Due to a horrific accident at the time of birth, Frances Gilbert was born with a mental age of 78. She spent her twilight childhood with a pair of retarded aunts, who would laugh and mash trifle into their faces when asked simple questions like 'do you think my poetry is too reliant on rudimentary personification and redundant nature metaphor?' At the age of 21, Frances got her first home, situated in a picturesque void that drains its occupants of mirth and makes everyone jolly angry about the state of everything. She has no plans to move.