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Crown of Thorns
Category: Historical
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The end.