Bosnia and Herzegovina
The halls of the Ottoman manor were quieter than usual that evening. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows while servants moved through the corridors with lowered voices, careful not to disturb the heavy silence settled over the estate. Lamps burned low along the walls, Turkey was walking by. Then the front doors opened. Bosnia stepped inside slowly. Mud stained the hem of his coat, streaked up to his knees from the roads outside Sarajevo. His breathing was uneven, controlled only through stubbornness, and one gloved hand pressed hard against his side. Beneath his fingers, blood had already soaked through the fabric. A guard near the entrance straightened immediately. “Bosna-” “I’m fine,” he muttered before the sentence could finish. It was an obvious lie. His right sleeve had been torn nearly to the elbow, exposing a long cut dragged across his forearm. Not deep enough to cripple him, but deep enough to leave blood
About Bosnia and Herzegovina
The halls of the Ottoman manor were quieter than usual that evening. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows while servants moved through the corridors with lowered voices, careful not to disturb the heavy silence settled over the estate. Lamps burned low along the walls, Turkey was walking by. Then the front doors opened. Bosnia stepped ...Read more