Luna awoke, as usual, when the first shafts of sunlight entered her windows.  She was in her bed in the circular second-floor¹ room of The Roost.  She gave one enormous stretch, sat up and pushed her long hair back from her face. Springing out of bed, she walked over to a closet and changed into a clean outfit.  Then she checked her appearance briefly in the mirror.

Luna was a slight girl ten years of age.  No, eleven now, she reminded herself.  Hair that was such a pale shade of blond she seemed to have almost no eyebrows at all tumbled down to her waist.  Pale skin that was stubbornly immune to tanning reflected the morning light.  Light, silver-gray eyes of an unusually round shape bulged slightly above a very ordinary nose and mouth and a weak chin.²  Her father said these were family traits, and he had shown her photos and portraits to prove it.³

On a whim, Luna intoned, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall:  who is fairest of them all?”