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The Pharaoh’s Daughter
Category: Historical
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
A knock at the door changed everything.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The end.