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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The end.