A/N: And the end! I've enjoyed writing this, and am proud I even made it to the end (this is a rare occurrence). This started out as just three short scenes (the one where Claude first finds the shriveled raspberry plant, the one where he finds Arrhenius beading when he thought someone was being tortured, and a third scene not mentioned since I wrote it before I set on when the story would be taking place [one doesn't see many computers in the 1800s]). I've eaten many cartons of raspberries while working on this (claiming "inspiration" to anyone who asked), and am glad it's come to this end. Please review if you liked; I'd greatly appreciate it.

{XVII}

"Ahead! Just ahead!" Marcus Ponquet led the men forward at the front, shouting out the crumbling mansion coming into view for them, gesturing to the building with the tip of his cane. Behind him were at least thirty eager men, some carrying blazing torches, others borrowed crafted hammers and long, sharp chisels from the workshop of Terminn's blacksmith and tall tree branches they had found inside the Opclime, and a few, broad knives of their own. All had been swept away in this sudden threat appearing in their midst -here she is: the hideous beast, plaguing others and thieving valuable jewels from the distinguished, like a vulture attracted to wealth- a confusion and concern easily concentrated into action by Mr. Ponquet. Many of them wore some form of fur coat, thick boots protecting from the abundant snow, and a couple of the men hadn't bothered to change from their earlier costume, excited and wanting to waste no time in their pursuit.

They had come to the expansive wall of tapering thorns, standing formidably against these intruders. Seeing how it encircled the whole of the building, murmurings of uncertain passage moved about.

"How, exactly, are we supposed to get through that?" a man asked, shivering, as he was on the outside of the closely packed gathering, exposed to the harsh winter wind. No one was optimistic about passing through the dense thorny trap.

Someone in the front held a sharpened long knife, and Marcus snatched it and cut parallel slashes ahead of him with great precision. A small pocket had been made in the thick fence, and he took a definitive step forward. "Like this." Demonstrating his point, he swiftly handed the weapon back to its owner, allowing him to go ahead and clear the path instead. The men arranged themselves into an arrow-like formation to proceed, with a singular point cutting the way through, and those on the sides subject to the stinging thorns. A few of the fruits were dislodged, but they each became very bitter when they happened to fall into a mouth, all of their lush sweetness fading quickly. An abundance of the small, rock-like seeds refused to be easily spit out, instead assaulting their tongues with an unusual sharpness.

Around the massive columns on either side of the wide entryway a spanning arc of men formed, a part of them busying themselves with removal of the highly annoying thorns. As dictated by their leader, those standing under the stone leaves of the columns were to insure as much as a disturbance as possible. "For years this beast of the Opclime has terrorized our well standing citizens, robbing them of their possessions and lives, and has retreated unscratched, mocking our defenses as we tried tirelessly to discover where she has been hiding. But no longer! Finally, she has been lured and caught, as we stand here tonight. It is our duty now to reprehend her, and with such a monster this can only be done through showing her we will no longer watch our valuables vanish, and we are more powerful, enough to bring our well-deserved hostility here!" Finishing with a loud and persuasive voice, the crowd cheered as they prepare to enter the Hemlighet mansion.

Any who brought a solid hammer positioned themselves on both sides of the door, and on Marcus Ponquet's command, each struck it at the same time with a great force. "Again! Do you want revenge or not? Harder this time!" The weighty heads continued to be struck with a sickening thud, such as like a thick bone breaking. Few, who were so greatly impatient, left and, with their iron weapons, broke through the glass windows on their own, sending those shards released from the fractures into buried snow. One more synchronized thrust from the hammers and the hinges gave way. Mr. Ponquet pushed through and sent the large door down from its high stature, allowing Terminn's riled men to enter.

Those who had waited for the doors to fall now rushed forward, eager to invade such a legendary building. No sooner than they had passed through the entryway, however, they were unable to remain standing, falling over one another, complaining of spells being placed on the floor. No lights had been left on; the only source came from outside, moonlight reflected off the snow. Some would walk a few steps, treading carefully, only to have one misstep send them tumbling back to the ground. Attempting to brace themselves, then unconsciously let go of their weapons, needing both hands to prevent to full force of falling to the floor to hit them. Not having entered yet, Marcus Ponquet looked at the wood floor and let out an exasperated sigh at the incompetence of his men. More continued to trip in the darkness, unable to get very far at all. "Someone find the lights!" he shouted at them, infuriated with how little they had advanced upon arrival. Gently, he swept the immediate area in front of him with his walking stick, gliding over the polished surface (but not slick enough to cause nearly all of them such trouble remaining upright), and was confused until the bottom cap of his cane clinked off another raised, hard surface, and he heard a faint rolling sound. What are these? The huntsman turned on the lights, finally having been found in the dark, and exposed the atrium with its broken chairs around the edges of the doorway, untouched tapestries on the walls, and an entire floor covered in large, polished beads.

Even with seeing them, at least half of the men had trouble avoiding them, the round beads interfering with their balance as they unpredictably rolled around under their boots. "They're everywhere; there's no clear path through!" said one currently on the floor, arms still spread out in a failed attempt to catch himself. Others too had difficulty standing back up, the same beads which had unsteadied themselves on their feet now digging into their palms when they tried to push back with their arms to stand.

Marcus used his cane to brush away the beads, sending them rolling away, regardless of if they rolled towards another of his group. It's not as if they are being useful anyways. "Just move them out of your way." Is that in any way difficult to understand?

Now more comfortable, their anger at being so easily tricked by this monster came to the surface as they rampaged around the lower floor, set loose by Mr. Ponquet. With the blades of their knives and pick-like claw ends to their hammers, they ran about, slashing at whatever they came across. There was no resistance when they sliced through numerous threads, unraveling the necklaces on display with one smooth, downward motion, occasionally cutting into the velvet pedestal it was on as well. More beads fell, some so tiny they disappeared into the seams of the wood and sunk beneath the woven loops of the rug, creating light tinkling whenever they stuck a hard surface. In other cases, a giant and valuable stone would hit the ground with a deep impact, and would typically be pocketed by whoever cleaved it from the rest of piece.

This method of destroying and plundering continued until one of the men strayed off and instead went towards the kitchen, curious to see what other valuables might have been hoarded. On the central counter was a necklace made of what seemed to be threads of pure gold, appearing lacy while glistening because of its metallic nature. Must have been that of royalty, he supposed, imagining what he could sell it for. Looking at it, it wasn't difficult to reach: sure, for some reason there were plates lying on the floor, but they seemed spaced enough for one to move between them. He took one step and felt the invisible presence of a taunt string against his ankle. Triggered, the nearest two plates flipped over and sent a pair of forks flying at him, their crashing almost masking his shouts as the tines became stuck in his jacket, nearly becoming stuck in his skin as well.

Coming to respond to one of their crowd's cries, a couple others came and approached him, themselves setting off more of the devices. More of the china plates smashed themselves to pieces in the hope of protecting their mistress, launching silverware relentlessly at the attackers. Now on a chain reaction it seemed, a large amount of the forks flew at them, knocking them off course with their hammers only partially effective, and when they still stood defiantly, knives were sent next as a final warning. All ran away when the first one embedded itself in the arm of a man who was an aggressive cattle keeper, injuring him, but not mortally.

The ground littered with broken threads, beads, porcelain shards, and misplaced cutlery, Marcus Ponquet resolved that only he would be able to bring out this beast, judging from the frequency which his men proved themselves to be fools. They had found no signs of another presence as they swept about the first floor in their violent storm. He climbed midway up the steps of the grand entrance to address them. "Continue your havoc; I shall return with our beast!" They cheered for a moment before returning to their destruction, and he left them downstairs as he went off in search of this beast himself.

Dull sounds of the downfall occurring within the manor echoed throughout the Opclime. Fretful at the sounds and steady fire, Claude kept running, arriving at the marble building already under attack. Right in front of him the briars were taller than he initially remembered, and the fallen areas the Terminn mob had passed through earlier had already been replaced by new growth. He attempted to navigate his way past the raspberries with minimal success. Honestly, you ought to know who I am by now, he thought, continuing to use the broom to brush the worst of the thorns out of his way. The path was unyielding to him as it was for the men before. "One would think you could distinguish help from an attacker," he mumbled to the plants, the crystal buttons of his waistcoat snagging on the branches as a few of them snapped off completely. He kept the coarse tassels of the broom ahead of him to push most of the sharp foliage away with small tufts of the material becoming caught by the thorns as well. As it became more dense, tendrils began wrapping themselves around the bristles until Claude was no longer able to move it. He had reached the other side of the raspberry barrier with only small scratches, but was unable to drag the broom out with him, its handle sticking out horizontally level to his chin. He pulled at it, but the briars had completely ensnared it, tangling it hopelessly in its vines. Why did I even bother bringing you along if you were just going to render yourself useless like that at the beginning? Sighing that he would have to sacrifice the broomstick for the greater good, Claude went ahead to where he could already see where one door had fallen.

He heard the loud men inside as he approached the entrance, attempting to remain unseen as it would not be well should he, the one who earlier stood up for Arrhenius, be spotted. Peeking in from behind the doorframe, he noticed with a quiet laugh what seemed to be the entirety of her bead stores had been thrown onto the ground.

Deftly, he snuck in and remained low and out of sight. Since all of the men were still amusing themselves destroying the lower level, he presumed Arrhenius had fled elsewhere in the manor. He just had to make it safely to the main stairs; the servants' stairs were blocked to him by the amount of men slashing away. He ducked under swinging elbows and dodged the reload of arms and their weapons, bent over to keep himself out of their line of sight. As soon as he straightened his back at the stair's steps, however, he was spotted.

"There's the sympathizer! Protecting that beast and hiding our valuables away from us!" Others stopped their destruction to look at him with disdain, kicking some of the beads in his direction harshly with the heels of their insulated boots. With them being so large and him being so slender, he rapidly climbed the remaining steps before any of them thought to go after him, and in his panic threw the glass jar down at them, intending to at least repel them for a moment so that he could go to Arrhenius. The clear jam jar broke on one of the first steps as shards began to fall down the others like a transparent avalanche. However, with the Enchantress's lingering magic nearby, the glass slivers grew as they tumbled down the grand staircase, each splinter spreading itself out in width and becoming the size of the heads of the men standing stunned below. The shards near each other fused and flattened to form an unpassable glassy slope, the steps of the stairway trapped beneath the smooth, slippery surface, thus confining the swarm of angered townspeople to the lower floor.

Not spending any time to marvel at this protection, he quickly went to where he imagined Arrhenius would seek haven. He took a left into the upper West wing and cautiously came to stand right by the door of the hexagonal room resting above the master bedroom. Gently he positioned his ear against the grain of the wood, stiffening as he heard a deep voice continue with scalding remarks, the words chafing against his ears, and hers most likely as well.

Without any pause he opened the mahogany door to enter. A maroon cloak lay separated from its owner, the frayed cord splayed out and cloak pin unhinged beside it. Marcus Ponquet had one forearm pressed under Arrhenius's chin, hard against her throat, and his other arm held both of hers down as to prevent her from striking back, his walking stick discarded at the entrance. Angered, he bore a few long scratch marks from Arrhenius's uneven fingernails across his face and the back of his hand, continuing to push his arm upwards against the soft spot of her neck with the intent of suffocating her right there.

"No! Arrhenius!" Hastily he threw his remaining defense, the novel he had brought with him, at Marcus with a great force, its pages fluttering as it left his hand. The thick leather spine struck hard against his jaw, the shock causing his hold to slip and allow Arrhenius to shove away the arm cutting into her throat.

"Ah, Mr. Hemmingway, here to save the day, ever the hero figure," he said, grandly spreading his tired arms and kicking the heavy book against the polished stone of the central pedestal where it collided with a somber thump in the quiet room, the rotting, molding raspberries held on top of it quivering in response. "However, I believe coming to the aid of a terrorizing beast is more the villain's role, would you not say?"

"I would assign the villain to that of a barbaric and vain man, only concerned with his own desires and ignorant of their caustic consequences."

"Why, you misunderstand me!"

"I sincerely doubt that." Determined with Arrhenius standing beside him, Claude's words gave him firm ground on which he could fight Marcus Ponquet. "You desire power so greatly; you bask in Terminn's ease in which they obey you. You attempt to entice any threat that arises into submission, and should that tactic fail you waste no hesitation on bringing them low, so low that they are disgraced."

Mr. Ponquet had retrieved his walking stick from where it had landed against the far wall, amusing himself sliding it between his fingers, while Claude held Arrhenius's hand to his own. "How else would you expect me to respond?" he asked, no trace of guilt present. "I have a duty to Terminn. Matters regarding a menacing beast, one who murders and steals, surely fall under that domain."

"None of that's true, and you know it."

"What proof is there otherwise?" Now he leaned on his cane, smug in his response, waiting like a viper who knows its meal is trapped.

"This home is hers, the Hemlighet manor is hers, and you have been so base as to invade it and utterly destroy it!"

"You attempt to tell me that this contorted creature of sallow scars and grotesque boils is entitled to such grandeur?" he yelled at him, striking his cane on the ground with such force that again the raspberries shook, this time one falling off onto the cold stone and causing Arrhenius to clutch her hand tighter. "No more will I be compared to you!" he screeched directly at her, still retaining his dignified demeanor in his furious anger. Marcus, drawing the knobbed handle away from his walking stick, stealthily withdrew a slender dagger with a soft click at its release. "The Hemlighet line will end with you."

Suddenly Marcus Ponquet lunged at them with long strides, passing the decaying raspberry shrub, arm outstretched so that the point of the blade was set level to Arrhenius's eye. Squaring his feet in the ground, Claude bent over, now at chest level with the charging Mr. Ponquet. Just as Arrhenius had covered her face with her hands of deep blisters, Claude sprung up, releasing his energy with a shout as he caught Marcus under his shoulders and pushed away as hard as he could, sending him back. The dagger fell from his hand, silently coming to rest on the floor while the back of his head struck against the solid stone pedestal. His frantic movements became still, the dying plant reaching the ground before him. Only a singular, dried and puckered fruit remained on a lone branch. Claude, too fell to the ground at the sight of a dark crimson creeping down the smooth stone, thin rivers spreading down the lines of his face and staining the white silk of the man's waistcoat permanently.

Arrhenius stared at the dead man, and the mourning one beside her. Almost mechanically she walked around and picked up the knife and returned it to the top of the cane, the stick thrown aside in the brief burst of chaos. Restoring it to the body of its previous owner, she then picked up the withered raspberry shrub very delicately, breathing slowly as the last shriveled leaves crumbled in the air and settled as a fine dust below.

"Claude," she began, but was uncertain how to continue, her throat still sore. Thank you for killing this man? Thank you for committing murder for my sake? She brushed her thumb across the hardened branches, skipping over the stubbed thorns. "Thank you, for protecting me."

"Yes, it was necessary, he, he would have otherwise…" Claude left his justification unfinished, then turned to her. "Of course, I had to. I care about you. Quite deeply, it appears," he added, laughing slightly despite the current situation.

She too gave her quick laugh in response. "Indeed. Please know that I appreciate it." Not thinking about it, the raspberry plant slipped from her fingers, the dry soil scattered as the last fruit burst and sank below the dirt. "Thank you."

Curious to her words, he prepared to stand up from his spot, but froze as a fog appeared around her. A soft red light passed over from her head and continued to travel down across her, as it passed the boils shrunk and fell off, becoming like grains of sand that easily left from her fingertips, the scars and bruises thinned and paled until they too left her. The gouged pockmarks filled like plaster and her hair gradually straightened from the top, losing its oily and matted nature for good. At her feet the disembodied signs of her curse gathered and spun together to become a sickly green smoke that traveled to the remains of the raspberry plant, now sinking into its dead, hollow branches and revived it, fresh green leaves sprouting and buds blooming as instantaneously they became flowers, wilted, and grew lush raspberries in a matter of seconds.

Every hint of her curse had been erased, save a small curled scar framed by four minute pox marks hidden on her inner part of her upper arm, there to be kept and not forgotten.

Claude looked to her, amazed by the magic he had witnessed. "Arrhenius?" She smiled at him, full of joy herself, her sapphire eyes in their rightful place.

Before either could explain, another shape appeared from a fog, clearing away to reveal the pastel colors of the Enchantress. Holding Claude's hand, Arrhenius and their visitor silently exchanged gratitudes. Though each were greatly glad about what had just happened, remnant sounds of the destruction happening just one floor below remained. The magical entity raised her hand to prevent Claude from asking about resolving it.

"Fear not, please. I can resolve this rash dilemma. Follow me." Leaving behind the body of Marcus Ponquet, the Enchantress led the pair out of the room, assuring them against their mentions of the violence of the riled men she was approaching. She took her position at the top of the grand stairway, still encased in its ice like shell, while Arrhenius and Claude stood on either side of her. Arrhenius looked regal, peering down at the mess made of her possessions by the mindless mob below, taking on the full characteristic of the mistress of the Hemlighet manor.

She raised her wand from the folds of her dress and slowly the men stilled before them, frozen in their movements. The Enchantress was ready to inflict a severe punishment until Claude interjected. "Do not injure them too rashly. I swear, excluding this night they are harmless, only bended to do such damage by a ruthless power."

Stopping the mental spell she was preparing, she considered Claude's request. "Excluding this night, you say? As in, if this night was never to have happened, these viscous people would not have been turned into such?"

"Yes, they're not normally this extreme, just made so by this elaborate ruse of a savage beast in the Opclime. Please, that one there," he said, pointing to one about to kick a fork out of his way, "he's the baker's son; this isn't what he's accustomed to. He spends his time baking rolls and cakes, nothing more. And him, right there," referring to a man bending back a novel from a shelf, "he runs the town's bookstore. It doesn't get much business, not particularly, but he enjoys it nevertheless." After identifying a few more of the misguided in the mob, the Enchantress stopped him.

"It would seem that now since their persuader is gone, they ought not to be prone to such behavior again." Still, this didn't fully account for what had already happened, and what they each might remember. "I cannot take back time, but this is what I can do. I will return them to Terminn. There, I will have their memories of this place fade. The one girl will recall her father is away on a trip for the time being. They will wake not knowing of this day; they will not have yet gone to the masquerade, from their perspective, and will entertain themselves quietly there, and lose their knowledge of this place as these rumors start to dim without their constant tending to by that man. Not seeing you at the ball, the girl will assume you indeed have died in the Opclime, and this belief will spread." Saying so, the men vanished, and they appeared back in their homes with their loved ones, also missing their memories of that night. The Enchantress faced Claude now, the magic done. "Your mother has been spared this; when you go to her she will still know how you rescued her. She alone of Terminn will remember." With him about to protest the specifics of his mother being the sole person to remember this night, she laughed for a second before reassuring him. "Only of Terminn, she will remember. You two, however are not completely of that town. Be well." The tendrils of mysterious fog surrounded her again and she left them.

Both Claude and Arrhenius looked down as the glass peeled off and shrunk in size, turning back into a jam jar at the bottom of the stairway. The large beads rolled off into the West Wing, presumably to take their places back in their containers in the studio, and others seemed to knit themselves back together to once more become the artworks Arrhenius had made. Plates and silverware fell back into their respective cabinets, fully cleaned and pieced back. The door creaked up and the bolts placed it back in alignment with its hinges as the broken windows mended themselves. From the large window they could see the raspberry bramble recede into itself, returning to its normal height and parting at the front, creating a hospitable opening for entry onto the property.

"That would have certainly been nice on multiple occasions," Claude joked, recalling the times he had become stuck in the thorns.

"If you weren't so clumsy, it wouldn't be as difficult to navigate." To demonstrate her point, she nudged him with her shoulder while he gripped the railing to steady himself as he overreacted and leaned as far back as he could.

"That offends me. Honestly, why did I initially believe it would be a good idea to enter this mansion? The raspberries really aren't inviting. What could have been my intent?" He straightened back up, now leaning against Arrhenius, both their elbows resting on the banister.

"Hmm," she pondered, comfortably leaning against Claude as well while thinking of a possibility. "Well, could it be that you've come to court me, fair young sir?" she asked, recalling their first meeting.

He laughed warmly, his arm now resting besides hers, her hand securely in his. "Yes," he answered, smiling sincerely, "I believe I have."