After taking a solitary morning stroll on the shores of her cloudy Denmark home, reflecting vanely upon life, love, and the fleeting mortality of her footprints in the sand, Emma Johnston retires to her study where she passes the hours fruitlessly paging through novels of encyclopedic length. If Emma had companions, they would often catch her delicately turning the final page of Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables and shedding two silent tears. After dining on an impeccably executed foie gras, a skill she accidentally picked up somewhere in her childhood, she retires to a lone chair on her back porch and listens to the rain pounding mercilessly on her roof while gazing out onto the endless horizon, and contemplating every aspect of human existence.