Skip to content
The Painted Veil
Category: Historical
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 train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
A knock at the door changed everything.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The end.