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The Last Enchantress
Category: Fantasy
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
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 morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The end.