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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The end.