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The Last Enchantress
Category: Fantasy
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
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.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The end.