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The Romanov Diary
Category: Historical
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
A knock at the door changed everything.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The end.