Chapter 3– The Crown & The Thorns
Class ended with the chime of a silver bell.
Books snapped shut. Students whispered their goodbyes and floated out like autumn leaves in silk uniforms.
But Ava?
She stayed seated.
Because in front of her desk, like immovable statues carved by fate itself—stood Fakir and Mytho.
The prince sat unmoving, eyes distant, like the world beyond the window held his soul captive. His hands rested gently on his lap, posture perfect, expression blank.
Fakir stood beside him, arms crossed, scowling.
Can they move already? Ava thought, annoyed but also strangely anxious.
She shifted in her seat.
Fakir finally spoke, voice low and sharp. "Hey. Mytho. Get up. You have to go."
The prince blinked slowly. "Do I…?" he murmured, voice hollow. "I don't feel like it."
A silence fell between them. Ava cleared her throat softly.
Fakir turned his head sharply toward her, brows raised like she'd just interrupted some divine ritual.
"What do you want?" he asked, flat and cold.
Ava raised one elegant brow right back. "Well, you're kind of in my way."
She stood up halfway. "And besides… the teacher said we were partners for the assignment."
He cut her off before she could say more.
"Okay. We'll do it later," he snapped.
Ava blinked, then gave a casual shrug, her voice syrupy with calm sarcasm. "As you wish."
She smoothed her skirt, stepped around Mytho with slow grace, and added with a tiny, practiced smile—
"Now… can you give me a way?"
Fakir muttered something under his breath, but stepped aside. Mytho didn't move, just sat there like a porcelain statue with his strings snipped.
As Ava walked out of the classroom, she could feel both of their eyes on her back.
One empty.
One burning.
The academy grounds stretched like a fairytale painting—marble towers, winding paths, roses blooming in unnatural perfection. Every corner whispered of old money, older bloodlines, and magic buried deep in the soil.
Ava walked slowly, heels clicking softly on cobblestone, eyes drinking in the dream around her.
And under the shade of a great elder tree—she saw her.
A girl.
Sitting perfectly still, as if carved from moonlight and ink.
Black hair. Crimson eyes. Skin pale like porcelain kissed by frost. Her uniform was flawless. Her posture was serene. But something about her felt… unreachable, like a butterfly in glass.
So elegant, Ava thought, slowing for just a moment. So delicate.
But then she turned her head away.
And walked on.
Because hearts like that? They don't break for girls like her.
She wandered further, until she reached the academy's east garden—a secret haven humming with silence.
In the center, a great marble fountain poured silver streams into a crystal pool, the water dancing like forgotten music.
Ava sat at its edge. Alone.
She dipped her fingers into the cool water, drawing idle patterns across the surface.
Her reflection wavered.
"If I really have the blood of Princess Tutu… does that mean I'm destined to die?"
Her voice was barely a whisper, carried away by the wind.
She sighed. "What does it even matter… It's not like it's my first time…"
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Even in my past life, my life was…"
She trailed off.
And let her silence finish the sentence.
She leaned forward, hands gliding through the water again, like she wanted to feel something. Like the ripples could carry away the weight in her chest.
Unseen behind her, Fakir stood beneath a stone archway, watching.
He hadn't meant to follow her—he'd just seen her wandering alone. But now, something kept him rooted there. Maybe it was the way her shoulders sagged like a marionette with cut strings. Or how her voice, though soft, carried the weight of lifetimes.
She sighed again, a sound so full of quiet sorrow that Fakir felt it in his bones.
She looks like she doesn't belong here, he thought. Like a character who wandered into the wrong story.
But he said nothing.
Not yet.
The wind tugged gently at Ava's hair as she sat by the fountain, unaware of the boy made of thorns standing behind her.
The moon crowned the academy in silver.
Most were asleep—dreaming of noble futures, glittering balls, or nothing at all. But Ava wandered.
The air was crisp, soaked in silence. Only the quiet hush of the fountain's melody kept her company as she traced steps through the garden.
She didn't know how long she sat there, lost in the reflection of stars.
"Hey," came a voice, low and rough. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
She startled.
Turned.
And there stood Fakir—arms crossed, brow furrowed, that constant storm in his green eyes swirling under moonlight.
Ava straightened herself with calm poise. "Huh. I could ask you the same question, Lord Fakir."
He flinched at the title, lips twitching.
"I couldn't sleep," she added, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. "That's why I came outside."
A pause. Their eyes held for a second too long.
"Anyway," she said with a practiced smile. "I'll take my leave. Have a good night."
She gave him a soft nod, turned, and vanished into the stone corridors like a shadow with heels.
She couldn't sleep.
Not really.
She tossed. Turned. The bed was too soft, her thoughts too loud.
And then…
Darkness.
A nightmare swallowed her whole.
She was locked in a room—small, suffocating. Cold walls. Heavy silence. Her hands reached out, bloodied from banging on the door. No one came. She screamed, but no voice escaped.
Only silence. And the sound of dripping.
Then—
Light.
She jolted awake.
Gasping.
Sweating.
But something was wrong.
Very wrong.
She looked down—and froze.
Her hands were gone.
In their place… were wings. Small. Feathered. Orange-tipped.
"What the hell?!" she tried to scream—
But what came out was:
"Kuck!! Kuck kuck!!"
Eyes wide, heart pounding, she scrambled off the bed—legs awkward, foreign, unbalanced.
She flopped. Fell. Slammed into the floor with a tiny quack.
Panic raced in her chest. She flapped her wings. Waddled. Stumbled her way to the mirror.
She climbed.
She looked.
And she saw—
A duck.
With wide blue eyes. Peach-gold feathers. A tiny ribbon still tangled around one webbed foot.
"No," she whispered—or tried to.
But all she could say was:
"Kuck… kuck… kuck…"
Her eyes welled with tears.
"I'm a duck… it can't be… kuck kuck kuck…"
The girl who had once been Mallika. Then Ava.
Now stood, trembling, before a mirror…
And saw Princess Tutu staring back.