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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
A knock at the door changed everything.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The end.