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The Crystal Sword
Category: Fantasy
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 morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The end.