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The Last Crusade
Category: Historical
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The end.