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Throne of Thorns
Category: Fantasy
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The end.