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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
A knock at the door changed everything.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The end.