fic: The Prince And The Witch
Jul. 10th, 2011 01:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: The Prince And The Witch
Series: Utena
Character/Pairing: Utena/Anthy
Rating: PG
Word count: 1402
Author's note: write for relief..lurker_lost wanted a different take on Anthy finding Utena. I'd say this ranges into AU territory. Thanks to raphien for the beta.
The first thing she does when she's alone is cut her hair. The dark tendrils come down, snip snip snip, and fall around her. She reaches to touch the back of her neck when it is completed. It is as if a weight has been lifted off her. Hair contains magical power, they say. If so, then she's glad to be rid of it. She's tired of being a villainess–a witch, a bride, a pawn.
She decides she will be a prince. She can never truly be honorable or pure, but she can lie. She always has been very good at lying. It can only be a farce, a charade, until she finds Utena, the truly noble, unstained one. Then she will relinquish this tarnished crown and become something else entirely. She doesn't know what the world will contain when she isn't a rose bride or a pawn. The thought of a future of her own volition is hard to grasp.
*
She puts on her cloak and leaves at dawn. The air is crisp, the sky is tinged in pink. She pulls down her hood and looks out at the world, trying to imagine how Utena can see any good in it.
Even being as skilled at lying as she is, Anthy can barely make herself believe the words that Utena makes true. Love, for one. A love without ulterior motivations–a love without a plan.
All she sees in the faces of the children she passes are the cruel adults they will grow up to become. Their smiles warp into sneers–knives and stones to be thrown.
She has seen all the pain and hatred the world could contain and yet, she has also known love.
Utena is like the snow melting in Spring, Utena is all the words Anthy never believed before this.
*
When she needs money, Anthy reverts from the facade of prince to the witch she was. She lays out tarot cards, reads fortunes. The questions are all mundane. Love (who will I marry; does he love me?; when will I meet my love?) Money (Should I quit my job?; will I find riches?) Or family (How many children will I have?; What will be their fortunes?)
She tells them what they want to hear. They tip better if they are told that the death card never means death itself, only changes. They do not want to hear of the things she sees (tragedies and babies dying, lost loves and the moments of their deaths) so she lies.
She has lots of practice at lying.
When she has made enough to pay for her food for another week, she sits back and watches the people go by. The fair is lively. She has found herself amongst a colorful lot of modern day gypsies.
When they set up to travel to the next place, she finds herself amongst them. She is settled off into one of the vehicles, along in the trailer of another fortune teller. Blue cloth with pictures of suns and moons covers up the metal sides. Decorations of crescents and suns with faces hang from the ceiling. The ceiling itself has been painted a dark blue.
The woman is stooped, and clinging to a cane with a crystal embedded into it. Her ancient face is buried in wrinkles, barely discernable.
"The iron makes it better for resisting the power of the fae, but I still miss horses and carts sometimes."
Anthy expects the falseness of most so-called seers. Fortune tellers, astrologers and psychics–all of them claiming to tap into the same energy she knows intimately–the energy which has made her pawn and victim, villainess and persona non grata.
The woman takes off a grotesque face mask with a warty on the chin, and many wrinkles. Underneath the mask, she is plain: wavy hair mouse-brown hair, an aquilline nose and a shap features, perhaps in her early thirties. The only striking feature is her hazel eyes which are not beautiful, but unnervingly wise.
"People want a show," she says. "You'd understand, being one of us."
Anthy understands only too well.
*
The children of the troupe like ChuChu. The feeling is mutual. Her fellow witch doesn't ask her deep questions, and for that she's grateful.
When other people ask where she has come from, she simply says a far off place with a smile.
The places she has been are beyond their imagining. If she spoke of Rose Brides and princes, duels for her hand and intricate plots, they would think her mad.
On her last night, the witch reads her fortune. The Lover, The Magician, The Empress, The Seven Of Swords, The Five of Wands.
The witch smiles.
"I don't think I have to tell you what that means."
"No," Anthy agrees. "You don't."
She has already seen flashes of this future herself. Dreams are a hard thing to piece together, with symbolism, and false starts.
But she knows the end of this story: she will find Utena, and she will find her alive.
*
She searches for five years like this. She alternates between prince and witch, using her magic to seek out the faint flicker of life
When she finds her, it is across two oceans to the first place Anthy had called home. The first place of her curse, where her pain began. Utena is frozen inside ice. Shards of ice fan out, like swords. She looks asleep in her prison, kept there pristine. In ice, love does not die. She does not grow old, her love does not wane.
Utena is perfect.
Anthy has never believed in the goodness fairy tales. She knows the darker versions–where the sleeping beauty was raped, where siblings are killed and happy endings always come with a price.
She has never expected true love's kiss to save her. She has never expected her own prince, let alone one with skirts and long hair. One who refused to give up, even on impossible odds.
She touches the ice and feels the enchantment of cold. In the reflection she recognizes herself, her own magic.
She is the villain in this story.
—How many times has she thought that she wanted to keep someone forever?
—How many times has she wanted to greedily store away happiness?
—How many times has she thought of love as a captured bird in a gilded cage?
Magic is a living thing. All too often it controls the witch, and not the other way around. A deep, untold desire. A secret hatred. A promise of love.
All of these. Utena's love may be unselfish, but hers is not. She could keep Utena here forever. All hers. No one else would steal her away.
She's hated and loved Utena, adored her in a way most possessive and secret even as she didn't believe Utena would truly ever free her.
By freeing me, I ensnared you, she thinks.
In her heart, she wants to cling to Utena. Keep her like this. Never let go. But she knows this is the curse, and there is only one cure: she must give up the only good thing her life has evfer had.
Forgiveness is beyond her, but love is not. Utena has taught her that much, at least. She breathes upon the ice. The ice in her heart thaws.
She loves Utena. Always will. But she allows the world to love her, too.
The room warms, and the ice begins to melt. Drop, drop drop. The prison flowing away. Utena slowly wakes.
"Welcome back," Anthy says.
Relief floods over Utena's features. She reaches out and encloses Anthy in an embrace. Her skin is still cold. Hoarfrost clings to her clothes.
"You're all right–You're all right?" Utena asks.
"I am now," Anthy says.
"I feel like I've been asleep a long time," Utena says. She rubs at her eyes. "Are you all right? Is everyone all right?"
"I'll tell you all one day," Anthy says. "But first, perhaps you'd like some tea?"
Anthy smiles like she has so many times. Except this time, it's real.
Series: Utena
Character/Pairing: Utena/Anthy
Rating: PG
Word count: 1402
Author's note: write for relief..
lurker_lost wanted a different take on Anthy finding Utena. I'd say this ranges into AU territory. Thanks to raphien for the beta.The first thing she does when she's alone is cut her hair. The dark tendrils come down, snip snip snip, and fall around her. She reaches to touch the back of her neck when it is completed. It is as if a weight has been lifted off her. Hair contains magical power, they say. If so, then she's glad to be rid of it. She's tired of being a villainess–a witch, a bride, a pawn.
She decides she will be a prince. She can never truly be honorable or pure, but she can lie. She always has been very good at lying. It can only be a farce, a charade, until she finds Utena, the truly noble, unstained one. Then she will relinquish this tarnished crown and become something else entirely. She doesn't know what the world will contain when she isn't a rose bride or a pawn. The thought of a future of her own volition is hard to grasp.
*
She puts on her cloak and leaves at dawn. The air is crisp, the sky is tinged in pink. She pulls down her hood and looks out at the world, trying to imagine how Utena can see any good in it.
Even being as skilled at lying as she is, Anthy can barely make herself believe the words that Utena makes true. Love, for one. A love without ulterior motivations–a love without a plan.
All she sees in the faces of the children she passes are the cruel adults they will grow up to become. Their smiles warp into sneers–knives and stones to be thrown.
She has seen all the pain and hatred the world could contain and yet, she has also known love.
Utena is like the snow melting in Spring, Utena is all the words Anthy never believed before this.
*
When she needs money, Anthy reverts from the facade of prince to the witch she was. She lays out tarot cards, reads fortunes. The questions are all mundane. Love (who will I marry; does he love me?; when will I meet my love?) Money (Should I quit my job?; will I find riches?) Or family (How many children will I have?; What will be their fortunes?)
She tells them what they want to hear. They tip better if they are told that the death card never means death itself, only changes. They do not want to hear of the things she sees (tragedies and babies dying, lost loves and the moments of their deaths) so she lies.
She has lots of practice at lying.
When she has made enough to pay for her food for another week, she sits back and watches the people go by. The fair is lively. She has found herself amongst a colorful lot of modern day gypsies.
When they set up to travel to the next place, she finds herself amongst them. She is settled off into one of the vehicles, along in the trailer of another fortune teller. Blue cloth with pictures of suns and moons covers up the metal sides. Decorations of crescents and suns with faces hang from the ceiling. The ceiling itself has been painted a dark blue.
The woman is stooped, and clinging to a cane with a crystal embedded into it. Her ancient face is buried in wrinkles, barely discernable.
"The iron makes it better for resisting the power of the fae, but I still miss horses and carts sometimes."
Anthy expects the falseness of most so-called seers. Fortune tellers, astrologers and psychics–all of them claiming to tap into the same energy she knows intimately–the energy which has made her pawn and victim, villainess and persona non grata.
The woman takes off a grotesque face mask with a warty on the chin, and many wrinkles. Underneath the mask, she is plain: wavy hair mouse-brown hair, an aquilline nose and a shap features, perhaps in her early thirties. The only striking feature is her hazel eyes which are not beautiful, but unnervingly wise.
"People want a show," she says. "You'd understand, being one of us."
Anthy understands only too well.
*
The children of the troupe like ChuChu. The feeling is mutual. Her fellow witch doesn't ask her deep questions, and for that she's grateful.
When other people ask where she has come from, she simply says a far off place with a smile.
The places she has been are beyond their imagining. If she spoke of Rose Brides and princes, duels for her hand and intricate plots, they would think her mad.
On her last night, the witch reads her fortune. The Lover, The Magician, The Empress, The Seven Of Swords, The Five of Wands.
The witch smiles.
"I don't think I have to tell you what that means."
"No," Anthy agrees. "You don't."
She has already seen flashes of this future herself. Dreams are a hard thing to piece together, with symbolism, and false starts.
But she knows the end of this story: she will find Utena, and she will find her alive.
*
She searches for five years like this. She alternates between prince and witch, using her magic to seek out the faint flicker of life
When she finds her, it is across two oceans to the first place Anthy had called home. The first place of her curse, where her pain began. Utena is frozen inside ice. Shards of ice fan out, like swords. She looks asleep in her prison, kept there pristine. In ice, love does not die. She does not grow old, her love does not wane.
Utena is perfect.
Anthy has never believed in the goodness fairy tales. She knows the darker versions–where the sleeping beauty was raped, where siblings are killed and happy endings always come with a price.
She has never expected true love's kiss to save her. She has never expected her own prince, let alone one with skirts and long hair. One who refused to give up, even on impossible odds.
She touches the ice and feels the enchantment of cold. In the reflection she recognizes herself, her own magic.
She is the villain in this story.
—How many times has she thought that she wanted to keep someone forever?
—How many times has she wanted to greedily store away happiness?
—How many times has she thought of love as a captured bird in a gilded cage?
Magic is a living thing. All too often it controls the witch, and not the other way around. A deep, untold desire. A secret hatred. A promise of love.
All of these. Utena's love may be unselfish, but hers is not. She could keep Utena here forever. All hers. No one else would steal her away.
She's hated and loved Utena, adored her in a way most possessive and secret even as she didn't believe Utena would truly ever free her.
By freeing me, I ensnared you, she thinks.
In her heart, she wants to cling to Utena. Keep her like this. Never let go. But she knows this is the curse, and there is only one cure: she must give up the only good thing her life has evfer had.
Forgiveness is beyond her, but love is not. Utena has taught her that much, at least. She breathes upon the ice. The ice in her heart thaws.
She loves Utena. Always will. But she allows the world to love her, too.
The room warms, and the ice begins to melt. Drop, drop drop. The prison flowing away. Utena slowly wakes.
"Welcome back," Anthy says.
Relief floods over Utena's features. She reaches out and encloses Anthy in an embrace. Her skin is still cold. Hoarfrost clings to her clothes.
"You're all right–You're all right?" Utena asks.
"I am now," Anthy says.
"I feel like I've been asleep a long time," Utena says. She rubs at her eyes. "Are you all right? Is everyone all right?"
"I'll tell you all one day," Anthy says. "But first, perhaps you'd like some tea?"
Anthy smiles like she has so many times. Except this time, it's real.
