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The Pharaoh’s Daughter
Category: Historical
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The end.