Skip to content
Letters to Juliet
Category: Romance
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The end.