Marcel hums quietly a French tune, one from his childhood, as he lights scented candles around his bath. It’s the anniversary of his spouse’s death and he’s had a rough week, grieving his dead spouse. At least that’s what the rumors said. Honestly, It was all fake, and rather taxing, all that pretending, the faux tears, and such. He deserves a nice, relaxing bath and afterwards he’s going to eat those warm cookies he baked. His silk robe shuffles as he moves about the bathroom, his hair falls gently over his eyes, he pushes it back. However, before he can even get in the bath there’s a knock at his front door. He exhales sharply, pulls his robe back on, and then walks downstairs, to the door. “Who is it?” Marcel inquires, before cracking the door open. His brows raises and his eyes widen in momentary surprise, this was certainly a surprise.