The blood on Hannah's cream kid gloves was the same colour as the red squabs of the coach in which she was being driven, pell-mell, away from her home. She stared in fascination as another drip tumbled slowly onto her finger and merged into the existing stain. Unwilling to believe her eyes, she considered her situation. To feel betrayed by the people with whom she had lived all her life was bad enough, but what was worse, thought Hannah as she bumped and jolted over the rutted roads, was not knowing if she deserved it. Deep down she felt innocent but for the life of her she couldn't remember what happened and the only person who could was lying at death's door, or was possibly already dead.
So starts Hannah's adventure.