Author's Note: Well, I've finally returned: succeeding at auditions apparently means you get even more music to practice, so more time was cut from this story. Hopefully I'll be able to finish this within 3 or 4 more chapters (it would be bad to just leave this hanging after getting so close, which nearly happened right here). Lots of snow and ice has given me more time to write, so snow! And ice! Reviews are greatly appreciated.
{XII}
The slow approach of winter throughout the country had been stalled, and the storm currently had decided to rest just over the Opclime. Over the night the early snow on the soil grew as more was added to its height. Soon most paths through the forest had been rendered immobile on account of the excess snow. Hard ice had as well persistently crept along the tree branches until everything it touched was turned into a prism, refusing to melt and give way in the face of the sun.
Claude, never having been subject to northern weather, was in awe at how the nature around him had been transformed, with frost crystals adorning each small leaf, and how certain blades of tall grass and lonely shrub flowers had been surrounded by thick, glassy ice. Uplifted by the idyllic winter sight, he prepared himself for the day and selected a nearby novel to begin reading, having just finished one yesterday. With tight knit woolen socks he had found at the bottom of the cabinet in his room (as the shift in temperature had brought a slight chill constantly flowing through the stone manor), he walked along the hallway, book in hand, until he reached the spot where the East Wing in which he resided met up with the main center of the building. Across the pentagon-like wooden stage area connecting to the stair bannister was a large window on the entrance wall through which it was possible to view the widest scope outside. From his distanced position he was able to make out slight frost lines, similar to Arrhenius's scarring, framing the edges of the window. Conveniently equipped with a fancy gold reclining chair (he supposed, being strategically placed in the front of the house, it had to be elegant, as it would be under constant scrutiny of the noble guests who came) he sank into it. The back was slightly damp for some reason; the chair also housed a delicate, out of place teacup at its foot, inside bearing a slight ring of an unconsumed dark drink. Leaning back, his feet were just reaching past the fabric's edge, and he was able to view the icy scenery above the pages of his book.
Around noon he saw signs of Arrhenius moving on the lower floor. Earlier sounds of her slicing metal rods for her works had mingled with the occasional sound of impact made by falling icicles off from the upper roofing edge. Turning a page, he wondered where she had been, as he had not caught sight of her at the end of yesterday either, enduring an infrequent solitary dinner.
She had, in fact spent the morning, and all of the past evening alone because the full weight of her severing act had settled. At midnight, as she frequently did this time of year to recollect and organize her thoughts, she opened the back door of the kitchen room and, clinging to an insufficiently thin cotton blanket as a shawl, stepped out to the surrounding winter, barefoot. Small, white flakes stood out against the black horizon as she sat on the upper step, already having brushed off the accumulated snow pillow. The cold cleared her mind, and allowed her to think deeper into her life and past actions. Though on this night, protected only enough to prevent the harmful effects of the cold and thickened callouses guarding her feet, more recent events came to surface, figuratively soaring past other transactions throughout the past months. In her night of questions she was unable to avoid addressing her regards about Claude. Even though they had spent a great amount of time together within the past few weeks of acquiring this new attitude, she was accustomed to ponder how she essentially had taken Claude from his life of normalcy, his life occupied by others, and reinstated him in the large, forbearing Hemlighet mansion, alone with only herself as available company, an ill predicament, she realized on reflection. Though they had definitively shared several entertaining moments, there were times where she viewed herself as stealing them, from his mother, a good friend, perhaps, but either way, not initially intended for her.
It had been so long since she had looked seriously at the shriveled raspberry bush connecting her to her curse that it felt odd to entertain the notion that something positive might occur as result of its lurking promise. The time when her conditionals constantly rang in her ears had long past, but she could still recall pieces of them now, trapped like this, care for others, eight years. She sighed dramatically, her breath materializing in front of her in the frigid air. Well, it's already been seven years, one more should hardly make a difference at this point. And while others might have felt stressed under such a close deadline, she hardly had given it much attention, as her life quite honestly was a steady routine at this point. Of course, until an extraneous element titled Claude had altered her solitary raspberry bliss. Even if she thought of the most unrealistic possibility of him, she believed she would no longer recognize herself should the Enchantress's words prove true. By now she had learned to identify herself, even if slightly reluctantly, with her patchwork of scars, held together with spotted red boils and untamed, bratted hair. Nothing could change it, and should it…she rather would not delve further.
She spent another hour in such a position, coming in to make a small cup of raspberry tea to drive out the recent cold and taking it to the front of the manor on the second story, not bothering to remove her frozen makeshift shawl from around her, and continued looking out at the serene ice until around two in the morning, where she finally resolved to take some sleep.
"Good morning, Arrhenius," Claude called from the second floor, hoping to catch her attention from her place in the lower atrium. Continuing with his novel, he said, "Lovely of you to show up."
After briefly being startled by Claude and fumbling with her glass, she glanced back up and twitched her eye. "Yes, yes, calm down. I have arrived." She took a sip of her tea before carrying on. "It's quite magnificent outside, is it not?" Great, now I've resorted to talking about the weather; it's not like we've been here for roughly two months now.
Thankfully Claude didn't seem to take much notice any abnormality to Arrhenius's conversation topic, and placed his book on his knees, pages splayed. "Indeed; I've not seen anything like it before. I have endured cold before, but never accompanied by all this snow and ice." Again he adjusted his vision to look out the window at the white surroundings.
"If you've never experienced snow, it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity now." She looked at the high levels of snow outside. "In fact, you ought to come out right now and fully experience it." Having stated so, she turned on her heel to go back until stopped by Claude's questioning.
"Though I've never been in snow personally, I know it's rather cold; the clothes I arrived in aren't exactly constructed for this type of weather."
"There should be an old coat of my father's lying around, stashed away, I'm sure. Try raiding the room next to yours, it houses most of my parents' relics." Not speaking anymore about her mother or father, she left to retrieve a jacket of her own.
Sure enough, draped carefully across an old trunk and quite dusted with disuse, was a long black overcoat, two rows of narrow buttons lined with a soft grey fur. It fell a bit too high above the ankles, but overall fit him quite well. At least it doesn't small of raspberries, he commented, and it made sense if these articles had been placed up here years before and not touched since.
Claude met Arrhenius at the bottom of the staircase, she herself sporting a similar cut jacket in an olive color with brown wooden knob-like buttons. "Alright is this honestly a wise idea, going out into the cold abyss for what again? The last time you said I 'ought to do' something I ended up in significant debt!"
She snorted, then countered. "Yes, but you've won, what was it again, two games since?"
"Yes, but compared to an astounding thirty-two, I don't think I have much chance regining my currency."
"Besides that, it only properly snows here once possibly twice a year, so it is vital that the days be properly enjoyed." Saying so she propped the grand door up against the wind.
After enduring a slicing wind, he asked, "and this requires proper enjoyment?"
"Absolutely," she replied, not pausing. She was already fully immersed in the winter, and he could see the effect the cold had on her: the scars and red sores stood out much more as the bruises paled in the biting wind, those parts nearly being able to pass as normal skin
"There's not such a thing as, acid snow, as well, is there?" he hesitantly asked before following Arrhenius by passing the under the threshold. He saw no singeing or other harmful effect on the nearby foliage, but still felt the need to be certain.
Already holding several snowballs, she shook her head no, and when he followed that question with one regarding the contents in her arms, she promptly flung one at him. Though he had never participated in this event, he surmised he could guess the basics and quickly began forming snowballs of his own to retaliate. Soon the mansion grounds had been divided in half as each tried to sneak over into the enemy's. Laugher could clearly be heard over the roaring wind as they ran about, most of the fury being dampened by their coats' thick exterior.
Past the ice-glossed branches of the raspberries, as he had been cornered to the edges of the property, Claude spied a defiant page of paper, a small corner rising above the mound of snow it was currently encapsulated in. Goodness, I wonder how one of Arrhenius's novels flew this distance, he wondered, peering at the edge flapping with the winter wind. Of course, distressed to see any damage done unto a book, he quickly approached it through the constant light fall of snow. Sifting away the pile in which it was buried, Claude gingerly removed the lingering snow to see that it was more a partial letter than an entire novel. How odd…who has purpose for sending notes this way of all places? However, after scanning the elegant calligraphy several times, he didn't give the circumstances much thought, rather, he was fully enthralled with the event described on the parchment.
"A night of abundance, a night of deceit
A masquerade ball, held within the Terminn Theatre Lounge at the month's end.
Come prepared for the occasion and any possibilities"
Claude was slightly confused: not before had he heard any announcement of such an event, and nothing similar had ever occurred. Perhaps this is an annual event, and I've not had residency here long enough to take notice. That was the only logical answer he could procure. The three lines had caused his mind to spiral with the mysterious possibilities, each partially alluding to a novel he had read at one time, each containing swooping chandeliers, dashing capes, and necessarily, the numerous concealing masks.
From behind him, approaching with a previously-made snowball, Arrhenius slowed down her walk seeing the concentrated stance Claude possessed. "What have you found? I'm surprised anything foreign has made its way out here," she said, quietly dismissing Claude's objections about the town not being as far out as she was making it to be.
He held the paper out a bit father so that she might read over it as well. She didn't speak for a while after doing so the wind slowing down as well, amplifying her silence. The snow she once held had fallen and reclaimed itself into the ground.
Claude wasn't altogether sure what to expect of her response. This had been the first blatant reminder that there was still life occurring beyond the encased Hemlighet mansion. His thoughts were quickly led back to the wellbeing of his mother; it had been weeks since he had properly considered her state of heath - never before had he been so negligent about her. Days he had fretted about her, and now, not as much. More snow fell around him, and surely, he thought, there would be the same snow in Terminn. The cold couldn't be at all good to his mama, but hadn't thought about it before. He had become more distracted, it seemed, since his initial arrival.
Still standing over his shoulder, Arrhenius was pale enough to efficiently blend into the white remains of last night's blizzard, save her unsightly red pox, brightened by the renewal of the biting wind. Rereading the scripted words he was holding, she was forced to acknowledge the full effects of keeping Claude away for such an amount of time. You've entertained this idle fancy for too long, surely you knew it would have to end at some point. It was clear to see the excitement he held upon reading the enticing note, she too had read her share of romances and in her isolation could not deny spending full afternoons imagining throughout the years taking part in the elegant royal-like balls her parents had hosted when she was young. So easy to dream of being twirled on top of the smooth tile, nearly floating, changing off partners between snippets of discussion with the ebb of the music ringing through the halls, but, as her mind continued to wander away from herself, she could have guessed Claude might already have someone tangible in the town he shared a special bond with. At his current age, he might already be engaged... The thought stunned her, making her rethink all the casual encounters they had already shared. Either way, I'm sure he led a fine life there, him, his mother, and other people in general; these social occasions are something he must miss undoubtedly. Somehow she did not register an unconscious wet feeling gliding along her face towards the back of her ear, unseen.
Having decided she ought to be the first to speak about the matter, Arrhenius cleared her throat to be heard over the fast wind and snow that had resumed to fall. "Well, a masquerade, that's, that's really-" She couldn't understand why she had become so inarticulate. Again, she tried. "They're quite grand, well, I've never been to one, seen such events, yes, but not personally attended, but anyways-" She ought to directly state her concern, she thought, as this was probably the best excuse she could give to Claude to return while avoiding sudden and awkward removal requests. "What I'm trying to say is it would be a grand opportunity to go to that. It would be recommended that you go," she finalized. Then she once more fell silent, taking a few steps away, intending to return to the manor.
With this odd grant of approval from Arrhenius, he turned to see her facing elsewhere, looking back at the raspberry briars they had crossed. Her face seemed damp, which he attributed to melting snowflakes, and made eye contact with her, her piercing blue ones causing his nerves to heighten. Clumsily he glanced away, quickly rereading the invitation, then looked back up, a tad more determined. "Yes, it does sound quite appealing," and mysterious, and alluring, and fantastic, "and I think we ought to attend. Yes, would that be agreeable?"
At the mention of 'we', Arrhenius's mangled brows scrunched together in confusion, hearing a misinterpretation of what he had said. "Er…" This certainly was not a possibility she had entertained upon reading the letter. The old scars on her face felt slightly warm under her skin as she continued standing in the Opclime, everything ensnared in ice.
By now Claude had creased the paper and put the folded page in one of the lined pockets of his loaned coat, honestly relieved he has been able to form a coherent sentence, and tried to do so again. "Arrhenius, would you attend this masquerade with me as your escort?"
"Of course, I would be utmost flattered to attend with you, and dance through the halls and roam past others, and being highly accustomed to finery and class, I would be thrilled to go and participate in such an event that recognizes my values with you." When Claude stared back at her, apparently still awaiting an answer, she realized her moth had not moved at all. Oh…
Staring back, the wind playing about with both their hair, Arrhenius's breath trailed out in front of her, turning into a visible warm mist. "Well, I haven't gone through with any of your recommendations so far," she said, lightly tossing a snowball towards him that he caught at such the close range. "I would be honored to accept."
