Alice, a young girl with blue eyes and red hair, wakes up extra early one day and immediately turns her attention to her bookshelf. Even with the barely there sun casting its barely there rays, she can perfectly see that something is wrong here. Some of her books which she painstakingly arranges alphabetically and manages every single night before she goes to sleep, because she is obsessive-compulsive like that, are in complete disarray. But because Alice is a smart girl and rarely forgetful of little details, she immediately remembers the stern look on Polly’s eyes last night as she sat in the living room watching Alice read her brand new book. Polly who is almost two years older than her has always been jealous of her ability to earnestly converse with other people about things that would normally be perceived as nerdy or geeky. The source of this, she thought, would have to be her books. It has to be the books, she thought. Definitely. So she watched her younger sister read like a hawk, like a stalker, an obsessed little fan with sinister thoughts. Alice remembers it and makes her decision. She carefully steps out of her bed. The day is a lot brighter now and she decides not to waste any more time. She struts into the next room without knocking and sees Polly still fast asleep, hugging her book.