A woman goes to visit a fortune-teller. In a dark and hazy room, peering into a crystal ball, the mystic delivered grave news.
�There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just be blunt. Prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible death this year.�
Visibly shaken, the woman stares at the fortune-teller's lined face, then at the single flickering candle, then down at her hands.
She took a few deep breaths to compose herself. She simply had to know. She met the fortune-teller's gaze, steadied her voice, and asked her question: �Will I be found guilty?�
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