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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The end.