Author'snote: I have retuned after a (however long it's been) time filled with cram studying for tests, feverish practicing for auditions (which I did quite well on, so hoorah) along with the inevitable writer's block. However, after such a crisis I found it necessary to construct a (loose-ish) outline for how this will conclude (as it is steadily approaching that). (I'm going parenthesis crazy it seems, so now I'll stop and present the tenth chapter). (Also, I shall attempt to pace my typing to be able to release once a week as I had previously been doing). (More parenthesis).
{X}
(Back in the town of Terminn)
It had been roughly a week since Madam Hemmingway had returned to her cottage on the beast's bark-colored horse, shaken still from her encounter in the Opclime. She fretted constantly around the borders of her home, keeping the horse in the back garden, as it refused to go off when shooed away. Probably fears going back to its master, she thought, troubled by the way she had been separated from her son. There was nothing more she wanted than to storm fearlessly back into the grim forest, yet she was held back by her own worry and natural timidness she had acquired over the years.
Before she had been allowed to leave, the beast escorted her out into the hazy atmosphere and brought her to the brown horse, and there quietly told her that she must tell no one in the town of her presence, or attempt to return, as she would not be able to be saved again. Beginning to protest, she faltered when the hood of the cloak moved sharply so that the face underneath was revealed. Madam Hemmingway stumbled and clutched onto the horse's saddle to remain upright in her fright of the deep-rooted scars and close-surfaced veins. Immediately, taking advantage of her weakened state, the beast gave a final warning to remain away. Though a well-reasoned woman who respected her own dealings, she felt no obligation to this monster that had deprived her of Claude. Her son was well liked enough in the town, surely enough to warrant a search into the dangerous Opclime, she thought.
Past the small country home at the end of the trail was the Ponquet estate, also housing a fretful member within its vicinity. Grimella balanced both her fighting off suitors and worrying for the state of Claude well, especially after requests had increased upon Claude's blatant refusal. However, neither she nor her influential father had fully given up on their arrangement. Grimella sought to make Claude hers, and so far in life she had not been denied anything she wished for. The Ponquet heiress came together with her family to discuss how to solve the catastrophic abandonment of her soon to be betrothed.
"Father," Grimella stated, delicately folding her hands across her lap, "I believe I know what I want for my birthday this year." In a natural motion she smoothed her cream gloves and looked up to him.
"Why yes, my darling?" Lately he had been conspiring as well for ways to bring the Hemmingway into their household, and had unsuccessfully attempted to locate his current whereabouts, with his mysterious disappearance after meeting with him that one day.
"I very much so would wish to host a ball, not precisely here, but instead at the Terminn Theatre Lounge." She primly took a sip of tea from the china cup in front of her, placing the flowered porcelain back on its saucer before continuing. "A masquerade ball, specifically, if that could be arranged."
Holding his walking stick across his knee, Mr. Ponquet thought about his daughter's request for a dance, formal in its occasion but unique in its being in costume. The Terminn Theatre Lounge which she spoke of could easily be obtained, as he and some of the older residents knew the building continued to be owned by their family, donated to the town for public functions while retaining the exclusive jurisdiction. "Well, that seems to be able to be done, my girl. I'll sort through the papers and deliver them promptly. Nothing less for my Grimella. I shall see to it that it is the most extravagant event happening of the times." With his agreement given, he left her to finish her afternoon drink in the parlor.
Both she and her father would now help in drawing her ideal suitor in. With her newly announced ball set into being, she continued plotting in that she might lure everyone near under the pretense of lightheartedness. Having paid attention to the weeks he was in town, Grimella suspected that something as mystical and enchanting as a masquerade would surely pique Claude's interest, himself seeming to be attracted to the unreal and illogicalness found his stories and books. Surely sights of a sweeping ballroom filled with cordiality and mystique would have him reminiscing about romantic novels stored within his mind, and she wish to play this fault to its upmost advantage. However, she knew that no matter how alluring the dance might seem, he would be driven from the site should he find it was on Ponquet grounds. No, this way the obscurity would blind his dislike and Grimella was sure to win him over.
Unable to kept herself going, Madam Hemmingway stopped weeding her nightshade garden and went to seek a way to retrieve her son, anxious and worried after having been left for over three weeks. The household had once again begun gathering dust, and the pantry was in a state of disarray after having been so ill-managed. Refusing to stay curled away in her home like a shadow Madam Hemmingway resolved to rouse the town into a force daring enough to brave the Opclime for the sake of rescuing her son.
Her shawl bundled tightly and squared against her shoulders, she exited her cottage hesitantly, being met with the frisk wind of the season. Alright then, all I have to do is announce this creature in the forest, and I soon shall have my son returned. Her desperation to rescue her son was on par with the valor he had shown earlier in the midst of the raspberries. No one particularly made any sort of recognition of Claude's absence; it was if he had never made his presence known in Terminn in the time he had lived there. Daily life had continued: the streets were bustling with the townspeople running their errands, the residential farms were tended to, and betrothal pleas constantly cropped up around the Ponquet manor. Amidst her strolling, looking for the right person to confide in, she came across Marcus Ponquet standing by the town's center hub. Deciding the most powerful family in Terminn might have the best chance of rescuing her son, she approached him, prepared to make her argument.
"E-excuse me, Mr. Ponquet? I-"
Stopped by his presence as he turned around to fully face her, she stuttered off her clear-cut speech she had earlier prepared and fell silent.
"Why, Madam Hemmingway! How have you been?" He looked past her, then continued in a slightly different voice, almost indistinguishable. "How is your son?" Leaning against his polished cane, he waited for a response, imposing as a stone mausoleum.
"Well, sir, I am slightly troubled, and yes, it does involve my son, Claude. He's gone missing. No, abducted and held hostage is more accurate. Right now he's being held against his will in the Opclime!"
Dimly remembering Claude's destination when he was approached by him, Mr. Ponquet considered the rage and concern of the woman in front of him before responding. "Ah, yes…as my memory serves, I believe it was you who was lost and the Opclime, and he who went to get you."
"You're right; he did find me, but at the cost of his own freedom! Right now he's being held by a savage being, and has been in such a state for the past month almost! This beast, this horrible beast won't let him go, as he traded himself for me!"
"You, you say? Hmm…yes, quite interesting." The noise between the two had drawn some of the residents near, slowing their pace as they approached to hear more.
Sensing he was brushing her off, she became more adamant in pleading the urgency of the matter. "Mr. Ponquet, please, I know your daughter is fond of him; if he comes back, I'm sure she would be ever so happy. You must, please! The Opclime is too slippery and for me to navigate on my own. Only a team who knows the forest can retrieve him. I know you can bring him back, please!"
"Who exactly is this 'beast' you say who has your son captive? What makes you describe them as such?" Now he grew more amused at Madam Hemmingway's frantic behavior, panicked as a chicken running about on its last day.
"It is hideous!" Madam Hemmingway grasped her hands to her face. "Only rugged scars and a patchwork of bruises make up her face! Sickening, dark and crusted lines of old wounds together with starkly vivid pulsing veins connect the parts of her flesh I swear! Her hair is a matted mane down her scalp, twining with the other strands in an overall ghastly appearance!" Continuing to appeal to Mr. Ponquet in this fashion, she gestured to the rest of herself, comparing the monster's likeness in reference to that of her own physique.
He slowly lifted his hand from his walking stick to hush her. "Listen, Madam Hemmingway. I believe you, be assured, I truly do, but this… this beast you speak of seems to stretch the matter at hand a tad beyond reality. We can…help you; I am sure it's what Claude would have wanted. Here is what I can do for you: I will use my influence to gather a group of young men to go out into the forest. There they will search, thoroughly at that, they will, and in their wake, they will deposit slips of paper, addressed to him in accordance with your need.
"If he's really out there, stranded in the Opclime (or even still alive for that matter) as you suggest then I'm sure he would immediately come to your aid upon seeing the invitation. How's that- an agreeable deal?"
Infuriated at his doubt and easy way of discrediting the truths she had seen with her own eyes she shouted louder about the beast in the woods, surrounded by a wall of impenetrable thorns and viscous nature. As she continued to boast about the beast sulking in the forest, stealing her son, a crowd formed in a ring around the pair, one calm, the other livid with distress. The strain in screeching her words to the jeering people grew until she collapsed in the middle of describing the horrible, ugly features the monster possessed, ranting about the hollowed pockmarks and sallow skin.
Mr. Ponquet was able to shoo off the curious townspeople, sating their curiosity with prior accounts of the woman's madness, attributing her odd behavior now to those in the past. However, he knew there was some truth rooted in her rambling, and that there was indeed a possibility of Claude being stranded in the forest. Tucking his walking stick away, he bent to carry the woman crushed on the stone paving back to his manor, where she would remain as leverage. Still, if it has been about a month as she says, without any outside source of food or water he surely is alive no longer. He was slightly disappointed, as his Grimella had taken a liking to him, and this inconvenience eliminated the one worthy husband both had agreed on.
Also, a faint memory some years ago stirred in the back of his mind at the description Madam Hemmingway had provided. Its significance didn't make itself clear until he had reached the entry way of his home. A few empty rooms out of the way of common travel in the household lined the halls of the third floor, hardly ever used. There once was a wealthy family who lived farther from the town's borders, almost isolated except for the fact they had lavish parties and gatherings frequently, much more so than even the Ponquets, and thus their status followed as such. The only fact which kept them from outranking the Ponquets in power was this distance from the everyday life. One of the ajar rooms had a small bed and a dresser already laid out, with the bathroom located across the hall. He then thought back again to the mansion, quite magnificent when he visited, each wing more extravagant than his own, surely it would be run down and decrepit after years exposed to the nature of the elements, with no housekeeping or any preservation of the kind, there's no possibility of it retaining its splendor. The passed out Madam Hemmingway was haphazardly placed on top of the mattress and left to the third floor of the manor as Marcus Ponquet locked the trapdoor behind him, sealing off the above floor from the rest of the staircase
Right before the departure of the four men (each volunteering for the sole purpose of impressing her), Grimella had taken it upon herself to hasten the likelihood of Claude's return, again reflecting back to how he would abstain should he discover his action to be in alignment with the Ponquet wishes. With each of her father's notes stating a direct desire for Claude to make his way back to Terminn (along with something obscure about the state of his mother), she replaced them with folded envelopes enclosing a folded piece of stiff parchment. In her most elegant calligraphy she had inscribed the rough details of a secret masquerade to be held in two weeks' time at the gothic location of the town Theatre Lounge. Sealing them all with an insignificant wax stamp, she swapped them to their new locations of the messenger bags, discarding the original letters by means of the fireplace. All that remains is for time to do my bidding, luring Claude towards what he cannot resist, bringing him to me.