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The Heart of the Storm
Category: Fantasy
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The end.