Lucinda held her breath, staring at the shattered violin. Who lived here? Well, whoever it was, it wasn’t for long. Her eyes watered, and you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was simply from holding her breath, or tears of grief. Fumbling around for a seat, she rests on a dusty scarlet cushion. Well, you can’t really tell what colour it was from the dust, but it suited the room. Time flies, and Lucinda was annoying enough to reduce that time. We didn’t have long to do something that saves people’s lives.