An idea, sharp and brilliant, pierced through the fog of fear and accusation in Marissa's mind. She saw the little boy with his sticky, red-stained fingers, and she saw the thick, red substance trickling down the ancient stone. She knew the answer. But a logical explanation would not be enough to sway a room seized by superstitious terror. First, she had to fight fire with fire.
She turned away from the bleeding tablet, her expression shifting from confusion to one of solemn, divine purpose.
"If that is the case," she announced, her voice ringing with clarity that captured everyone's attention, "if the ancestors are truly trying to send us a message, then I will ask them personally what secret lies behind it."
The Dowager Duchess Beatrice stared at her, her face a mixture of fear and confusion. "What are you doing, child?"
