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The Italian Affair
Category: Romance
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The end.