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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The end.