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Crown of Thorns
Category: Historical
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
A knock at the door changed everything.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The end.