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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The end.