Nicolas interrupted Annabelle's train of thought by addressing the pastor:
— Well, Mister Pastor, we still don't know your name.
The man, still leaning toward Annabelle, slowly removed his hand from her shoulder. He straightened up with a small smile, then turned to Nicolas.
— My name is Marcel. Nice to meet you.
He offered a warm hand, which Nicolas shook without hesitation. He had seen how much his niece trusted this man. So he chose to start building a connection through him.
Georges, meanwhile, had just emerged from his daze in front of his sister's grave.
He finally seemed to realize that he had ignored the little girl all this time. Embarrassed, he approached the group and awkwardly extended a hand toward Annabelle.
— Hel... Hello Annabelle, he murmured in an almost inaudible voice.
She straightened up, her eyes still red from tears. Completely ignoring the hand held out in front of her, she did not answer.
Sensing the awkwardness settling in, Marcel clapped his hands to refocus the group.
— How about we get going? The afternoon is already well underway.
Georges looked disconcerted, but Nicolas nodded.
While the two uncles took the lead, Marcel motioned for Annabelle to come closer. Intrigued by his discreet gesture, she positioned herself at his side.
He leaned toward her and whispered:
— Don't be too surprised when you see Amandinne. She's changed a lot lately.
Annabelle looked at him, surprised.
The last time she had seen Amandinne was… barely two weeks ago. She usually came two or three times a week.
Absorbed by what had happened with her mother, she hadn't even noticed her absence.
Something felt wrong.
— You coming? Nicolas called out, turning around.
Annabelle silenced the small voice in her head and hurried to catch up with the priest, who had taken the lead. When she reached him, he took her hand to help her avoid stumbling.
The echo of their steps could be heard in the surrounding silence. The sparsely scattered trees lined the dirt path, and their roots jutted out through it. There was a strange atmosphere; no birdsong or other usual forest sounds could be heard.
A shiver ran through Annabelle, who felt a growing sense of unease.
Soon, they saw the tall steeple rising into the sky in the distance. A copper steeple, green with the rust that was eating it away.
Marcel, seemingly noticing it, squeezed her hand.
— Don't worry, everything will be fine. Your uncles seem very kind. I'm sure they'll take good care of you.
That wasn't exactly what she'd hoped to hear.
Soon, the massive appearance of the gray stone church came into view. Two gigantic doors occupied almost the entire front façade, allowing easy access for parishioners. Amandinne stood in front of the side door, more modest and simpler to open. That one led directly to the priest's private quarters. It wasn't meant for villagers, but for church staff.
There was also the mayor, who looked at his pocket watch with exasperation. Next to him stood a man dressed plainly but professionally.
Annabelle tore her hand away from the priest's, making him jump. She ran as fast as her still-short legs could carry her. Amandinne smiled at her and opened her arms wide, as usual.
She had forgotten her doubts, forgotten her unease, and the forest growing eerily quieter as they approached the church. All that remained was the bubble of relief at seeing Amandinne again. The kind Amandinne… with the icy body.
— What's wrong, my dear? asked the nun with a smile. A detached, cold smile.
Annabelle froze — something was different. That's when the unease returned.
— Look, the mayor and the notary are already here, sweetheart.
The young girl trembled like a leaf at the word notary. Her father had also been a respected notary, the only one in the village.
Georges, more sensitive than Nicolas, felt his niece's emotions. He stepped forward timidly and placed his hands on her shoulders to pull her into an embrace. Annabelle, confused, offered no resistance this time. The icy grip suddenly warmed at the contact with her clumsy uncle. That warmth should have come from Amandinne's embrace.
She remembered the priest's warning before they left. She recognized her face — but not the person.
Why? How was that possible in just two weeks? Where had she been all that time?
The more she thought about it, the less any of it made sense.
— I hope I'm not disturbing, but we've got papers to sign, haven't we? The mayor's voice cracked sharply.
The man had clearly run out of patience. He had better things to do than wait around like a stake in the ground. He didn't care about their emotions.
Georges and Nicolas stared at him, displeased. Amandinne remained frozen, like a doll. The priest stepped in to ease things.
— Come on, Jonathan, relax a bit. It's just a formality, nothing too complicated.
He was met with a sour look in return. The notary seemed indifferent — he dealt with all kinds of people every day.
Marcel frowned slightly, then headed toward the heavy door to open it. Only he had the keys.
A shrill creaking grated against Annabelle's ears. She instinctively nestled a little closer to Georges. The opening was dark, and a cloud of dust rose with the movement of the hinges.
Marcel entered without hesitation, used to it. The small group followed, with only Annabelle and her uncles remaining outside.
Nicolas gave Georges a nod before entering in turn. Georges gently pressed his niece's back — she hadn't moved an inch. She'd have to go in at some point. Might as well take the first steps now.
So she had to follow, despite herself.
She felt that growing unease — a bad feeling.