Luciana stared at the things in front of her. Unrolling every tiny crumbled piece of paper seemed like a good idea, she thought to herself. Her eyes studied the edges of each piece as she laid them flat. Each piece had a lightly smudged word scrawled upon it. Still, it was too neat. Too well done. Realization hit her mind as she came to the conclusion that the paper had been ripped, and then the words had been written. Someone wanted them to find them. Wanted the message to be delivered clearly. The minotaur was just a messenger. Luciana leaned back in the cushioned chair. She felt the looming cloud of guilt bathe her in its darkness. She had killed him. Well, they had killed him, but she took part and certainly can't erase her participation in the event. She wasn't used to killing things.
