The Moros Murders

Liza Black walked down the long hall. The dim red light that illuminated the hallway was reflected in a distorted, wavering pattern on the walls. It gave the illusion she was passing through a tunnel of heat haze, like looking at a desert through a shimmering curtain of water. Liza turned left into her flat, which looked like it had been built in another era: tall ceilings, dark wood floors and ornate clockwork lamps. The sound of her heels clicking across the hard oak floorboards echoed off the high walls, making it feel as though there were two Liza’s walking around.

She entered the dark office and flicked a switch, flooding the room with light. She was shocked to find that she was not alone.

Sitting in the grand, rich mahogany desk chair which was carved painstakingly with intricate patterns and designs, with her filthy boots nestled upon the glossy surface of the desk sat Medea Moros. A perverse smirk playing on her lips, she produced a glimmering blade from her pocket and pointed it menacingly at Liza. “Hello Liza”, she said in a low tone.

THE END