Title: A Dream of Possibilities
Day/Theme: May 29: blow out the candle, I will burn again tomorrow
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Autor, mentions of Fakir
Autor was often the first student to arrive in the library after classes, and he was almost always the last to leave. All of the librarians knew him by name, and they were always pleasant with him, although none of them could say they were his friend. As far as anyone could tell, the bookish boy didn’t have any friends. The librarians had, after some debate, decided that he was this way out of choice, and it’d be best to not bother him. After all, he seemed quite content with his books. There was no need to interrupt his study.
In all actuality, Autor would have welcomed the distraction (although he would have pretended otherwise). Although he had a great passion for the subject of his research, the day-in-day-out monotony of his life wore on him after a time. His life had a steady, predictable beat: wake up, get ready for school, go to classes, quickly fit in some half-hearted practice on the piano in the music room, go to the library to study until the librarians began to blow out the lamps, go home and quickly finish any outstanding homework, and then to bed—only to wake up the next morning and repeat the process. It at times felt as though his life was becoming nothing more than a blur of studying. It was never more frustrating than in the times when he was finding no new information. Those days were always the most difficult. At least on the more successful days there was the glimmer of excitement when he found a new piece of information.
When he thought about it, he knew he really didn’t have too much of a reason to complain. He was blessed with a sharp—almost supernatural—vision of the world. He could see that they were being controlled. Most of the pathetic residents of this town couldn’t see how unusual the entire situation was. Yes, he really had no reason to complain.
But on this particular day he still found a moment or two to grumble under his breath as he sorted through the stacks of books and papers. Some days were just so frustrating, so boring. When was he going to find the information he needed? His family tree was still woefully incomplete. He knew he was a descendant of Drosselmeyer, but proving it with solid evidence was a different matter altogether. The more he searched, the more it was starting to seem that he was not a direct descendant. And what a discouraging thought that was…
Autor frowned, glancing through the information he had found with a bit of disinterest. This man would probably not lead to anything—as far as he could tell, he had died unmarried and without children. A pointless, dull existence that would quickly be forgotten. (The thought that his own life might be this way came unbidden into his mind, but he quickly pushed the thought aside.)
Then, Autor stumbled upon a document that mentioned the man had a brother. This was enough for him to take more interest! He quickly scribbled down the name of the brother, and went off to search for information on him. His excitement was quickly deflated, however—the man had died about ten years ago. Another dead end.
He sighed and picked up what information he could find, returning back to his desk to study the records.
The man appeared to be some sort of artisan—exactly what, he wasn’t sure. The man had married fairly young…and died rather young, as well. The cause wasn’t stated. Disease, maybe.
Autor was about to give up following this lead until he found a birth record for a child of the man. Autor’s eyes widened when he saw the year the boy was born—he was about his age. The possibility excited Autor—a descendant of Drosselmeyer! His own age! Oh, the things Autor would be able to teach him—and maybe this descendant would have some information that could help him with his family tree!
A boy’s voice interrupted his excited thoughts. “Autor,” the bat said, flying over and settling on the opposite side of the desk. “The library is closing now. You’ll have to leave.”
“Give me one moment!” Autor said quickly, grasping his quill in his hand.
“I said, just a moment!” Autor quickly scribbled down the name on the paper. ‘Fakir.’ An odd name…it must be foreign. Arabic, maybe?
“Autor, if you stay much longer, I’m going to be in—“
“Done! Thank you, Mr. Batson. Could you put these records back away for me?”
“Thank you! I knew I could count on you! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
The bat’s protests fell on deaf ears. Autor was too excited to think of anything else…a descendant of Drosselmeyer! His own age! Why, he might even be a student at the Academy! Yes, that was a good place to start looking for information—student records. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he had heard the name somewhere before—he’d be able to find him easily, that was for certain. And then…then he’d finally have someone that understood.
That night, after Autor had pulled off his glasses, blown out the candle and settled into bed, his mind was still buzzing with the possibilities. He wondered what sort of person Fakir was like—intelligent, for certain. Probably a great reader. Autor imagined that he must have hazel eyes, like his own—Drosselmeyer had hazel eyes, after all. Although, to be exactly like Drosselmeyer’s, his eyes would have to be more golden—not the odd purple-ish hue that his had…
He wondered if the boy had been able to write a story yet. There was a slight pang of jealousy when he thought this, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but smile. If he could, maybe he could teach Autor the secret he was missing. And then…
And then, he could bring his mother back. Too late for his father…but he would finally be able to bring her back.
Autor thought he would be too excited to sleep, but before he knew it he his eyelids closed and his mind began to drift off into a dream. A dream about two writers—one more skilled than the other, of course. A dream about a woman clothed in sunflower yellow returning back to her home with a song on her lips. A dream about belonging again, about no longer being a long figure poring through countless books in a search for meaning.
A dream full of possibilities.