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The Last Crusade
Category: Historical
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
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 stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The end.