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The Painted Veil
Category: Historical
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
A knock at the door changed everything.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
The end.