The sky was letting fall its first flakes of snow. Gomme was already up in this world that seemed entirely white. She stood there, as if waiting for a figure about to emerge from the old brick house just across from her.
Earlier that day, a few hours prior, Gomme—admiring the white clouds and feeling the chill in the air—had draped a blanket over her shoulders, prepared some tea, and set it on Mr. Roselet's table.
With his pen, ink splattering his hands, Mr. Roselet, dressed only in a white t-shirt, felt the winter cold slowly creeping in.
" Just like in Snowball County, the winter chill is finally setting in. With snow about to fall, best to ready the fireplace, " he said, taking the tea Gomme had prepared and downing it in one gulp.
" You handle heat well, " Gomme replied sarcastically.
Mr. Roselet seemed puzzled by her words but paid them no mind and kept drinking his tea.
It had now been two days since Gomme and Mr. Roselet had been living together in this house, which resembled an abandoned old manor. Gomme's daily tasks were varied but always well-prepared. Despite the house's imposing exterior, the inside was rather simple : a living room, a dining table, and even Mr. Roselet's bed, all gathered in the same room behind the front door. Only his desk was set apart.
Mr. Roselet had a habit of dozing off in the afternoon and seemed more active in the evening. Keeping this in mind, starting at 2 p.m., Gomme would begin sweeping the floor. Mr. Roselet was a somewhat absentminded man ; before Gomme's arrival, his home had been in disarray—stacks of papers covering the floor, and unfortunate creatures like cockroaches creeping into the corners. An environment that had changed drastically since the arrival of the mysterious-looking maid.
Night was approaching, the sun setting in the west. Mr. Roselet stood up, eyeing the fireplace, his blanket still draped over his shoulders. For the first time in years, a sweet scent, warm like jam and fresh bread, filled the house.
"Here's your snack. I carefully prepared this for you : a small roll spread with jam that I brought with me when I arrived in this house, " said Gomme.
A look of disgust crossed his face, his hands twitching as if ready to strike the plate. Offended by the sight of the bread before him, Mr. Roselet muttered in displeasure :
"No one asked you to do this. Throw it all away ! " he snapped.
"A high-calorie meal with plenty of necessary nutrients. I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do that. "
Mr. Roselet's arm rose, poised to slam the plate. He clenched his fist, and just as he was about to hurl it, Gomme seized his wrist and squeezed tightly.
" You will eat this high-calorie snack, willingly or not, " she said coldly, her gaze empty yet determined.
Mr. Roselet felt dread rising within him ; his fury gradually twisted into fear, then into an urge to flee.
" And if I refuse ? " he asked, his voice slightly timid, panicked.
" Then I'll have to resort to force : knife and belt. They also say surgery is a simple method for inserting something into someone's stomach… "
Mr. Roselet's eyes froze in terror. Before him, Gomme seemed ready to carry out her threat. A shiver ran through him. He thought :
Why did I let her stay ? I know all too well the peculiar nature of her dolls…
Gomme took a jam-covered roll and shoved it into Mr. Roselet's mouth.
"Chew, " she commanded icily.
Mr. Roselet obeyed, gradually calming as he tasted something he hadn't enjoyed in a long time.
"It's… good, " he admitted as Gomme withdrew her hands.
He sat in the living room and quietly finished his snack.
By dinnertime, Mr. Roselet, eyeing a letter with concern, pulled on his coat. He laced up his warm boots and, without a word to the doll, stepped outside.