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The Last Crusade
Category: Historical
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.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The end.