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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The end.