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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
A knock at the door changed everything.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The end.