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The Last Crusade
Category: Historical
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The end.