Author's Notes:  Dear Gods, it's been months since I've written a 
fanfic.  That's really sad.
     Ah well.  Life, as they say, goes on.  Well, I've recently gotten 
into Shoujo Kakumei Utena, and with an ingrained love for an anime 
comes the desire to turn one's talents to it.  As my skills in the 
visual arts are woefully inadequate to the task of creating eyes 
without pupils, I've decided to turn my skills in the literary arts to 
it instead.
     Thus, here we are presented with my first Utena fanfic.  By all 
means, be as harsh as you like, but word it as though you're actually 
being very kind to me, and offering advice for which a novice should be 
grateful.
     Shoujo Kakumei Utena belongs to scores of people who are wholly 
unaware of my existence.  Please don't sue me; at the moment I have 
twenty-five cents to my name.

     As for notes actually related to the story, this fic contains all 
sorts of spoilers for episodes eleven and twelve (and probably isn't 
coherent unless you've seen them).  You've been warned.


  Dance of Humanity
     By: Dark Ferret (Now better known as Ferchan.  The horror.)
     <ferchan@eudoramail.com>

  "Your pain makes you beautiful."  -- Better Than Ezra, Particle


     Perhaps it's possible to be mutely aware of something.  As though 
you have the knowledge relating to something immensely important, but 
you will not admit that you are correct.  That day, watching her walk 
up the stairs leading to her destiny, for the sixth time, I was aware 
that the apocalypse that occurred in this arena today would not be that 
of her opponent.  And I mechanically tucked it away, for no matter who 
won this duel, it would not matter.  Could not.
     And yet I still reached my hand out to touch hers.  It wasn't 
even intentional, for I was still convincing myself, however 
unconsciously, that even if she did lose today's duel, it would be of 
no consequence.  In reflection, it was probably a silent yet eloquent 
goodbye, one involuntary.  And from the smile she returned, gently 
touched, she probably did not read into the action, still thinking that 
Touga could not sway her.  It's amusing how those in love can convince 
themselves they are not, when they have no choice in the matter.
     But then, I am not well versed in topics of love.
     Not to say I have not experienced it, as I was so fully aware on 
that day, breath taken by how stunningly fetching she appeared.  Merely 
that rare was the occasion, this being the first.  All obedience, this 
my life, lived without passion.  And a good shield, apathy.  But this 
time there is no obedience involved, for while I genuinely wish to do 
what she wills, there is little that she wills.  But I am weak, and she 
is naïve.  Such is life.
     They had roses now, and we walked to meet him together.  I did 
not stay long at her side before mutely retreating to where I could 
watch under a careful shield of apathy.  I simply did not care, I 
convinced myself.
     I don't know why I even tried.
     Each blow brought a chill through my veins, a shock to my chest, 
as though between their swords was my heart, brutally shattered each 
time the blades met.  For while I fear each time a duel takes place, 
none were like this, could ever be like this again.
     It happened so quickly in memory, but I recall it being so very 
slow, each blow dragged across the air as though cutting through water 
with such effort.  And he encouraged her, and I don't doubt that even 
then, what he said was meant to manipulate, to make him seem as a 
caregiver and a teacher rather than as an opponent.  From the look of 
the blow that she attempted following his comment, I doubt that the 
words made the correct impact.  Perhaps she was not entirely aware of 
them, for she could not have been.  But as his words were intentionally 
meant for that purpose, was there any way of knowing?  I do not know -- 
I cannot, perhaps I am daft about such things.
     Through seeing six such duels, I was quite aware of the fact that 
she was not his equal.  Perhaps each duel she won was so with the help 
of Dios.  Perhaps some of it was simple luck.  Undeniably, some of it 
was skill, but it was a small factor, I think.  And it could not amount 
to his.
     Each time, each duel, she wins, and I do not think she 
contemplates on it, contemplates on why she is being helped, 
contemplates on what is helping her, who is helping her.  If she is 
destined to win, perhaps it is so, she thinks, but it does not matter.  
I think perhaps if not for me, she would not mind losing.  Surely the 
blow to her pride is of no consequence.  Her public would not care, is 
not aware of the duels that occur when an opponent is given occasion.  
It occurs to me that most people are not aware of the battles for my 
possession, even those who would look upon me as though the wish to own 
me.  So amusing, then, that they would believe they know all of me.  It 
is life, the intricacies of love, in its many forms.  The colder forms 
of which I am familiar with, quite familiar.
     Love is so much easier to observe than experience, especially 
when it's an uncomfortable love.  For silently we live, as silently as 
we love, if it is indeed love, and it's hard to tell the things she 
thinks.  One thinks one naïve would be transparent as well, but ... 
I've lived at this academy for as long as memory holds.  I of all 
people should know that few are transparent, and these that are 
transparent are so easily taken advantage of that they do not matter.  
She matters, and transparent is not a word that describes her in any 
sense of the word.  Perhaps naivete is not always a weakness, however, 
perhaps it is endearing, for it certainly seems so.  But I have enough 
weakness to be able to speak of it freely.
     Love, I think, is an emotion easily masked, though, if one really 
attempts.  For a young man giving his crush mournful puppy stares means 
for the girl to see these stares, and then confess her love to him.  
That is the way these things work, parts of human weakness, which is, 
as I have said, a topic in which I am well versed.  It's the faulty 
logic of those in love.  I think perhaps I find it so easy to mask, 
though, because the practice I've had with masking emotions, masking 
emotions so completely that if I ever remove the mask, I find they've 
disappeared.
     But with my practice, perhaps if anyone actually had been 
watching me, they would not have been aware of just how fast my heart 
was beating when Dios descended again to aid her.  Not because I was 
awed by the beauty of the sight, although it was a beautiful sight, 
full of majesty, and meant to be seen.  But because I knew that it 
would not be enough.
     Nothing could save her from her own love.
     So, again, love is vicious.  And, somehow, in her own way, she 
loved both of us, and we both loved her, and that is the most vicious 
aspect of love, when your entire world is a person who can not make you 
the entirety of theirs.
     And there is where, whatever affection she felt for him, she 
would be lacerated limb from limb.  For Touga feels affection for her, 
certainly, but his entire world is the pleasure of the moment, and he 
would never be able to give up his late-night adventures for the love 
of a single, beautiful, woman.  And oh, how I have trouble thinking of 
him as someone who could entirely love her as much as that young man 
with the crush, as much as I do.
     And he stood there, stood there as she charged, stood there as 
she tried to convince herself this moment, as she had tried since the 
prospect of this duel had reared its ugly head, that I was more 
important than he was.
     Not surprisingly, I lost.
     No, that sounds far too cynical.  Even in retrospection, I would 
never think that, but .... Gods, how could she have lost?  She never 
lost.  I knew, however unconsciously, coming in to this, that she would 
lose, and yet -- there was no way possible I could have reconciled 
myself to that.
     So I stood in mute shock.  And in her moment of agony, as she 
looked so chillingly miserable, and yet somehow beautiful ... dear 
Gods, I added to it.
     By then I had time to school my astonishment into an expression 
of indifference.  I am here because I am the Rose Bride, and as the 
Rose Bride, this is my fate.  Whatever love (an obnoxious emotion, as 
all emotions are!) has to do with it no longer matters, never mattered 
in the first place.  And for a moment, I actually believed that, too.
     I'm not sure what came over me then.  With the mask of 
indifference came the dulling of my senses, for it's hard to think 
under a mask as thick as that.  And thinking of what exactly to do, 
under all that, suddenly became very hard.   I needed to get through 
the rest of this day, so that I could find a nice place to collapse ...
     As children, we all follow the commands of our parents.  When we 
are lost, we look for them to show the way.  When we are tired, we look 
for them to carry us.  How easy, then, just to follow Touga's commands, 
for he is the only one I had to fear, the only one I had to please.  
Whatever amends needed to be made, they could be made later, after I 
could think clearly, after I no longer had to fear from this man who 
was so fearsome.
     I had almost forgotten what it was like to fear as the Rose Bride 
he to whom I was engaged.  But it was a role I had played for so long, 
I fell back into it naturally.  And so easy was the role that it was 
not near consciously that I said what he bade me, and I slipped 
gratefully into the shelter of an old, comfortable role, and waited for 
the scene to end, so that I could finish this day that suddenly seemed 
so long.
     Her cries followed us down the stairs.


     When wounded in battle, soldiers may hurriedly tear off scraps of 
their uniform and bind it to their wound to staunch the flow of blood.  
While I observed all the battles at Othori, rather than participating, 
I think I knew at that moment, after entering Touga's dorm, how exactly 
those soldiers felt after gingerly removing their make-shift bandage.  
Just how much of that wound was now flesh, how much the remnants of 
cloth?
     That was exactly how I felt, removing the fractured masks of 
apathy from the gaping rift of despair.  At least, I remember the 
feeling of despair I had had, not even an hour before.  But at that 
moment I could feel nothing but the horror of actually removing the 
masks and seeing what grotesque figure was left underneath.
     I could not bring myself to care.
     How amusing, then, that when I need the indifference most, it 
will not come, and when I can finally feel the emotions that I 
postponed, they will not come.  Living mutely, everything becomes mute.  
Perhaps it's not so bad as she thinks it.
     As silently as I walked in the building, fairly alone, as Touga 
turned his attention to an admirer who had passed by, was as silently 
as I walked into my room.  It was obviously my room, for my few 
belongings were in there, already taken from our ... her dorm.  My 
animals were not here; I would have to get them later.
     Sedately, as all my actions seem to be, I took the pins from my 
hair and placed them on the table before shaking my head and running my 
fingers through my now loose hair.  From behind I heard an abrupt 
intake of breath, and I jumped to see Touga at the door.  I had left it 
open.  How very stupid of me.
     My heart was beating as though a drum, the drummer insane and 
erratic.  His stride was sedate, but he was upon me before I could even 
comprehend what he was doing.  Even in, I assume, attraction, he was 
coolly dispassionate, gently taking a wisp of my hair into his hand.  
He bent his face over mine, but I could not return his gaze -- by this, 
too, he seemed unconcerned, touching the wall that my back was against 
with his other hand.  He idly sought my lips with his own.
     Even faster my heart beat, as I trembled, my fear now very real.  
Still, I did nothing, for even had I the courage to react, it did not 
occur to me.  It is not my place to disagree with what he wills.  
Still, while my mind is quite aware of that, it did not change my 
terror.  Our lips touched, their embrace cold and barren, as mine were 
unmoving, it was then that he finally looked at me, and realized the 
terror that was likely so easily read there.
     Perhaps it was then that the fear finally broke out of the walls 
of deeply ingrained obedience.  Perhaps the fear's newly claimed 
freedom was audible, the crack of the walls.  But I heard the words, 
weak and helpless, "Please, don't ..."  Like a moan from a dying man.  
And I would not have recognized them as my own except for that they 
could not have been his.  And as my heart beat even faster, a feat I 
would not have thought possible, it was not of fear, but of awe at my 
own audacity, to question my role.
     His expression of wanton attraction changed to one so cold it was 
hard to if the undertones were that of disgust, or another emotion.  He 
said, simply, "I have enough lovers I do not have to force those 
unwilling," and then it was unmistakable, for thick in his voice was 
very real disgust.  But it was not a useless attempt at salvaging his 
manhood, as it might have been from another man.  No, from Touga it was 
merely a fact, one which I recognized, and for the first time in my 
life, I felt grateful towards those who I could not understand, those 
who followed this man as though he meat, and they starving.
     When he left, his long stride abbreviated with discontent, the 
air seemed less warm.  But I could not feel the relief that I should 
have felt.  I only knew that the terror abated, and things were better 
now, for the moment.
     The bandage for the day's gaping wound had been too thick.


     It is all very well to say, "I will do this later".  But when 
'later' actually comes, one realizes just how much of a liar one is.  
It's not a pleasant sensation.
     So one is left with two choices: either make a real liar of 
oneself, and postpone again, or actually suck it up and get it over 
with.  The latter, of course, is the harder choice.
     Perhaps I'm a masochist, with a love to make life hard for 
myself.
     More realistically, I was 'home' alone with little else to do.  
It was an idle, sticky Thursday night, and now that Touga (Thank the 
gods!) had left, I was isolated and hard put to entertain myself 
without my animals.  I _had_ promised myself to get them later.  
I was unoccupied, and it was later.  I spent a few moments half-
heartedly convincing myself to remain where I was -- and then it 
occurred to me that I was convincing myself to stay in Touga's dorm.  
Of all places.  
I stopped trying.  As I stood, locks of purplish hair framed my 
view -- and I shivered, remembering that Touga had caressed that hair.  
Had I changed from that experience, even a little?  I found it hard to 
believe that I had, as I put my hair back into place.  I still looked 
the same, after all, and I become the mask.  I always become the mask.
     Othori Academy is a fairly large campus, and Touga's 
dorm/residence is as far away from the old building as one might 
expect.  Othori tries to do a good job of separating the classes, but 
duelists aren't exactly regular students, and the faculty is quite 
blind to the transgressions of anyone with a rose ring.  As for myself, 
I don't think most people notice me anyway.  I don't exactly have a 
demanding presence.
     I'm not sure what I was thinking as I walked the path to the 
door.  I likely wasn't thinking anything at all -- if I _had_ been 
thinking, I wouldn't have taken a single step down the path.
     My knocks were sort of quiet -- moreso than usual, quiet enough 
that even I noticed.  Mere seconds later, the door opened.
     No one stood in the doorway.  I blinked a bit, before peering 
behind the door -- and nearly stepped on Chu-Chu in the process.
     "Ah, Chu-Chu!  Gomen," I exclaimed with an embarrassed face, Chu-
Chu angrily chittering.  I bent down and tried to console him with an 
extended hand.  He couldn't stay angry for long, and soon climbed up my 
person to rest on my shoulder, rubbing his cheek against mine.  It 
couldn't have been more than a couple hours, and already he missed me.
     I wondered if Utena would have the same sort of reaction.
     Like I said, had I been thinking, I wouldn't have even entered.  
And had reason been restored at that moment, I would have left at that 
thought.
     My steps through the building were as quiet as my knocks.  At 
least I hoped so.  Sometimes it's hard to judge the volume of one's 
footsteps, especially when they're the only thing to perturb the 
silence.  That I was trying, I think, illustrates effectively that my 
mind was not on some imagined confrontation.  I was trying not to think 
about Utena, her reaction to seeing me -- the scene, judging from the 
afternoon, would be bad enough without adding my expectations to it.
     I had come to this place knowing that my naïve Utena would not 
react well to seeing me.  But it was sort of subconscious -- I hadn't 
really thought since putting my hair up.  I had expectations, but I 
wouldn't admit them to myself, because that would mean I had to 
contemplate them.
     For example, isn't thinking that Utena would have some 
extravagant reaction to my presence rather egotistical?  And maybe not 
even true.  I don't know many things, so how could I know her reaction?  
Why should she even care about me?  I'm just a puppet, a puppet hidden 
behind a mask.
     That's why I wasn't thinking.
     Why was I prepared for a confrontation?  Did I need a 
confrontation, did I want to create one?  Or was it as simple as 
collecting belongings?
     I seriously doubted it was that simple, but the situation didn't 
have to be as complex as I was making it.  I didn't need a resolution, 
and if I did, this wouldn't be the way to go about things.
     Or did I?  Had living with the school idol changed me, in some 
way?  Had I actually formed an emotional attachment?
     Why was I setting myself up for so many questions without 
answers?
     I knocked again.  Chu-Chu wavered on my shoulder.  Had I been 
sitting on my own shoulder at that moment, I probably would have tried 
to move, too.  It probably wasn't the safest place.
     She answered.
     She wore the same sort of miserable beauty she has worn after 
losing the duel, but suddenly her face constricted into an expression 
of, perhaps, pain.  Probably the most instinctual reaction, but not one 
I was expecting.
     She tried to pass it off as a smile.  I don't know, perhaps she 
was blaming me for all that had happened.  I probably would have blamed 
myself.  I think more, though, that she pitied my fate as obedient 
servant, as she always has, as though it's my choice, as though I could 
break out.  I'm not sure if she was so free of doubt as she seemed, 
though.  I didn't even try to be iconoclast, merely accepted my role 
subserviently.  Because I am weak, I hurt her.  I hate myself for being 
weak, and there was probably a few empty moments where she hated me for 
it, too.  Maybe that was what that second of pain was all about.
     "Welcome back."
     My stomach leaped painfully up into my throat.  She was acting.  
She had to be acting.  She knew I wasn't coming back -- didn't she?
     Dear Gods I didn't want to hurt her again today.
     I favored her with a smile that I didn't even have to 
manufacture, ignoring the sentiment for the moment.  Slowly I walked 
around the room, fetching my small herd of animals.  First the 
mongoose.
     "Why?"
     I didn't turn around, I didn't look back.  I knew exactly what 
she meant.  Why did I obey him.  Why did I cling to my role as a slave.
Next the snails.  I like snails, I like their shells.  I want a 
shell to hide in.
She wasn't appeased by my silence.  Her voice a little harder, 
she asked again.
"Why?"
     Why am I the Rose Bride, why do I remain the Rose Bride, why 
don't I ever listen to her, and break out?  
     Next the ferret.  Ferrets are cute animals, and they're smart, 
too.  They can bite, though, when close to the face.  They're not an 
animal that repays your trust.
     Maybe she read my silence as a guilty cry.  That's probably what 
it was.  I think my guilt was making her angry, or desperate, or 
something that added passion to her voice, I couldn't read it one way 
or the other.
     "Why?!"
     Why don't I trust her judgement, why am I too weak, even with her 
to support me, why did I even spent those two minutes with Touga, why 
did I let him try to kiss me, why am I even here when I can't change 
anything, why am I me?  
     Back to her.  Turtle next.  They like water, though, I think.  
Maybe I'm killing this one.  It's easier than killing myself.
     Now I can read the angst in her voice.  I'm hurting her, and my 
silence is hurting her, and I said I didn't want to hurt her, but maybe 
I'm a liar, and what can I say?
     "Why?!!"
     Why can't I defeat this weakness?  Why aren't I trying hard 
enough?  Why don't I trust her?  Why can't I trust her?  Why can't I 
trust, love, why can't I love her enough?
     Next the --
     She grabbed me, turned me around by my shoulder, and I looked 
into her eyes, saw the tears running down her cheeks.  She's never 
slapped me physically, but this hurt more, seeing her like this.  And I 
had done it.  One tear ran down my face, in sympathy with hers.  I'm 
not sure if she noticed, by now she was so worked up.
     "WHY?!"
     Part of me wanted to scream back, "I don't know!" because I 
didn't, I didn't know, I didn't know anything, and I didn't know what 
could end her pain, but gods if I did I would seek it.
     The other part of me just wanted out from a situation it couldn't 
handle.  I took my animals and bowed out, with a bit of grace, but more 
tears.
     I don't think she noticed.


     First off, you know what happened after that.  I mean, you know, 
the next day, and the next duel.  It happened just like it looked.
     Touga's kiss had changed me.  My willpower, my right to question, 
it grew.  But it wasn't all Touga.  A lot of it was Utena.
     Why, she asked.  And I started to wonder, why?  Why do I have to 
obey this tyrannical, egotistical, Not-Utena?
     And then I realized something.
     I didn't.
     So, like I said, it was just like it looked.
     Why ask why?  What does it accomplish?  Why even think about it?
     And you know what, I didn't.  I was going back.  Home.  


     I walked up to the door, and didn't bother to knock.  I was 
thinking the entire time, about how things were back to normal, and 
about how lovely things were.
     Or rather, would have been, had Utena not had detention.
     Her timing was spectacularly bad.  It was also sort of endearing, 
though.  It meant that I would be the one to answer the door this time, 
and maybe the memory of the night before could fade.  And maybe make 
today more special.  It should be special, I think.
     It was actually sort of dark when she came home, which I suppose 
in a way is a testimony to the fact that Othori does not claim regular 
school hours.  Her knock was more a quick warning knock than a request 
for permission to enter.
     When the door opened to reveal her, in her normal school garb, I 
couldn't help but smile a wide smile.  I was so glad to be back with 
her again, with someone so ... Not-Touga.
     "Welcome back."
     I loved her expression, sort of an indulgent smile, a small 
recognition of the reference.  Part of it was pure affection, and 
instead of feeling uncomfortable, it made me feel wanted, which was, 
actually, a good feeling.
     Which goes without saying hers was not the blatant sexual desire 
that had made me feel so helpless.  It was largely just a simple smile 
of friendship, but warm, so warm that it penetrated to my chest and 
sent a comfortable wave of mild liquid heat through me.  It was lovely.
     We stood there smiling, and somehow it didn't go stale.  It just 
felt right, and I closed my eyes to indulge in the pleasure of being 
alive at such a moment, smile slowly fading to leave my mouth agape.
     Then the warmth flooded my entire body with stunning haste, and I 
was the recipient of a feather-light, diminutive kiss.  Even the shock 
couldn't make me open my eyes, not until she had drawn away.
     I'm not sure if I had ever seen Utena look unsure of herself, at 
least until that moment, while she waited to see my reaction to her 
audacity.
     And seeing that on her face sent a fierce bolt of affection 
straight to my heart before I pressed against her and leaned in for 
another.
     I'm sure you can imagine the rest.

-fin.-