In a cozy library in Paris, France, a young woman sits at a wooden desk surrounded by stacks of books. She has a wild mane of curly hair the color of dark chocolate, and her eyes are a warm brown. She wears a simple black dress, and her arm is covered in a delicate lace sleeve. The woman's attention is focused on an old, leather-bound book in front of her, and she has a pencil in hand. She carefully writes in the margins of the book, adding her own thoughts and observations to the text. The room is quiet except for the sound of the woman's pencil scratching against the paper and the occasional turn of a page. The young woman is lost in the world of the book, fully immersed in the act of writing marginalia.