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The Pharaoh’s Daughter
Category: Historical
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The end.