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A prince and his bride overlook a balcony feeding each other tea and biscuits. In the reverse, a bride and her prince drink their tea, laughing together. In each shot the bride's legs are a languid distraction that the prince dutifully ignores.
Is that a good idea?
The prince is wearing the usual uniform, giving sharp lines that make him feel like a man. No, his bride makes him feel like a man. Her smile is a mystery that causes shivers to go all through the prince. The bride knows all about that, her eyes nothing, and her glasses shine to reveal nothing.
“More tea my prince?” She asked.
Her prince laughs, throaty and low. Which does nothing to cover the blush on his face.
“Oh, if you insist.” The prince said.
“I do.”
The bride's tea is as sweet as her company and the prince pretends to know what to do.
In the evening the bride has to take her leave of the prince and they part with secret, half-understood smiles. The bride trades places with her brother, and the prince transforms. Her hair tumbles in a different way as she dresses in softer clothes to round out her form.
Is that a good idea?
The brother keeps his eyes hidden, hounded in a way that makes the prince shiver and she doesn't know if it's in delight or dread. She will keep her vows to her bride. They have desert in the observatory, mirages of the night sky reflecting down at them. The prince sees herself in them, thousands of shards forming into her face. The spell makes her see only half of herself.
“Do you like your cake?” The brother asked.
“Oh yes, thank you.” The prince said, breathy and sweet.
They talk about many things and nothing at all. The prince fills herself with chatter until the shards of it cut her insides.
The brother and her bride switch their places, walking across each other, the observatory and the balcony crossing and doubling over each other. Bride and brother, brother and bride, blur together. Bride pushes brother over the balcony and the floor shatters into pieces. The bride transforms, hair spilling down as she sheds her dress, and becomes the witch. Her eyes are sharping and clear, staring at her prince. The prince wears rags, their hair in disarray, and they're sword and ring clatter to the ground. The witch pins them in place as she picks the shards up and impales her prince.
It lasts a moment. It lasts a lifetime. They are nothing but silhouettes as the two piece each other back together again. Shedding the titles they wore. Together Utena and Anthy walked out of there hand in hand.
And they lived.