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Crown of Thorns
Category: Historical
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 fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The end.