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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
The end.