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The Heart of the Storm
Category: Fantasy
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
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.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The end.