If the Hawthorne family hadn't suffered its downfall, Rosalind Green might have held onto her rare innocence forever. She was drawn only to beautiful things; even in novels, she disliked protagonists with the slightest flaw.
This was why Rosalind Green had never liked *Jane Eyre* or *The Hunchback of the Cathedral of Veridia*. The male protagonists in those books were disabled, and she couldn't relate to them.
But now, Rosalind's perspective had shifted. She understood why Victor Hugo had written a protagonist as ugly as Quasimodo. Judging people by their appearance was the greatest folly; reality was full of wolves in sheep's clothing. Take a woman like Phoenix Golding, for instance. Who would believe she was a vicious slut just by looking at her?
