The sun set very early at this time of year. If the watches and clocks hadn't stopped, the residents of Saint-Pabu would have realized it was only half-past five. Everything was silent around the church, still surrounded by snow despite hardly any snowfall all afternoon.

The gigantic tree that had fallen during the last storm was no longer there since it had been cut into pieces to serve as firewood. All that was left was an impressive stump tilted to the side, revealing thick broken roots that looked like tentacles. Under the stump was a crater where soil, rubble, and pieces of asphalt mixed together.

The bells rang at the top of the steeple, and the doors opened wide, letting the cold winter air into the house of the Lord. Mass was over. Everyone was heading home while there was still a bit of light. It was already very dark, and soon it would be impossible to see anything without a torch or lantern.

Pierre, clean-shaven and smelling of shower gel, left the edifice with its typically Breton architecture and took a few steps into the street. It was gradually filling with people who, like him, had attended the mass.

Contrary to the instructions of Mayor Le Gall, Pierre had used modern hygiene products, shampoo, and shower gel. He thought a proper bath wouldn't do much harm to the environment. He had noticed once in the church that he wasn't the only one who had acted this way.

He had heated rainwater in a pot over the fireplace and filled his bathtub. It had taken a considerable effort and several trips between the garden, the living room, and the bathroom, but all his frustrations had suddenly disappeared the moment he slipped into his steaming bathtub.

He had almost cried with joy as he lay down in it. He felt all his muscles relax and his body warm up. Naturally, he stayed in the bath until the water turned cold.

When he finally got out almost two hours later, the water had turned brown, which was not surprising given his current lifestyle.

Oh, it's so cold! We're freezing! No wonder the snow didn't melt all day!

Pierre closed his long black coat and crossed his arms over his chest.

His gaze accidentally fell on a young woman he had noticed in the church. It was the girl he had crossed paths with a few times over the past few months.

Her long, wheat-blonde hair was smooth and neatly styled. Even he could tell that she had paid a lot of attention to her appearance on this special day.

The former trader showed no particular emotion, but he shivered slightly when he saw the young girl, accompanied by her parents, turn towards him with a lovely smile on her lips. He didn't know her name, and she was certainly in the same situation.

However, he recognized the father. He was none other than the dentist who had "treated" Pierre's cavity.

So that's the dentist's daughter!

When he had gone to the dental office for treatment and had seen her for the first time, he had found her beautiful, but now he found her radiant. His gaze was naturally drawn to the young girl's pink lips, even though she must not have been eighteen, or barely so. He, who was over thirty, felt ashamed and guilty.

To his great surprise, she gave him a little wave.

Pierre didn't know how to react, so he turned to look behind him to see if there was anyone else, but there was no one. When he looked back at the young girl, she was already starting to leave.

W-what just happened?

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Pierre, dressed in his finest clothes for this grand occasion, stood motionless in the crowd for a moment, lost in thought. He barely noticed that the street was emptying.

He eventually left the church porch and rode home on Dakota, who had waited patiently outside the building.

Darkness had already engulfed the small town by the time he arrived home.

Nothing had changed, and all the warmth had escaped. He quickly placed a new log in the stone fireplace. Very slowly, the temperature in the room began to rise.

Small yellow flames reappeared, their crackling filling the silence.

Without a word, Pierre sat on his large sofa, which he had moved closer to the fireplace, and watched the flames dance for him. He never tired of this view. There was the wood turning black, the orange flames enveloping and rising, the small embers exploding with tiny crackles, and the pleasant smell of dry wood burning.

After a short while, Pierre went to the kitchen and prepared some vegetables, which he washed with rainwater. He peeled a leek, three potatoes, and two carrots, which he finely chopped before placing them in a pot of clean water. The pot had become partially black from being in the fireplace. A few months ago, it was like new, shiny as a mirror.

Carefully, he placed it above the flames, which soon brought the water to a boil. The vegetables cooked in a few minutes, releasing a delicious aroma.

Armed with a simple cloth, he pulled the pot from the fire and emptied most of the water onto his doorstep to kill the weeds that had been growing peacefully for months. He then mashed the vegetables. The mixture formed a sort of thick, orange puree with visible pieces of leek.

He served a generous portion into a deep plate and brought up a bottle of wine from the cellar. It wasn't his, but the former owner's. He had decided from the moment he arrived to save it for special occasions. He removed the cork and filled his glass three-quarters full. The color was attractive, and the aroma was strong. Only the taste remained.

Pierre took the glass between his fingers and held it up towards the fireplace.

"Happy Christmas Eve, Mom and Dad."

No one responded. He was alone, sitting at his table. A tear rolled down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away. But just as he did, another tear started to fall.

I feel... alone. I am alone.

He downed his glass in one go. A powerful, fruity taste suddenly filled his mouth, gliding over his tongue and down to his stomach.

"Oh my, it's good!"

Pierre was surprised by the taste of the wine. He took the bottle and looked more closely at the name on the label. He knew very little about wines and knew that the Bordeaux region produced the best wines in France, if not the world.

He poured himself another glass, which disappeared as quickly as the first. Before the blackout, he drank little alcohol, so he hadn't been too affected by the blackout in that regard. Naturally, he hadn't drunk a drop in eight months. The alcohol quickly went to his head. He devoured his meal and finished the bottle that evening, after which he went to bed. In the staircase, which suddenly felt as unstable as the deck of a ship in a storm, a Christmas song came back to his mind. Influenced by the alcohol, he started to sing.

It sounded like a raspy groan escaping from a cemetery. It was definitely not a joyful song coming from his mouth. On the contrary, it sounded like a song for a funeral. In his mouth, the lyrics seemed so sad.

Pierre finally collapsed into his bed and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Pierre woke up with a slight hangover. The sun had been up for nearly an hour, and the church bell could be heard calling the faithful to the Christmas mass.

"Damn! I'm going to be late!"

He jumped out of bed and put on his best dress shoes. He grabbed his long black coat and left the house, discovering that the snow from the previous day had frozen overnight, making the ground extremely slippery. At the first step, he almost slipped and seriously hurt himself. He could have gone on horseback, but Pierre decided to leave Dakota in the warmth this time and go on foot.

When he arrived at the church, almost everyone was seated. There was a bit of space at the back. He sat on a wooden bench next to an old woman with a red face and short breath. Her left hand, resting on her other hand, trembled like a leaf.

"Are you... um, are you okay?"

"Good morning, young man. Ah, it's a bit cold, that's all. Thank you."

Pierre didn't try to continue the conversation and straightened up. He looked around and recognized, even though she was facing away, the young girl with the blonde hair. Like him and most of the people present, she wore the same outfit as the day before. As if she had developed a new sense, the young girl turned around, sensing Pierre's gaze on her. Their eyes met, and she gave him the brightest smile.

Her cheeks had turned slightly pink. Her mother, sitting next to her, noticed and told her daughter to sit properly. When she turned to see who her child was looking at at the back, she didn't notice anyone in particular.

Pierre had refocused his attention on the altar, avoiding the mother's stern gaze.

Then the priest entered in his beautiful vestments. He lit a few candles and greeted a representation of Christ. Thus began the Christmas mass.