"D'you mean about The Prince and the Raven?" 

She seems to be getting progressively more worried about the direction this conversation is going, but she's trying not to admit to it and trying really really really hard to believe that Serafin's not going to pick now to say anything about her being Tutu.

"Yes, about The Prince and the Raven." He sighs. "I know you know, though I don't know who told you. It's a children's story, about a brave prince who defeats an evil raven by magically shattering his own heart."

...he looks at Mytho. He can... sort of see it, maybe? 'Storybook prince' is... a surprisingly good explanation for the way that this guy is.

"But it isn't finished yet," says Duck. "Drosselmeyer stopped halfway through."

"He died halfway through. And good riddance to him. The stories he told were horrific; there's no reason to think the ending of this one would have been any different."

"But it's no good the way it ends now! With the prince not having any emotions or - any capacity for happiness or love or - you do want your heart back, don't you, Mytho?"

"I.... I don't know."

"Also those heart shards are causing a lot of trouble running around unsupervised."

"I... don't want to trouble anyone." He touches his hand to his chest. "These feelings - they hurt, but - I feel that it's important for me to have them."

Fakir sighs. "Let's get you home. Read a book sometime, Serafin, if you're not going to just stay out of it."

He snorts and doesn't otherwise acknowledge the suggestion.

Duck seems more troubled by this exchange, but she doesn't say anything as Mytho and Fakir leave.

"I'll... see you later, then, Serafin?"

"...Yeah. Goodnight. Do you want to keep the lamp with you?"

"No, no, I'm OK, I had her all day," she says. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help."

Off he goes, with his friend the lamp.

Duck does not go back to the girls' dorm. Nope. 

You know what's a great place to go when you're feeling afraid for no reason? Creepy catacomb libraries, where you can reread books about how you're going to die. There is no way that this is in any way a poor life choice. So she heads to the library, which is open, because she's honestly not sure it ever closes. The Prince and the Raven is easily accessible; it's not one of the library's more popular works. 

"OK. If I were a writer who knew about stuff like this, what kind of ending would this story be meant to have?" She chews on her lip. "Too much. What kind of ending would Tutu be meant to have?"

"Princess Tutu," says someone behind her, "isn't meant to have an ending. She's not a character at all. Princess Tutu is her ending."

"What does that mean?"

"Princess Tutu is a moment. A symbol. She can hardly even be called one-dimensional. Would you call Euryale a character, someone who needed a resolution?"

"Who's Euryale?"

"Exactly."

That... explains very little, honestly, but OK.

"So what's she a symbol for?"

"It's difficult to say," says the boy, thoughtfully. "The prince never acknowledges her affections, so it's questionable whether we're meant to apply her lesson to him, but given that he's the central character, most things in the novel do, of course, relate back to the prince's own psyche. The only thing she ever does is confess her love - unfounded love, we must assume, given that she's never mentioned before or after her lone appearance - and then immediately vanish as a result. It could be commentary on the destructive nature of the prince's own unfounded love - he intends to sacrifice himself for the sake of the world, which can't possibly be capable of uniformly loving him back. This is doomed to end in tragedy, particularly for him."

"How d'you know it's supposed to end in tragedy?"

"Because it's obvious," says the boy. "You should pick an easier book if you don't know anything about literary theory yet. Anyway. I have to work, try not to be so loud."