The open kitchen afforded the host with the view of her guest and Irene’s gaze had never truly left the guest except when she had to pour in the cocoa powder. Every action of the author’s was fluid and highly practiced because this was a routine for her, for a person who dislikes coffee, hot cocoa is the best companion. The author observed that the girl by the name of the Wendy was undoubtedly nervous and it seemed in her nature to be so. However, there was also a sort of a rare boldness and toughness to her for her to be able to persevere and trudge through the snow to find her. Irene had not a single shred of doubt when the girl said that she was her loyal reader. Irene, as an author, had studied people for too long to be able to tell their emotions well enough and discern if they were telling the truth or if they were lying.

This Wendy girl, she was truly a loyal reader and that made Irene slightly nervous because she has never spoken to a reader of her book face-to-face before. What worried her even more was that Wendy came with a real purpose, which was to talk about the endings that Irene had given her characters. The author clenched her jaw and tried to get her mind to work for false yet convincing reasons to give the girl however, Irene had an ominous feeling that Wendy would be able to get her answers regardless of whether Irene had wanted to divulge them or not, some way or other. Amongst her worries, there was also the question of how this girl had managed to get hold of her address and this disturbed her more than anything else because the author felt like she was being stalked and nobody likes being stalked.  

It has been a long time since Irene was host to anyone and distracted by the numerous questions in her mind, she realised that she had forgotten to ask for her guest preference for the amount of milk to put into her cocoa. “How much milk would you like in your cocoa?” Irene asked across the counter suddenly.

Her guest seemed to have been shocked at the sudden question and her body jerked in response. Irene chuckled a little to herself and saw her house guest go pink before she regained her composure and answered, “No milk please.”

Irene blinked. “No milk?” She repeated, her voice so low, it was almost as if she were talking to herself. Irene furrowed her brows again as she reminisced once more. Why are they so alike? Also, another thing that disturbed Irene was how similar Wendy behaved to… the person whom she had known. The person whom she was thinking of was easily nervous around her too, but could also act bravely if she wanted too. Irene then looked to Wendy again and had to force herself to look away when she saw the girl muttering to herself with the a trouble expression, one that she had seen many times on someone. Those antics and preferences… they were simply too similar to that same person to be a mere coincidence. Irene had to clench her jaw again to prevent the flood of memories from upsetting her too greatly. Steeling herself, Irene then returned to the living room, her face as stoic as before.   

As Irene set the cup before her guest, she saw how Wendy had given her a furtive glance before shifting her gaze to the mug that was set before her, timidly. A delighted, grateful smile broke out on Wendy’s face at the sight of the hot drink but the smile quickly melt away when her eyes was met with Irene’s cold, steely ones. A smirk crept into Irene’s face at that cute gesture and the author had to admit that this girl’s smile was rather adorable.

Silence descended upon the two as they both sipped on their hot drink until the author broke the silence.  

“Wendy… first off, I have a few questions for you.”

“Y-Y-Yes anything for you.” Wendy once again, snapped to attention, almost dropping her cup and looked at Irene with wide, anticipating eyes. Her actions were so adorably dramatic that Irene could not help but smile tentatively before returning to her stone-cold expression.

“How did you get this address?” Irene asked straightforwardly, her hawk-like eyes trained on Wendy to detect any lies from her.

“A-A friend got it from me. I don’t know how she did it… She is a pro-stalker of some sort… Always manages to get hold of people personal particulars.”

It was the truth. The author immediately knew how this ‘friend’ of Wendy’s had gotten her address, the only way was through hacking and Irene hated anyone who threatened to invade her privacy. Irene should have been furious but oddly enough, she felt none of that anger in her, in fact she was more curious who this friend of Wendy’s was and would soon receive her answer. “I believe