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The Romanov Diary
Category: Historical
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The end.