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The Painted Veil
Category: Historical
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The end.