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The Italian Affair
Category: Romance
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
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.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The end.