him than wasting her time birdwatching, but somehow it feels like tradition, and like something he would want, if only he could want anything. Rue can't explain why, but somehow it feels important to be here. It's pointless, but pleasant enough, she supposes. And even though Mytho won't care if she forces him to go somewhere else with her instead, it wouldn't feel right.

How absurd. She comes here to keep him company, to please him, even though she knows it can't really make a difference to him whether she's there or not. It's almost laughable.

He's so quiet and still as he watches the birds sporting at the water's edge, and it's strange to think of how he can be so deeply absorbed and so utterly vacant at the same time. There's a little duckling smaller than all the others that he watches with special care, and he lets it sleep in his open hand. He can't take his eyes from it. She sees the need to protect in those honey-brown eyes of his – not urgent and seeking, as her own needs are, but steady and silent, like the heartbeat he doesn't possess anymore.

As for her, she has no reason to be interested in the the ducklings, so she keeps a cold distance, her gaze bored and disdainful. They don't like her anyway, and don't come near her. If she so much as leans or looks in their direction, the stupid little things panic and back away towards their parents or Mytho, as if she actually means to hurt them. All birds are like that around her, and the animals too. Not that it bothers her – Mytho is enough of a pet sometimes, so why should she care if nothing else could ever be?

What does bother her is how she can't stand it sometimes, these moments when she knows that she doesn't matter to him any more than these silly little birds do, if that. Suddenly and fiercely, she wants nothing more than to leave this place, and to take him with her. Why can't he pay this attention to her instead? She could be placed in the Special Class very soon, and she's told him so many times today in her excitement, her pride and pleasure glowing about her, but she knows he's already forgotten. It's incredibly important to have that dream of being prima donna that much closer, and it means so much to her, but he doesn't care.

These birds don't know him, not really. They don't care about him. They can't appreciate him, want him, or need him the way she does. They can't love him, and yet he still watches them rather than her. She's declared her love in so many ways, and dedicates her existence to expressing in every small way she can the tenderness in her heart, and the determination. Only with Mytho can she be herself, and nothing must ever take him away from her. Every word, every action, every look radiates with the feeling, and tells him again and again how much she loves him, but he can never hear her. He never will.

"Do you still need me?" she asks suddenly, feeling reckless. "Did you ever?"

His gaze leaves the sleeping duckling and finds her eyes. "I don't know."

"Of course," she says, nodding once and smiling a thin, bitter smile, as she turns her face from his and up towards the sun. She badly wants to hear him say that he loves her now, but hasn't the heart to ask him.

She doesn't know how long she stays like that, knees drawn up, eyes shut, and face tilted towards the sunlight, and all her heart desperately working to control her unhappiness, before she senses Mytho shifting softly across the grassy bank, and drawing close to her. Slowly, almost suspiciously, she opens her eyes again and finds him sitting across from her, the tiny duckling in his hand now awake and shivering from proximity to her.

"Here," he says, stretching his open hand towards her, confusing and startling her for a moment. Surely, he can't possibly mean...?

He does. Mytho moves of his own accord so rarely that it gives a sense of deep purpose to anything he does without anyone else's prompting, and as natural as it feels to push away his gesture and find any excuse to run from it or reject it, she can't. All words of cynicism or disinterest slowly die in her throat as she watches the small bird in his hand, and how gently he handles it. At first, it backs away and shudders from fear of her, but his hand smooths over its feathers so tenderly and reassuringly, and he repeats the gesture for a long time before he finally calms and gentles the frightened and shaking bird cupped safely in his hands. She watches, disbelieving and spellbound, as the fright and panic slowly starts to ebb away from the fragile duckling. And with it, all her reluctance begins to fade too.

It's then that Mytho takes her hand and opens it for the little bird, and she's now the one who feels frozen and frightened, and unsure of what's going to happen next. The little duckling seems totally empty of fear now, and filled with trust and confidence instead, and it hops onto her hand, its yellow feathers tickling her palm. The feeling is incredible, and its softness against her skin is so lovely. None of the others standing on the grass and clustering around Mytho dare venture close to her, but this one now seems brave and willing enough to make up for all of them. Rue stays still and rigid as it looks into her eyes, as if trying to contemplate and understand her, and she doesn't dare move to stroke it or play with it in any way. She might hurt or frighten it, and break the spell of Mytho's gentleness that lets her hold this little creature so close. Her body is too full of tension, and the sweetness and kindness of this moment almost hurts, because it shouldn't be and might never come again. She can't remember the last time anything let her hold it, or when anyone other than Mytho accepted her touch.

The duckling nuzzles into her palm, now content and sleepy again, and something in Rue lifts and allows her to smile; this time a real smile. She hates the tears that start to burn at her eyes, and is glad when she manages to hold them back, but the feeling behind them still can't be mastered. Very carefully and hesitantly, she lets a single fingertip graze over the duckling's feathers a few times, before she pulls back and settles for simply feeling its warm, soft weight in her hand, and trying to deal with the raw affection bubbling in her heart.

"Thank you," she says, smiling at Mytho in a way that doesn't feel safe, and everything threatens to pour out of that warm and happy expression.

He only looks at her with vacant calm, and she knows he can't really see her, touch her, or feel the love that she bears for him, but for now, none of it matters.

x-x-x

She wasn't a human girl anymore, and never had been. She was Princess Kraehe, the cursed and pitiful daughter of the Raven. There was no point wanting or wishing otherwise, any more than a duck could wish to be a swan. She was a crow, and she knew it – just as she knew her destiny. It lay here, with the Prince, and in drawing him back to her. She was trembling and tense, and her heart was pounding, but nothing could stop her.

As if familiar as her own reflection, she found the small clearing in the woodland where a small pond lay. Slices of moonlight illuminated the area, and the wind made her shiver. It looked so different by night, so deathly quiet, and seemed no less a shadowy prison than the Prince's dorm room. The pond was very small, but its surface shone like glass. He was crouching there, staring down into it, alone in the darkness and chill air.

He was so still, and crouched on his haunches almost like an animal. His back was turned to her, and she couldn't see anything of him clearly, other than his white hair and the lines of his back. His blazer and shirt were open, and the breeze made them flutter like mangled wings, and though his usual tidiness and precision was gone, he didn't look free. Instead, he looked broken and unstable, and the moon made his snowy hair look sharper, like a blade edge. He glittered like a threat and made her skin prickle with anxious dread, but he still looked more fragile than he'd ever been.

Kraehe began to step towards him, her black toe-shoes crushing the dewy grass beneath her. The sound of soft weight and satin shifting against the ground was audible, for all her grace, but still he didn't move or acknowledge her. Her right hand clenched over her heart. She resented her hesitation and unease, for a princess had no reason to shrink back from her prince, and the noble daughter of the Raven should never shame her Father with cowardice or weakness. She hated to fear, but her life and her heart were full of it.

Old instinct made her want to reach out an arm and touch him, but at the last minute she recoiled, sensing a warning. He didn't like to be touched any more.

"Kraehe," he said, cutting off the words she was about to offer him. "You're just in time."

"My Prince," she answered. Why was it so difficult to breathe around him now?

"How long has it been since I last saw you? Tell me."

She winced from thinking of the last time, their last dance, and the hopeless empty days afterward, and her words came with a heavy breath. "Six days."

"Oh," he smiled wickedly. "As long as that?"

She didn't answer him, but tried to banish her nervous hesitation, to will power into her voice, and to inch closer to his body instead. "It's very late, dear Prince. Why did you come here?"

Her only answer was dark, high laughter, and his shoulders shuddered with it. "So the ugly crow finds her way back to her prince again, not caring how much he hurt and humiliated her."

"Yes. Because she loves him."

He chuckled. "Of course she does. She has no choice."

He turned his face away from the water and towards her for the first time, and it took all her self-control not to flinch at the sight of him. He was beautiful as ever, and his skin shone in the moonlight, but his eyes were wild, and stained red. His smile was too wide, so much that it looked broken and twisted. Kraehe looked into those tainted and discoloured eyes of his, thinking of stains that could never be erased, and remembered his shard of love as it rested in her hands. She remembered the sight of her own reflection as the shard was bathed in blood, and could imagine again its weight disappearing from her cool and steady hands, and into the red pool below.

Princess Tutu had cradled it like a tiny kindling flame, or a small and vulnerable creature in need of warmth and care, but in her hands it was a lump of ice. All heat fled her touch, and its cold bit her skin. But her Father's blood was warm, she knew from experience, and after bathing her Prince's heart in it, it had been hot, full of red heat and burning need, and a love that could only belong to her. After the deed was done, she had lain with him on her bed of black feathers and cradled the shard to her face, caressed his bare skin with it, then touched her lips to it in a kiss.

Kraehe thought again of that heart-shard dropping from her hands, and of how it felt to have all his strength and support abruptly taken away while dancing, leaving her to fall to the floor in a clumsy mess of limbs, helpless as a broken doll. And she was still falling now, as he stared at her and so many twisted thoughts and images churned round her mind – the cage of his room at night, black air, red eyes and white feathers, and the relentless turning of gears. When he looked at her, she saw a fairytale filled with thorns.

He was scratching his hand absently, she noticed. When he caught her concerned and confused gaze, his face shifted into a smile so pleasant and amiable that she knew he must have been mocking her.

"I'd forgotten. There's something I want to show you, Kraehe."

The lilting friendliness in his voice set her on edge, but then he gallantly offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation this time, and let him pull her down onto the grass beside him in a rustle of black feathers. His grip moved to her wrist, too hard and possessive, his skin unnaturally slick and warm.

"Come and see," he beckoned in a parody of gentleness. "I have a surprise for you."

With her hand still caged in his own, he pushed back a curtain of reeds at the pond's edge, revealing the sweet and familiar sight of a nest. Kraehe almost smiled, remembering kinder days spent at this spot, until she realized that something was very wrong. There were no birds nearby – all the adults had vanished. There was a foul smell in the air, hovering over the nest where the new ducklings should emerge soon. With growing horror starting to choke her, Kraehe finally summoned the will to look down, into the nest itself, and witness her Prince's surprise. No, she thought, over and over. No, no, no... It couldn't be real, it couldn't be true.

The eggs were smashed, every last one of them. The nest was a brutal mess of shattered bits of shell and still-wet yolk, spotted with blood.

Immediately, her hand tore from his and clamped over her mouth, as if to swallow down the cry of disgust and denial. She was frozen with panic and terrified disbelief, and her throat was raw with small and suppressed sounds of pain as she stared down at the destroyed lives lying beneath her, innocent and helpless to defend themselves. All her childhood and all the happy afternoons shared over the years lay broken and shattered around her. And the birds...she thought of all the beautiful golden ducklings, the ones who played with him and loved him and trusted him, who had even let a creature like her hold them, because of him. Because of the light he shed, because of his caring and protective nature that not even losing a heart could destroy. Slowly, her hands left her shaking mouth, and tenderly handled the defiled nest and broken eggs, barely understanding why, her actions heavy with pain and grief. Her fingers touched the yolk-fluid, and it was still warm.

She couldn't breathe at all now, and all colour drained from her stricken and horrified face. She wanted to run away, to scream, to vomit. This wasn't her Prince. Her Prince, her beloved, her Mytho, her sweet and gentle Prince from the Story...this wasn't him. He could never...he couldn't have done this.

"Aren't you happy, Princess Crow?"

His voice rasped in her ear, light and edged with taunting cruelty, and her eyes snapped to his. She hadn't forgotten he was there, even in her horror. She could never forget his presence next to her, not when it radiated such sickness as this. When she looked at him, she couldn't recognize anything of the brokenly beautiful Prince she once knew, and who'd always made her feel so much less alone and unwanted. This was her fault. She had done this – to him, and to the dead ducklings too. It was mortifying to feel her eyes begin to sting with tears, but she couldn't care.

At last she found her voice, in a low and sickened whisper. "What have you done?"

"I've only done what your heart wants, princess," he said with a sinister smile. "You should be pleased."

"Why?" It seemed the only question in the world.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" He giggled helplessly for a moment, his whole body shaking with wild mirth, before he continued in a voice full of chilling reason and persuasion. "I was only thinking of you and your withered little heart, Kraehe. You always hated them, didn't you? I can see that now. I'm remembering everything from before, you know; from that time when I was Mytho and you were Rue. You hated them. You were always jealous, and you wanted them gone. And sometimes even ugly, useless princesses need rewards for their devotions."

She was aware of a long scream trying to escape from inside, but her mouth would not open. "No..."

"You didn't want me to look at them anymore, so I won't. That's how you love."

"No...I didn't..." she said, fighting nausea. "I didn't want..."

"But you did," he whispered soothingly, taking her hand in his again, and drawing soft patterns on her skin with his fingertips. "There's no need to lie to me, Kraehe. This is all you've ever wanted."

Burning tears began to slip down her face, as his words cut into her. They felt like fire on her skin, but she couldn't give into them, not in front of him. Instead, she struggled to stay calm. Her Father would have an answer – she had to believe that. This was a mistake, because she had left her Prince alone for too long.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, suddenly irritable and offended, his grip tightening. "Your tears are so ugly."

"Don't talk to me like that," she said, appalled at the brittle weakness in her voice.

"Why not?" He gave a shivering laugh, dark and empty. "You have no idea how hideous you are like this. Everything in this world is. I'm only opening your eyes, like you opened mine."

Then he raised his hand and touched a tear, brushing it softly and then pressing hard as he followed its trail down her cheek. She let him, trying to stifle the feeling and remember all she had been taught about grace and dignity, and never betraying how pitiful and wretched she truly was.

"And to think you actually believed you could tear out a human heart, when even this upsets you so much." He said, smiling as it was a magnificent joke.

She remained silent, waiting for her tears to freeze and trouble her no more. Her Prince seemed to lose interest in her, and turned his face to the glassy water once more, continuing his dark contemplation of whatever he saw there. It was her best moment to vanish, to fly away on a storm of swirling feathers, but he compelled her to stay. When she saw his shadow fall across the water, twisted into the black shape of a raven, she knew she wouldn't leave him until he drove her away. She couldn't go, not like this.

Slowly, he began to awaken from his thoughts. He turned his head, and seemed surprised to find her still there.

"Sit with me now, crow," he said, his voice far quieter now, almost frightened.

Without grace or elegance, she shuffled closer to him. Not knowing what to except filled her body with tension, but it gradually evaporated as she saw the quiet sorrow on his face. Guilt and confusion flooded her as she watched him turn his head away from her and towards the water again, his eyes utterly lost. As she sat beside him, her bare shoulder grazing his, he pointed to their reflections floating on the water's surface.

"Look at us," he spoke, his voice lost in a terrible dream. "It's written in the old stories that ravens are the ghosts of the murdered, and it's true. Your heart was torn out and eaten long ago, you just don't know it yet."

"No," she said. "You're wrong. My heart is still here, it's still my own."

Her hand took his and drew it to her, fierce and sharp-nailed as it used to be in the days when she tried to stop Princess Tutu from restoring his heart. She pressed its warmth to her breast without shame and held it there, willing him to feel her living heartbeat and the heat of all her love for him. He only laughed softly in answer.

"Poor Kraehe," he murmured, and the worst of it was that there was no malice in his voice this time, only loss and suffering. "You know it's true. And then you killed me too, didn't you? Because you didn't want to die alone."

"Yes," she whispered, eyes shut tight and voice choked with self-hate.

Perhaps, she thought as she gazed down at the peaceful stillness of the water, perhaps it would be better if they could both drown in that shallow pond. If the water could open and deepen like despair, and swallow them whole. The longer she looked at their pitiful reflections, the stronger the temptation grew, and she imagined their bones hidden safe and always together in such a grave.

"It's kinder this way," he said, taking his hand from her body and placing it in the ruined nest, and his lost and wavering voice cut through her reverie like a sword. "I've saved them."

"My Prince?"

He began to scratch at his hands and arms again, and his smile was twisted. "I wouldn't want them to have to live without me, Kraehe. It's too cruel."

"What do you mean?" she asked with a stab of panic – then again, and harsher, desperately trying to recreate some of her old authority. "What are you talking about?"

He smirked, his voice cold as the moon, and the wild energy back in his eyes. "Nothing for you to worry about yet, dear princess."

"Then don't think about it anymore, my Prince." Resolve hardened the deep concern on her face and she reached towards him, certain of one thing only. "Don't think about any of these feelings. Enough is enough. It's late and you need to sleep, and there's no reason to be out here anymore. Please, come back to the Academy with me."

"With you? Do you honestly think that I need someone like you?"

"You're not well, Prince. I'll look after you." She answered, refusing to heed his words or allow herself to be hurt by them.

"Do you love me very much, then? Is that it?"

It didn't come close at all, but it would suffice. "Yes. You know I do."

"Wait," he said, gripping her wrist and keeping her close. "If you're telling the truth, then there's one thing I need you to do before I'll go anywhere with you."

Kraehe made no answer, but her silence and stillness served as answer enough. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him, her eyes said. That had always been true, ever since she first knew him.

She stayed kneeling on the grassy bank as he asked, sudden apprehension gnawing at her. He shifted and drew very close to her, and then took something small from his blazer pocket. He held her hands in his, and placed the small thing carefully in her cupped palms, and when she realized what it was, she understood with a wave of nausea what he would ask of her.

Resting in her hands was a duck's egg. It was warm and still living.

She glanced up at her Prince in alarm, and a curse seemed to hang in the air between them as she waited for his words. The wait was poisonous, and the smile that grew on his face even more so, as he closed her hands around the small egg and pressed them together – almost too hard, but not quite. When he spoke, it was with deadly emphasis.

"Love only me, and hate everything else."

She looked at the fragile life in her hands and shook her head. "No – I can't – I won't –"

Her Prince only studied her carefully, an amused smile tugging his lips and dancing in his eyes. "But this is what crows do. And if you love me, you will."

"Prince, you mustn't ask me to do this," she whispered frantically, and didn't care how pathetic she sounded, or how ashamed her Father would be at her lack of strength and ruthlessness. "It's wrong."

"I've given you a great gift, Kraehe. Doesn't every puppet princess long for a chance to prove her love?"

"I can't love only you," she pleaded, miserable and desperate. "I can't...I love my Father too."

She longed to run back to her Father now, and throw herself weeping at his clawed feet in prostration. She wanted to beg him to grace her with his strength, his endurance, his wisdom, and most of all, his words of reassurance and promises of love. But she wasn't worthy to shame and offend him with her feeble whining – if she crawled to him now, empty handed and without a beautiful heart to feast on, the heart she had promised so often and he had waited for so patiently, then she would regret it. Whatever her punishment, she would deserve it.

But things weren't happening as he'd told her. Her own eyes contradicted her Father's promise, all his promises, and she couldn't think clearly for the confusion. If her Prince stayed like this forever, and could never go back to what he was before...

"Yes," her Prince murmured, musing playfully. "Of course you do. You can never love only me, and that's what makes you so worthless. But you can do this for me, can't you?"

His hands left hers and returned to the empty nest, carefully picking up one of broken eggs and dipping delicate fingers into it. Never taking his narrowed eyes from her, he leaned close and fingered the running and bloody yolk, and smeared it over her lips. She shut her eyes, shivering and enduring. Her hands were trembling, and the egg she held trembled too, as if shaking with fear.

His hands moved from her mouth to the side of her face, nails biting into her skin as he crept even close to her, lost in sudden rage. Tighter and tighter, he grasped her, and her hands kept shaking as they began to close. His eyes burnt her, and his breathing was ragged and harsh. This close, she could taste the venom in his words, and the despair in his hoarse whispers.

"My blood wants love, as my heart does!"

She knew. Her own heart did too. Everything in him was so lost, and she had done it. Cornered at last, she looked at him, and knew she was ready. His heart was in splinters, but she would love it.

She thought of all the ducklings she had ever held and cared for – their dark eyes, their soft feathers, their mischievous natures and their little biting beaks. She thought of the ones who had let her hold them in her hands, and had nuzzled against her skin and brought tiny warmth to her isolation. Kraehe imagined the life inside this one egg begging her to save it, and to save her Prince too. Most of all, she thought of the Prince he had once been, and the innocence in his eyes.

"Kraehe, Rue..." he whispered desperately, his words clawing at her lips and her will. "Love me."

His arms wound around her body, locking her close. Her hands shuddered tighter, as his own caressed her face with mocking gentleness and savour, and held it still as he drew close enough to taste her. A small, triumphant smile pulled at the strings of his mouth, and she knew they would never leave the shadows, the blood, or their prisons now.

He touched his cold lips to hers, and they met to the sound of a small and insignificant crack, that to her ears seemed loud and final enough to swallow the whole world in darkness.