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The Painted Veil
Category: Historical
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The end.