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The Last Enchantress
Category: Fantasy
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The end.