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The Painted Veil
Category: Historical
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
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 end.