Manon’s eyes fluttered open, slowly trying to focus on the oak planks that composed the ceiling of the bedroom that her aunt had  “generously” given to her. As she sat up, she felt the warm tears that had pooled in her eyes trickling down her cheeks. She took a match from her box of miscellanies and lit the stubby wax candle that rested on her bedside table. The flame chased away the darkness that hid her button nose. Manon was not known for her looks. The beauty of her curly black hair rivaled only that of a charred bush. Her gentle blush lips were always chapped—she mercisely bit them whenever she was nervous. Her eyes were the color of forest mud and were much too small for her large head. Her mother used to say she was perfectly proportional when she was born, but all of the books she read had caused her head to expand in order to fit all of the words. Manon took the candle and quietly slipped out of her bed. Opening the large oak door that marked the entrance to her cell, she quietly crept down the hall towards her uncle’s library.