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The Last Crusade
Category: Historical
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
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.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The end.