Editing City Series:Volume5a Chapter6 (section)

===Rosetta's Journal: Today's First Entry===
 
I am writing an entry today as well.

I normally write my journal entries at home. But today I am visiting Lady Beretta's home and a lot has happened. So I am using the time until the food is ready to write some of it now.

I am writing this on some paper Lady Beretta gave me because she was not going to use it.

Lady Beretta is in Lady Mallette's room next door to clean up for everyone to eat together.

I am using Lady Beretta's room to write this. It is a strange room. It is smaller than any room I am familiar with and yet it has so many things inside it. A ''bicyclette'' tire. A bag. A parasol. A few folding chairs. Books. A toolbox. And a pendulum clock on the floor. I can see no rhyme or reason to where or how things are stored.

But I digress. I need to write about the day's events. Lady Beretta arrived in the morning today.

I had known I would see her at 10 because we had agreed to it the evening before. She was carrying a larger bag than normal. I was curious and asked what was inside.

She said she has too many secrets and thus needs to carry them all around with her. She then suggested we get going. I felt like I was forgetting some things and could ask more questions. But I did as she said.

It was my first time to ride a ''bicyclette''. Lady Beretta was driving it. I was further luggage on top of the large bag she had tied to the luggage rack.

She said I did not need to worry because she would drive safely.

We then rode down the hill in front of the mansion. We moved really fast.

The ground at the bottom of the hill approached rapidly and the wind was strong. The only way to support myself was to hold tightly to Lady Beretta's hips. I shut my eyes and cried out without meaning to.

I felt myself shaking and realized we had already left the mansion's gate and entered Boulogne Forest.

We were moving so fast. I think Lady Beretta said something. But it did not register with me.

I was too surprised by the way the scenery rushed by and the wind hit me.

We soon left the forest and passed by the ''boîte aux lettres'' I use to send out letters.

The mechanical beating of the heart created inside me by the Coppelia Effect was racing.

Then we were in the city.

It was the first time I focused on and saw the bright daytime city.

There were young men. There were young women.

There were young boys. There were young girls.

There were old men. There were old women.

There were cars. There were carriages.

There were unlit streetlights. There were trees growing in rows alongside the roads.

There were houses far smaller than the mansion. There were ''appartement''s as tall as the mansion.

There were colorful signs. There were old metal signs.

The things I wanted to see passed me by with the wind. We were moving so fast. That speed was probably the speed with which Lady Beretta experiences the city.

I called her name. But she did not turn around. She seemed to be thinking about something. She seemed to be rushing through the city like she was trying to run away from something.

Every time we turned a corner the ''bicyclette'' bounced along the stone pavement. It worried me how the end of my hair occasionally brushed against the road.

I eventually realized my pulse had settled down and sensed that I was clinging to Lady Beretta.

I looked around again and realized I really was in the city. I was contained inside the city.

It had seemed so special when viewing it from afar. But it had accepted me inside so easily. Perhaps that was because Lady Beretta had entered the city so quickly. I think I would have hesitated or been overwhelmed if I had been walking like normal.

Lady Beretta stopped the ''bicyclette'' after about five minutes. I got off and then tripped.

My mechanical legs were trembling. Lady Beretta helped me up.

Lady Beretta said I must have been nervous and that it might be better if my legs were modeled after human ones just like my arms.

I do not know if that would be better. But Lady Beretta must know what she is talking about since she is from a family of Belle de Marionnette engineers.

We had arrived at an ''appartement''. We entered through the side entrance and climbed the stairs.

It was a narrow stairway. We climbed four times as many steps as the mansion's stairs and arrived at a hallway that reminded me of a dark and narrow shed.

The second door was Lady Beretta's room. Three of her friends were in the neighboring room. They were all women her age who she knew from school.

That was my first time facing so many people at once. They all introduced themselves and I gave a greeting back. The one named Mallette was the owner of that neighboring room and seemed to be their leader.

They all asked me many things.

Where do you live? How old are you? Where were you born?

I politely answered as best I could. Then they asked me one final question.

Are you really a Belle de Marionnette?

Lady Beretta answered before I could.

She asked Lady Mallette if she was really Jewish.

Lady Mallette seemed to understand something from that. She smiled bitterly and took my hand. I remember my heart beating extra hard from that sudden action. I could feel the warmth of her hand as she spoke to me.

She said they wanted me to be part of their group. But she said they could only do that if I swore to use an ability of mine for them.

Lady Beretta smiled and commented how hard it is for a group of women to live together.

I sort of understand what she meant. I use artificial arms and legs to make up for the ability I lack for my life in the mansion. I doubt I could have maintained the mansion so well if I was human.

I then began cooking as I had promised. That led to a commotion.

The room was too small to teach everyone to cook. So Lady Mallette had us use her room and the two neighboring rooms for the kitchen. That way we could cook three different dishes in parallel.

One was the ''plat de résistance'' that I primarily made.

One was the ''hors d'oeuvre'' that I only gave instructions for and did not spend any time on.

And one was the ''dessert'' that could be made in advance and allowed to sit.

We spent about an hour discussing before coming to a decision.

We agreed on ''escargot'' cooked in ''vin rouge'' and a whole cooked ''poulet'' for the ''plat de résistance''. They both only needed to be cooked in the oven. They took some time to prepare but left you free to do other things while they cooked. The rooms were not installed with ovens and we had to use the one Lady Mallette had brought in for herself. We considered but rejected ''cervelle de veau'' because one of them found it unappetizing.

We wanted something we could all grab and eat for the ''hors d'oeuvre'' and we all agreed on ''oignon frit'' with ''saupiquet'' sauce. We also put out some ''pâté d'alouette'' for anyone who wanted it.

We already had the ''oignon frit'' and so we chose an onion ''gratin'' for the soup.

We chose cooking ''pain d'épices'' with lots of honey in it for dessert. Sprinkling sugar on it and buying some cream would allow us to eat it ''kouglof''-style.

We decided on all that and began working at 1 PM. We finished not long ago at 6 PM. It is now in the oven waiting for tonight.

I started thinking about a difficult subject.

That subject is blood.

When preparing a ''poulet'' for cooking I remove all the red liquid remaining inside. But I only recently realized this is called blood. After the dinner on March 11 I was rereading a cookbook in the mansion and came across a reference to blood removal. I only realized its meaning once I compared that description to my usual cooking method.

The blood that comes out of a ''poulet'''s body is almost identical to what I saw flowing from Lady Beretta's thigh when we first met.

If too much of that flows out then you die. You break.

My heart has become the same as a human's after evolving through the Coppelia Effect. Would I bleed if my body was cut open with a knife? I felt like trying it to find out. But I decided against it.

Lady Beretta had looked in pain when she was bleeding.

I decided it probably was not a good thing and I continued cooking.

But there is a large difference between cooking on my own and having other people cook. The two biggest incidents were when one of them bought small snails thinking they were ''escargot'' and when some oil caught fire in Lady Beretta's room.

When I look up now I can see a scorch mark on the ceiling. Signe-ing too much would only cause the damage to expand so I will stop. I will just say it did not burn through the ceiling.

<The alarm clock left on the bed says it is 7:08 PM.

It is growing dark outside the window.>

I should probably get the plates ready soon.