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The Pharaoh’s Daughter
Category: Historical
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The end.