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Throne of Thorns
Category: Fantasy
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
A knock at the door changed everything.
The end.