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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
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 map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The end.