She walked up the glossy, white marble steps into the courthouse. The press taking photographs, the climb felt like thirty years to her, even though it was more like thirty seconds.
This was no ordinary woman, however. She was being tried for murder in the second degree.
She entered the courthouse, and was directed to take a seat in a predefined chair. It seemed as if the chair was made personally for her. The prosecutors entered the room, and this was the first time she had seen their faces.
One was tall, lean, with a freshly shaved beard. He stood staring at her. She wondered what he must be thinking. Another, a short, chubby individual, looked like the type with a short fuse. Not someone she would want to fight with.
But that was the problem. She had to fight, she was innocent.
